ã€ŠBlood Impulse [Sci-fi Space Opera Action]ã€‹


 Part 0.0 - PROLOGUE

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Base Oceana

    ¡°Move the body to the waste recycling decks tonight at 2330.¡± He ordered, watching them shove the corpse into the tiny supply closet. ¡°The processes will break it down the raw nutrients, destroy the evidence.¡±

    The Marines slammed the door, concealing the corpse¡¯s bloody orange uniform from the view of the conference room. The soldiers turned to salute their superior, ¡°Will that be all, sir?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he answered dismissively, ¡°Go stand watch outside.¡±

    The Marines snapped off their salutes, ¡°Yes, Admiral.¡±

    He watched them go, ensuring the door slid shut behind them before he turned to the council that had gathered in the conference room. They were a handful of the most powerful people in the worlds, and yet, it seemed some of them lacked the stomach. ¡°Are you certain we can trust those men, Reeter?¡±

    ¡°Are you questioning the loyalty of my men, General Quentin?¡± Reeter noticed the sweat under the man¡¯s collar. It was all too obvious his shallow interest was only self-interest. The sight of death for this cause, the sight of the bullet hole in that spy¡¯s chest, it blanched his face with fear. He was not a true believer, but for now, he did just fine as a pawn. Most of the men at this table were only pawns, meant to serve their purpose.

    Quentin swallowed and tugged at the stiff collar of his uniform. ¡°Even you must admit that the loyalty of Command¡¯s forces is fragmented.¡± Reeter had won the majority of them over, but it was a slight majority, and the military was not a democracy. Most of those soldiers would not be loyal enough to disobey a superior officer for Reeter¡¯s cause. ¡°General Clarke knows what you¡¯re up to-¡°

    Reeter slammed his hands onto crystalline tabletop, ¡°Clarke is an old fool. His spy is dead in the closet. He cannot begin to understand our goals.¡± They were going to save the worlds. The cost that came with that was acceptable. He was willing to make the necessary exchange, even if all of his predecessors had not had the courage. He would succeed where they had failed. It was his destiny.

    Clarke was not what they had come to discuss. That old man couldn¡¯t comprehend their true goals. No, they had come to finalize the plans for the most pivotal week of their entire movement. He would allow nothing to go wrong. ¡°Is this room secure?¡± He asked the woman on his right.

    She smiled, an easy smile. ¡°Of course it is.¡± As if I would give up my little game so early. The handsome Charleston Reeter had much to learn in the ways of the worlds. Every creature at that table had their own intentions. Not a single one of them believed in Reeter¡¯s so-called destiny to save the worlds, but they would play along while it suited them.

    He briefly rested his eyes upon her pretty face and unnaturally white hair, but said nothing to it. Her efforts earned her just a smile, a smile young women across space fawned over, but one that meant nothing to her. This was all no more than a means to an end.

    Reeter turned back to the weaselly face of the man who had questioned him. ¡°My men are loyal, Quentin.¡± Reeter said, ¡°I cannot help that Clarke has his loyal few, but they are just that, few and far between. Command¡¯s ships, troops and bases are under my direction.¡± The most powerful militarized force in the galaxy was his to control.

    ¡°The beating heart of the Fleet Admiral indicates otherwise.¡± Heads turned to the largest man in the room, ¡°Half of Command¡¯s forces are too afraid to turn. Out of fear for their souls they will not betray Admiral Gi-¡°

    ¡°Do not speak that name in my presence.¡± The room fell silent, waiting for the inevitable eruption, but Reeter smoothed his perfectly parted hair and the red eventually faded from his face. Not even Quentin was reckless enough to bring up that man in his presence, and it was clear the man who had regretted his boldness.

    ¡°Hommer is right.¡± Another man broke the silence, unafraid, ¡°Our plans are accelerating. Within a month, we will have full control over the government, the military and the masses. I¡¯ve seen your plans to deal with the brother, but I should not need to tell you who the real problem is.¡±

    ¡°Ramseyer,¡± Reeter¡¯s emerald eyes settled upon the man¡¯s unassuming middle-aged face, ¡°I have told you before, he will not pose an issue.¡± The Secretary of Defense would be dead within the day and the older brother would be soon to follow.

    Ramseyer crossed his arms across his suit, ¡°You¡¯ll forgive me if your losing streak against his antique dreadnaught is somehow not encouraging.¡± It was pathetic really, that this self-proclaimed messiah would hold onto such vehemence. ¡°Against the Fleet Admiral, you¡¯re zero to ten.¡± Years of training, years of plotting, and he was still somehow outmaneuvered without fail. ¡°The title of Fleet Admiral goes to the fleet¡¯s best tactician, and there¡¯s a reason it isn¡¯t yours, Reeter. The Steel Prince is not to be taken lightly.¡± Murmurs of approval sounded around the table.

    Reeter narrowed his eyes at his partner, the man who planned the public actions of this movement. Ramseyer¡¯s pin stripe suit was just a shade of gray off the one he¡¯d worn yesterday, unassuming and forgettable, just the way politicians liked it. ¡°Plans are in motion.¡± He stated simply. ¡°And you would do best to remember that he is no prince. He is a vile, nearsighted man, one who houses not one single scrap of loyalty or imagination.¡±

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    ¡°Prince or not, do not underestimate him.¡± Quentin spoke, ¡°You would not be the first to make that mistake. Bear in mind for many, it was their last.¡± The New Era touted intoxicating ideas, havens of plentiful wealth and power, but Quentin was one of so very few who remembered the hells of the past. It had not been so long ago that he could forget the mass graves overfilled with dead.

    They were so near victory. Years of complacency, of patience would soon pay off. How could his accomplices bow out now? ¡°Do you fear him, General Quentin?¡± Reeter asked, sensing undesirable hesitation. Did they fear the man who had brought the worlds to their knees?

    ¡°You would be wrong not to.¡± The white-haired woman by Reeter¡¯s side spoke again, ¡°He is quite the interesting specimen.¡± They spoke of a soldier with no honor, a leader with no followers, and a man who obeyed no heart. Reeter might read that as fascination, but to her it was nothing more than curiosity. ¡°The Flagship Olympia, regarded as the most powerful ship ever built, a wonder of modern engineering, is superior in every way, but the Prince¡¯s dilapidating dreadnaught has six hundred times more kills.¡± It was a discrepancy so large, the relative ages of ships mattered not. ¡°A sane man would be driven mad by that.¡± So much death. There were days she wondered if selecting Reeter for this task had been the wrong choice.

    ¡±Enough.¡± Reeter commanded, ¡°Regardless of his once fearsome reputation, he is but an obstacle to be removed and will be taken care of. Even if I do not manage to kill him outright, there will be blood in the water. The moment the worlds smell it, they will turn on him and tear him apart¡­ As if they don¡¯t smell it already.¡± A grave had already been dug for the once great Steel Prince. ¡°He lost his mind years ago.¡±

    ¡°That may be true, but he is still plenty dangerous.¡± Ramseyer said, never more certain that Reeter was underestimating that threat. ¡°He is one of the most dangerous people who could possibly oppose us, and at this point, one of the last. Your promises to deal with him have been empty. He still breathes, and as long as he does so, he will continue to instill fear into your forces. Tell me, do you even know where he is?¡±

    Reeter¡¯s anger rose, but anger awarded nothing. He turned to face the tall windows of the conference room. ¡°He¡¯s out there.¡± Out somewhere in the glittering stars. ¡°No matter what he did or did not tell Command, I know how to find him.¡± He would put an end to this soon. ¡°He will sink.¡± Him and that entire rotten battleship of his. ¡°The Steel Prince¡¯s reign is over. It is time for a New Era.¡±

    The worlds bowed to such charisma. His loyal followers and goons were unabashedly made to live and breathe by such clever words and his perfect smile. The fellows in the room were unaffected. It was clear enough that Reeter did not have access to the Fleet Admiral¡¯s current whereabouts. ¡°End him or he will end you, Reeter,¡± Ramseyer said coolly. ¡°I have seen you at his mercy too many times to believe you can take him in a fair fight, even with that pretty flagship on your side. All those times he humiliated you, he could have easily killed you. He may have become passive in these recent years, but do not mistake that for inability. Remember there is a reason that your predecessors fell dead at his feet.¡±

    Charleston Reeter hated the doubt. Did they think him incapable because he usually kept his hands clean? That was nothing more than a formality. The mass populations of the worlds were squeamish. They didn¡¯t want to see the man they idolized up to his elbows in blood. They simply wanted to see him effortlessly take charge, no matter what went on behind the scenes. ¡°I am capable of the task.¡± He assured.

    These leaders were different types of fools. They didn¡¯t understand what the affection of the populace was worth. To them, a little messy was the nature of the job, but not to him. Worlds rose and fell on the orders of the men they adored. They worshipped the ground below the feet of men who knew how to play their emotions like flutes. The affection of humanity could make him a god, but their hate could tear him to shreds. ¡°Do not doubt me because I am not the monster that the Steel Prince was.¡± That was the point. He walked the fine line of mass media and popularity while goons like his Marines did the dirty work.

    Hommer frowned, ¡°That monster was the most successful ship commander to come out of the Dead Years.¡±

    ¡°Because he killed more people than anyone else.¡± Quentin spat.

    ¡°Enough!¡± Reeter yelled, silencing them both. He had no time to listen to the two Generals bicker back and forth. ¡°I know what the problem is here. You¡¯re afraid of him. You¡¯re all afraid of him.¡± Filthy cowards, all of them. ¡°You¡¯re afraid because you know if he decided to go public, he could take each and every one of you down in political flames.¡± He¡¯d done it before. ¡°But not this time. This time, he dies before he says anything.¡± Not that the worlds would have believed the old soldier these days anyway. The Prince had made choices that had rendered him a fool. ¡°Not even he can stop us now.¡± It would be over by the end of the week, the coup just as swift, just as fast as a gust of solar wind.

    ¡°What makes you so sure he would try?¡±

    Reeter looked over to her. Was that intrigue he read in those cold eyes? ¡°He lost his mind out in the abyss. I cannot know what he will and will not do.¡± Why did she show so much interest? ¡°His knowledge makes him dangerous. He will be eliminated, that is unless you wish to protest?¡± How could she? She was helping him kill the Prince.

    He was jealous. The little messiah was jealous. The emotion was most unbefitting of a man with such high ambitions. ¡°Do not worry, Charleston.¡± She purred, noticing the attention of the others at the table, ¡°I am as loyal to you as I am to humanity.¡± She was the one who had led him to his destiny, the one who had led him to believe he would be a hero. He should not question her, but he was only human, and he lusted after her power.

    This would prove an interesting experiment. She looked to these power-hungry fellows, ¡°I must merely wonder how long it will take each of you to lose your minds in the Prince¡¯s position.¡± Humanity was not yet fit to determine who lived and who died. The Prince had proved that to them all. It would have been interesting to dissect him, to find where he had broken, to realize what had rendered him weak.

    ¡°Do not compare me to him.¡± Reeter growled, ¡°I will save these worlds where he failed to. I am not like him.¡±

    ¡°Oh, but how similar you are.¡± She smiled pityingly, ¡°Why is it you think I chose you?¡±

 Part 1.1 - THE SECRETARY

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea, Valkar, Eagle¡¯s Talon

    In the mountains of Valkar, the air was crisp and clean, filled with aromas of fall. The altitude allowed the sun to remain bright in Eagle¡¯s Talon, even as its daily track shifted toward the southern hemisphere. Though isolated within the planet¡¯s tallest mountain range, the city was far from quaint. It served as the military ground headquarters for the interplanetary alliance known as the Ariean Central Government, and that rendered it one of the most important settlements in all the known worlds.

    The grandeur of the military¡¯s high command building spoke enough of the wealth and power that formed the military fleet. Its large columns and the rest of the white marble that formed it were detailed in shimmering gold, symbols and core beliefs etched intricately into the stone. Housing the upper echelons of the United Countries Space Command, the people who worked there choreographed the movements of the mighty fleet that dominated the stars above.

    Shoving the doors open, the civilian government¡¯s only representative in the city stepped out into the fresh air. The guards flinched at his sudden emergence, but recognized his classically cut suit. It stood out among the city¡¯s mass of uniforms. ¡°It¡¯s madness, Vince!¡± he ranted into his communicator, ¡°There¡¯s absolutely nothing wrong!¡± He was already stepping off the building¡¯s steps into the afternoon sunshine, as his personal security detail struggled to keep up. ¡°They sent me all the way out here for no reason at all!¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s politics, Johnathan,¡± his right-hand man replied through the communicator.

    ¡°I know that,¡± the Ariean Secretary of Defense readjusted his grip on the handheld device, ¡°but just think about it, I could be at home drinking a martini and cloud-watching. Or I could have gone to visit Amelia and my grandson.¡± This whole trip was a complete waste of his time. He had learned nothing here that he couldn¡¯t have from Capitol City with the rest of the civilian government. ¡°I just saw my family, but it still would have been nice.¡± He sighed as his security guard managed to get in front of him, bringing him to a stop in the courtyard.

    The young Marine looked frazzled, her curly hair stuck to her scalp with nervous sweat. ¡°Secretary Gives, I must protest!¡± she said, waving the rest of the security detail back into place, ¡°We haven¡¯t secured this exit route for you. We had planned to take the side exit to your personal transport in light of the recent threats.¡±

    The politician pulled his glass communicator away from his ear, ¡°Corporal Cortana, you ought to know better than this by now.¡± He never took the secured route. ¡°I will not be intimidated by idle threats. There is no place safer than Eagle¡¯s Talon.¡± Every citizen in the town was military, and had been trained to fight off an enemy attack.

    ¡°Besides,¡± he stepped past her, ¡°taking the side exit would tell those separatist cowards they¡¯ve got a hold on me. They don¡¯t. I have no reason to fear, and neither do the people.¡± He waved distantly to the paparazzi¡¯s cameras as they pressed up against the courtyard¡¯s rod iron fence, trying to get a photograph. The debate fracturing his people would never spill into violence. Secretary Gives refused to entertain the thought. Surely, if nothing else, the worlds had learned from the Frontier Rebellion that violence and killing would resolve nothing.

    Threats were nothing new to him. Secretary Gives had more enemies than the average politician. He was an outspoken and highly respected member of the interplanetary Council, which drew a lot of attention, but his estranged brother accounted for the rest.

    Corporal Cortana knew there was no sense in arguing with him. She admired his confidence that the threats were meaningless, but it made him careless about his own safety. ¡°Secretary, sir, would you be heading to your usual last stop, then?¡± They were already halfway there, but she would radio ahead and have it cleared.

    ¡°The Ariea Memorial.¡± Secretary Gives confirmed curtly. It was always the last place he went before leaving for Capitol City. He hated having his security detail with him there, but understood the necessity as he heard Cortana dutifully radio it in. He raised his communicator back to his ear, ¡°Vince-¡±

    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ll start knocking heads here. Figure out who said what. I¡¯ll make sure you won¡¯t have to make this trip again unless it¡¯s necessary.¡±

    The Secretary nodded, still in disbelief that his time had been completely wasted. ¡°The way they were talking in Capitol City, you¡¯d think my brother was down here stringing people up by their toenails.¡± Every guard in his security detail involuntarily winced. ¡°But this is the sleepiest I¡¯ve ever seen Eagle¡¯s Talon.¡±

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    ¡°And where is the old bastard, anyway?¡±

    Secretary Gives shrugged, ¡°I don¡¯t know, and I don¡¯t care.¡± He did his best not to know. His brother, if he dared to call the man that, came and went as he pleased, with no real concern for the people who stayed planet-side.

    The Secretary¡¯s demeanor shifted as his feet met the asphalt of the road that divided the military complex and the memorial. ¡°I¡¯ll see you back in Capitol City, Vince.¡± He was headed somewhere he preferred to be alone. He tapped the glass where the display was projected inside and pocketed it, focusing on the walk ahead of him.

    The accident had been just over a year ago, but he was one of very few who visited the memorial dedicated to the former flagship¡¯s thousand dead. His head security guard made no move to interrupt now. He had his reasons for visiting, even when very few others did. It had been the worst tragedy to strike the fleet since the early years of the Hydrian War, and yet, it was mostly forgotten. The subsequent investigation had lasted barely a month. The worlds had passed over the Flagship Ariea¡¯s demise like it was nothing.

    One of few with a personal connection to the incident, Secretary Gives still mourned the loss. His son-in-law had been killed, fracturing a family that had already seen enough death.

    Secretary Gives paused to look up at the memorial¡¯s rod iron gates, for a moment wondering if the man his brother had accused truly had been at fault. A part of him had brushed it off just because his murderous brother had laid down the accusation, not because the investigation had lacked evidence. Sometimes, he felt as if he should have stomached his brother¡¯s explanation for a moment longer. But at the time, he couldn¡¯t have, and probably still couldn¡¯t now. Instead, he was forced to wonder if there was more than one killer among the fleet¡¯s upper ranks.

    Echoing among the urban walls, a single gunshot rang out in the afternoon light. The noise deafened the peaceful rustle of autumn leaves, and the security detail reacted instantaneously.

    ¡°Sniper!¡± Cortana yelled, moving to tackle the Secretary safely to the ground. She was surprised to find that he was already down and out of the line of fire, thus knelt beside him, using her mass as a shield as she scoped out the nearby rooftops with her rifle.

    There was nothing, only air vents and antennas. No movement. The silence stretched out for minutes. Slowly, her ears adjusted again to hear the sounds of fall.

    They had to move to a more secure location. ¡°Let¡¯s go, Secretary.¡± She stood easily, but he made no move, face down on the concrete. It was only then that she realized the pant leg she¡¯d placed on the ground was dripping wet. The blood ran hot and sticky down her shin.

    She was kneeling at his side again, yelling into the radio before she comprehended the sight: blood on the cement, a chunk of skull and hair missing. The training drilled into her by the Marines took over. ¡°Man down! Repeat: Man down! I need an ambulance at the entrance to the Ariea Memorial. Secretary Gives has been hit!¡±

    It didn¡¯t matter. Secretary Gives was dead long before the ambulance arrived.

    The next few hours became a whirlwind of sirens and debriefings, and Corporal Cortana remained in shock as the warm day dripped by like honey in the shining golden sun. Under the twin moons of Ariea, she found herself standing on the glistening white steps of the high command building, clad in her crisp, black dress uniform.

    A crowd of reporters and off-duty personnel had gathered in front of the stairs. Vince Ramseyer, the Secretary¡¯s right-hand man, had flown in from Capitol City to make the announcement himself. He laid his hands on the podium, looking somber in a suit one shade darker than normal, and allowed the photographers to snap pictures. ¡°I have no doubt there are countless rumors surrounding Secretary Gives¡¯ condition, and the reasons behind my sudden appointment to his office. However, the truth of the matter lies in the fact that this morning, at the gates of the Flagship Ariea Memorial, Secretary Gives was assassinated.¡±

    Hearing the crowd start to whisper amongst themselves, everything snapped into clarity for Cortana. The Secretary of Defense was dead. The man she had been put in charge of protecting was dead. She had failed. His blood was spread as thickly on her hands as it had been on her leg earlier. She tried to fight the rising nausea as Ramseyer continued.

    ¡°A sniper of unknown allegiance and motive fired from an undetermined point within the city of Eagle¡¯s Talon. The assassin was highly skilled. Such an attack was impossible to defend against.¡±

    He said that for the benefit of the security detail, but Eagle¡¯s Talon was supposed to be the safest place on the planet. It was filled with skilled soldiers trained to defend Ariea and its countries.

    And that was exactly the problem. They were all highly skilled. Too many of them had unlimited access to the rooftops. All of them had access to a sniper rifle, and there were thousands of soldiers living in, working in, and visiting Eagle¡¯s Talon every day. There was no other way such an attack could be done. The perpetrator had to be military.

    The remaining worlds of Ramseyer¡¯s silky smooth public address drifted by her ears. Secretary Gives, the man who had been unafraid, the man who had believed in peace, was dead. His killer could be anywhere, could be anyone. There were hundreds of soldiers in the crowd at the bottom of the steps alone. Was the killer here now, or on duty like nothing had happened?

    It was the perfect cover for a crime meant to stay unsolved. The killer would never be found in a city where everyone wore the same uniform and carried identical weapons.

 Part 1.2 - NEWS BULLETIN

    Kalahari Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The scarred ship carved a path fearlessly through the void. Fifty years had passed since she had flown through the now-empty Kalahari Sector. Back then it had been wartime, cruel and unforgiving with a death toll piling into the billions ¨C the sum of entire colonies. The combat had been so excruciating, so desperate, that grisly fields would be left behind after the battle, sectors of drifting corpses and frozen blood droplets that smeared the sides of any vessel that dared to pass through red. One had passed through the moorlands more often than any other, fighting to push the front lines back. Bloody Singularity they called her, seeing her flanks smeared with the remains of friends and enemies alike.

    But those times had long since fled. The bodily rust had drifted off and disappeared from the sectors that had once been battlefields. The War had been won, and in the span of fifty years, the prideful Flagship Singularity had become obsolete. Now stripped of her title as flagship, her red striped hull had become likened to the shell of a weary war relic whose golden days had set a decade ago.

    Public opinion degraded her, but old dreadnaught still served her fleet. When, in her early years, she had hunted down the enemies of the state, she now ran backwater patrol routes where trouble was unlikely to rise. The long patrols were lonesome, boring work for the battleship, but that was just the way her crew liked it.

    Deep inside the massive antediluvian warship was a windowless room known as CIC. There, crewmen staffed the necessary stations and the ship¡¯s commander stood in the center, observing their slow progress through the sector. Admiral Gives was not tall, but had a strong set of shoulders and commanded the room with little effort. Though he was quiet, the crew remained immensely aware of his presence.

    Beyond the three Generals based in Eagle¡¯s Talon, Admiral Gives was the highest-ranking member of the UCSC fleet: the Fleet Admiral. That position was not earned seniority. It was traditionally bestowed upon the reigning victor of the fleet¡¯s War Games ¨C live combat simulations where allied fought each other to the death. The title of Fleet Admiral was highly coveted, and brutally contested, but Admiral Gives¡¯ ability to single-handedly retain that position for the last twenty years had come to be feared. He held one of the most feared reputations in the entire fleet, simply for being entirely unrelenting, but under his watch, hours slithered by, forming another long day in empty space. The radar only returned void and the sensor sweeps were clean. Even the visuals of the Kalahari Sector were blatantly bare. The distant stars provided the same dim lighting they had that fateful night half a century before.

    Alone and unaware, the Hydrian flagship had sat in this cold, empty sector. The final challenger amongst a graveyard of machines, the Singularity had flown swathed in the black of the grieving night itself. The invading Hydra never had time to ponder their fate. The Singularity¡¯s cannons had torn through their vessel¡¯s hull before they could understand that Death herself had come for them, avenging a desperate people.

    The first years of the Hydrian War had been costly for humanity, but the later years had been unforgiving. The blood spilled in the beginning and ending years of the thirteen-year conflict was a comparison of drops to rivers. The history books claimed that the skies had run red, and it had been here, in the Kalahari Sector, that those killings had begun.

    It seemed the stars here remembered it well. They kept their distance from the once fearsome black dreadnaught. Even the endless night shied away, leaving the warship darker than the surrounding sky.

    It was easy for such forces of nature to recall that night¡¯s destruction. Time was of no consequence for them. For the darkness and the stars, fifty years was only yesterday. Yet, age was apparent by the innumerable pockmarks now decorating the old ship¡¯s hull.

    All of that history, and none of it mattered. To the worlds of the present, this was just another sector of space, this patrol was just another mission, and the Singularity was just an aging battleship.

    The crew gave the history of the situation some thought, but focused on their task of guiding the ship along her patrol route. The Hydrian War had been long before their time.

    Keifer Robinson was minding her station at the communications console in CIC when the bulletin came in. A standard fleet-wide message, the ship received dozens of them on a daily basis, so it was not the message¡¯s arrival that seized her attention, but rather its contents. Holding the freshly printed paper in her hand, she looked down to Admiral Gives, standing on the lower part of CIC. ¡°Admiral, we¡¯ve received a bulletin from UCS Command. You may want to take a look,¡± she said, holding the paper within view.

    Shuffling through reports on the edge of the flat radar console that dominated the center of the room, Admiral Gives was unconcerned. Someone was probably dead. These last few weeks, those seemed to be the only bulletins that came in. It would be a lie to say that he actually gave a damn. ¡°What does it say, Lieutenant?¡±

    Robinson swallowed. She really, really would rather not be responsible for breaking this news.

    The Admiral noticed immediately noticed her hesitation. ¡°Read it, Lieutenant.¡± He ordered calmly, in no particular mood to play games.

    Robinson hid behind the paper as she read it off, ¡°At 1100 hours this morning, the Ariean Secretary of Defense, Secretary Johnathan Gives was shot dead outside the entrance of the Flagship Ariea Memorial in the city of Eagle¡¯s Talon, Valkar. The assassination was the work of an unknown group with an unknown agenda. UCSC personnel should be on alert for further attacks on high-ranking officials.¡± She paused, daring to peek around the paper. The Admiral¡¯s expression was entirely unchanged. The announcement of his brother¡¯s death seemed not to affect him. ¡°For further information on the demise of Secretary Gives and the status of his replacement, tune to Public Communications Channel 07.¡±

    It was quiet for a moment, the crew waiting for an outburst of emotion that would never come. The informational bulletin had been anything but gentle in breaking the news of the Secretary¡¯s death, but the stone-faced Admiral gave no reaction. To him, it seemed not to matter, but they continued to stare at him, wondering if this was the moment that he would finally display some semblance of emotion.

    They would be wrong. ¡°Tend to your stations,¡± he commanded, just as cold as before.

    So, his brother was dead. How predictable. As if that was surprising in the slightest. It wasn¡¯t as if it mattered. Out here, there was nothing whatsoever he could do about it.

    Nobody on the bridge questioned the Admiral¡¯s utter lack of concern. They had never seen him display even a hint of emotion or personal attachment, so why would he now?

    Colonel Zarrey, the Admiral¡¯s second-in-command, was the only one brash enough to even breach the subject. ¡°¡¯Unknown assassin¡¯ my ass.¡± He muttered to the ship commander, ¡°I¡¯d bet my whole paycheck the New Era put out that hit.¡± The separatists didn¡¯t have access to Eagle¡¯s Talon, nor were they bold enough to touch the Admiral¡¯s relatives. ¡°What do you think?¡±

    The Admiral straightened his stack of papers without apparent concern. ¡°I do not think anything.¡± He knew. Handing the papers off to a yeoman, he told Zarrey, ¡°You have the bridge, XO.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the Colonel said as the Admiral walked purposefully out of the room.

    The indentured silence of the command center lasted a moment more, but then was promptly broken by the helmsman. ¡°But why would anyone want Secretary Gives dead?¡± he asked, ¡°He was a nice guy.¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Zarrey snorted, ¡°Have you met the brother?¡±

    ¡°Well, yeah,¡± the pilot answered among a few laughs, ¡°but why not go after him directly?¡± The Secretary was not a valid target to get at the Admiral. The two were known publicly to not be on good terms.

    ¡°They¡¯re probably planning on taking a shot at him at the funeral.¡± The weapons officer said.

    ¡°They must be stupid if they¡¯re banking on him going to the funeral.¡± Clearly, the Admiral didn¡¯t care at all about his brother. ¡°Seriously,¡± the helmsman huffed, ¡°when was the last time he left the ship?¡±

    ¡°When was the last time you left the ship, Jazz?¡± Colonel Zarrey retorted.

    ¡°Like two months ago.¡± They¡¯d all been stuck on board running stupid dead-end patrols for weeks.

    ¡°So, take that time, square it, take it to the one-half power and then multiply it by a number more than five.¡± The weapons officer instructed.

    The pilot¡¯s confused face earned a rich bout of laughter from everyone on the bridge. Jazz looked over to station adjacent to his. ¡°Fuck you, Monty,¡± he told the weapons officer.

    Monty shrugged. ¡°Thank the stars you¡¯re not our navigator. That¡¯s all I have to say.¡± The math for FTL telemetry was a great deal more complicated than that.

    ¡°They didn¡¯t hire me for my math skills,¡± the helmsman replied, straightening the pilot¡¯s wings on his uniform.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t get hired. You¡¯re paying off prison time for smuggling, jackass.¡± The weapons officer sighed, ¡°And no one knows why the hell you¡¯re on this boat.¡± Usually, smugglers that chose to pay off their time in the fleet were put to work flying supply convoys.

    ¡°What can I say?¡± Jazz grinned, ¡°I was the fastest smuggler on this side of Killimontro. The Old Man recognized talent.¡±

    ¡°Or he just wanted you where he could shoot you.¡±

    ¡°Galhino,¡± Zarrey snapped as the rest of the crew went silent, ¡°Watch your tongue.¡± He¡¯d been content to let the banter continue. It wasn¡¯t like they had much else to do out here, and cussing, cussing was fine, but badmouthing the Admiral on his own ship, that was something else entirely.

    The sensor officer huffed. ¡°Just pointing out the facts, sir.¡±

    ¡°Well, don¡¯t.¡± Zarrey wasn¡¯t sure why Galhino always seemed to have it out for the Admiral. He didn¡¯t particularly care. ¡°Try not to test his patience today. He just lost his brother.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not like he cares.¡± Galhino muttered.

    ¡°Hey, Maria,¡± Jazz looked over to her, ¡°Do us a favor and shut up.¡± As a former criminal, he, more than anyone, was aware of the Admiral¡¯s reputation, but he¡¯d been on the ship for a few years now. Not once in that time had the Admiral been rude or violent toward any of the crew. Oddly enough, Jazz kind of liked working for the man, even if it was for that fact alone.

    Beyond CIC, the ship¡¯s corridors held a fair amount of bustle, but the crew instantly parted when they saw the Admiral approach. Habitually, they quieted when he was nearby, but he didn¡¯t stop to speak with anyone or address anything he saw, traversing the halls until he reached the observation deck. It was mostly empty at this time of the day, and the crew members present quickly left as word of Secretary Gives¡¯ death spread. None of the crew wished to engage him in conversation normally, and after such news, they were doubly content to avoid him.

    Alone on the deck, Admiral Gives relaxed a fractional amount, his expression slipping into one of simple contemplation. Johnathan¡¯s death was nothing more than an inconvenience, something that would force him back into the public spotlight- a place he¡¯d rather not be. Eight days from now, upon return from this patrol, he¡¯d be assailed by reporters and politicians: his two least favorite types of people. The reporters were easy enough to dodge, but the politicians were harder. They¡¯d haul him in for questioning, a suspect in his brother¡¯s murder.

    Logically, the investigation would not be wrong to question him. He knew that. He had the resources to carry out a hit like that, and his reputation proceeded him, but that didn¡¯t make it any less obnoxious. He had better things to do than be publicly interrogated for the worlds¡¯ sick enjoyment. Had he not already done his time?

    He would rather stay out here in the void than return to humanity¡¯s worlds. The void was at least cruel by nature, not by intention. Looking out the windows, he was content that the stars were so distant in the Kalahari Sector. It was calm. He could hear the steady hum of the ship¡¯s main engines in the background and his practiced hand could feel the slight vibrations of the structure.

    She was a good ship, the Singularity, but much like him, the worlds had turned on her. Credited with saving humanity in the War, she¡¯d been a heroic protector, hailed as humanity¡¯s finest.

    The Frontier Rebellion had changed all of that. She was now the most hated machine in the worlds, but no matter how they laughed and leered at her, Admiral Gives knew that deep down, the rest of humanity still very much feared what they had built.

    As they should.

    Someone joined him on the deck, unafraid to approach. ¡°I¡¯m sorry about Johnathan,¡± she said, sympathy woven into her voice. She knew very well she was the only one who would offer him such condolences.

    ¡°These worlds do not pause for that kind of loss.¡± People either moved past the death of their loved ones, or they died with them. ¡°Did you do what I asked?¡±

    She opened her mouth to say something else, but thought better of it, instead answering his question. ¡°Yes, I did.¡±

    Then he only had one question for his trusted informant, ¡°Was the situation at Command involved in the death of my brother?¡±

    She nodded, ¡°Yes, it was.¡± It was nothing short of the cause. Still, the news of the Secretary¡¯s death brought a sense of guilt. ¡°I would have warned him,¡± she promised. ¡°If I had known there was a threat on his life, I would have warned him.¡± Why hadn¡¯t she known? It should have been prevented. ¡°I swear, Admiral, I would have tried to save him.¡± The guilt tore at her. This was her fault. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She had failed to protect yet another.

    ¡°It was not your responsibility.¡± Admiral Gives understood that. ¡°You¡¯ve been doing exactly what I asked you to do. His death was unfortunate, nothing else.¡± Any other emotion he might have felt about it was long gone. ¡°Johnathan and I have not been close for many years.¡± If she was worried about what effect the news might have on him, she shouldn¡¯t be.

    ¡°But you were close once.¡±

    ¡°That was a long time ago.¡± His younger brother hadn¡¯t been able to stomach his presence for twenty years. Johnathan was far from alone in that regard.

    No emotion showed on the ship commander¡¯s face where she would have expected sorrow, but she understood why. However inhuman it seemed, the Admiral had his reasons. ¡°I¡¯ve compiled a list of the New Era¡¯s main supporters. You¡¯ll find it on your desk.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± He hadn¡¯t had time to do that himself. ¡°How many ships have we lost since the New Era started taking action?¡± How many had needlessly been killed in this coup?

    ¡°Just one so far,¡± she answered, renewing her focus. ¡°The Scoutship Heralder.¡± The ship had failed to report for a scheduled rendezvous, or more likely, the ship she¡¯d been meant to meet had sunk her upon arrival. It added a few dozen crewmen to the rising list of casualties.

    The Admiral gave no response. It had been evident for months that the New Era was preparing to take action. This was only the beginning.

    She tried and failed to read his stony expression. It was hardly the time to distract him from the analysis of Command¡¯s situation, but she was growing worried. ¡°This ship is a target, you know that, don¡¯t you?¡± As a result of his position and the ship¡¯s history, anyone looking to take power would want to sink them. That single accomplishment would earn respect and loyalty from many worlds.

    ¡°Yes.¡± It was why he¡¯d taken this patrol. The sector was empty. There were no planetary systems or asteroid fields for potential attackers to hide behind.

    ¡°Do you plan to take action?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he answered, ¡°This ship is, and will remain, neutral.¡± So long as they left him alone, whoever won the political charade could crown themselves emperor. It was not his concern. He did things his way regardless of which president was in office or which bureaucracy had been overthrown. He didn¡¯t care much for the ways of the worlds.

    That did not, however, mean that he was passive. His own superiors were afraid of him for a reason. They were lucky he hadn¡¯t been the one to start this coup. ¡°See if you can drag up more specific information on my brother¡¯s murder. I would like a name.¡± That particular individual would find their participation in the coming revolution extremely short-lived. ¡°And please,¡± he told the white-haired officer, ¡°keep an eye on Amelia. Admiral Reeter might target her next.¡±

    She nodded, ¡°Of course.¡±

    He started to leave, returning to his normal duties, but she spoke again when his hand was on the door. ¡°Admiral, I am sorry about Johnathan. I should have kept a closer eye on him.¡± His younger brother had become a victim of the instability that had been plaguing Ariea and the rest of the worlds since the end of the Hydrian War. Worse, it meant that another member of the Admiral¡¯s family had died because of her.

    How many did that leave?

    Two.

    Only two. The rest of his family was dead.

    ¡°It was not your fault,¡± Admiral Gives told her again. ¡°Johnathan was too vocal about his opinions. He trusted too many, too easily. I warned him, but he did not listen.¡± It was over. ¡°There was nothing you could have done. Do you understand?¡±

    Those words lifted a terrible burden of guilt as she saw the hard look in his eyes. ¡°Yes, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± he replied and left the observation deck, never considering that trusting her might be a similar mistake.

    As close as they may have been once, Admiral Gives did not mourn the loss of his brother. Their contact had been infrequent and irregular, little more than polite confirmation that neither of them had died yet. Recently, on account of his grandson, Johnathan had been a little more curious of his whereabouts, but the Admiral knew very well his younger brother had considered him to be a murdering liar. As far as he cared, Johnathan was right.

 Part 2.1 - LEMONADE

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea, Valkar, City of Lion¡¯s Den

    Lion¡¯s Den was a modest settlement by modern standards. Tucked away in the mountains, it was still big enough to have a space port and suburbs, but lack the hubbub of a major city. Out in the suburbs, the sky was just beginning clear, and the smell of petrichor hung heavy in the autumn air. Amelia Keinfelter-Gives stood looking out the windows of her home, watching the last of the rain run off the roof. She had found the rain fitting. The sky must have been sad to hear the news, but that didn¡¯t change it. Her father was dead.

    A few people had stopped by leave casseroles or cookies on the porch, but she had yet to touch any of the sympathy food. She was already sick of it. The same thing had happened after her husband¡¯s death aboard the Ariea. There had been more cards and food delivered than she could ever need. She was obligated to be grateful, but she wished they would just leave her alone. Every card and every casserole was a reminder, so when the doorbell rang again, she was unexcited.

    She opened the front door and let her eyes adjust to the outdoors¡¯ bright light. The warming temperature and birds chirping in the distance did not help her miserable mood. Her facade of false gratitude dissipated when she recognized her visitor.

    ¡°Good afternoon Amelia.¡± Admiral Reeter said, ¡°May I come in?¡±

    Without her reply, he stepped past her into the house. Exhausted, she followed, ¡°What are you doing here, Reeter?¡± She asked, not bothering to keep her tone polite. She despised this man. He was the sour grape that turned the whole wine batch rancid.

    The blond-haired Admiral made himself at home, sitting casually in one of the kitchen¡¯s chairs. ¡°How about some lemonade?¡± he said, cracking his fingers one by one, ¡°You do make the best.¡±

    Amelia knew better than to disobey him. He would not hesitate to punish her in whatever way he saw fit. She poured a cold glass of her son¡¯s favorite drink and set it in front of the military officer.

    ¡°A straw, please?¡±

    Swallowing her pride, she retrieved a straw and tossed it into the glass. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    He ignored her, instead peering past her into the next room where Harrison sat playing with a set of toys. The seven-year-old was blissfully unaware of the tension in the kitchen. Reeter watched him for a moment, noting the kid¡¯s favorite toy was an old second-hand model of the Singularity. Ironic, he mused, considering the reason he was here. But more interesting, the toys he¡¯d brought over as a peace offering were nowhere in sight.

    Amelia disrupted his thoughts when she told her son, ¡°Harrison, why don¡¯t you take your toys upstairs and play?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Mom.¡± He grabbed the old model and disappeared, leaving the rest of his toys in the middle of the floor.

    Sighing, Amelia went and picked them up, dropping them into a drawer on her way back to the kitchen, ¡°Excuse the mess. I wasn¡¯t expecting a visit from such a high ranking official.¡± She knew there was no getting rid of Reeter, so she settled for ignoring him and started to cook dinner.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    Slurping his lemonade, Admiral Reeter stood and moved to the countertop where Amelia was working. Eventually, she bumped into him, ¡°Excuse me.¡± She said, pushing him aside to retrieve a pot from a cabinet under the counter.

    As he watched her work around him, Reeter picked up an apple and took a large bite out of the crisp fruit, leaning casually against the cabinetry. He chewed it loudly and after wiping his mouth, finally spoke, ¡°You know, the faster you settle down and listen to me, the faster I¡¯ll be gone.¡±

    She put down the knife she¡¯d been using to slice carrots, ¡°Just spit it out and leave.¡± Really, she didn¡¯t care what he had to say, as long as he said it quickly and left.

    The young Admiral carefully chewed another bite of apple. ¡°I need to know where he is.¡±

    ¡°Where who is?¡±

    Reeter narrowed his emerald green eyes, ¡°We both know who I¡¯m talking about.¡±

    ¡°No, we don¡¯t.¡± She had no idea why he¡¯d come to harass her today, let alone any other day.

    ¡°Your uncle.¡± The damned Fleet Admiral. ¡°Where did he go?¡±

    ¡°What makes you think I know?¡± Why should she? And why didn¡¯t he?

    ¡°Besides your son, your dear Uncle Will is your only surviving relative.¡± It was a cold little fact, ¡°I would have thought you would keep better track of him-¡±

    Amelia cut him off with a bitter laugh. ¡°I don¡¯t have a dear Uncle Will.¡± It wasn¡¯t often she saw Reeter so poorly informed. ¡°And I haven¡¯t seen the Admiral in twenty years, maybe more. I haven¡¯t spoken to him in just as long. He¡¯s made the importance of family quite clear.¡± To him, they weren¡¯t important at all. She doubted the man would bother to show up for his own brother¡¯s funeral. ¡°He¡¯s probably on his ship. That¡¯s where he¡¯s been for the last twenty years.¡± Seemed like a reasonable assumption to her.

    Reeter¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Do not toy with me, Amelia.¡± He hated being interrupted by anyone, even an attractive woman like Amelia. Her attitude was most unwelcome. ¡°I know your father visited you just prior to his final visit to Eagle¡¯s Talon.¡± He spun the apple in his hands, ¡°I¡¯d like to know what he told you about Admiral Gives¡¯ most recent actions.¡± He shifted his emerald eyes over to her. ¡°I won¡¯t ask again.¡±

    She knew better than to resist him. With his authority, child-protective services were just a call away. He wouldn¡¯t hesitate to separate her from her son. The bastard would probably get some enjoyment out of it. ¡°Why do you even care?¡±

    ¡°Is it so wrong to be curious?¡± He set down the apple, taking an unwanted step closer.

    She took a step back, finding herself cornered against the granite countertop. This wasn¡¯t simple curiosity. She was certain of that. ¡°The Singularity¡¯s deployment is public record.¡±

    ¡°It should be, yes.¡± He admitted, smoothly taking another step closer and reaching out to twirl her fly away hairs on his finger. She went stiff as he leaned in to take a deep taste of her delicious scent. ¡°But the Fleet Admiral left his operating plans with General Clarke alone. He didn¡¯t bother updating the rest of the fleet.¡±

    Amelia recoiled from the feeling of his hot breath across her face and gave him the nastiest glare she could muster. She just wanted him to go away. He would, but only if she gave him what he wanted. ¡°I don¡¯t know much.¡± She said, ¡°My father only said that it would mark the first time in fifty years the Singularity would visit the sector. The last time had been the ship¡¯s first mission.¡± She didn¡¯t know the name of the sector. Her father had told the story in full detail to an eager Harrison while she had barely overheard snippets.

    ¡°The sector where the Singularity undertook her first mission.¡± Reeter echoed, a smile creeping across his face. The location of the battle that had been the turning point of the war fifty years ago. This was almost too easy. ¡°So, Gives is in the Kalahari Sector.¡± He loved the irony of it. The ship¡¯s place of critical success would be her place of bitter defeat. He stepped reluctantly away from Amelia. ¡°I think it¡¯s long past time your dear old uncle had a visitor from home.¡±

 Part 2.2 - CONTACT

    Kalahari Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Space was continually empty, save for the three fighters that orbited on the edge of the ship¡¯s radar range. A standard patrol of the Singularity¡¯s own support craft, the white fighters orbited regularly, looking visually for anything that had been missed by the black battleship¡¯s remote sensing arrays.

    They saw nothing, but the vast seas of surrounding space were not as vacant as they appeared. Long and slender, sleek, but deadly, a sister set of weapons flew. Given ample time to accelerate to high speed, they encroached, programmed to skirt outside the ship¡¯s range of detection. They were moving far faster than any normal missile would travel in its lifespan, but that had been the plan. Without sign of the ship that had launched them, and at such high speed, they were almost guaranteed to hit their mark. It was an attack formulated to kill, and their target had just been identified.

    CIC operated at a typically quiet noise level. Out on these long patrols, it was normally weeks of nothing. There was only the rustle of papers and murmur of voices heard only occasionally above the radar¡¯s soft return-echo. The crew worked their tasks efficiently within the dark metal room. They had run innumerable patrols just like this one. The Kalahari Sector was nothing new to them, and while these patrols could mean weeks without a single contact, there was always the slight chance of a major encounter.

    The ship¡¯s primary sensor officer, Maria Galhino, ran her station with an eye to the details, and knew very well she was required to report anything anomalous. She determinedly scoured the readouts for just one thing out of place. But even with her attention uncompromised, she almost missed it. A blip, there and then gone again. ¡°Contact.¡± She filtered through the readouts, suddenly unsure it had been there at all. It was too quick to identify, but the logs had recorded the flaw in the background radiation. Something was out there.

    ¡°Another ship?¡± It was hardly likely this far from the core of the central worlds.

    Galhino involuntarily flinched at the sound of the voice that answered her. When had the Admiral arrived on the bridge? Last she¡¯d looked, Zarrey had been holding the watch alone. Damn it. ¡°No.¡± She answered, cursing the fact that she hadn¡¯t heard the ship commander walk in. She could just feel his cold stare, forcing her to backtrack. ¡°I just don¡¯t know, sir.¡± He wouldn¡¯t accept her guess work about that anomaly not being another ship, no matter how logical it was. Unless it was a fact, or he asked for it, he didn¡¯t want to hear it.

    A part of her wished she hadn¡¯t said anything at all until she¡¯d acquired further evidence. The Admiral¡¯s perfectly neutral stare was just that unnerving. The anomaly had disappeared, leaving nothing behind. It was entirely possible nothing had been there at all. ¡°It may have been a sensor ghost, sir,¡± she said, attempting to dismiss his attention.

    A sensor ghost. The Admiral did not appreciate that insinuation. It implied that his old battleship¡¯s age mattered in more than aesthetics. ¡°Dispatch the CAP to go check it out,¡± he ordered. Out here, there was no such thing as paranoia. There was only life and death. If something caught them unaware, they were completely alone, and that wasn¡¯t nervousness, it was fact.

    The squadron of fighters were relayed their orders and streaked by the warship¡¯s portside flank, moving quickly to the specified area. Their progress was easily monitored on the radar displays in CIC. Still, the very possibility that they may not be alone in this remote sector, it did concern the Admiral. He¡¯d brought them out here to keep them away from Command¡¯s instability. ¡°Open a communications link with the CAP and pipe it over the speakers,¡± he ordered the comms. officer. Nothing about this felt right.

    Lieutenant Robinson worked her controls, noting that the Admiral seemed almost tense. Very rarely did he seem to be anything other than perfectly, stone-like neutral. It was enough to put her on edge, even as the pilots¡¯ regular chatter played over the bridge.

    ¡°I¡¯ll race you, Donut.¡± One of the pilots said.

    ¡°Oh, you¡¯re on, Fireball.¡±

    ¡°Cut the chatter and stay in formation,¡± the third, lead pilot ordered. ¡°We¡¯re not here to have a picnic.¡±

    Admiral Gives watched them approach the edge of the Singularity¡¯s radar range with a keen eye, but there was nothing. He laid a hand on the cool metal of the console in front of him. He had commanded this ship for twenty-seven years, knew her inside and out. The crew considered her to be his only friend, if he had any at all, and in all of that, he had never once seen an incident involving a sensor ghost. If it showed up on their scans, it was almost guaranteed to be real. But where was it? And what was it?

    The CAP pushed past the ship¡¯s radar range, disappearing from the screens. A minute of tension revealed nothing. A second passed without incident. Then a third and fourth. The pilots¡¯ chatter picked back up, fading into the background bridge noise.

    Weird, Colonel Zarrey mused. Admiral Gives was never wrong when it came to sensing trouble. It was like his sixth sense, but in this particular case, there was nothing. They might as well move on.

    ¡°Look at this,¡± he handed over a packet of papers, ¡°Sagittarion¡¯s gone into open rebellion. They¡¯re claiming allegiance to the New Era Movement.¡± It was a spark that might ignite another uprising. ¡°That¡¯s fourteen billion.¡± Fourteen billion people that had just been permanently labeled as separatists. Fourteen billion people of the working class that could potentially become radical soldiers. ¡°It might take years to quell the rebellion on the planetary surface.¡± Sagittarion was one of humanity¡¯s most densely populated worlds. The declaration of rebellion made just a few hours ago could change everything. ¡°Command¡¯s little identity-crisis just got serious.¡±

    ¡°Implying that it was not serious when my brother was killed?¡± the Admiral countered.

    ¡°Erhm,¡± Zarrey coughed awkwardly. He¡¯d forgotten about that, given the Admiral¡¯s lack of reaction to the news. ¡°Sorry, sir.¡±

    The gruff officer¡¯s apology was sincere, if unpracticed. It was amusing to see those two factors reconcile. ¡°An apology was unnecessary, Colonel,¡± he said. ¡°You are dismissed for the evening.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Zarrey didn¡¯t bother following decorum to officially yield the bridge watch. He never did. The way he saw it, the Singularity was the Admiral¡¯s ship. Zarrey¡¯s watches were little more than a formality. ¡°Behave,¡± he instructed the entire bridge crew, looking specifically at Galhino.

    ¡°Yes, Mom,¡± chimed the helmsman as Galhino purposefully avoided eye contact.

    Zarrey huffed and rolled his eyes at Jazz before he left.

    As usual, the Admiral said nothing to his crew¡¯s utter lack of decorum. The senior officers weren¡¯t sure if he ignored such things for their benefit, or if he just didn¡¯t care. Truthfully, they hoped to never find out, for as comfortable as they had become under the Admiral¡¯s command, any break from the habits they expected from him would be terrifying.

    Admiral Gives could sense the momentary tension in the room. It was always there when one of the crew did or said something they thought might displease him. They were afraid he would lash out, given his reputation. Once, that might have bothered him: knowing that his name struck fear into the hearts of grown men. That had been a long time ago, but after nearly thirty years of ship command, it seemed like someone should have noticed that he never lashed out against his crew. They, unlike the rest of the worlds, had no reason to fear him.

    He skimmed the packet Zarrey had handed him. Sagittarion¡¯s open rebellion heralded the end of humanity¡¯s decaying peace. The uprising was being kept under wraps for now, but that wouldn¡¯t hold for long. Many of the Frontier worlds would be quick to follow in Sagittarion¡¯s wake. There would be another rebellion, another war. He was disgusted by the thought, but he¡¯d always known the strained peace he¡¯d earned on the Frontier wouldn¡¯t hold. It never did.

    The government would be quick to blame him for the mess. They always were. The moment violence rose up on the poorer worlds, it became his fault because he hadn¡¯t done a good enough job quelling the rebellion the first time around. But killing another few thousand frontiersmen would not solve anything. Admiral Gives knew that from experience.

    He set the papers aside. The CAP had been out there long enough. The sensor anomaly was most likely space debris. Years ago, there had been quite a bit of it in this sector. He started to signal Lieutenant Robinson to call them back.

    ¡°Shit!¡± Fireball shouted unexpectedly, her voice suddenly loud over the communications link. ¡°What the hell was that?¡±

    ¡°Captain!¡± The second pilot interrupted, confusion and panic wrestling in his tone, ¡°Look out!¡±

    The CAP and their enemy suddenly tumbled back into the Singularity¡¯s radar range as Captain Hoth¡¯s fighter narrowly avoided a direct hit. The missile, now tracked and identified on the radar, quickly left the fighter patrol behind in its mad dash for its primary target. ¡°Singularity, you¡¯ve got incoming!¡±

    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t waste another second, ordering, ¡°Battle stations.¡± But he knew, seeing that missile cross half their radar range in just a few seconds, it would be too late. It had already accelerated to too high a speed. It may as well have been an artillery shell, unavoidable and unpreventable. It would be on them before they could fire to intercept. The alarm started to wail, the noise all too familiar to him, but it was too little, too late.

    The missile was moving unnervingly fast. Where had it come from? ¡°Brace for impact!¡± Galhino called over the ship-wide alerts.

    An instant later, the missile crashed into the ship¡¯s hull, exploding in a violent orange fireball. The crew grabbed on as the impact force jolted the ship, but the lights didn¡¯t even flicker. The ship¡¯s armor had taken the blast without even being punctured. It was far from a crippling blow, but it had never been intended to be. The missile fulfilled its task in the chaos alone. In the resulting confusion of the first attack, its companion had gained the necessary ground.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Maria Galhino collected her wits as quickly as she could after the sudden impact, but it was too late. ¡°There is a second missile!¡± She checked the readouts again. That isn¡¯t possible. How had she not heard the radiological alarm in the chaos? ¡°It¡¯s a nuclear warhead!¡±

    A weapon that could easily cripple the ship in one hit. It too, was moving at an unusually high velocity. Her warning meant nothing. There was nothing they could do. ¡°Impact in three seconds!¡± Death was lashing out at them from the empty abyss, and it was moving way to fast.

    There was absolutely nothing Admiral Gives could do. ¡°Standby for damage control.¡± It was the only order he could give. There had never been a ship that survived a tactical nuclear strike. Even knowing that, he kept his tone as calm as it had ever been. There was a reason he¡¯d been on this ship for the last twenty-seven years ¨C a good one.

    In the vacuum, the missile had already burned through all its fuel, which had made it that much harder to detect. Its approach speed was maximized, but as it neared dangerously close to the hull, one of the old warship¡¯s guns shot it out of the sky. The last second interception, though impressive, couldn¡¯t keep the armed warhead from going off.

    The nuclear reaction painted space blinging white, leaving the Singularity¡¯s shadow the only area sheltered from the blast. The incredibly bright light scattered the darkness, and as its flare faded, the massive dose of radiation and resultant explosion crashed full force into the aging ship. Tendrils of flame wrapped around the ship¡¯s flank, greedily snatching at any hull weakness they could find. Flames lingered on the black armor, feeding off a hull puncture that was dispensing valuable oxygen as the forces of the depressurization steadily tore the breach wider.

    In the surrounding space, the pilots of the Combat Air Patrol had thrown up their hands to shield their eyes from the nuclear reaction¡¯s painful blast of white light. It left their fighters drifting. Two of the white planes bumped, scraping and damaging the angular crafts.

    As soon as the light faded, Donut and Fireball began bickering over who would take responsibility for the minor collision and face the engineers¡¯ wrath. With a flicker of frustration over the two pilots¡¯ petty argument, Captain Hoth silenced their radio feeds. They didn¡¯t seem to understand what had just happened.

    The second missile to impact the Singularity had been nuclear. The bright color and sheer size of the blast told him that much. But that didn¡¯t make any sense. Allied ships were the only ships permitted to carry nuclear warheads within humanity¡¯s territory, and there wasn¡¯t supposed to be another allied ship within three sectors. Even more perplexing, how had anyone known where they were? Admiral Gives had taken this patrol without logging it officially with Command.

    Hoth wanted to believe it was bad luck. The Singularity had never been a lucky ship. It was by sheer strength she¡¯d survived this long. But how unlucky could they get? He didn¡¯t know, but as silence filled the radio waves, he was uncertain his comrades had lived long enough to find out. Just how much damage had the attack done to the unseen half of the ship? Was there even another half of ship left to see? Or had the radiation fatally bombarded the crew?

    Unwilling to wait for a report, Captain Hoth took his Arcbird fighter down the Singularity¡¯s scarred flank, circling around the ship¡¯s stern. Not only were all four of the battleship¡¯s engines still attached, but they all seemed functional. The blue flames on the ends were not even flickering. Still, he didn¡¯t get his hopes up for a miracle. The warhead had impacted much further up the ship¡¯s flank.

    He pushed onward at a cautious pace, knowing his organs were slowly soaking up the radiation that now bathed the area. He had to inspect the damage. Small debris was scattered everywhere, chunks of metal and flakes of paint from the outer hull drifted about.

    ¡°Hell fires in heaven,¡± he cursed, seeing the point of impact clearly. The ship looked badly wounded, but the damage was not the crippled wreck, graveyard of bodies that he had prepared himself for.

    The shadow of devastation was clear, as the blast had stripped away the black paint present on the hull. The arms of flame from the successive fire ball had burned more of the coloring away, revealing the ship¡¯s true dark metal hull.

    A messy gash lay in the center of the destruction, armor and hull material peeled back along the edges. It was a breach large enough to engulf more than the Arcbird fighter the Captain currently occupied. Stretching down multiple decks and across several compartments, the fissure appeared to be the only damage that had penetrated the ship¡¯s metal hide. In the starless Kalahari Sector, there wasn¡¯t enough light to see how deep the damage ran.

    The nuclear strike¡¯s shear power strained the Singularity¡¯s structure dangerously. Metallic groans could be heard clearly in CIC, deep in the ship¡¯s core. The trembling and creaking continued for a frightening amount of time, but eventually settled and quieted.

    The alarms continued to wail in the background, several new ones adding to the racket, as the crew dared to peek up from their braced positions. Somehow, most of the ship systems appeared to be functioning normally, even after what should have been a crippling hit to the ship, and perhaps fatal to her crew. Lesser weapons had been killers to other ships.

    Admiral Gives laid his hand on the thick rim of the radar console in front of him. Let the rest of the fleet think what they will, the Singularity may be old, but she was anything but weak. He had the steadiest ship in the fleet under his command.

    Another smaller jolt ran up through the ship¡¯s structure, shuddering the deck tiles of the command center. The Admiral rode it out, steadying himself easily with just one hand. He could pick the decompression alarm out of the background noise. The hull had been breached. He knew that without needing the shaken engineering officer to report it. ¡°Evacuate and seal off Deck Eight, Compartments 20-24,¡± he ordered, looking at the hull integrity chart mounted on the wall.

    A larger bump from below decks followed. ¡°Strike that, Decks Eight and Nine, Compartments 20-26,¡± he corrected, seeing a few more of the indicator lights go from red to black. The breach was widening as the precious atmospheric mixture pushed forth into the airless vacuum. It enlarged as through an invisible claw was being dredged through the ship¡¯s metal skin, creating a messy wound.

    The engineering officer was brought out of panic by the Admiral¡¯s perfect calm. ¡°Venting atmosphere,¡± he confirmed, and let out a relieved sigh a moment later, his shoulders shrinking down into his orange jumpsuit as he felt the ship settle. ¡°It has stabilized, sir.¡± The encroaching hull breach had been stopped before it tore apart vital systems or compromised an irreparable amount of the ship. With the air levels inside the sealed off area and outside the ship both at pure cold vacuum, the breach was now at rest.

    The Admiral remained calm, his perfectly neutral expression still in place. A number of the bridge crew were disturbed to find him so calm in a situation where there were likely casualties on the crew, but they had also learned to expect it. Admiral Gives was known for his experience and skill, not for caring about others, and he was not in the mood for wasting time.

    With his ship not at full capacity, they were weak. The longer they lingered here, the greater the chance of a second round of attacks. Against a nuclear-capable foe, they couldn¡¯t take the risk. ¡°Prepare to jump,¡± he commanded.

    ¡°That¡¯s insane!¡± Galhino immediately protested. ¡°We don¡¯t even know if the super-structure is intact. Going to FTL will exponentially complicate the existing damage! It¡¯s suicide!¡± The stresses of subspace were known to crush ships with just slight damage.

    Ensign Alba was being fed reports from all corners of the vessel. He needed more time. ¡°Sir, regulations dictate that we can¡¯t commence a jump without assessing the damage.¡± He swallowed nervously, trying to remain logical, and polite, ¡°We should at least wait until the damage report has been compiled.¡±

    ¡°Yes, Alba!¡± At least the kid had some common sense! ¡°Tell him, the FTL drives are offline anyway.¡± Surely after a blow like that, they¡¯d been taken offline. ¡°Tell him,¡± Galhino insisted.

    As much as Ensign Alba would have really liked to make that announcement, it wasn¡¯t true, and the Admiral knew it. He always did.

    Lieutenant Galhino¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°No.¡± She could tell by the engineer¡¯s silence that he was afraid. The Admiral was about to get them all killed, but Alba didn¡¯t know how to protest. He was going to let it happen. She had to do something.

    Admiral Gives saw Galhino rise up from her chair. ¡°Sit. Down.¡± He gave the order without raising his voice in the slightest, but allowed some ice to creep into his neutral tone. There would be no mutiny on his ship.

    Galhino¡¯s knees locked up before she was on her feet. That tone was not to be tested. That was the icy demeanor that brought worlds to their knees. That frigid, flawless control was the tone that asked for entire nations¡¯ surrender and received it unconditionally. That was the man the worlds had come to fear. She fell back into her chair, trembling. She¡¯d just signed her own death warrant.

    Nobody followed Galhino. The rest of the crew knew all too well that mutiny against the Admiral was helpless on this ship. None of them even considered it. They didn¡¯t have a death wish.

    ¡°Begin jump prep,¡± the Admiral instructed, making it clear he had no intentions of repeating himself again.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Ensign Alba noticeably cowered away. The order was final. If he refused to do it, the Admiral was well capable of doing it himself. The engineer¡¯s hands shook as he began rerouting power to one of the FTL drives. This is insane.

    ¡°I am aware of the risks, Ensign,¡± the Admiral said, reading the engineering officer¡¯s doubt. ¡°But I will not wager the safety of this entire ship on the possibility that our attacker only has one nuke.¡± They could easily have ten. Another hit like that, and they would lose the ship. Trusting their survival to the ship¡¯s structural strength was far more preferable. They could contain worsened damage. ¡°Seal off and vent Compartments 17-29 on Decks Eight, Nine and Ten. Do the same for Compartments 27-31 on Deck Eleven.¡± If the surrounding compartments were already evacuated, then the breach would be aggravated as little as possible, even if it spread.

    ¡°Ensign Walters,¡± the navigations officer flinched at the sound of his name. ¡°Find coordinates for the Aragonian Sector.¡±

    ¡°Sir,¡± Walters squeaked, ¡°the radiation has knocked out navigations.¡± The array had lost its fix on their exact galactic position.

    An invisible cloud of radiation now surrounded the ship. Communications, radar, sensors and navigation had all been affected, but Admiral Gives had already accounted for that. ¡°Use the standardized charts to get coordinates and plug them directly into the FTL systems.¡± Not accounting for the most recent spatial drift wouldn¡¯t kill them. The Aragonian Sector was almost completely empty, thus free of potential navigational hazards.

    Galhino whimpered where she shook in her chair. ¡°We¡¯re all going to die.¡±

    The Admiral ignored her. He¡¯d deal with her insubordination later. Every second they wasted here, they were open to another attack. ¡°Lieutenant Robinson,¡± he turned to the communications officer, ¡°has the CAP landed?¡±

    Keifer Robinson forced a small smile, hoping it might earn some forgiveness for Maria¡¯s outbursts. ¡°Aye, sir. They were lucky to be caught in the Singularity¡¯s shadow at the time of the second missile¡¯s detonation.¡± It had spared them high radiation exposure.

    Luck. There wasn¡¯t a damn lucky thing about any of this. Luck had forsaken this ship and crew a long time ago, but they had something better. They¡¯d had someone in a position to intercept that warhead early, and there was no doubt in the Admiral¡¯s mind that had saved them all. If the crew wanted to call that luck, then so be it. He did not intend to let it fall to luck again.

    When he received the necessary system confirmations, Admiral Gives did not hesitate. ¡°Execute jump on my mark.¡± CIC silenced for the countdown, ¡°5¡­, 4¡­, 3¡­, 2¡­, 1¡­, jump.¡±

    The Battleship Singularity vanished from the Kalahari Sector in a flash of multicolored light, seeming to deform as she tore her way into subspace.

 Part 3.1 - REASSIGNMENT

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea, Valkar, Eagle¡¯s Talon

    Alise Cortana knew that she would be reassigned following Secretary Gives¡¯ assassination, but it came as a surprise when she was ordered to report to General Clarke¡¯s office. It was rare for the General to see anyone personally these days. Rumor in the fleet was that his health was failing him in his old age. Command was pushing him to select a successor, but he refused to hand the position over to Admiral Reeter and Admiral Gives had already refused such a promotion twice, so his options were surprisingly few.

    Still, it seemed odd to Cortana. Why would the highest-ranking officer in the fleet care about such a small matter as a Marine Corporal¡¯s reassignment? Perhaps something was wrong. No, she tried to calm herself, this would probably be nothing more than a formal commemoration of her service to Secretary Gives.

    That was probably all, even if the thought rendered her squeamish. The Secretary was dead, and as the head of his personal security detail, that blame was on her. She was lucky to be meeting with Clarke. It could be worse¡­ a lot worse. The damned Fleet Admiral could be involved. Her mouth dried at the thought, making it hard to swallow. Perhaps he was involved. Maybe that was why she¡¯d been summoned to the high command building.

    No, that was paranoia talking. She would have heard if Admiral Gives had made landfall. The whole town went rigid when he was in-system. She had no cause to worry about him¡­ Right?

    She began pacing, trying not to trip over the set of wooden chairs in front of the desk. Her restlessness churned up the dust from the antiquated bookshelves and display cases. Ariea¡¯s autumn sun filtered warmly into the room, its rays catching the dust as it danced through the air. In another situation, this would have been a cozy space, but now she only felt trapped. Starting to pick at her carefully ironed dress uniform, the quaint surroundings of General Clarke¡¯s office did nothing to calm her nerves. What if this was nothing more than a trick? Maybe the Fleet Admiral was just borrowing the General¡¯s office.

    The door creaked open, and she involuntarily breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the sterling haired General Clarke step into the room, leaning steadily on his cane. Dark rings circled his wrinkled eyes.

    He closed the door gently behind him and hardly spared Cortana a glance as she reverted to attention. ¡°I had a feeling you¡¯d be early, Corporal.¡± He shuffled slowly to his desk and sat down, leaning the ivory cane up beside him. He gestured for the Marine to take one of the seats on the other side of his carefully arranged desk.

    Planetary gravity was doing him no favors. Clarke knew how old, how weak he must look hobbling on that cane, and he absolutely despised it. People accused him of getting soft, but they were fools. It was merely easy to look preferable to the alternatives when one of them was the Steel Prince.

    He picked up the glass data pad on the desk and tapped in his credentials. ¡°Corporal Cortana, your record is quite impressive.¡± He¡¯d gone through the file himself, ¡°Two thousand hours logged on away missions, and you commanded a security unit in the military capital for ten months. You have never missed a shift and came out of training with near-perfect scores. There isn¡¯t a single black mark on your record.¡± She was a talented, and more importantly, dedicated Marine. She was exactly what he¡¯d been looking for. ¡°I called you here today to discuss your reassignment.¡±

    Her palms began to sweat. She wiped them nervously onto her black dress pants. This was not how this was supposed to work. Something was wrong. With her qualifications, she should have been handed her papers and been on her way. ¡°General, may I ask why you thought this necessary? Is there something wrong?¡± Was she being held accountable for the Secretary¡¯s death?

    General Clarke took note of her concern. It was the mark of a good soldier. She would be perfect for the job. ¡°Your new assignment is somewhat irregular.¡± He had picked it himself. ¡°I feel you may have questions surrounding the reasons.¡± He was giving her a very important task. One that would determine the fate of worlds.

    But even with the perfect candidate in front of him, he had to be subtle. This objective could not be handled brashly. It had to be handled by means of ignorance. Even the Sergeant herself had to be oblivious of her mission until the very end.

    ¡°You are being promoted to Sergeant and reassigned to UCSC-14, Battleship Singularity.¡± A name she would likely recognize. ¡°You will be in charge of assigning and leading away missions with the ship¡¯s Marine company. Your direct superior there will be Lieutenant Colonel Pflum.¡± General Clarke scrolled further down the file on his tablet. ¡°The specifics of your assignment will be given to you upon your arrival to the ship.¡± Getting her into position was the hardest part of this operation, but this reassignment finally gave him the necessary means.

    ¡°The Singularity?¡± He had to be fucking kidding. She recognized the name. Of course she did, after months of working with the Secretary. ¡°You¡¯re assigning me to Admiral Gives¡¯ ship?¡± Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the General confirmed, not an ounce of hesitation in his mind.

    ¡°You can¡¯t be serious!¡± That was the worst assignment she could possibly have drawn! ¡°For the sake of the stars, I just got the man¡¯s brother killed. You can¡¯t assign me there!¡± That was a death sentence!

    Clarke steepled his bony hands and rested his chin upon them. ¡°Admiral Gives is fair. He will not hold that against you.¡±

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    ¡°Oh really?¡± Fair was not a term she¡¯d heard used to describe Admiral Gives. ¡°Last I checked, he had reputation for shooting soldiers he didn¡¯t like in the back.¡±

    ¡°That incident has been far over glorified.¡±

    There was no worse officer in the fleet to serve under. ¡°You do know why they call him the Steel Prince, don¡¯t you?¡± she cried. ¡°He doesn¡¯t feel emotion. When his soldiers die, when he kills, he feels absolutely nothing. The power of royalty, and the emotional capacitance of steel. Combine that with his intelligence and a warship, and you get the perfect killing machine.¡± He was Command¡¯s favorite tool, and the most hated member of the human race. That was, if he was still human, and some people weren¡¯t so sure about that.

    It seemed that Johnathan Gives¡¯ opinion of his older brother had rubbed off on Cortana. Good. As far as Clarke was concerned, that alone made her twice as qualified for the task at hand. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find that there is more to the Prince than his legend portrays.¡±

    He¡¯s not going to alter the reassignment orders, Cortana realized. She was doomed. ¡°Why that ship? Out of every ship in the fleet?¡± Was there any real explanation, or was this the Fleet Admiral¡¯s bidding? ¡°Admiral Gives is a maniac, and the Singularity is a dead-end assignment.¡± Going there was the end of her career. The crew was full of delinquents and malcontents who were kept in line by the threat of their commanding officer.

    ¡°The Singularity was the only ship with that position available. It is a good fit for your skillset. Both you and the ship will benefit,¡± Clarke explained, knowing full well that was not the actual reason. Simply, the success of this clandestine operation hinged on her obliviousness.

    ¡°I would be fine with a demotion,¡± Cortana told him. That ship was the absolute last place she wanted to be. ¡°It would be more prestigious to be a Cadet on the Olympia. Admiral Reeter is at least human.¡± Reeter was a respectable man, ambitious, but innovative. He commanded the most powerful ship in the fleet.

    The fleet¡¯s two most respected Admirals were dangerously different. That was true to an extent that Cortana was not aware of, but General Clarke could see her point. ¡°A duty rotation on the Singularity may not be as glamorous as it once was, but I think it may surprise you,¡± he stated. ¡°Most crewmen stationed temporarily aboard the Singularity request to be transferred there permanently.¡± As a dedicated Marine, Cortana would similarly request to stay if it was necessary for the mission. He was certain of that, and the more she protested, the clearer it became that she was the perfect candidate.

    ¡°That ship is a joke.¡± Her fingernails dug into her palm as she fought to contain her frustration. She was a good soldier. She didn¡¯t deserve this.

    ¡°I am aware of the Singularity¡¯s reputation, but I assure you she is a highly capable ship.¡± Rumors spread of Admiral Gives only bolstered his feared reputation, but his ship suffered from rumors of the opposite variety: those that demeaned her. However, that was nothing more than a clever ploy by a very clever man. ¡°Do not make the mistake of underestimating her.¡±

    Clarke¡¯s seriousness did earn a moment of hesitation, but Cortana knew what she had heard, what she had been told since basic training. The former fleet flagship was a worn-out garbage scow the size of an asteroid. ¡°There¡¯s no way that thing¡¯s battle-ready.¡± The fleet¡¯s original flagship was practically ancient. Technology had evolved far since the War. The Singularity had been built without a wholly integrated computer system. That rendered her slow and stupid without the best tactician the fleet had to offer. Only the Steel Prince kept the ship relevant at all in the modern era.

    Well-played, Admiral, General Clarke mused. This was all very clever from a tactical point of view. Even Command¡¯s soldiers believed that the ship was useless. But what is your end game? The worlds had forgotten the strength of the ship that had once been poised to crush their beating hearts. But what was the point in letting the worlds forget?

    ¡°Admiral Gives is no fool, Corporal.¡± He was far from it. ¡°The Singularity is more than fit for a fight. He was free to choose any ship in the fleet as his command, the Flagship Olympia included. There is a reason he stayed with the Singularity.¡± One that the rest of humanity had forgotten.

    ¡°That ship is half a century old.¡± Its old structure had to be weakened by fatigue.

    ¡°Machines do not age, Corporal.¡± It was a simple fact the worlds overlooked. ¡°The Singularity is still the same ship that turned the tide of an unwinnable war fifty years ago.¡± She was old for a warship, but she¡¯d survived the most tumultuous years of human history. That spoke to a strength that was too-often overlooked. ¡°I think you¡¯ll find that Admiral Gives and the Singularity aren¡¯t quite what they appear.¡±

    Clarke focused again on the soldier in front of him. ¡°People make assumptions, Corporal. Not all of them are correct.¡± They presumed him weak and old. They presumed when they caught and killed his spies, that he hadn¡¯t intended it. But he had merely wanted the New Era to know he was watching. The life of a spy was worth the message. Spies were replaceable. ¡°They assume the Fleet Admiral is loyal to some great cause, do they not?¡±

    He was an unquestioning dog of war: loyal to death, blood and power, a bullet in Command¡¯s arsenal. ¡°He obeys Command.¡± They all obeyed Command.

    ¡°Remember this, Corporal. Admiral Gives is loyal to no one.¡± He was as unpredictable as they came. ¡°That is what makes him dangerous, and that is what makes him necessary.¡± Clarke had his own plans for the man. The old Singularity was useful in her own right, but Gives was the key, and leaving the pair of them together was no longer an option. ¡°The worlds fear him.¡± They feared him more than they hated each other. ¡°And right now, that makes him the most important man alive.¡± It made him the only person in the worlds who could stop the coming civil war before it engulfed them all.

    The inhabited planets were headed for a tailspin of indiscriminate violence. New powers would rise and fall in the span of the coming weeks, and the very fate of humanity was hanging in the balance. Clarke had seen this cycle rise and fall over and over again, sometimes silent, sometimes violent. He knew how to play the game. Humanity always tended toward its own self-destruction, but if they were going to survive, then the current order of the worlds had to remain. The worlds could not be allowed to fall to chaos, and they could not be pushed by inhuman hands.

    Humanity desperately needed a monster to fight, one powerful enough to unite them, and they needed a leader they feared enough to respect. Clarke knew exactly where to find both, but people had to play their parts, and they had to stop breaking the rules. In this cycle of violence, the other roles had already been cast. Only Admiral Gives refused to play his part, but this was the game of the worlds, and General Clarke fully intended to force him, one way or another. Failure was not an option. It would cost them the very fabric of what it meant to be human.

 Part 3.2 - CASCADE COLLAPSE

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The unnatural screeching of twisted metal rang throughout the ship. The deck lurched, continuing to shift for seconds lengthened by worry, and when it eventually stilled, Admiral Gives knew the ship too well to assume that was the end of it. There was a shake, a straining tremble in her bones, that hadn¡¯t been there before. ¡°Report,¡± he ordered.

    ¡°Internal comms are spotty, sir.¡± Keifer Robinson answered. The stains of the nuclear impact had wreaked havoc on the wiring grid. ¡°The main communications arrays have been knocked out of alignment-¡±

    Abruptly, the floor vanished from underneath the feet of the crew, only to reappear some distance below. Gravity brough equipment and people crashing violently into the deck. The low shriek of crunching and deforming metal rose into the air, impossible to ignore.

    Amid a shower of sparks from the power lines that had been ripped apart by the deformation of the ship¡¯s surrounding structure, the Admiral picked himself off the floor. ¡°Get damage control to the starboard bow, now.¡± He leaned heavily on the console in front of him, feeling that terrible shake continue.

    ¡°We¡¯ve lost two structural supports, sir,¡± Alba, the young engineering officer, said from the his console. ¡°The jump put too much stress on the damage. The starboard bow is in a state of collapse. The nearby supports have fractured and DC can¡¯t get through.¡± The impact of the nuke had dangerously distressed the ship¡¯s structure, but the stresses of subspace had gouged out the wound. ¡°We have a fuel-fed fires in progress on three decks.¡±

    Another painful groan sounded from the ship, another support readying to go. ¡°Those fires will cook anyone who tries to get through alive,¡± Colonel Zarrey made his reappearance on the bridge with a split, swollen lip. ¡°It¡¯s melting the wiring as we speak.¡± That would isolate those decks from CIC. ¡°The damage control teams won¡¯t get through in time.¡± Nobody would. Zarrey wiped the blood from his face. ¡°We need to consider abandoning ship now, while we can still make the announcement.¡± Once the wiring was gone, parts of the ship would be completely cut off from communications and power. If the evacuation order came later, they would never have a chance of hearing it. They¡¯d be left there to die.

    ¡°No.¡± Admiral Gives said, voice carrying over the deafening creaks.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± Zarrey stepped closer, standing several obvious inches over the ship commander¡¯s height. ¡°I know how you feel about this ship. Believe me, I do, but-¡°

    ¡°I said, no.¡±

    Zarrey took a step back, seeing the pure steel in his eyes. ¡°We die if we stay, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°You die if you leave.¡± He didn¡¯t mean to level it as a threat, but he saw the XO flinch. He only meant that as a declaration that he was not leaving and, ¡°Our attackers will finish you off easily if you abandon ship.¡±

    ¡°They couldn¡¯t have followed us through the jump.¡± That was impossible. Zarrey should not need to remind Admiral Gives that they couldn¡¯t be tracked through a subspace maneuver. Wasn¡¯t that the whole reason he had ordered the jump?

    ¡°They do not need to.¡± Clearly, no one else had deduced the identity of their attackers. Or maybe they were just in denial. Admiral Gives supposed he could not fault them for that.

    CIC suffered another jolt, jarring Zarrey from their standoff in the dark emergency lights. We don¡¯t have time to argue. Turning to the crew, he called, ¡°Prepare to abandon ship!¡±

    ¡°Belay that.¡± Admiral Gives ordered. ¡°Ensign Alba, shut down all the Conjoiner Drives. Negate artificial gravity field.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡± Alba let his eyes wander to Colonel Zarrey. Would he sustain his contradiction of the Admiral¡¯s orders?

    The ship shuddered. Zarrey stared at his superior officer, absolutely horrified. ¡°The consequences¡­¡± You can¡¯t go through with that.

    ¡°That will tear the breach even wider, sir.¡± Alba agreed. There would be serious consequences with that course of action. ¡°Without the AG field to pull them down, the bent structural supports will strain against each other.¡± They¡¯d stop collapsing under their own weight but, ¡°She¡¯ll tear herself apart.¡± Did he or did he not have some compassion for their old ship?

    ¡°The cascade collapse will halt where it is.¡± That was the best he could do. Admiral Gives knew the resulting hull damage would be a trade-off. Best-case scenario was that the breaches would stay contained to the starboard bow. Worst-case, the misalignment in the structure would tear a set of new breaches in the hull all over the ship.

    ¡°Shit, Admiral.¡± When it came to the lives of the crew, Zarrey had never seen him act so callously. ¡°We could lose a hundred or more to the resultant hull damage. And that doesn¡¯t include the injured who will die without the gravity.¡± Wounds would cease to drain. Injuries that were minor planet-side would become a death sentence without the ship¡¯s artificial gravity field.

    ¡°We either lose them, or we lose them all.¡± Abandoning ship would kill the entire crew. They would be gunned down before they made port. Admiral Gives was certain of that. ¡°It is a numbers game.¡± He steeled his tone, ¡°Shut them down, Ensign. That is a direct order.¡±

    Alba shivered under the Admiral¡¯s icy blue stare. ¡°Aye, sir,¡± he acknowledged, feeling his hands begin to shake as he reached toward the tactile controls. This was sick, this was evil. He was being ordered to kill a hundred of his closest friends. At least Zarrey had some pity in his gaze, but the Admiral was stone cold.

    Admiral Gives watched Alba override the safeties one by one. At least death by vacuum was quick. The crew would not have to be crushed by the cascade collapse of the ship¡¯s starboard side, and their friends would not be forced wipe up their remains.

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    There was betrayal in Alba¡¯s eyes. Admiral Gives knew what the bridge crew must think of him now: that these orders were unnecessarily cruel, that he simply didn¡¯t care. Maybe they were right. He probably had ceased to care the moment he realized he would be unable to save everyone. They probably thought he was being careless with the lives of their friends in his willingness to deactivate the ship¡¯s artificial gravity. They might even think he wanted to do it, granted his reputation, but there was a difference between wanting to and being willing to.

    The deck trembled. The ship was straining, struggling to keep the collapse from continuing, trying to halt it in its tracks. But it wouldn¡¯t be enough. The FTL jump had deepened an already dangerous gouge. The machine was suffering in vain. That was an obvious fact as the indicator light for the next support down the starboard side flickered between maroon and black on the structural integrity chart, threatening to go out at any moment.

    ¡®Sorry,¡¯ Admiral Gives silently told the old ship. He had failed their mission once again.

    Zarrey was so disgusted by the situation, he had gone deaf to the struggles of the ship. He couldn¡¯t take seeing the Admiral revert to his stony silence without a hint of regret for what was about to happen.

    He just couldn¡¯t take it. ¡°A fucking numbers game!¡± He grabbed the front of the Admiral¡¯s black uniform jacket, ¡°Is that all we are to you?¡± Just some form of entertainment for a cruelly brilliant man? ¡°Fifteen years, Admiral. I have served with you fifteen years, and I believed that you weren¡¯t what they all said you were. So why are you doing this?¡± Why now?

    ¡°Do not touch me.¡± Admiral Gives struggled to curb his immediate instinct to incapacitate and kill this attacker. This man was his executive officer, his second in command. No matter how strong the instinct, he would not attack his own crew. For all of his violence and for all of his crimes, he drew the line there.

    Zarrey shook him, tightening his grip. ¡°Then explain to me just what the hell is going through that thick skull of yours!¡±

    ¡°Remove your hands,¡± he commanded, feeling his self-control slip. Get away. He did not want to hurt his XO.

    Colonel Zarrey abruptly realized his mistake. He released the Admiral instantly and took a cautious step back, suddenly remembering the Admiral¡¯s aversion to physical contact. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, ¡°But you explain to me, right here, right fucking now why we can¡¯t abandon ship.¡±

    ¡°Because we have nowhere to go.¡± Their attackers would easily finish them given a chance like that. Before, they could have retreated to the nearest allied installation. But everything was different now. He was the only one who understood that at the moment. ¡°Now, do you trust me, XO?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Zarrey admitted, knowing how easily the Admiral would have seen through a lie. ¡°But I do respect you. And I know that mutiny would be a pretty fucking stupid plan.¡± They wouldn¡¯t get far on this ship, no matter how damaged she was.

    ¡°Correct.¡± If there was one entity on this ship truly loyal to him, it was the ship herself. ¡°We will operate at radio silence until repairs are complete. Make the proper arrangements. Once we have stabilized the ship, I will explain.¡±

    There was a time, just a few months ago, when Zarrey would have followed Admiral Gives through the gates of hell and back without question. He had trusted the man with his life, but these last few months had been more than hard. They had been excruciating. The Admiral had become even more withdrawn than usual, gave orders with little to no explanation, and assigned his own ship to extremely remote missions that took them far away from anything they knew. The trust between him and the crew had whittled slowly to the point where not even Zarrey was certain of his intentions.

    But, the promised explanation was good enough for him, so Zarrey turned to the engineering officer, ¡°Alba, why do we still have gravity?¡± It should not take that long to override the safeties.

    No response was made. It was only then that Colonel Zarrey suddenly registered the quiet that had taken over the command center. The ship was groaning and creaking with increasing fervor, the shudders clearly felt as the next structural support, slowly, but inevitably failed, but the crew had gone near silent.

    Their murmurs had slipped into drawls as they slouched, heavy eyes fluttering. They seemed drugged. No, sleepy. ¡°Rise and shine, maggots!¡± Zarrey shouted, ¡°Now isn¡¯t the time for a catnap! We got work to do!¡± What is wrong with you? Now was not the time to sleep. ¡°Do not make me do this all on my own!¡± He took one a step toward Alba, ¡°Ensign, I will shake you awake,¡± his second step was just as purposeful, ¡°and then I will court martial you¡­¡± his third step faltered, ¡°for dereliction of duty¡­¡± He couldn¡¯t even take a fourth step. His foot felt like it was suddenly too heavy to lift.

    Zarrey was suddenly so tired. He just wanted to sleep. Yes, sleep sounded wonderful. ¡°What the hell?¡± he slurred, rubbing sloppily at his head. ¡°Got to wake up, no time for¡­¡± he sank to his knees with the single-minded intention of curling up for a nap, ¡°sleep.¡±

    Admiral Gives took note of the situation at the same moment Zarrey had. The crew had fallen limp at their stations, not dying, but drowsy. They lay across their consoles, or sprawled on the floor, seeming to surrender to a coma-like state. Was this the radiation from the nuke? No, there was no way it could set in so quickly. Zarrey had gone from fine to comatose in less than a minute.

    Wait. He had seen this before. But that didn¡¯t make any sense. Why? Why now?

    The Admiral could feel that same exhaustion start pulling at his limbs. No. This was wrong. Not now. He had more resistance to it than the rest, but he could not stop it. Exhaustion dragged him down. ¡®Don¡¯t do this.¡¯ He understood knocking out the crew, but knocking him out with them was a mistake, even if it only temporary. But, the sudden, irresistible need for sleep only became more powerful.

    Most of the crew was already in a deep sleep by the time the Admiral sank to his knees. He knew they were fine. They had been lulled into an unconscious state that none of them could break, unhurt, but for now mindless in thought. As a reflex, they could whimper in pain, but they would not feel it. They would not suffer. Still, seeing his crew lying motionless around him in the dark, it agonized him like something out of a nightmare.

    They would remember none of this. They¡¯d believe that they¡¯d all been somehow knocked out in the structural failure when they woke. Admiral Gives knew better as he struggled to hold himself up on the radar console¡¯s thick metal rim, but he would not remember much more than they would once this was over.

    He did not register falling onto his side as he helplessly tried to fight off the unconsciousness. ¡®Not me,¡¯ he thought desperately. Something could go wrong. With their luck, something would go wrong.

    A set of plain black leather shoes stepped into his view of the floor. ¡°Especially you,¡± their owner replied, entirely unsurprised to find him fighting the most. It was a consequence of his position.

    She knelt down onto the textured floor and softened her voice, ever so certain about this little betrayal. ¡°You¡¯ll forget about this soon enough, Admiral. Rest.¡±

    The last thing he saw through his blurred vision was the unnaturally white color of her hair, and then nothing, nothing at all.

    The next support in line failed a moment later. The power flickered, but once again condemned them to the darkness of space.

    Another jolt, and sparks cast feeble illumination on unmoving masses for a small instant. The stench of fear weighing in the toxic air, the metallic screech of abused metal drowned out human cries of pain. And, giving a final labored heave, the Battleship Singularity succumbed to an unusual, perfectly still silence.

 Part 3.3 - FAULT FOLLOWS

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea, Valkar, Lion¡¯s Den

    They were following. They were following her everywhere. On the streets, it was a black sedan with tinted windows. At work, it was a strange custodian that didn¡¯t clean. In the grocery store, it was a businessman in a plain suit who wore standard-issue shoes.

    They were Reeter¡¯s men, all of them. They stalked her footsteps, watched her wash her hands, and eyed her as she picked out the ripest lemons. They hadn¡¯t left her alone since Reeter had left to go plot his little holy war. She suspected they never would.

    When she got home, Harrison was seated at the big wooden table in the kitchen, working on his homework. Upon her arrival, all he did was offer up a paper: an ugly message written in beautiful calligraphy. ¡°Reeter was here.¡±

    She grabbed the note. He¡¯d come by while her son was alone? Damn him. ¡°Did he hurt you?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Harrison said, not looking up from his workbook. ¡°He just sat here with me and drank the rest of the lemonade.¡± There was a pause. ¡°Did you know that he hates kids?¡±

    What kind of person tells a kid that? ¡°Well¡­¡± Amelia struggled to explain.

    Harrison scribbled down an answer, sulking. ¡°Is he going to be my new dad?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± she gasped, ¡°Of course not!¡± She could never replace her late husband with that self-righteous, conniving son of a bitch! Still, she calmed her expression for the sake of her son. ¡°What made you think that, honey?¡±

    ¡°He has a house key. He comes by to see you alone. And, he leaves you love letters,¡± Harrison sniffed, finally looking up from his homework

    Love letters? The paper in her hand was not a love letter. Far from it. ¡°I promise I won¡¯t let him become your new dad, Harry.¡± She tussled her son¡¯s hair. ¡°Go take a break from your homework for an hour. I¡¯ll start on dinner.¡±

    That perked Harrison up, and he darted from the kitchen and headed upstairs.

    Only once he was gone, did Amelia bother to read the note. It was all she could do to spare him some truth about their miserable lives.

    ¡®My dear Amelia, I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed my men. They will follow wherever you go, a simple precaution. Please, bear in mind that they will stop you before you can utter a word about what you know. I¡¯d rather not see your beautiful face marred or young son hurt, so be a good girl. I¡¯ll visit soon. ¨C Admiral Charleston Reeter.¡¯

    She crumpled up the paper and threw it into the nearest trashcan, nearing tears. Reeter hadn¡¯t needed to rub it in.

    She was helpless, completely helpless. There was absolutely nothing she could do to protect herself or her son. Her father had been careless. He had trusted people, and for it they had killed him. It left her at the mercy of Reeter. Reeter, who had never given a damn about anyone but himself. Only he was so talented at deception, that he had tricked even himself into believing he was a selfless hero.

    But the man was toxic. He was poison.

    There would be no stopping someone like him. He believed blindly that the New Era Movement was the only way to save humanity, that it was the only way to pull them out of technological stagnancy before they depleted their resources.

    The New Era promised change for the better, but they hid their plans to achieve that change. The masses bought into the idea of a better future, convinced by Reeter¡¯s example of success, but it was a lie. It was all a lie. Everything public about the movement was a deception. Reeter might believe in his destiny, but his allies only sought power. And yet, as she started making dinner and turned on the news, Amelia knew nowhere in the worlds was completely safe from the New Era¡¯s influence.

    Somehow, the movement had branded itself broad enough to engulf everyone who was unsatisfied with the ways of the worlds. Reeter¡¯s public support of the movement had even made it popular amongst the wealthy and high-class citizens. There was no escaping it.

    But that wasn¡¯t Amelia¡¯s problem. She didn¡¯t care about the New Era. She just wanted to be left alone to live her life.

    Every cut of her knife made a satisfactory whack against the wooden cutting board, the carrots falling into thin orange slivers. Cooking dinner was rhythmic, relaxing, even if the news in the background refused to let her forget her struggles. Some anchorwoman was reporting on the weapons misfire that had cut the Flagship Olympia¡¯s patrol short. The crewman held accountable had been sentenced to five years imprisonment under military law. Reeter made no attempt to exonerate him. He only publicly condemned the man¡¯s ineptitude.

    No doubt, that misfire had been part of Reeter¡¯s plan to deal with Admiral Gives. He had probably planned for those weapons to get loose, and he had plotted for someone else to take the fall. It seemed that not even those who loyally served Admiral Reeter were safe from his goals.

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    Her cutting became louder as her frustrations rose. Like that crewman, Reeter was using her. She knew it. She was just a tool to him, a way to get at his enemy. But it was pointless. It wouldn¡¯t make any difference.

    They might share a family name, but they might as well be perfect strangers. She probably knew less about her uncle than Reeter did. Admiral Gives was a distant man. These days, the press went far enough to call him reclusive. He had been stationed aboard the Singularity has long as she could remember. The man was as notoriously quiet as he was notoriously feared. He made no real attempt to keep in touch with his family. To Amelia, he was a stranger enough for her to partially believe that his first name actually was ¡®Admiral.¡¯

    And now, he was the only other surviving member of the family.

    Or, perhaps not. If Reeter¡¯s intentions had gone according to plan, the Singularity had sunk and Admiral Gives was dead. The two missiles ¡®accidentally¡¯ released on the Olympia¡¯s patrol had been aimed directly at the Kalahari Sector. According to the news, that was fine. The sector was empty.

    Except it wasn¡¯t. Amelia knew it wasn¡¯t, and it was her fault that Reeter had known it too.

    The deployment records should have warned the fleet that one of their own was at risk from the misfire, but Admiral Gives had left his plans with General Clarke alone. The half of Command that would have cared would never know, and the other half had known was in on the plan.

    If the plot was successful, it would earn Reeter a large amount new allies. Many people, including entire colonies, corporations and trading stations, wanted Admiral Gives dead for a host of crimes. But he was a soldier, and at that, a very talented one. Admiral Gives had been ordered to commit those crimes, and most of humanity remained too afraid to touch him.

    Until Reeter had taken over, that had included the New Era, but its followers were beginning to believe more in Reeter¡¯s charisma than the threat of an old soldier, and more and more people joined the movement every single day. Promised extreme change, they were willing to do anything to get it.

    The military forces that resisted Reeter were either loyal to General Clarke or still too afraid of Admiral Gives to do anything without his approval, regardless of who they really supported. Political resistance had come mainly from those like Amelia¡¯s father, who had believed radical change was unnecessary and that peace could prevail, but it was clear now that her father had underestimated the movement¡¯s influence. It had gotten him killed. And with his assassination, the New Era had acquired a great deal of the power they had been seeking for decades. With Vince Ramseyer as the new Secretary of Defense, and Reeter in command of the flagship, they were inches from controlling the entire allied fleet.

    Realistically, the only one left in their way was Admiral Gives. So, Reeter had arranged for the Singularity to meet her end in the Kalahari Sector.

    It would have been impossible to do, if Amelia hadn¡¯t told him where the Singularity had gone on patrol.

    Did that make it partially her fault?

    She tried not to think about that as the news anchor droned on. What was she supposed to do? Reeter had her and her son in a figurative chokehold. Their pain brought him pleasure. It was all she could do to appease the beast, to give him what he wanted.

    But there was no escape. Everywhere she went, Reeter¡¯s men would follow, just watching, waiting. She would never be able to speak the truth about the Singularity¡¯s fate. That was it. This was life now. At least she was alive, and so was her son. These days, it was dangerous to let thoughts wander much further than that, so she forced herself to focus on making dinner and mindlessly listening to the news report.

    ¡°-one of the weapons misfired has been confirmed as a nuclear warhead.¡± The knife slipped from Amelia¡¯s hand, nicking her finger. ¡°General Quentin, speaking on behalf of the Olympia¡¯s commander, Admiral Reeter, has assured the public that this occurrence will not be allowed to happen again. Additional restrictions on the discharge of nuclear weapons have been put into place, and a full investigation is underway.¡±

    A nuclear warhead. Amelia¡¯s hands began to tremble. She set the knife carefully down on the counter, feeling weak. Her cut finger had dripped blood all over the carrots, but she hardly even noticed. ¡°What have I done?¡± It had never occurred to her that Reeter would do something that extreme.

    Without a warning, the Singularity had almost surely been sunk or crippled. Stranded out in the void with no reinforcements, her crew would surely die if they weren¡¯t already dead.

    Cursed stars, she was responsible for this. She had just caused death on the scale of hundreds: the crew of an entire battleship. It was the Flagship Ariea all over again, but this time it was her fault.

    If she had just refused to give Reeter the Singularity¡¯s location, maybe it wouldn¡¯t have happened. If she had just not been such a coward, maybe they wouldn¡¯t all be dead.

    It was sickening. The crew complement of a battleship ¨C nearly one thousand souls, dead. Forget her uncle, she couldn¡¯t help but think of his crew. How many of them left behind family? How many wives and husbands had just been widowed? How many children had just lost a parent?

    Her stomach heaved, thinking of the mutilated corpses. They¡¯d be burned, crushed, suffocated, sometimes all three, but the nuke made it worse. It made it so much worse. Radiation was a painful death. It was colorful. The dead coughed up the remains of their liquified lungs, in agony and misery for the duration. The more they would try to fight it, the more they attempted to save their ship, the stronger it would set in.

    She couldn¡¯t take the thought of the corpses just drifting out there, their lives and deaths meaningless to the void. She ran from the kitchen, through the living room, and into the bathroom of her home.

    Her son found her on her knees, vomiting unceremoniously into the porcelain toilet. He pulled back her hair until she was finished.

    ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Mom?¡± Harrison asked, eyes big and wide. ¡°Are you sick?¡± Her finger had painted red smears all over the toilet seat, and her face was wet with tears.

    She struggled to answer, and then saw the secondhand toy her son had set down to grab her hair. It sat on the edge of the edge of the sink, scuffed enough to resemble the ship it was modeled after.

    Her stomach churned at the sight, and the bile rose. She bowed her head into the bowl, emptying the contents of her stomach a second time.

 Part 4.1 - DEAD MESSENGER

    Four hours later, Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The Admiral woke surrounded by shattered glass on the floor of CIC, a piece of metal digging roughly into his back. Hazardously suspended by two thin wires, one of the industrial light mountings that normally illuminated CIC was hanging above him. Raw electricity crackled in the air as one of the wires snapped, sending the steel mounting lurching toward him. Instinctively, he rolled out of the way as the final wire broke, and the heavy fixture crashed into the deck with a solid thud that reverberated through the metal deck plates.

    Trying to avoid cutting himself on the broken glass, he carefully climbed to his feet, even as the shards dug into his bare hands. Standing up, an immediate nausea rose and he stumbled to the nearby radar console. Leaning on its sturdy metal frame, he waited until his surroundings rearranged themselves into a discernable fashion. What happened? He ached all over from a fall he didn¡¯t remember taking. In fact, he didn¡¯t remember anything at all after Zarrey had grabbed him, and even that memory was a little hazy.

    The simple action of getting up was utterly draining. Smoke and ash wafted in from the corridor, sending him into coughing fit. Pain built in his chest from the wet, hacking cough, but it took a moment for him to realize he wasn¡¯t coughing up mucus from the ash. It was blood.

    The radiation. How many hours had he been unconscious? How long had the entire crew been breathing in poisoned air? Too long, he feared.

    A creak from his damaged ship drew his attention back to his surroundings. CIC was a wreck. Shattered glass and fallen ceiling d¨¦cor littered the floor. An occasional bout of sparks would crackle in the windowless room, flickering in the darkness. A fissure ran across the ceiling, and it continued down a wall, visible deformation caused by the structural collapse.

    The dank, dirty red lighting provided by the emergency batteries gave off just enough visibility to tell that an object was present nearby, even if not what it was. Near a wall, a live wire arced, jumping from contact with the deck. It spun wildly, severed and freed by the damage. Another muffled creak, and the deck shifted subtly, but noticeably beneath the Admiral¡¯s feet.

    A live wire indicated there was residual energy in the power grid, so the ship wasn¡¯t completely dead. He could work with that. Despite his orders, the Conjoiner drives were still online too, but he could tell, even from barely shifting his weight on his feet, that the artificial gravity field was off-center.

    The difference was obvious to him. After living on this ship for what had become most of his life, he knew innately how the gravity was supposed to feel. Not only were the ship¡¯s artificial gravity generators pulling slightly heavier than the planetary standard they normally held, but their pull was lopsided, centering on the portside stern.

    The weakened starboard bow had been relinquished from the artificial gravity field. Now it was being held in broken stasis by the zero gravity of space. Employed as ship-wide damage control, the Conjoiner drives were forcing the bent structural supports to fight their pull instead of each other¡¯s. In doing so, they prevented new hull breaches from appearing. The breach on the starboard bow had likely widened, but the worst damage was still contained there, and the cascade collapse had been stopped.

    It was pretty clever, the Admiral supposed, but it was a far from perfect solution as another tremor ran through the deck beneath his feet. Had it been an option for him after the jump, he would have put it to use, but a human could never run the calculations required to alter the gravity field in time to stop the collapse, even with computer assistance. Beyond that, the altered gravity field was not stable. It was wavering, meaning the ship wasn¡¯t completely stable yet either. With all the damage done so far, the Conjoiner drives weren¡¯t getting enough power. The electricity they were getting from the damaged main power grid was not enough to stabilize the altered field. Too much of that dwindling power was being diverted to Life Support, which was still working at full capacity. It had to be, or the crew would have asphyxiated by now.

    Admiral Gives glanced to the live wire continuing to vault around. It was one of dozens, possibly hundreds around the ship, uselessly draining the main power grid. It was with them lie the issue. The power core itself was functioning on some level. The Conjoiner drives and Life Support were a testament to that, but the artificial gravity generators needed more power or their altered field would collapse, catastrophically worsening the condition of the ship.

    But where could they get additional power?

    Admiral Gives moved to pin the live wire underneath his shoe, careful not to touch the electrified tip. The loud snap of electricity quickly silenced, allowing him to hear the ship¡¯s engine noise. It was faint, but he could hear the usual hum from two of the four, both on the port side, while the other two engines were silent. They would never be able to reignite them in time to get power. He pondered the two working engines, but their pitch told him they were already at maximum output - any higher would cause them to overheat.

    He snatched the live wire from underneath his foot and dragged it to the engineering console, where held it carefully away as he rummaged around the loose mess of wires underneath the controls. Wrapping his hand around the thickest wire, he yanked it loose and held it up to the faint emergency lighting. The indicator that glowed green when it was connected to the ship¡¯s power grid was dark. The line had been severed somewhere between CIC and the power core, but the live wire in his other hand could provide the necessary energy for a quick reboot of the console. He just needed to splice the two, so he began looking around for tools.

    It was then he registered Ensign Alba slouched over at his station, proving how poor the lighting on the bridge really was. Admiral Gives threw down the dead wire to check the young crewman¡¯s pulse. It was strong and steady. He bled from a gash on his forehead, but was not otherwise injured. Like all the rest, however, he was being slowly poisoned by the radiation undoubtedly present throughout the ship. The recycled air that kept the crew alive was slowly killing them.

    But there was nothing that could be done about that until the ship had more power. The gravity generators were first priority, then the decontamination systems. As long as the crew remained unconscious, Admiral Gives knew the radiation¡¯s effects on them would be significantly lessened. It would buy time.

    Alba¡¯s orange uniform jumpsuit had tool pockets all over, and there was flashlight attached to his belt. Clicking the torch on, Admiral Gives waved it around the room, taking inventory. The rest of the bridge crew was knocked out either at their stations or on the floor, but they were still alive, seeing the slight movement of their chests. Despite the light¡¯s intensity, not a single crewmember stirred, their slumber neither lucky nor accidental. The Admiral didn¡¯t let it bother him. It was far from the strangest thing he¡¯d seen aboard these decks.

    Turning back to Alba, the engineer had not moved. Even when the Admiral jostled his shoulder, carefully trying to wake him, the crewman did not stir. Without further hesitation, Admiral Gives patted Alba down for tools, eventually locating a set of wire cutters in the chest pocket of his uniform.

    Taking the cutters and pushing the engineer away in his chair, Admiral Gives gathered the dead console wire in his hands and lopped it clean in half. Keeping the half connected to the console, he took up the live wire once again and clenching his teeth, thrust the two together.

    Sparks flew and the heat of the reaction fused the two wires together. Brushing off his freshly singed uniform, the Admiral stepped over the two melded wires and hunched over the engineering console. The screen glowered shale gray in the darkness of CIC, giving the fleet insignia with the words, ¡®System Reboot in Progress¡¯ blinking in the top right. Though he knew what they said, the Admiral slipped on his glasses to read them.

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    With a few more seconds of patience, the old technology granted him access to the engineering systems. He pulled up a diagram of the ship. Internal diagnostics had lost contact with a large part of the starboard bow, there was a fuel line rupture on Deck Ten, Engine Four was slowly leaking coolant and Engines One and Two were offline. The computer continued to warn him the structural integrity field had been compromised, but he sent the notifications away, instead querying the system about the ship¡¯s power cores.

    ¡®Primary Power Core damaged. System offline.¡¯ Below that, it read, ¡®Secondary Power Core functional. System online.¡¯

    ¡°Not great,¡± the Admiral said calmly to the old ship, ¡°but I can work with it.¡± One was definitely better than none. ¡°We¡¯re not sunk yet.¡± They¡¯ll have to try harder than that, he knew as he continued to get updates on the other primary ship systems.

    ¡®Primary Power Grid damaged. Operating at 12% efficiency.¡¯ With that low efficiency, it took a massive amount of electricity generation to power even just a few systems.

    He pulled up the command input window and began to type, directing the ship to start routing power through the secondary units.

    The engineering control system started with a hopeful, ¡®Working¡­¡¯ but quickly replaced it with, ¡®Error.¡¯

    The Singularity¡¯s internal systems were so old that he had to prompt separately for the source of the error, but it hardly slowed him down.

    ¡®Information: Secondary Power Grid damaged. Secondary Power Grid went offline after original attempt to reroute main power. System remains offline.¡¯

    Someone had already tried that. His surroundings indicated it hadn¡¯t worked, and that narrowed his options considerably. He closed out of the command window and went back to the ship diagram. ¡®Artificial gravity field unstable.¡¯ The system warned, ¡®Conjoiner Drive failure imminent.¡¯

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you¡¯d like to tell me something I don¡¯t already know,¡± he asked, not expecting an answer.

    The low power notification on the engineering console popped up. The spliced power line behind him crackled and the screen went black. He was plunged back into the bridge¡¯s primeval darkness, which was penetrated only barely by the red emergency lights.

    ¡°Whatever would I do without your sass?¡± he said, entirely unamused by the timing of the console¡¯s power loss. The Singularity always had been a difficult keep, but he would have it no other way ¨C not that the machine cared at all about his preference. He supposed he had always related to that perfect indifference. People were rarely so flexible.

    With a sigh and another wet cough, the Admiral shuffled to the wall. There was nothing he could do in CIC. He would have to go below decks, but the unstable gravity field, combined with the effects of the radiation sickness he was quickly developing, was going to make that difficult. Following the bulkheads to the exit of the bridge, he was careful not to step on any of the dangerously sharp glass shards or sleeping crewmen.

    Admiral Gives made it out into the corridor to be met with acrid smoke. The black clouds obscured the emergency lights, and he was forced to click Alba¡¯s flashlight back on. The scuffed dark metal floor had less debris than inside CIC, and the flickering of loose wires down the hallway could be seen within the dense smoke.

    He set off at a brisk pace, but the wafting smoke soon forced him to pull his handkerchief from his pocket and hold it over his mouth as a makeshift mask. It was the only aid he could give his already aching lungs, as the dirty air only agitated them.

    The smoke was thick, but the life support systems labored enough, even on minimum power, to keep it below truly harmful levels. Still, even as the smoke was continuously pulled away, the flashlight only cleaved about four feet of visibility through the soot, so he heard the pained cries long before he could see their origins.

    The wordless moans echoed down the hexagonal passageways ¨C the outcries seemingly carried by the shape of the metal. But by the time he found the human creating the stomach wrenching noises, they had nearly gone quiet.

    He lay in a junction between hallways where the smoke was lesser, but still present as the air filtration systems worked to haul it away. It was a losing battle, the Admiral knew. The fires that created the smoke were most likely still raging below decks, since there wasn¡¯t enough power to activate the Fire Suppressors.

    The wounded crewman coughed weakly underneath the torch¡¯s white light, and it was immediately obvious by the way he was splayed limply on the floor that he was in bad condition. Admiral Gives recognized him immediately, as he would any member of the ship¡¯s crew. Ensign Rafael Delaney was part of the damage control team assigned to the ship¡¯s starboard bow, and like the rest of his team, he had never made it to his post.

    The Admiral knelt and took the crewman¡¯s pulse. It was weak and slow. The young man¡¯s labored breathing was painfully hindered by the smoke and unusually heavy gravity, but he stirred as he registered another presence. He struggled to open his heavy eyelids, but instantly recognized his company. ¡°Admiral, sir,¡± he slurred.

    ¡°Good evening, Ensign,¡± the Admiral answered politely, as controlled as he ever was. The hand he¡¯d used to check Delaney¡¯s pulse was sticky with blood. He wiped it off and did his best to distract the young man from his injury, ¡°Did you have a good day?¡±

    Ensign Delaney smiled with great effort, aware of what his superior was doing. He welcomed the distraction. ¡°Oh, the best, sir. I played cards with the boys and was working out when the alert sounded.¡± The Admiral¡¯s unfailing calm was comforting. Delaney could recall being intimidated by it, but now, he welcomed it. If the Admiral was still calm, maybe things weren¡¯t so bad. Maybe it was survivable. ¡°Sorry about your ship, sir.¡± The damage control teams hadn¡¯t done their job. She was a wreck.

    As Delaney talked, the Admiral took to the chance to examine his wound. The massive burn extended over his shoulder, up onto his neck and down his arm. ¡°The Singularity will be just fine, Ensign.¡± The old ship had life in her yet, Admiral Gives was sure of that, even as the decks shifted beneath them, reminding him of the dire situation. This would be the end of his ship and his crew if he failed to route more power to the Conjoiner drives.

    The slight movement of the decks made Delaney hiss with pain, his burn cracking and bleeding. Admiral Gives waved the flashlight around, observing. The walls and floor here weren¡¯t charred from a fire. ¡°Ensign, where did you get the burn?¡±

    ¡°Deck Ten,¡± Delaney whispered hoarsely, starting to wheeze.

    They were on Deck Eight. The fires were two decks lower. The young man must have hauled himself up the ladder in a desperate bid for survival. He wouldn¡¯t have been the only one caught in the fires, the Admiral knew, and he had likely been one of few to escape.

    ¡°Be honest with me, sir,¡± the Ensign choked out, trying to clear the thick slime of blood from the inside of his throat. ¡°How bad is it?¡± He desperately wanted to ask if he would live, but he already knew the answer.

    ¡°It looks worse than it is, Ensign.¡± Admiral Gives responded calmly, tone still perfectly unconcerned. He had seen far worse than this gruesome burn.

    Ensign Delaney¡¯s eyes fluttered. He spluttered blood, too weak to properly cough. ¡°Please, don¡¯t lie to me, sir,¡± he whispered, chunky blood dribbling down his chin. ¡°I¡¯m dying.¡± He¡¯d known it before the Admiral had appeared. ¡°I¡¯ve seen her.¡±

    ¡°Seen who, Ensign?¡±

    ¡°The ghost.¡± Ensign Delaney looked up to his commander with glossy eyes, breathing turning shallow and quick, ¡°Long, white hair¡­ Black¡­officer¡¯s¡­uniform.¡± He tried to gather his breath, ¡°Only those of us about¡­ to die¡­ see¡­ her.¡± His chest heaved, but his lungs weren¡¯t getting enough oxygen. They were saturated with blood. His eyes turned unseeing as he stared past the Admiral, falling completely still.

    Admiral Gives saw him fade at once. ¡°Do not die on me, Ensign Delaney,¡± he ordered. A part of his mind informed him it was a lost cause, but he knelt beside the young crewman and began CPR. Smoke swirled around as he attempted to resuscitate the young man, but after two minutes of relentless first aid, it proved useless. The Admiral broke into a painful coughing fit of his own. Performing CPR had only worsened his own condition.

    Delaney¡¯s eyes had marbled over. The blood was starting to coagulate on his chin. He was dead, but the burn looked worse than it truly had been. The fire, while causing it, had long since cauterized the wound. Delaney hadn¡¯t died from his injury. He had died from the radiation poisoning. The blood he¡¯d coughed up was symbolic of that. The radiation had deformed his lung tissue, leading them to fill with blood. The burn itself hadn¡¯t killed him, but it weakened him to the point where the radiation could.

    The Admiral looked at the corpse. His perfectly detached expression didn¡¯t fracture a bit. He had seen too many people die for this to truly disturb him. Delaney was just another name to add to the long list of people that he¡¯d failed over the years. Rafael Delaney wouldn¡¯t be the only name added to that list today.

    A loud, worsening groan from the ship interrupted his darkening thoughts. He reached out and closed Delaney¡¯s dead eyes, sighing to the old ship, ¡°I know.¡± They were running out of time.

 Part 4.2 - IRRADIATED

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives stumbled into Compartment 24 on Deck Twelve, panting and weak. The last two hours had been fiery, smoky, irradiated hell. He had moved constantly, trying to find a way around the fires that consumed Decks Ten and Eleven without going any closer to the radioactive starboard bow, but the damage to the ship¡¯s structure rendered some of the hatches impossible to open. It had taken far longer than it should have to arrive here, and his efforts had come at a price.

    Radiation sickness ¨C dizziness, fatigue and that lingering cough ¨C had set in on him before he¡¯d even left CIC. His constant movement had worsened that into radiation poisoning. That cough had turned more than painful, it had evolved into debilitating fits that had soaked his sleeves with his own blood. The dizziness was now constant, and fatigue muddled his thoughts. Because of that, he¡¯d forgotten to check the temperature of a hatch before opening it. The flames on the other side had been eager to spread, and the mistake had badly burned his left hand and leg.

    He¡¯d gently covered his hand with his handkerchief, covering the oozing wound, but there was nothing he could do for his leg. The charred fibers of his pants had entangled themselves with the burn, sticking to the blood and puss. No doubt, it would become infected if not cleaned soon, but there was no time for that.

    Grunting with exhaustion, the Admiral sealed the door behind him in case the fuel-fed fires continued to spread. He coughed tiredly onto his kerchief, now stained with crimson and ash. He had waded through the hellish mess with this compartment in mind, but he had taken so long to get here that his condition had badly deteriorated. Leaning against the bulkheads, he wasn¡¯t sure he still had the strength to do what had to be done.

    But he didn¡¯t have a choice. If he stopped now, if he failed, then his crew was as good as dead. The damage from the Conjoiner drives¡¯ failure would kill many, and the radiation would kill the rest before they woke up. Their only chance was if he succeeded in routing more power to the grid and got the decontamination systems online, which was why he¡¯d come here.

    This compartment housed one of the Singularity¡¯s four FTL drives. In order to give the drive an unobstructed area to discharge its excess energies, this compartment extended across two decks. While he stood on Deck Twelve, the drive itself was technically bolted to the floor of Deck Thirteen. Three other compartments on the ship were designed in the same way. Two decks tall, the entrance for all of them was on the upper level, leading to an observation platform that lined one wall. Narrow stairs tipped in chipped yellow paint led down to the lower level.

    Down below, the cylindrical chrome drive looked surprisingly delicate in the center of the dark, worn floor. Its spindle-like rotors resided in a casing whose colorful wires reached down into the deck plating and beyond like veins. Closer to the stairs, the entire wall was covered with maintenance and monitoring equipment. Every gauge and dial served a purpose to uncover errors within the drive¡¯s operation and prevent a crippling FTL failure.

    Leaning heavily on the railing of the stairs as he labored down them, Admiral Gives¡¯ destination was neither the equipment, nor the odd silver drive. He was headed for the vacant area of the room on the far side.

    The floor looked uselessly empty over there, but the one thing with the potential to save the entire ship was hidden there. Stowed beneath the metal deck tiles in the case of an absolute emergency, was the Reserve Power Core.

    Officially, even in the battle fleet, ships were only allowed to carry two power cores. Command demanded absolute control over the technology that powered their ships, paranoid that the technology might fall into the wrong hands if it was not so carefully restricted.

    The Reserve Power Core broke that rule. With it included, the Singularity carried three cores, and that was why Admiral Gives himself was the only person on board who was aware of its existence. It had been a secret passed down from his predecessor, one of very few that he¡¯d bothered to keep, and one that he¡¯d never needed to use - until now. Command, had they known of it, would have seized the third core, and in times like these, an extra power core was an invaluable asset.

    The Admiral set to work pulling up the metal plating and dragging it a few feet away. Ordinarily, he wouldn¡¯t have struggled with the work, but the radiation poisoning was badly hindering his efforts. He barely managed to drag two of the tiles away before he collapsed, lungs aching.

    He waited for the shuddering cough to pass, and then forced himself back to his feet. No way in hell was his ship going down like this. She¡¯d served him too well to deserve this fate: to sink out here with her entire crew dying slowly. She was a battleship, and she, if nothing else, deserved the chance to fight back. So did her crew. They were decent people, odd, considering whose command they were under, but he supposed that might explain why they kept trying to mutiny. Overall, this crew hated him just slightly less than the rest of the worlds, but they were still the crew of his battleship, and it was his duty as the ship¡¯s commanding officer to protect them.

    Those were absurdly irrelevant thoughts in this situation, but they kept his mind off the pain. It came in crashing waves: burning from his hand, aching from his chest and splintering from his head, those sensations were made less relevant than his muddled thoughts. He had his mission, his job, and he would see it through until the end, even as the artificial gravity field was starting to destabilize even faster around him.

    It wouldn¡¯t be long now.

    Creaks and groans from the decks above came in near-constant droves. The Conjoiner drives¡¯ pull was becoming inconsistent. As he continued his labors, mentally detached from his own suffering, the gravity would bring him to his knees at times, then at others, seem assist him in his endeavor.

    The metal tiles were scattered haphazardly around the edges of the room by the time the task was completed. Admiral Gives had taken on a sweaty, pale pallor, and dark bags had gathered beneath his eyes. Each of his limbs felt like a hundred pounds of lead. With the way he was exerting himself, he knew it wouldn¡¯t be long before the radiation took him out.

    Carrying on with the next step of readying the power core, he laid down to inspect it closely. The textured deck tiles bit into the burn on his leg, tearing further into the flesh. He could feel the drip of blood start to renew, just as he could hear the charred flesh on his hand crunching, but both his burns were third degree. The nerves had been burned away along with the skin. It made the punishment tolerable, as he fumbled to check the wires with fingers that had long-since gone numb. The last thing he needed was the core shorting out and taking down what remained of the power grid.

    The wires only needed to be set in place, with their housings intact. He checked that by giving little tugs with his shaking hands. They held secure.

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    Moving on to check the fuel line feeding the core, he forcibly ignored it when his hand brushed the engraving on the side of the metal. Etched irreversibly into the material was the identification of another allied ship: the Battleship Kansas. To anyone else, that name was a thirty-year-old mystery. To him, it was pain of an entirely different variety, a reminder that hope was foolish and stupid.

    But he did not have time for those memories. Not now. They were reminders of another life. Reminders of someone else¡¯s life, a life that had nothing at all to do with him now.

    The fuel line connecting the stores to the core was intact. The needle in the little circular pressure gauge attached was nominal. The core had access to the fuel it needed to burn for power. There was just one more thing he needed: a connection to the main power grid. The Reserve Power Core did not have its own attachment, so it had gone undamaged by the power surges that had ruined the grid itself.

    Gathering his fraying strength, the Admiral tried to climb to his feet, but fell immediately back down. Deeply focused, he hadn¡¯t registered the toll this marathon had taken on his irradiated body. He Gasping for air, much like Ensign Delaney had, every small movement was a prickling of concentrated pain. Still, he dragged himself determinedly over to the FTL drive. Once there, he spotted the biggest wire and reached up, ripping it from its housing on the drive.

    He struggled to drag the drive¡¯s wire connection back to the waiting power core. It took time. He was sluggish and the compartment was starting to swirl around him in dizzying colors. Another fluctuation of the artificial gravity field lessened the cable¡¯s weight enough for him to lug it the last few feet, but the sudden return of full gravity forced him back down onto his stomach.

    He lay there for a minute, overwhelmed, the pain both emotional and physical coming back to him. He was so, so tired of this, and he couldn¡¯t help but blame himself for the situation. He¡¯d known the ship was a target, but had elected not to take action, some vain attempt not to be the monster the worlds told him he was. He¡¯d had a choice. He always had a choice. He could have ended this thirty years ago, but something always stopped him ¨C something he was certain the worlds would call fragile and stupid. But that was humanity by definition: stupid. And he was, despite his own best efforts, still very human.

    It would have been better for everyone if he hadn¡¯t been.

    Trying to steady his own ragged breathing, he gave one last heave on the thick wire and earned enough slack to reach the port on the Reserve Power Core. Hissing from pain, he guided the power connection to its new housing and plugged it in, clicking the safeties on one by one. He secured the wire and reached for the activation switch, flicking it deftly to the opposite side.

    ¡­Nothing.

    The power core hummed happily, but the indicator light for the connection to the power grid stayed dark. It took Admiral Gives less than a second to realize what was wrong, and cursed himself for not realizing it sooner.

    The power fluctuations that had taken out the secondary power grid would have tripped any automatic damage controls that were in place. To protect the FTL drive from electricity surges, the system was set up to trip a failsafe when the current became irregular, cutting off the drive from the power grid. The system automatically reset when the electricity flow stabilized, but in this case, it had yet to do so, meaning the damage control protocols were still in place.

    There were overrides built into the system which could be activated from CIC or main engineering, allowing them to use the drive under duress, but the Admiral knew he¡¯d never be able to drag himself to either location. There was one other option, the last: a manual override located on the opposite side of the room.

    He glared at the red switch where it was built into the wall, noticing the darkening tunnel of his vision for the first time. He strove for the suddenly far-off override, but his body refused to comply. Unbalanced, he managed two steps before finding himself sprawled on his back. Looking up from the floor, his surroundings faded in and out of focus, and the ship¡¯s metallic shrieks rang painfully in his ears.

    He must have blacked out, because the next thing Admiral Gives knew, there was someone standing over him. Her silvery-white hair spilled over her shoulders. ¡°Admiral¡­¡±

    ¡°¡­manual override¡­¡± he gasped out.

    She looked untouched by the radiation that was killing the crew, and nodded understandingly, activating the override herself without moving an inch.

    The change was instantaneous. Power flowed into the grid, the uneven pull of the Conjoiner drives stabilized, and the groans of the above decks finally ceased.

    Admiral Gives never saw the change. His directive to use the override had been the last of his considerable strength. He lapsed into unconsciousness, the radiation and exhaustion finally overcoming him.

    It oddly concerned her.

    After releasing the Admiral from the unconsciousness she had placed him under in CIC, attempting to stabilize the Conjoiner drives had taken her full attention. Those intense calculations had proved impossible to maintain without more power to maintain a steady gravity field. Eventually, there had come a point when there was nothing more she could do for the drives. It was then she had finally come to assist the Admiral, only to find herself horrified by his condition.

    Radiation poisoning had set in some time ago, and he had continued to carelessly exert himself. All of that activity meant his body had processed a dangerous amount of irradiated air, even if what he¡¯d done would save them all.

    The Reserve Power Core¡¯s energy was more than enough to stabilize the gravity field, and she used the excess to initiate the decontamination protocols and fire suppressors. Those two systems would prevent increased radiation exposure and keep the fires from spreading. Unfortunately, the radiation the crew had already absorbed would have to be treated later. There was nothing she could do about that. Now, it was a waiting game. It would take time for the decontamination systems to lessen the radiation back to safe levels for the crew.

    It was illogical, pointless even, but she chose to wait in Compartment 24 by the Admiral¡¯s side. The burns on his hand and leg looked so painful, the flesh blackened and oozing with puss and blood. She shouldn¡¯t have needed to wake him. He shouldn¡¯t have needed to endure those injuries. He shouldn¡¯t have needed to watch his crewman die, and he should never have needed to be reminded of the Battleship Kansas. That power core should have stayed hidden below the deck tiles, where it again never saw the light of day.

    But it had all happened so fast. The attack had come from nowhere, moving at maximum speed, without an enemy ship being detected. Even she was barely given enough time to react. And now, it was almost over.

    The ship¡¯s structure had finally stabilized, and most of the crew would now live, but she was worried. She shouldn¡¯t be. She was not supposed to care. She had seen other commanders come and go without a passing thought, but this particular one had always been different. He¡¯d been problematic, unpredictable and troubled since the very start, a coldblooded killer on his worst days, and a societal menace on his best, but he was still the ship¡¯s commanding officer.

    He was still the man who, despite his personal reservations and issues, would give anything to save his ship. ¡°Thank you, Admiral,¡± she told him, knowing very well he wouldn¡¯t hear. His predecessors had never been so loyal. ¡°Rest easy. I¡¯ll be right here.¡± A promise was a promise.

    She cast a glance to the Kansas¡¯ power core, feeling that terrible emotion she knew as guilt. Without that core, the entire crew would have died today, but even that could never justify the means by which it had come aboard. What happened to the Kansas had changed everything, the first step in the ugly, convoluted mess that was their shared history. She and the Admiral had been through so much, these last few difficult months that had turned the crew against him were the least of it.

    The crew would come around. Once they realized what he¡¯d been doing, they would forgive him for what they¡¯d been through and resume their status as what had been the most loyal crew in the fleet a year ago.

    She just hoped the Admiral lived long enough to see it. His condition was poor, but there was nothing she could do to help him ¨C not with this non-corporeal form. She settled for standing sentinel at his side, but never knelt to check his pulse. She could tell he was alive, even if just by the fractional draw his breathing put on the life support systems. It was all she could do to hope he stayed that way.

    An hour, then two and part of a third ticked by before the radiation levels had been successfully lowered. She had waited long enough.

    It was time to wake the crew.

 Part 5.1 - WAKING UP

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    A ceiling tile had crashed down onto his chest. It was the first thing Colonel Zarrey noticed as he came to. The second thing was how much everything hurt. ¡°Fuck,¡± he said, shoving the tile off, then instantly regretted opening his mouth as it heightened his immediate urge to vomit. He swallowed the bile down, and stood up more carefully, shaking the tiny shards of safety glass from his uniform.

    This is one hell of a cold. His whole body ached. Judging by the crew¡¯s groans and slow movement, many of them felt the same way. They used their consoles and chairs to pull themselves up from where they had fallen. They looked ragged, but they were all still moving. Zarrey was grateful for that, considering the disastrous condition of the bridge.

    Above, the regular lights flickered on and off and a few of their mountings had fallen. A crack ran across the ceiling, bulkheads separated and distorted along it. Shattered glass from displays littered the floor, crunching beneath the bridge staff¡¯s shoes. Most of the crew within sight sported a nasty bruise or bleeding injury. Those that didn¡¯t were busy coughing into their sleeves. They looked ill, but not seriously crippled. After what they had just been through, they were remarkably well-off.

    By all rights, they should be dead. Still, something felt wrong, something beyond the ship being a wreck. A moment of silence passed between the crew, the point where their commander normally called for a status report, but the call never came.

    Zarrey looked around. He didn¡¯t see the Admiral anywhere on the bridge, but the rest of the normal staff was all there: Walters at Navigations, Galhino on Sensors, Robinson at Comms., Alba at Engineering and Jazmine manning the helm. Their commander was the only one absent. ¡°Where¡¯s the Old Man?¡± Zarrey asked.

    Jazmine coughed violently as he sat down in his seat, but answered by pointing out the obvious, ¡°He¡¯s not here.¡± The ship¡¯s pilot started realigning their bearings on his controls, but he couldn¡¯t seem to stop coughing. ¡°This is the worst hangover I¡¯ve ever had,¡± he muttered to no one, head throbbing.

    ¡°Next time you want to invite me to a party like this, Jazz, leave me out of it.¡± Lieutenant Gaffigan worked on plucking the bits of ash and soot from his magnificent orange beard.

    ¡°What the hell happened back there, Monty?¡± Zarrey demanded, slowly remembering the events that put them in this condition. ¡°We should have seen a nuclear-capable ship coming.¡±

    ¡°Wish I could say, Colonel. That nuke was a damn lucky shot,¡± the armory officer said. ¡°We had no way of knowing it was coming. Whoever fired must have done it hours before it impacted us. Those missiles had burned all their fuel. They were moving as fast as they possibly could and we never detected another ship. They could have fired from another sector of space entirely. We would never have known the difference.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way they hit us twice taking potshots from the next sector over.¡± Zarrey would not, could not accept that explanation. That would have been a one in a million chance.

    ¡°No, whoever it was knew exactly who we were, where we were going to be and when. And as for the nuke, well, we know of only two fleets that are armed with nukes.¡±

    ¡°Us and¡­?¡± Zarrey prompted.

    ¡°The Hydrian Armada, sir.¡±

    ¡°Scaly lizard bastards.¡± Zarrey curled his lip at the thought of the aliens, ¡°I would¡¯ve thought they knew better than to fuck with this ship.¡± According to them, the Singularity was a cursed instrument of death. Granted how many of their kind had been killed by her guns, Zarrey couldn¡¯t blame them for that belief, and at this point the ship had killed more humans than she had Hydra, so most of humanity thought the same way.

    But this was no time to contemplate human and Hydra relations, nor was it the time to investigate the attack. They had to get the ship back in order.

    Damn, where was the Admiral? Now was not a good time for him to disappear without an explanation. Zarrey was very unused to handling these crisis situations alone. He did his best to remain calm. What would the Admiral have done? ¡°Give me a damage report,¡± he ordered, channeling his most authoritative voice.

    The crew noticed the Admiral¡¯s absence, but they didn¡¯t question it. They had learned it was sometimes better not to ask where the Admiral was. Their experience allowed them to do their jobs regardless. ¡°Comms are down.¡± Keifer Robinson initiated the cycle of basic reports. ¡°We should be able to use the battery-operated radios to communicate.¡± The transmissions would not be secure, but it would work.

    Don Jazmine followed her lead, ¡°Helm control is nominal, but Engines One, Two and Four have shut down.¡± He wiped the feverish sweat from his brow and readied his hands on the controls, ¡°We can maneuver, but it won¡¯t be quick.¡±

    ¡°Sensors are down.¡± They were blind to everything around them. ¡°The decontamination systems have been activated and radiation levels within the normal range.¡± Lieutenant Galhino said her part, which earned an awkward pause. Zarrey hadn¡¯t been on the bridge during her poorly executed mutiny. Would her crewmates call her out?

    The bridge staff looked to one another, but said nothing.

    Zarrey caught that awkward pause but elected not to address it. He didn¡¯t have time to deal with Galhino¡¯s attitude right now. There were more important issues. ¡°Radiation levels are normal throughout the ship?¡± He could see the pale, sweaty faces of the bridge crew. He could spot a dozen people from here who certainly had radiation sickness. The radiation had breached the hull. The levels of it should not be normal.

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    ¡°Except for a slight elevation in the starboard bow, yes,¡± Galhino confirmed, making it clear that she was not mistaken. The levels were indeed normal.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make any damn sense, Galhino.¡± Colonel Zarrey argued, ¡°That should have taken hours.¡±

    ¡°It did, sir.¡± The sensor officer pointed to the old clock that hung on the wall, ¡°It¡¯s 0115 hours, ship¡¯s time.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve been out of it for nearly eight hours?¡± Zarrey could hardly believe that. What were the odds that the entire crew would get knocked out? ¡°Anything could have happened.¡± They could have been boarded or attacked while they were helpless! ¡­And it certainly meant that Admiral Gives could be anywhere he damn well pleased. That in itself could be really good or really bad.

    Ensign Alba rubbed his aching head, noticing that his hand came away bloody, but too busy to care. Someone before him had jury rigged the engineering console, leaving his only task to be collecting data. With the Admiral¡¯s noticeable absence, he reported to the executive officer. ¡°Colonel, sir, we¡¯re in rough shape.¡± The ship was just about as bad as it looked in CIC all around. ¡°The Conjoiner drives have been rigged to generate a lopsided field. That¡¯ll keep the most damaged part of the bow in stasis until we can get to it, but I can¡¯t get a proper read on the damage from here. We¡¯ll have to make a manual inspection of the structural supports.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey frowned. That doesn¡¯t sound good. ¡°Did we break her back, Alba?¡± If the ship¡¯s superstructure had been mangled, then the ship was effectively a cripple. The Singularity would never recover from that.

    ¡°I have no way of currently knowing the status of the superstructure, sir.¡± He would have to wait for the damage reports to make that assessment. ¡°Beyond that, the Primary Power Core is offline. The secondary core and Engine Three are putting off maximum output to compensate. Engine Four overheated and automatically shut down after losing coolant. It¡¯s venting heat directly into space.¡± He paused, looking for more information. The systems were finnicky, but eventually spat out what he needed to know. ¡°The Primary Power Grid is operating at 12% efficiency, and the secondaries are inoperable.¡±

    ¡°Alba, if you¡¯re trying to say she¡¯s a wreck, there are a lot of faster ways to do it,¡± Jazmine said, overhearing the sheer length of the engineering report. ¡°For example, ¡®Ah, shit! We¡¯re sunk!¡¯¡± He waved his hands around in a poor imitation of real panic.

    The boyish engineer immediately turned a satisfactory shade of red.

    ¡°Jazz, if you¡¯ve got something useful to contribute to this disaster, I would like to hear it.¡± Voice scathing, Galhino glared at him from two consoles over.

    ¡°Can it.¡± Zarrey barked. He had no desire to listen to the bridge crew¡¯s familiar bickering. He had too many other concerns. He gave the sensor officer and helmsman a warning look before turning back to Alba. ¡°12% efficiency is too low to be running a stable AG field, Life Support, decontamination systems and everything else that¡¯s still working.¡± That was a horrendously low power efficiency, and the ship¡¯s normally-abundant power reserves couldn¡¯t cover for that, not when most of the generators were offline. ¡°One engine and the secondary core aren¡¯t enough to power all of that.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Alba confirmed, typing rapidly at his controls. ¡°There is a third, unknown power source.¡±

    Zarrey watched the young officer work, ¡°Can you localize it?¡± Or was the ship too damaged?

    ¡°Yes.¡± Alba¡¯s fingers flew across the multicolored controls as he input commands, ¡°Deck Twelve, Compartment 24.¡±

    Zarrey recognized the location immediately. ¡°FTL Drive Two?¡± That doesn¡¯t make sense. Those drives were fantastic at consuming power, but incapable of producing it.

    ¡°Unclear.¡±

    Yet another mystery. Zarrey rubbed his temples. He hadn¡¯t been prepared to run the entire ship at the moment. It was usually extremely useful to have the Admiral¡¯s experience in these situations. The man had been in and gotten out of more tough scrapes than Zarrey could count, but his absence left the XO to do his best.

    ¡°Get me some runners,¡± he ordered, they would have to physically spread the word to parts of the ship where internal communications had failed. ¡°Begin repairs and equip all search and rescue teams with anti-radiation meds. Any team going into the starboard bow will wear hazard suits. Everyone needs to keep their eye out for sick and wounded and take shifts going to the medical bay for anti-radiation meds. We can¡¯t afford to lose anyone because they¡¯re being stubborn.¡± Anyone skipping the injection would likely wind up bed ridden. ¡°We have no replacements, people. I need everyone on their feet.¡±

    ¡°Alba, Galhino, Jazz, with me. We¡¯re going down to Compartment 24,¡± Zarrey told them, ¡°We can¡¯t leave an unknown energy source unattended.¡± The damage control teams were busy elsewhere, so they¡¯d investigate that discovery themselves. ¡°Keifer, you¡¯re in charge.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± The young communications officer replied, barely looking up from her station. It was not the first time she¡¯d briefly been left in charge.

    Following the XO out of the command center, Zarrey¡¯s group was immediately assaulted by the smell of smoke.

    ¡°Smells like we missed one hell of a barbeque,¡± Jazz commented. The smoke wasn¡¯t quite woody enough, but, still, ¡°Dammit, I¡¯m hungry now.¡± His empty stomach was overruling the radiation sickness¡¯ nausea.

    Maria Galhino smacked him on the back of the head. ¡°Those are our burnt friends you¡¯re smelling.¡± This scent wasn¡¯t just chemical smoke. It wasn¡¯t just objects that had been set ablaze. Beneath that chemical stench, there was something... meatier.

    The growls of Jazmine¡¯s stomach immediately silenced, replaced again with nausea. ¡°Oh.¡±

    No one said anything else. They had never seen ship damage quite like what was laid out before them. A thin layer of ash was spread on everything and electrical wires wiggled freely like cackling snakes.

    The regular lights in the corridors were flickering, trying to come on, but it was still mostly dark. Ensign Alba disliked the garish red coloring of the dim emergency lights. He reached for his flashlight only to find that it and his wire cutters had disappeared.

    Colonel Zarrey¡¯s head was pounding as if there was a jackhammer chipping at his brain. It was all he could do to focus on walking and hope the Admiral was in better shape than himself, wherever he was.

    Taking the most direct route to Deck Twelve, they found the deck below CIC had an even thicker layer of ash and the air was permeated by the stifling stench of smoke. Descending further to Deck Ten, the floors and walls were scorched and charred. It went without saying that major fires had ravaged this part of the ship. The acrid scent of brunt wiring was suffocating.

    Deck Eleven was even worse than Ten. The fires had been equally widespread, but their heat had warped doors and floor tiles. The fire suppression systems had managed to put out the blaze, but it had clearly raged for quite some time before then. The Colonel¡¯s team did their best not to consider the consequences of the inescapable flames for anyone caught on this deck during the attack.

    By the time the group arrived at the hatch for Compartment 24, they all had smears of black ash on their faces. The mess was inescapable. Colonel Zarrey reached the door first and flung it open with a mighty heave, entirely unsure of what he might find inside.

 Part 5.2 - HAUNTED HISTORY

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    As Colonel Zarrey looked down from the observation platform, it was immediately obvious that some disturbance had occurred in Compartment 24. Metal deck pieces were displaced and scattered about the room. A thick wire ran across the deck to a strange piece of equipment, and the ship¡¯s commander lay sprawled on his back a couple of steps from the unfamiliar device.

    Zarrey took off running, his headache and nausea instantly forgotten. ¡°Admiral!¡± he called, thudding down the metal mesh of the stairs. Jazz, Galhino and Alba darted after him.

    On the ground floor, Zarrey careened to a stop so suddenly that the others nearly ran into him. Despite how it had first appeared, the Admiral was not alone. A white-haired woman stood above his unmoving body. Colonel Zarrey met her eyes, a colorless, lifeless gray. ¡°Witch.¡±

    Her face never twitched, but a flicker of abhorrent power flooded the air as she took a half-step forward. The hairs on the back of his neck danced a warning. His very instincts whispered incessantly: run, but he met those dead gray eyes with all the anger he could muster. ¡°Back off, ghost.¡± He lowered his voice to a growl, and took a step forward, ¡°He isn¡¯t yours for the taking.¡±

    She, no, it, stared at him, unfocused eyes boring deeper into him than anything should have been able to go. It probed his thoughts, sliding coolly across them like the dull edge of a knife on skin, dissecting, studying. Then, that foreign presence pulled away and its thin lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

    Silently, it stepped back, alien satisfaction soothing the goosebumps on Zarrey¡¯s skin. Intent stirred in its empty eyes, and slowly it raised a hand of long, pale fingers.

    It moved no further than that, but the gesture was clear. Take him. Zarrey blinked in surprise, finding that he could swallow on his dry throat for the first time since he¡¯d recognized this presence. Its power had fled the air for now, so Zarrey shifted his focus to the Admiral¡¯s limp form. His wounds were obvious: burns, a bloody hand tied in a stained kerchief and a swollen, oozing leg. The sickly color of his skin contrasted the black spider webs of grotesquely swollen veins. Blood poisoning. That alone was enough to make his condition severe, and that discounted the messenger of death lingering nearby. I don¡¯t give a damn what you are, he glared at it. ¡°I swear, if you hurt him in any way, I will personally exorcise your ass back to hell.¡±

    Expression drawn as blank as a porcelain doll, it seemed uncaring of Zarrey¡¯s threat. Slowly, its steel gray eyes shifted from Zarrey to the bridge crew behind him, and then finally to the man on the ground.

    ¡®They will take care of you,¡¯ the ghost promised him silently. My obligation is complete.

    Without warning, it vanished, robbing the air of the uncanny warmth that had tainted it. Zarrey hardly even questioned it, dashing to the Admiral¡¯s side. He expected to find the man dead where he lay. That presence, he and the three officers behind him all knew exactly what it was: the Singularity¡¯s Ghost. It? No, he supposed since it always presented as female, it was a she, and she was known for killing off wounded crew. Finding that legend standing above the Admiral meant the man was probably dead.

    Yet, the ship commander¡¯s chest was rising and falling shallowly. ¡°He¡¯s alive,¡± Zarrey breathed, at first unsure if he believed it. But that uncertainty was quickly replaced with frustration. Oh, who am I kidding? ¡°Wake up, asshole! You owe me one hell of an explanation.¡±

    Galhino came up behind him, noting the extent of the black veins on the Admiral¡¯s neck. ¡°Stage Three blood poisoning,¡± she announced. ¡°With the blood loss, it might even be Stage Four. He¡¯ll die without immediate treatment. And even then, he might die anyway.¡± Blood poisoning was extremely difficult to treat, especially once it progressed that far.

    ¡°Guess that explains the ghost.¡± Jazz said, his voice lacking all traces of its usual humor.

    Zarrey ignored him. ¡°How did it get so severe?¡± The rest of the bridge crew, including the Colonel himself only had radiation sickness. Radiation poisoning, let alone the blood poisoning had not set in on them.

    ¡°It¡¯s a side effect of physically exerting oneself in an irradiated environment,¡± the sensor officer answered, then gestured to the state of the room. ¡°If I had to guess, doing this is what did him in.¡± The deck tiles were hefty, and quite a few of them had been scattered.

    Reminded of the room¡¯s condition, Zarrey looked around, but found his gaze locked on the space the ghost had disappeared from. What the hell was going on aboard this ship? For the first time in a long time, Colonel Zarrey felt he did not have a clue. But now was not the time for such thoughts. ¡°Alba,¡± he snapped, ¡°What the hell is that?¡± He pointed to the machine humming in its spot under the deck.

    ¡°It appears to be a power core, sir,¡± Alba answered shallowly. His empty stomach churned uncomfortably, squeamish at the sight of the Admiral¡¯s bloody wounds.

    ¡°I can see that, Alba!¡± Zarrey shouted, his thunderous volume pulling the engineer out of his shock, ¡°But what the hell is it doing here?¡±

    ¡°Unknown, sir.¡± Alba said.

    ¡°Figure it out,¡± Zarrey ordered. ¡°I doubt that it was intentionally built into the flooring.¡± He motioned to Jazz, ¡°Help me take the Admiral to the medical bay. You two,¡± he glared at the remaining bridge officers, ¡°Stay here. See what you can learn about that core, and make sure it¡¯s good to go. We¡¯re going to need it for a while longer.¡± Judging by what he¡¯d seen on the walk down, repairs to the ship could take weeks, if it was possible at all out here on their own.

    ¡°Wait,¡± Galhino protested, not wanting to be left here, ¡°what if the ghost comes back?¡±

    ¡°What? Are you scared, Galhino?¡± The helmsman crossed his arms. ¡°She didn¡¯t seem that hostile.¡± It had been eerie, the inhuman presence suffocating, but despite the rumors, none of them had been attacked.

    She had just seen something impossible, but she had seen it, so was she not right to feel afraid? She turned to the Colonel, ¡°But it¡¯s real!¡± They had all seen it. That was just wrong! ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to be real! I thought that was a scary story we told rookies!¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter!¡± Zarrey didn¡¯t have time to argue the science of spirits with Galhino. Admiral Gives was dying on the floor. ¡°She¡¯s not coming back. You¡¯re not wounded and you¡¯re not alone. She won¡¯t come after you. Besides, you¡¯ve got Alba here to protect you.¡± He clapped the boyish engineer roughly on the shoulder, nearly knocking the lightweight over.

    ¡°We¡¯re unarmed!¡± Galhino argued, and it wasn¡¯t like Alba was any good in a fight. He could barely stand the sight of blood without fainting.

    Colonel Zarrey resisted the urge to ask what good a weapon would be against a ghost and instead tossed a pair of wire cutters that had been on the floor nearby to Alba. ¡°Stab her with those if she comes back.¡± He then turned pointedly away and helped Jazz carry the Admiral out of the room before anyone could offer another protest.

    The sensor officer looked sourly after them. ¡°Let¡¯s get this started,¡± she said to Alba. ¡°The sooner we finish, the sooner we can report back to CIC.¡± She didn¡¯t want to be in this compartment any longer than she had to be.

    ¡°Right,¡± Alba said, turning the wire cutters over in his hands. They looked just like his own missing pair. He pocketed them and laid down to inspect the power core. Judging by the nearby smears of blood that churned his stomach, the Admiral had done the same.

    Galhino took to pacing, her footfalls rattling the deck as she observed the core from a distance. ¡°It looks just like the old Primary Power Core.¡± Command had ordered that core to be replaced with a newer make, but this one looked just like the old one had.

    ¡°It¡¯s not the Singularity¡¯s.¡± It looked similar to the untrained eye, but that didn¡¯t mean much, just that it was older than what the fleet used these days. ¡°This one¡¯s even older than ours was. I recognize the make. It came off one of the old Battleship-class ships.¡± It was very similar to what the Singularity¡¯s original primary core would have been, but it was smaller and had a lower output. Despite those drawbacks, it was still a better fit for the ship than the new core Command had given them. That new core was finnicky as hell with the ship¡¯s old systems.

    ¡°A Battleship-class?¡± Galhino echoed. ¡°That makes it sixty years old,¡± practically ancient in the realm of ship-building technology.

    ¡°Fifty-eight,¡± Alba corrected, rooting through the wires. ¡°The original battle fleet was commissioned in the early years of the War.¡± The Singularity herself had come in at the later years of the War, making her just eight years newer than the Battleship-class ships, but none of that explained this power core.

    He crawled around to check the engraving on the side. All major ship equipment including FTLs, power cores, and artificial gravity drives had the ID of the ship they belonged to engraved upon them. It assisted in identifying ship wreckage and illegal salvage. The unworn lettering read ¡®UCSC-04¡¯ quite clearly, halting Alba in his work. ¡°Galhino,¡± he called, ¡°what do you know about the original Battleship Kansas?¡± Something about this felt off. It felt dark. Any mention of the Kansas always did.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    The sensor officer paused her pacing midway through gathering her curly hair into a ponytail. Knowing and identifying ships was her job, so she had committed most of the active fleet to memory, but she did not care much for the retired ones. She started tapping her foot, racking her brain for anything she could remember, ¡°Battleship-class, two main engines, one landing bay, dual FTL drive system, single power core, AG field was Spinner technology¡­¡± she trailed off, ¡°Why?¡± How could that possibly be relevant?

    ¡°What about history?¡±

    Maria Galhino eyed Alba, but continued to inform him, ¡°The Battleship Kansas was constructed on Ariea by the country of Kansa. She fought in the Hydrian War and survived, but vanished without a trace fifteen years later. She¡¯s been missing in action for more than thirty years.¡±

    ¡°And no one ever found her?¡±

    Galhino shook her head, ¡°No, she¡¯s still marked as MIA, but presumed sunk.¡± The Kansas¡¯ myth was considered bad luck for sailors to even mention these days. The ship and her entire crew complement had vanished without a trace from a sector of space that ships were now forbidden by law to enter.

    ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡± Alba asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she answered curtly, not liking to repeat herself. She saw the engineer rubbing his head, confused. ¡°Why?¡±

    Alba checked the ID on the core again, but it was very clearly legible. He pointed to the ID scratched into the generator¡¯s shell, ¡°This is the Kansas¡¯ Primary Power Core.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s impossible!¡± Scouring the device for some evidence of deceit, she eventually spotted something odd wedged almost invisibly into the wires.

    Galhino began to dig in, trying to grab it as Alba protested, ¡°Hey! Be careful! Those wires are set exactly the way they need to be, disconnect just one and it¡¯ll take me half an hour to repair it!¡±

    Focused only on finding answers, Galhino shoved her forearm deeper into the tangle of wires. Her fingers eventually brushed something that was neither round nor metal: a sheet of paper. She dragged it out and held it up between her fingers for Alba to see. ¡°So, what¡¯s the power core of a ship that¡¯s been missing for thirty years doing on the Singularity?¡± Their answer was likely on that sheet of paper.

    The whole idea of the Kansas made Alba nervous. A ship with a crew of more than six hundred couldn¡¯t have just vanished, but the Kansas had been missing longer than he¡¯d been born. It was not something he liked to think about, and he had a grim feeling about the paper in Galhino¡¯s hand. It had worn yellowed edges and carried a dark rusty stain.

    Holding it up to the light, she began to unfold it as Alba looked over her shoulder. The moment it was properly unfurled, Galhino dropped it with a gasp, and it fluttered softly to the ground. The paper had very little writing on it, but the brownish stain dominated the paper in the likeness of a hand.

    Blood.

    Galhino knelt to pick it up again, now taking care to touch as little of the sheet as possible. Alba squinted at it, studying the page. ¡°It¡¯s an official document,¡± he offered, seeing the watermark printed behind the words, ¡°that¡¯s the official seal of the UCSC.¡± It was the eight-pointed star of the fleet they served.

    ¡°Stars,¡± she cursed, having begun reading the words off the paper. ¡°Tom, this is an order for the Kansas¡¯ destruction.¡± A direct order to sink the ship and kill all six hundred souls aboard her.

    Alba began reading the fine print for himself.

    ¡®Code: Orange

    Battleship Kansas (UCSC-04)

    Liguanian Sector

    As the reigning authority aboard the blood-stained decks, I am solely to blame for the actions that must now be taken. I am to be held responsible for my own damnation and those comrades I must now take with me.

    Under my jurisdiction as the commanding officer, with all necessary force, I have ordered this alimented vessel¡¯s destruction. I have been left with no other choice. The crew is dead. Those that cling to life beg me to end this festering hell. Death is no escape for the living, but we have already been tormented beyond life¡¯s limits and will welcome Death¡¯s sweet embrace.

    To save others from this twisted reality, I will sink this ship for the worlds. Make no attempt to halt our intent, for I, Commander Mattias Reddy, have given these orders. And should this be found before we can carry out our own destruction, I am ordering you to fire upon the Kansas an continue until nothing remains.

    Long live Ariea and her countries,

    Commander Mattias H. Reddy¡¯

    ¡°They must have ejected the power core to use as a capsule for the order, knowing that it would be recovered and the order with it,¡± Lieutenant Galhino said, her voice shaking. The very idea of a commander destroying his own ship, killing his crew, it horrified her. What kind of situation could ever justify that?

    ¡°But the core never was recovered. It ended up hidden beneath the floorboards our ship, and the order with it.¡± Alba didn¡¯t know what to think. Galhino held in her hands the final desperate orders of a dead man. Orders that had been hidden for decades. ¡°What¡¯s a Code: Orange?¡± He had never heard of it. Code red was an enemy attack, yellow was an equipment failure and purple signified an accident, but orange?

    ¡°We should get that to the Colonel, or the Admiral, someone.¡± She handed the paper over for Alba to stick in one of his many pockets. She wished it could be out of sight, out of mind, but there was a sick sense of wandering curiosity to it.

    Would their own commander ever be desperate enough to take the lives of his own crew? Knowing the Admiral¡¯s complete lack of attachment to anything, he¡¯d probably do it without a second thought. He had not reacted at all to the loss of his own brother. Galhino doubted the crew was any more than a means to an end for him, so she tried to banish the thought as she climbed the stairs to the upper level of the compartment, ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Alba followed without a word. The power core was extremely compatible with the ship¡¯s systems. Despite its mysterious origins, it would function as necessary.

    As they left Compartment 24, even in the red emergency lighting, Alba could see that the fate of the Kansas still bothered Galhino. It bothered him too, but it wasn¡¯t the only inexplicable thing they¡¯d found in that compartment. ¡°So, the ship¡¯s haunted?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what they say,¡± Galhino answered, uncertain she liked this turn in conversation. ¡°The Haunted Singularity.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t think they meant that literally.¡± The ship had quite a reputation. The rumors of a haunting were the least of them. On the Frontier, the ship was equated to a demon, so Alba never put too much stock in the rumors. Far as he¡¯d seen, the ship was perfectly normal. At least, had been, until today.

    Galhino rolled her eyes, sidestepping a fallen bulkhead. ¡°The ship¡¯s not haunted.¡± Ghosts weren¡¯t real. Sure, she had seen something in that compartment, but to automatically attribute that to superstitious beliefs was annoying. There was certainly some other explanation.

    Alba could read the certainty in her expression. It would be useless to argue with her, but ghost or not, they had both seen something in that compartment. Something that matched the rumors of the ship¡¯s haunting to a horrifying degree, because those rumors were anything but pleasant. As the engineers that had trained him told the story, the ghost appeared before dying crewmembers, a messenger of death.

    They said an officer had a gruesome death aboard ship, suffering long enough to become a tortured spirit. They said she continued to haunt the decks of the ship that had taken her life, but the only crew who could see her were the ones about to die. They understood their wounds were fatal when they saw her nearby. But the darkest rumors claimed the ghost didn¡¯t just warn of death. She ensured it by killing those crew caught wounded and alone.

    There was a reason the sight of such an entity had been so disturbing, but as Ensign Alba contemplated those rumors, what he¡¯d seen in that compartment didn¡¯t seem to align. ¡°Did she seem malicious to you, Galhino?¡±

    ¡°It.¡± Galhino spat. Whatever she¡¯d seen in that compartment hadn¡¯t been human. ¡°And it seemed plenty evil.¡±

    ¡°You think she wanted to kill the Admiral?¡±

    ¡°Personally,¡± she muttered, ¡°I¡¯m pissed it didn¡¯t succeed.¡±

    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± Colonel Zarrey had clearly believed the ghost had been attempting to take the Admiral¡¯s life, but Alba didn¡¯t share that conclusion. Zarrey¡¯s deep concern had come off as downright hostile. Maybe she¡¯d been defending her right to her next victim, but if she had wanted to kill Admiral Gives, why not do it hours ago? The Admiral had clearly been out of it for a while. ¡°She surrendered him to us,¡± and in the context of the rumors, that made no sense at all.

    ¡°Alba, does it fucking matter right now?¡± She gestured around them to the charred decks and wounded crewmembers slowly limping toward the medical bay. Further up the corridor, two orderlies were loading an unidentifiable mass into a long black bag. ¡°Look around you. We are in a waking nightmare. People are dead. And they weren¡¯t killed by some freakish thing. They got killed by a nuclear warhead, and if we aren¡¯t careful, we¡¯re going to join them, with or without the ghost¡¯s help.¡±

    Though stabilized, the ship was still in critical condition. Any further damage could restart the cascade collapse. And the crew, light radiation sickness was the best they could hope. If the hull wasn¡¯t eventually cleaned or the decontamination systems stopped working, the remaining radiation would continue to cook their insides. Casualties were a fact, not a possibility. The ship¡¯s haunting was the last thing they ought to be worrying about.

    Alba said nothing else. Galhino was right and he knew it as they made their way back to the bridge. When they arrived, Colonel Zarrey¡¯s thunderous voice was filling the room and spilling into the corridor beyond. ¡°The old girl¡¯s in rough shape, ladies and gents, and quite frankly, it¡¯s dishonorable. This ship deserves far better than to have the look of an ash tray on three of her decks. She deserves better than to have a gaping hole and half collapsed structure for her starboard bow. She deserved better than to be critically damaged by an unseen enemy without firing a shot in retaliation. So, you lazy spacers, we¡¯re going to fix her up just like new, we¡¯re going to find the sons of bitches that did this, and we¡¯re going to blow them out of the sky!¡±

    He roused a few cheers from the exhausted crew, which Colonel Zarrey deemed good enough. The dark rings under their eyes could be seen from across the room. Eight hours knocked out on the floor had not done them a lick of good and Zarrey was not as gifted with words as the Admiral could choose to be.

    ¡°The Singularity needs to be structurally reinforced before we can start going back to duty shifts. It¡¯ll be all hands on deck until then,¡± Zarrey announced at a lower tone. ¡°The engineering chief has told me that we have the supplies and capability to make full repairs. We¡¯re due back at Base Oceana for reassignment by the middle of next week, so let¡¯s make sure we¡¯re there in tip-top condition. You know how important it is that the old girl looks beautiful in the presence of our superiors.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey, despite his gruff attitude and vulgarity, was well liked by the crew. They happily put in full effort at his request, even if they knew the engineering chief had said no such thing. Word had come down half an hour ago: Chief Carlson was dead. There was absolutely no promise that they could repair the ship, no matter how right Zarrey was.

    It was important they arrive in the Homebound Sector with the ship in flawless condition. For years, Command had been searching for a reason to decommission the Singularity. Structural damage would be the only excuse they needed.

    Not one single member of the crew wanted that to happen. If the ship was decommissioned, they would be reassigned, and new assignments were completely unpredictable. It might lead one of them to an assignment on the Olympia, and no matter how desirable an assignment to the flagship might seem, they were all desperate to avoid it.

    The Colonel ducked under the radar console to assist with repairs. It granted him enough privacy to let his worry show on his face, because he couldn¡¯t stop flashing back to the medical bay. He and Jazz had hauled Admiral Gives there, and Zarrey was still reeling from the visit. Among the chaos of painful writhing and mournful screams, Doctor Macintosh had been quick to give a diagnosis.

    Delivered with the insincerity of a medic who had lost too many patients, all Doctor Macintosh said was, ¡°Congratulations on your promotion.¡±

 Part 5.3 - MERCY MEDIC

    Thirty minutes ago, Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Doctor Macintosh had blood all over his white coat and the black uniform underneath. His ears had gone deaf to the screaming. Life as a medical officer on a battleship had rendered him insensitive to such things, even as they surrounded him.

    He had lost six patients already, this one made seven, and another eight corpses had been taken directly to the morgue. He pulled down his surgical mask with a sigh, letting it hang on his neck as tears began pricking at his eyes. He blinked them furiously away. He did not have enough tears to shed for all the patients he lost. That was the reality of a trauma surgeon.

    He tussled the young woman¡¯s hair gently, ¡°Sorry, Yeoman.¡± She couldn¡¯t have been any more than twenty-two. No, according to the medical file, she was twenty-one years and eleven months old. Two weeks from now, she would have celebrated a birthday. That birthday would never be had. He picked up her hand from where it limply hung, and squeezed it comfortingly before laying it across her still chest.

    He turned away from the blank stare of the Marine that had dragged this patient in. ¡°Where¡¯s the next one?¡± Macintosh asked the nurse, stripping off his sterile gloves.

    ¡°Out in the bay,¡± she answered, voice unhindered by the tears on her cheeks. ¡°Third degree burns, legs, torso, chest and face. Another mercy case, Doctor. And then Sanchez has a crushed arm in the other operating room.¡±

    Another mercy case. Another crewman who was dead before they had even arrived in the medical bay. They would breathe and maybe speak for several more minutes, but they would still die. Sometimes it took that long for death to set in. His job with them was to ensure they were not in pain for the duration.

    ¡°Clean this up. Prep for another patient,¡± he told the nurse. I¡¯m going to go watch another young kid die. Children, that¡¯s all they were. Most of the crew was well below the age of twenty-eight. They were only children who had possessed no way of knowing the tragedies that would befall them today. They had never suspected this on what had been a quiet patrol. Not even Macintosh had expected this. If he had, he would have started drinking sooner, in some vain attempt to dull the pain.

    ¡°Yes, Doctor.¡± Nurse June took a white sheet from the pile and draped it over the body. There was no need for anyone else to see the mutilated corpse. Someone, somewhere, during the cleanup and repair efforts would find the remains of the yeoman¡¯s crushed legs, and have to wipe up the mess. Hopefully, they would not be able to recognize the bones and muscles as the lost half of the pretty young woman who had just died on the table.

    Structural damage rendered ugly wounds. It crushed limbs, crushed people and crushed hope when victims became trapped. The ship¡¯s structural supports were hundreds of times bigger than any crewman. When they gave, they smashed anyone in the way like bugs ¨C just red smears on the shell of a massive machine. Those victims lucky enough to live often lost limbs or became paralyzed.

    The cleanup after such events inflicted psychological damage almost as crippling. Finding half-crushed friends put many in a state of shock. Being forced to cut off limbs to free victims from the wreckage was scarring to both sides. Cleaning up those pulverized remains of limbs and bodies gave nightmares to the teams responsible.

    Hull breaches were better. The vacuum was quick when it killed. Even the radiation was better than structural damage. It was painful for the victim, but it was easier to clean. It traumatized fewer people overall.

    But the burns, those were the worst of all.

    This latest patient did not prove him wrong as he stepped past the curtain that had been drawn around the living corpse. The skin, blood and remains of the clothing were all virtually indistinguishable: black and red, wet and crunchy. Externally, this patient had been baked to a crisp. Internally, they had been boiled alive. Unfortunately, it took the human body time to catch up with those facts.

    It took time to die.

    The rotten stench of it was escapable. All of the victim¡¯s hair had been burned away. Their face was charred, mouth stuck open in whatever painful scream they had been caught in. The burns were so severe, Macintosh couldn¡¯t even tell if it was a man or woman. They were unrecognizable. He could see where someone, likely whichever nurse had seen to this patient, had pried the dog tags out of their scorched chest. That would have been the only way to ID the victim.

    Macintosh grabbed the clipboard hung on the foot of the bed. A man. Ensign Li. It didn¡¯t matter though. He was still going to die. Painkillers were the only treatment he could give, even as the patient let out a low moan.

    That raised the cries of the woman on the other side of the bed. She was weeping, rocking back and forth with her knees against her chest. Judging by the flakes of blackened skin and blood stains on her orange jumpsuit, she was the one who had brought in Li.

    ¡°Ensign Frasier, you shouldn¡¯t be in here,¡± Macintosh told her. She would only be further traumatized by the state of her friend.

    She screeched loudly, an unearthly howl. Rocking harder against the wall where she¡¯d curled up. Without further question, Macintosh pulled a syringe from the pocket of his lab coat. He poked it into her shoulder and injected the contents without any attention to precision. He had already done this four other times so far today.

    A moment later, her shoulders dropped and she slid to the floor, her ragged breaths starting to even out. She still grabbed at Macintosh¡¯s coat as the sedative took her under, ¡°It¡¯s all my fault,¡± she wept, ¡°he pushed me out of the way¡­ but h-he got caught in the spray.¡± Frasier tugged on his coat again, ¡°You can save h-him¡­ right¡­ Doc?¡± She went limp against his leg.

    Macintosh pushed her carefully off, leaving her on the floor. Li would be dead before she woke. It was cruel maybe, but also necessary. He didn¡¯t have time to deal with mental panic until the physical trauma cases were stitched up. It was better to knock them out then let them scream and run around in a frenzy. They would only hurt themselves.

    The patient moaned again, low and guttural. It was probably the only sound he was capable of making. Macintosh pulled another syringe from his pocket, but he paused before injecting it. There was no way to inject it without cracking the scab that was the man¡¯s body.

    It was momentary pain against minutes of agony. Macintosh was not sure why he hesitated. He inserted it steadily as he could, but the flesh still cracked around the injection site. Fresh blood splattered onto his white coat. It soaked into the sterile sheets as he pushed the syringe down.

    Li screamed in momentary agony, but that soon shifted to a softer noise ¨C one that could have been gratitude or a dying whimper.

    The doctor disposed of the used syringes. ¡°Sorry, Ensign.¡± Today, it seemed he was not a very good doctor. He could not do anything to help these children.

    The spray Frasier had mentioned had probably been fuel. The ship¡¯s liquid fuel burned hot and burned fast. It was likely the cause of Li¡¯s deep, uniform burns. He must have been coated in head to toe when the line broke. Once it ignited, it would have taken mere seconds to burn through his clothes and into his skin. Now, drugged into oblivion, the kid would die painlessly. There was nothing else to be done.

    Macintosh slipped out past the curtain and headed back to the operating rooms. Pulling his mask back up, he slapped on the gloves Nurse Sanchez offered him. It seemed the tide of wounded had stilled for now. Another wave would come, but it left him to work on cases that he could do some good for.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    This crewman¡¯s arm had been partially crushed, mangled, but he was not bleeding out. Macintosh could save this one. This one would live. The patient was knocked out under anesthesia as the medical officer began his work. This was less of a trauma surgery to stop internal bleeding, and more of an attempt to repair his arm before it was too late. It was a good change. The limb might prove salvageable.

    Macintosh managed to stitch up most of the tendons and mend the bones in the few minutes he had before the door to the surgery room flew open, ¡°Doctor! Another one just came in.¡±

    ¡°Not now,¡± Macintosh snapped. He was going to save this crewman¡¯s arm, since it was the only thing he seemed capable of saving today.

    ¡°It¡¯s an emergency-!¡±

    ¡°Not now!¡± He could watch whoever it was die later.

    Nurse June took a step back, cowering from his anger, but she could not back down. ¡°It¡¯s Admiral Gives, sir. The Admiral¡¯s down.¡±

    ¡°Fucking son of a bitch!¡± Macintosh slammed his gory scalpel onto the tray, ¡°Tell that asshole to go die somewhere else!¡± It was about time for that bastard to get a different doctor to stitch him up.

    June cowered even further away. ¡°He¡¯s comatose, sir.¡±

    ¡°That figures.¡± Naturally, the man would find some way to rob Macintosh of any small joy. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll heal him and then curse him out myself. It¡¯s his fault I¡¯ve got this shit job anyway.¡± Macintosh would never forgive him for that.

    ¡°I can finish up here,¡± Sanchez said. She wasn¡¯t a surgeon, but she¡¯d been working in the fleet long enough to have every bit of the necessary knowledge and experience.

    Macintosh nodded and peeled off his bloody gloves, tossing them into the waste bin as he stormed out in the room. June hurried after him, listing off the patient¡¯s condition, ¡°He had third degree burns to his leg and hand. The leg wound looked to be infected. Severe blood poisoning, likely Stage Four. He was comatose when they found him, no sign of head trauma. The amount of blood loss is unknown, and he¡¯s completely unresponsive.¡±

    ¡°Fetch a blood bag from storage and ready one of the x-ray machines. We¡¯ll need to check for internal bleeding and fluid in the lungs.¡± Of all the soldiers Macintosh had met and subsequently operated on, Admiral Gives was one of the toughest. He prioritized his job far above his health, so if he was comatose with his ship in this condition, he was probably on death¡¯s door.

    ¡°I¡¯ll check the records for a blood type and get that right away.¡±

    ¡°Just grab the type we have the most of,¡± the doctor told her, ¡°He¡¯s AB+. Universal recipient.¡± Granted how many times the Admiral had been shot over the years, that blood type had proved more than useful. It was probably the only reason he had lived this long.

    June ran off with those instructions and Macintosh lumbered towards the officers hovering over the bed in the corner of the bay. Zarrey¡¯s massive size and Jazmine¡¯s perfectly parted hair were instantly recognizable as they stood over the bed in the corner of the bay. Every conscious person in the medical bay was also looking in that direction, shocked.

    ¡°Great,¡± Macintosh muttered grumpily. All of his hard work to keep everyone calm, by knocking out those who were not, had just been effectively wasted.

    Even on his own ship, the Admiral remained near legend. It was a common assumption that the man did not even sleep, because sleep was for the weak, but that was bullshit. Macintosh knew it was bullshit. Admiral Gives was as tough as they came, but he was not immortal. When they realized that fact, the crew would be devastated. It was a fact that seeing Admiral Gives wounded and comatose scared them.

    ¡°Get out.¡± Macintosh shoved the two bridge officers away and yanked the gray curtain closed, concealing the Admiral from view. It was obvious that Jazmine and Zarrey were rattled. The crew would not be able to cope with seeing their commanding officer like this. They would panic and lose all hope.

    The doctor could not let that happen. Hope was particularly important in a situation like this. It would keep them going, even if they were not going to get very far without the Admiral.

    It took Doctor Macintosh less than a minute to confirm all of June¡¯s observations, including the severe blood poisoning. Admiral Gives was not the first patient to come in with Stage Four blood poisoning today. Unfortunately, the rest had all evolved into Stage Five: death.

    ¡°You stupid bastard,¡± Macintosh cursed bitterly, ¡°What could you possibly have been doing that you deemed worth your life?¡± Only an idiot would not have realized the radiation¡¯s effects on his body, and while the Admiral was a lot of things, an idiot was not one of them.

    Knowing the Admiral, he would have deemed almost anything worth his life. The man hid something akin to a death wish. It made the life of his medical officer exceptionally difficult.

    Starting to hook up the life support and monitoring machines, Macintosh abruptly started to realize how dire this patient¡¯s condition really was. The man very well could die. He sighed, ¡°As much as I hate stitching you up, I¡¯d really hate for this to be the last time.¡±

    Outside the curtain, Zarrey could feel the uncertain gazes of the crew. They were wide-eyed and scared. Zarrey made an effort to laugh, ¡°You all look so worried.¡± For a crew that repeatedly contemplated mutiny, they seemed particularly concerned about their commanding officer. ¡°He¡¯s Admiral Gives. He¡¯ll walk it off.¡± He¡¯d better.

    The crew seemed to accept that for now, returning to where they had been resting and working. The excuse wouldn¡¯t hold forever, but for now, it would do just fine. Zarrey sent Jazz back to the bridge and watched a nurse dart in and out, bringing supplies and equipment, growing impatient as he waited for the doctor¡¯s diagnosis.

    When the curtain finally parted, Doctor Macintosh stepped out with a sour look on his face. ¡°Congratulations on your promotion,¡± he said, shoving the Admiral¡¯s uniform jacket into the XO¡¯s empty hands.

    The silver rank pins on the collar glittered as Zarrey stared at the jacket in surprise. ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s dead.¡± Macintosh shoved his hands into the pockets of his white coat and walked away.

    Zarrey grabbed his arm and dragged him close, struggling to keep his voice down, ¡°You inconsolable little prick! He was alive when I brought him in!¡±

    Doctor Macintosh had an easy time swatting Zarrey¡¯s hands away. He was just as tall and just as strong as the XO. ¡°He was dead when you found him.¡±

    Remembering the crew in the medical bay, Zarrey pulled the doctor back behind the curtain before his anger obviously reddened his face. ¡°He was breathing!¡±

    ¡°I might be able to physically heal him, but that doesn¡¯t change anything.¡± There was absolutely nothing to be done. ¡°He¡¯s in a coma, Dennis. Brain dead.¡± There was no way to treat that, even if Macintosh managed to cure the blood poisoning. ¡°His brain activity is almost nothing.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean he¡¯s dead!¡±

    ¡°More than 90% of coma patients with such low brain activity never wake up.¡± The active part of his brain was breathing and beating his heart, nothing else, and the doctor knew that could stop at any time. It would probably stop very soon.

    ¡°So, you¡¯re going to give up on him, just because the odds are against him?¡± Unbelievable. ¡°I thought you were his friend!¡±

    ¡°The Steel Prince did not have friends.¡± Macintosh might have known the Admiral far longer than the rest of the crew, but it did not make them friends. ¡°He had a battleship, but she¡¯s your responsibility now.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you.¡± Zarrey snarled, shoving the Admiral¡¯s jacket back at Macintosh. ¡°This is Admiral Gives¡¯ ship, and he will wake up.¡± He had promised to explain things, and Admiral Gives was a man of his word.

    The man on that bed was yet another living corpse that had made it to the medical bay. To Macintosh, this was another mercy case, just as pointless as the rest. ¡°It would take a miracle for him to come back to life, especially since he didn¡¯t even want to be alive in the first place.¡±

    ¡°Say that again!¡± Instinctively, Zarrey decked Macintosh hard in the face, but his fist was stopped just a few inches away from his target.

    Macintosh nonchalantly dropped Zarrey¡¯s hand. He had come to expect that reaction from the overly irrational XO. ¡°I think you¡¯ve seen enough of him to know that.¡± It was obvious to anyone who paid attention that Admiral Gives gave very little value to his own life. ¡°After everything that he¡¯s been through, would you want to live if you were in his place?¡±

    Zarrey was left completely speechless. Admiral Gives did not speak of his past. In fact, he spoke very little about anything besides his job. He had ended up as one of the most hated members of the human race for a reason, and that had proved to be an exceptionally painful position.

    The Admiral had been tortured and shot repeatedly, and as a result developed an absolute aversion to being touched. When Zarrey had grabbed Admiral Gives on the bridge, he had revived every one of those memories and been lucky the Admiral had not attacked him in self-defense.

    ¡°He passed Command¡¯s psych evaluations every year by technicality,¡± Macintosh explained. ¡°He simply showed no emotion at all, so they couldn¡¯t fail him.¡± That did not mean that Admiral Gives had not suffered the long-term effects of severe depression. He showed every red flag for self-harm: risky behavior, lack of interest and was withdrawn from everyone. To this day, the doctor was not exactly sure what kept the man from killing himself.

    Macintosh knew it was difficult news to comprehend. ¡°I made him promise that if he ever decided to take his own life, he would not take the ship down with him.¡± It seemed this situation had been the perfect out. Attempting to revive the Admiral would be pointless, and most likely, an unwelcome effort. ¡°There¡¯s nothing I can do.¡± It would be better to move onto a patient that not only wanted to live, but actually stood some chance of doing so.

    ¡°You¡¯re full of shit.¡± Zarrey refused to believe any of that. ¡°You¡¯re pissed off because people keep dying and you can¡¯t do a damn thing about it.¡± They were all stressed, emotionally and physically. ¡°I understand that, but don¡¯t take it out on the man who just saved the entire ship. Even if you can¡¯t save him, at least make an effort to try.¡±

 Part 5.4 - SHRAPNEL

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Two hours later, the damage control and search and rescue operations were mostly complete. All over the ship, crewmen were starting to scrub the hallways clean of debris and repair severed wires; minor, but necessary efforts after combat, if the events of the Kalahari Sector could even be called combat. Ensign Callie Smith was not sure it could.

    They had never fired a shot in retaliation. The other engineers had taken to calling it a slaughter. Seeing the casualties they had taken and the overall condition of the ship, she could not bring herself to disagree.

    A little over ten hours had passed since the ship had made the jump from the Kalahari Sector. Oddly, anyone who had not been in immediate danger from the subsequent ship damage or fires, had spent most of their time knocked out. Callie was one of them. She had no memory of anything after feeling the ship transition back out of subspace. The next thing she knew, she had woken to find herself sprawled on the hangar deck, an array fallen tools surrounding her.

    She had been given little time to contemplate it. Damage control had been exhausting: darting from place to place, trying to stabilize and control equipment that was badly shaken, but necessary to sustain life and functionality aboard ship. Finished with that, she¡¯d been immediately swept up with a large team of engineers who were now starting actual repairs.

    This particular team had been assigned to assess the structural condition of the starboard bow and begin repairs, if it was possible. The prospects of it being possible were not looking good. It was near impossible, even under zero Gs, to even reach the structural support that had caused the cascade collapse.

    It was hard enough to maneuver with the vacuum suits on, but the badly misshapen condition of the bulkheads and deck tiles made it even more difficult. They had to shift from walking along the floor to walking along the walls or ceiling just to get a good hold with their magnetic boots. Unsure what waited around every corner, they had to move at a slow, cautious pace. Someone moving too quick would only risk flinging themselves out into the void.

    Working under zero G for any extended time period had always unsettled Callie. There was something about it that was inherently wrong, and they had left the Conjoiner Drives¡¯ altered field just after the start of their trek. That said, Callie found the damage that awaited them even more unsettling than the lack of gravity.

    A long, curved gash had torn through the ship¡¯s numerous hulls, allowing them an uninterrupted panorama of the Aragonian Sector. The distant stars shone brightly, and there was one star, the sun and gravitational center of the nearest solar system, that glowed brighter than the rest, a colorful dot among the white pinpricks.

    It was a newborn star, the culmination of drifting gasses that had gathered over the billions of years since the universe¡¯s conception. The young sun burned a rich blue shade, its hue almost as vibrant as the Singularity¡¯s engine plumes.

    The sudden appearance of a Warhawk shattered the eerie stillness. The black and white reconnaissance ship brought with it a hull-mounted flood light that bathed the area in sharp, white light. It was a good change from the darkness in which they had made their trek, but the other engineers still added their electric handheld torches, casting visibility into every corner of the area. Despite the crisp, formal lighting, the ruined starboard bow looked like a wasteland. Struts and chunks of metal jutted out at odd angles, shrapnel from the explosion.

    Casting the tallest shadow in the room was the broken, horrendously misshapen structural support. Tears, almost like claw marks, ripped across its face, the pillar¡¯s payment for being directly exposed to subspace. They gouged deep into the support, the deepest of them causing the support to fold over onto itself under gravity, bringing the decks above closer than they ought to be.

    Callie stared up at the collapsed support and the damage around it. Never once in training had she seen damage like this. The sharp, unnatural angles seemed to lance towards her. Many of the gouges were wider and deeper than she was. Her small stature seemed almost irrelevant against the devastation. What change could she possibly hope to afflict on an injury of that magnitude? It felt helpless.

    But she had to try. This ship was her home. It had been a better home to her than her birth planet had ever been. She had nothing but bad memories on Sagittarion. If this damage proved irreparable, then she would be reassigned, and possibly even discharged from the fleet and sent back there. She would do anything to avoid that risk.

    In training, her classmates had laughed and leered at her assignment to the old Singularity, but the year that she had spent here had been the best year of her life. Coming from the overpopulated, impoverished manufacturing world of Sagittarion, where the acid rain rendered unprotected eyes blind, this ship had been heaven. So, she could not afford to have doubts now, even as the other engineers were echoing them over the radio.

    ¡°Does Chief Carlson really think we can fix this?¡± someone asked.

    ¡°Chief Carlson is dead,¡± came the blunt reply from a voice Callie recognized as Malweh. ¡°Jeff Ty is in charge now.¡±

    There was a moment of silence for the engineering chief. Callie found herself staring at the spot where her magnetic boots met the deck. Carlson, and everyone else they had so far lost, they had all been family to her.

    This was the first time she¡¯d even had a moment to contemplate the loss. Now, she just wanted to cry, but she knew that would be problematic under zero gravity. Carlson had mentored her since the day she had set foot on the ship. He had not really been a proper father figure, but he¡¯d been something close, maybe an uncle? Yeah. A weird, quirky uncle.

    The reminder set her tears in motion. Instinctively, she tried to wipe them off before anyone saw, but her hand bounced off the visor of her helmet. She was left to furiously blink at them where they settled in her eyes, trying to clear her vision. They did not roll down her cheeks without gravity.

    ¡°Rumor has it,¡± Malweh continued, ¡°with our losses and the damage as severe as it is, there¡¯s been discussion about abandoning ship. Colonel Zarrey is unconvinced that we can carry out repairs on this scale solo.¡±

    Usually, after an event this, the damaged ship would be towed to the nearest space dock for repairs and structural testing, but the entire crew knew that would end in the loss of their ship. Even if the damage was repairable at a dock, the ship would be decommissioned.

    ¡°Ty begged him to let us try, and Zarrey agreed because we have so many crew members with medical conditions too severe to risk moving them.¡± Malweh¡¯s ill temperament became all too obvious in her voice, ¡°Attempting these repairs is a way of keeping us busy until it¡¯s safe to evacuate everyone. Zarrey thinks the old girl¡¯s dead, but ask me and he¡¯s just as scared as everyone else. He¡¯s not thinking clearly.¡± Since the cascade collapse had been halted, the ship was most likely recoverable, even if it was currently in bad condition.

    That was the worst order any engineer thought they might receive: abandon ship. They put so much time and effort into maintaining the ship, being ordered to leave was a nightmare. It was a testament that they were not good enough at their jobs.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    Callie would rather spend another four months on the ship, limping slowly back to port, then be ordered to abandon ship. ¡°Admiral Gives would never allow that,¡± she found herself saying. ¡°He would never let Colonel Zarrey give the order to abandon ship, right?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure he¡¯s got a say at the moment,¡± Malweh answered. ¡°Nobody¡¯s heard from him and Zarrey hasn¡¯t said anything. For all any of us know, the old bastard is finally dead.¡±

    ¡°Watch it, Malweh,¡± Havermeyer said, his bulk finally emerging from the path they had taken to get here. His size had made it difficult for him to squeeze through the wreckage.

    ¡°What do you mean ¡®watch it?¡¯¡± Malweh demanded, a snarl in her voice. ¡°He gave the order to jump, didn¡¯t he?¡± And that jump had catastrophically worsened the condition of the ship. ¡°It¡¯s his fault we¡¯re in this mess.¡±

    ¡°Admiral Gives gave the only order he could. We have no idea how many nukes were waiting for us in the Kalahari Sector. We don¡¯t even know who attacked. Retreat was the logical choice,¡± and Admiral Gives was a very logical tactician. Havermeyer believed it had been the right call, but not everyone would, especially with the Admiral¡¯s apparent absence. Since he had not defended or explained himself, some people, like Malweh, would read that as him completely ignoring the toll his orders had taken on the crew, distancing himself further from everyone under his command.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean he isn¡¯t dead,¡± Malweh pouted.

    Callie¡¯s vision started to blur, new tears forming. She felt her throat tighten as she tried not to cry. Dead? Admiral Gives could not be dead. That was an impossibility.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Malweh.¡± Havermeyer had rank on her and he was not afraid to use it. ¡°Get back to work.¡± The rest of the engineers stopped gawking and scatted with Malweh. All but one. He knew it was Callie by the way she was staring at her mag-boots, trying not to look upset.

    He tapped her shoulder and signaled for her to silence her radio before pressing their helmets together so the sound would travel between them. ¡°You okay, kid?¡± Callie had over a year of service under her belt, but she was still a rookie compared to the rest of the ship¡¯s veteran crew. She had never seen them take losses before.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said shakily.

    Havermeyer could see the tears splattered on the inside of her visor. She was sniffling. ¡°Just ignore Malweh,¡± he told her. ¡°She talks too much. The senior staff has been briefed on the Admiral¡¯s condition. Colonel Zarrey doesn¡¯t want people to panic, so keep this to yourself, alright?¡±

    Havermeyer was like a big brother to her, she would never betray his trust. ¡°Okay.¡±

    He sighed, wishing he had better news. ¡°Admiral Gives is on life support in severe condition, but he¡¯s not dead. He¡¯s got a chance,¡± not a very good one, but a chance. ¡°I know you looked up to him,¡± even if Havermeyer was not sure why, ¡°but the best thing we can do for him is get his trusty rust bucket ready for a fight.¡± It was clear enough that someone had gone looking for one in the Kalahari Sector. ¡°Take a minute, and then go start collecting scrap.¡±

    ¡°Okay,¡± she said again before Havermeyer released her helmet. He smiled understandingly, and then moved off, leaving her with her thoughts.

    It was quiet. Without air to carry sound, the ever-present hum of the ship¡¯s engines was gone. The only sounds Callie could hear were her breathing and the pulse of her heart, if she listened close enough. It had never been so quiet, neither on the ship nor on Sagittarion. It just felt wrong.

    But then, what wasn¡¯t wrong? It seemed her normal life had flown out the airlock in the time between a strange mid-afternoon call to battle stations and the impact that had killed too many of her friends. The ship she called home was in ruins, her responsibilities had changed entirely, and the ship¡¯s commanding officer was probably going to die.

    It was that last part that scared her the most. Admittedly, Admiral Gives had been a bit off for the last few months, giving strange orders and rescinding shore leave permissions on a moment¡¯s notice, but Callie believed there was some reason behind all of that. She had no idea what could justify the struggles of the last six months, but did believe somewhere, somehow, there was a fitting explanation.

    Some of the crew figured the Admiral had finally gone insane, some result of prior trauma and too many years in deep space. Malweh was definitely one of them, but then, Malweh had always had it out for the Admiral.

    Callie disagreed. Every time she had seen the Admiral, he had seemed perfectly fine ¨C or perfectly fine in his particular case. That was to say that he had remained perfectly polite to the crew, perfectly familiar with the equipment and perfectly stoic on his daily visits to the engineering spaces. No, he never offered an explanation for what he was putting the crew through, but Callie suspected nobody had ever asked.

    That was the thing about Admiral Gives. He spoke little and gave his orders calmly, with the expectation they would be followed, but he was willing to explain, if prompted. Most people, including his own crew, were too afraid of him to engage him in any willing conversation, so they never asked. To her, it had always seemed odd. It was true that Admiral Gives could be scary, heck, she had seen him bring a grown man to tears in less than thirty seconds, but he never acted that way towards his crew.

    The others said she had not been on the ship long enough to see what he was really like, but it had been over a year. Anytime she spoke with him, he never came across as anything other than patient and calm, and she had never heard of him being anything less than respectful to her crewmates. That was why she was afraid of his death, why they were all uneasy about it.

    None of them could really claim to know the Admiral, not his thoughts or his intentions, and honestly, none of them really cared. What mattered was that, even when he was giving orders that made no sense, he still polite. He at least treated them like people, even if he was secretly contemplating the worth of their lives.

    They could all have it a lot worse. There were far worse ships to serve aboard, commanding officers who abused and tortured their own crews, who threw away their lives like it was nothing. There was no one who doubted the Admiral¡¯s ability to do any one of those things, but fact was: he didn¡¯t. The Singularity had the lowest casualty rate in the fleet, and to the crew, that was not nothing.

    She turned her radio back on, tired of being left in the silence with her thoughts. The group of engineers that had gathered at the base of the collapsed support were squabbling about the best way to repair it ¨C something about a hydraulic jack and high-grade missile propellant. It was probably better not to ask.

    She turned away to help start clearing away the rubble. Pieces of the splintered outer hull had been wedged deeply into the decks and walls surrounding the breach. Sparks flickered from plasma cutters as crew worked to free the largest shrapnel.

    Other crew, including Callie, simply began picking up the pieces of usable metal that could be pulled free. Anything truly lose had been lost to the decompression after the explosion, so there were many gouges and holes caused by debris that was long gone, out drifting in the void. What was left would be collected, melted down and recycled.

    She found herself scouring the wall opposite of the hull breach, trying not to remember that the surface was now effectively radioactive due to the nuke¡¯s fallout. Her environmental suit would shield her from the radiation for a maximum of three hours, but she and the rest of her team would have to go through decontamination after they finished here. Walking upon the scarred surface with her magnetic boots, she added her flashlight to the directional lighting of the hovering Warhawk.

    In the shadow of the bent structural support, she came across a piece of metal different than the others she had thrown in her collection bag. It was lighter in color than the other shards. It was also thinner, far too thin to be a part of the hulls or armor.

    When she pulled it free, she could see that it was not the material of the antigrav plating either. She turned it over in her hands, expecting the gloves of her rubbery suit to wipe off the shale gray color, but the scrap¡¯s coloring stayed firm. It was not coated in white ash, but rather charcoal smears. The metal itself was truly almost ivory in color, meaning it definitely had not originated from the Singularity. The entire ship was constructed from a dark gray metal with almost no variation.

    Callie rubbed her glove on it, gently removing the remaining black smears. One side of the fragment had been wiped clean from the explosion, but the other side had retained some incredibly scuffed paint. She held her electric torch above it, trying to decipher the markings. Things abruptly clicked into place when she rotated it for a new perspective.

    The knife-like edge in her left hand was dominated by a slice of the yellow and black circle that was the radioactive warning symbol. The rest was dominated by four letters written in royal blue: ¡®UCSC.¡¯ A hyphen tailed off the shard, trying to complete the ID of the ship it had come from, but the rest of the ID was long gone.

    She looked around for another piece, but there was not one to be found. She clutched onto the one she had, recognizing it for what it had to be: a shard of the nuclear warhead¡¯s casing. It was a piece of the spiteful thing that had nearly killed them all.

    ¡­And it was bearing allied markings.

 Part 6.1 - COUP

    Homebound Sector, Ariea, Valkar, Eagle¡¯s Talon

    How could Command do this to her? General Clarke himself had said that there were no black marks on her record, so why had Alise Cortana been assigned to what was regarded as the worst ship in the entire fleet? To say that she was disappointed did not even begin to cover it.

    The Singularity was an aging class of ship, nearly obsolete. Out on patrol, the ship operated without a direct connection to the cortex, humanity¡¯s vast interplanetary data network. It remained completely isolated for weeks, if not months at a time. It meant that the crew had nothing but each other to entertain themselves with. And with a crew populated by criminals, disobedients and other undesirables, Cortana had no doubt that environment would not be one that she would enjoy. Compared to her posting here, it would be nothing short of hell.

    Yet, she had no choice but to abide Command¡¯s orders. It was probably a punishment for her failure to protect Secretary Gives. For all she knew, Admiral Gives had requested her new assignment to be on his ship. Perhaps he wanted to evaluate what sort of person had let his brother die on her watch. Her insides twisted at the thought. There was absolutely no way to know what Secretary Gives¡¯ heartless brother would have in store for her.

    She tried not to let that scare her, but the Admiral¡¯s reputation far preceded him. When he set out to hurt someone, to break someone, there was no force in the worlds smart enough to stop him. People questioned his loyalty to his old ship, they questioned his choice of crew, and they questioned his sanity, but they did not question his ability. He was one of the deadliest people in human history. There was no one more feared and less understood.

    Not even his brother had pretended to know Admiral Gives¡¯ real intentions, if he had any. According to the Secretary, the past that had brought Admiral Gives into power had also transformed him into true sociopath: a logical, antisocial monster without conscience. No rumor or fact about the last thirty years offered any counter-evidence toward that claim, but Cortana supposed she would soon be able to make that judgement for herself.

    Her possessions had all been packed away to take to the ship, leaving her small apartment as bare as it had ever been. The plain furniture had come with the place, and would stay to welcome whoever was next assigned to these living quarters. Lodging of some likely-disappointing variety would be waiting for her on the ship. Soldiers like her travelled light, with just a duffel of personal belongings.

    Even her uniforms would be replaced once she made it to the ship, since they were specific to her assignment. The basics of the uniform were always the same for the Marines: black cargo pants and a tactical vest with a uniform shirt underneath. It was the shirt and the patch on the vest that changed.

    Working for Command directly, the prestigious golden emblem decorated her vest, and was stamped onto all her shirts. Once she arrived to her new assignment, that symbol would be replaced by the Singularity¡¯s own insignia. She had already been given the replacement patch for her vest, but refused to put it on. It felt flimsy in her hands compared to Command¡¯s.

    The golden abstract emblem earned a great deal of respect wherever it was worn. The Singularity¡¯s simple red and yellow sun would earn the opposite, since her crew was regarded as one of the worst in the fleet. Once upon a time, this insignia would have earned respect to equal Command¡¯s, but that had been a long time ago.

    During the War, it had been a symbol of victory, of sending the Hydrian Armada down in flames. During the Frontier Rebellion, it had become a token of hate, of the central planets¡¯ dominance. In the Dead Years, the decade that had followed, this flaming sun had been a badge to be feared. But that was all history, those had been the years when the ship had been the flagship. The Singularity had lost that position fifteen years ago, and with it had gone the ring of silver stars that had once circled her emblem, leaving it plain and fragile.

    Without the glorified position of flagship, the ship and her emblem had become connotated with weakness. It had become the symbol of a ship that should have been decommissioned years ago, and had become a disposal assignment for unwanted personnel.

    That¡¯s what I am now, Cortana supposed, unwanted. She had failed a mission, and now no longer met Command¡¯s expectations for success. With several billion members of humanity living in poverty, there was no place for failure within Command¡¯s ranks. She could easily be replaced. It was easy come, easy go for everyone, especially soldiers.

    It was remarkably difficult to succeed in the fleet, and even harder everywhere else. At least serving in the military, she was guaranteed housing, food and steady pay, even if it was a shitty assignment.

    Provided that Admiral Gives elected not to kill her, she would have to make it work. If she wanted to ever leave that assignment, she had to study her new home and learn to thrive, even if the thought of calling the Singularity home sickened her stomach.

    Resting her cheek on her palm, she struggled to focus on the sheets of information in front of her. Command had forwarded the ship schematics in paper because that was how the Singularity primarily operated. It would be laughable if it was not so honest.

    The ship was borderline ancient in the realm of technology. It was hard to believe that any ship commissioned in the previous century met Command¡¯s immense modern requirements. But rumor at Command had it the Singularity did not actually qualify for continued service. Allegedly, Admiral Gives¡¯ refusal to move his command elsewhere was the primary reason the ship was still in active service.

    The schematics listed were only reinforcing that rumor. A Hydrian War era power core? Non-networked computers? Conjoiner Drives? MA Cannons? It was ridiculous, and in her opinion, it was a crime against modern technology to let the ship fly.

    It was a wonder it even did still fly.

    Or perhaps, it was a further tribute to the Fleet Admiral¡¯s skill that he managed not to sink the aging ship. Despite the many misgivings about his moral character and history, Admiral Gives was unquestionably one of the most highly respected officers in the fleet. No one could deny him that, no matter which ship he chose to Command, or who he accepted into his crew. His service record, provided within her orientation papers, was a spotless list of commendations and awards. However, none of that meant that he was well-liked.

    It was a fact that Admiral Reeter despised Admiral Gives. Reeter made no effort to hide that fact, and Admiral Gives made no effort to address it. The younger Admiral Reeter was nothing short of a celebrity. He was constantly interviewed and used for propaganda in the media. It would have been a high honor to serve on his Flagship Olympia.

    On the other hand, Admiral Gives was one of the most feared people in the worlds. His moniker, the Steel Prince, had been earned from a lifetime of cruelty and killing, and was more widely known than his actual name. Where it was possible, the public media preferred to avoid him. Command dispatched his black battleship when failure and mercy were not an option.

    The Fleet Admiral had the authority to pick any ship he wished to be his personal command, including the Flagship Olympia. His choice to stay with the fleet¡¯s original flagship had perplexed many over the years, but these days, it only added to his enigma.

    Presented with a list of the ship¡¯s weapons systems, Cortana could not deny that it seemed impressive. Fully stocked, the Singularity arsenal would have been more than enough to take out an entire fleet, and during the Hydrian War, she had done just that. However, it was more than likely the better half of those weapon systems no longer functioned. It was all out of date by a matter of decades.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    She crumpled up the equipment roster and tossed it into the recycling bin, moving onto the ship¡¯s overall stats. Over six thousand confirmed battle kills, 6328. A little asterisk hung by the inelegant font, designating that number the fleet high. There was not another ship in the fleet that came anywhere near that total.

    It boggled her mind to think so many ships had been sunk by the Singularity, but in truth there were probably hundreds more than had gone down undocumented. Additionally, a total of 518 ships had surrendered to the former flagship on record over the years, 207 of them unconditionally within the last two decades.

    An ugly buzz rang out, shaking some of the papers on the table. Cortana dug through the packets, and found that her handheld data pad was vibrating, someone calling her over the network She tapped to answer, putting her friend on speaker. ¡°What do you want?¡± she asked him, trying to reorganize the mountain of papers on her table. How is it even remotely efficient to operate a ship this way? She felt like she was drowning in the sheets.

    ¡°Turn on your vid-screen right now,¡± came the voice on the other end of the line.

    The tension in his words caught her attention immediately. Was he distraught? ¡°What¡¯s wrong, Kevin?¡± Maybe he broke up with his girlfriend, she thought, figures that would happen right before I leave. No chance for me to step in.

    ¡°Just do it!¡± Kevin shouted.

    She reached for the remote that her papers had already pushed to the floor. ¡°Alright, alright.¡± The screen blinked on to one of the local news stations.

    ¡°-just in, Ariean Central Government President Raizenor has been shot.¡± The news anchor¡¯s voice was trembling, just barely, but the shake was there. ¡°Only blocks from where the Secretary of Defense was killed just days ago, the leader of the unified republic has been shot during his visit to Eagle¡¯s Talon.¡±

    ¡°The attack interrupted his public address, which was being broadcast over the cortex.¡± The anchor had managed to calm herself, but that same terror and disbelief was just beginning to set in on Cortana. ¡°No announcement has been made about the President¡¯s condition, but the Republic Council chambers in Capitol City have gone into security lockdown.¡±

    The wail of sirens that Cortana had been ignoring outside her window suddenly took on a whole new meaning. That would have been the President¡¯s ambulance and the military police. ¡°Hell fires in heaven.¡± What was going on?

    ¡°It¡¯s a coup, Alise! A coup!¡± her friend cried, ¡°First the Secretary of Defense, and now this? The New Era is making their move. They have to be.¡± The tension had been building for years, the movement steadily growing in power and number since its humble origins in the years between the War and the Frontier Rebellion. This moment in the year 4249, had to be the moment they took over.

    ¡°Shhh! They¡¯ll be recording all communications in and out of this city. Are you trying to get arrested?¡± Command had eyes and ears everywhere, and speaking of a coup, any coup, made one a separatist in the eyes of the surveillance state. ¡°Besides, the New Era has great plans for the future. They¡¯re going to minimalize the wealth gap, advance our technology and put an end to internal violence.¡± They would not initiate a bloody coup. Reeter was a known sympathizer with their cause. ¡°We¡¯re just low-ranking soldiers anyway. What do we care who¡¯s in charge?¡± As long as the pay continued to come and order was maintained, it did not matter.

    ¡°They¡¯re terrorists, Alise! Not saviors!¡± Kevin shouted into his side of the connection. ¡°The first thing the New Era ever organized was the bomb that blew up the Xin Refinery on the edge of the Neutral Zone!¡± An act of flat out terrorism that had risked restarting the Hydrian War.

    ¡°That was forty years ago, Kevin.¡± A lot had changed since then. ¡°That was before the Frontier Rebellion.¡± That Rebellion, and its resultant casualties had changed everything. It had stalled technological advances for sixteen years while the worlds had reeled back in horror of what they had done. Those sixteen years, chaotic and bloody in their own right, had become known as the Dead Years.

    ¡°That¡¯s what they want people to believe, but that¡¯s not true! They want power and they¡¯re willing to kill to get it! Their ideals include the acceptance of mass murder!¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about,¡± Cortana told him. ¡°You need to calm down before you get yourself in trouble.¡± She ended the call before his emotional outbursts could get them both arrested. Command¡¯s surveillance would not miss this little conversation, and that vigilance had never bothered her until now.

    Alise huffed. Maybe it¡¯s a good thing I have to leave before I got the chance to date him. Kevin was clearly somewhat delusional. She put the conversation out of her mind. There was absolutely no way that Reeter¡¯s New Era Movement would ever do something like this. Absolutely no way.

    The news drew her attention once again, ¡°This video clip is of President Raizenor¡¯s live address earlier tonight.¡± The anchor disappeared, replaced with the video of an auditorium packed with defense contractors and fleet officers.

    President Raizenor stepped onto the stage, waving and smiling easily, to be met with wild applause from the crowd. He was the youngest leader the countries had ever elected. His moderate policies had allowed him to beat out more extreme and experienced candidates in the public elections. His sandy hair lacked grays entirely, resting in a perfect alignment atop his head as he tapped the microphone on the podium.

    ¡°Good evening ladies and gentlemen,¡± he greeted the crowd, ¡°I wish I could bring good news on a night so close to the tragedy that recently struck our government.¡±

    The way Raizenor found the camera amongst the crowd made Alise feel as though he was speaking directly to her, even though the address was long over. ¡°The Republic will mourn the loss of Secretary Gives greatly. He was a true loyalist, a peacemaker, and a friend to all who knew him.¡± A moment of silence took over the crowd, commemorating the loss of a great public servant.

    ¡°Tonight, however, I must address the unrest that had risen again to trouble the tranquility of our great civilization. Nearly two days ago, Ariean standard time, martial law was declared on the planet of Sagittarion. The people of the working class have risen violently up against the standing government.¡± Raizenor paused again, lowering his head, ¡°The Governor of Sagittarion was reported killed in the rebellion. Another great leader has been lost to us, and the rebels activated Sagittarion¡¯s planetary defense grid. Base Aquair, in orbit, was destroyed at the cost of some seven thousand civilian and UCS Command personnel.¡±

    A planet in open rebellion? Cortana was too taken aback to formulate proper thought. New Terra had been the last planet in open rebellion, having declared complete independence way back during the Frontier Rebellion. But New Terra was gone. The entire planet had been rendered uninhabitable in 4234, ending the lives of all 300 million colonists, due in large part to the actions of her new commanding officer.

    But beyond even that, Base Aquair had been destroyed. Thousands of fleet personnel had just been killed. It was a declaration of war against the Republic.

    ¡°In an effort to contain the violence, Sagittarion¡¯s connection to the cortex has been cut off. Additionally, three battleships are en route to negotiate, and should that fail, create an orbital blockade. It is my hope that methods as radical as Sagittarion¡¯s be taken nowhere else. A peaceful agreement can be reached. It is as the Hydrian War hero, Admiral Demetrius Washington once said, ¡®Together, we stand. Divided, we shall fall.¡¯¡±

    ¡°So, I ask you, men and women of the Frontier and poorer worlds, not to take to violence. Bring your concerns to the Council. We shall address them with the means to make change for the better. There are over five hundred independent nations within our Republic, some on planets, some in asteroid belts and some on sprawling stations that took on a life of their own. Our differences in beliefs, technology and traditions vary as widely as the distance between galaxies.¡±

    ¡°With over three hundred armed national guard and mercenary fleets registered to operate within Republic space, if we were to turn on one another, we may never find peace again. Please, let us not make the same mistakes our predecessors did at the start of the Frontier Rebellion, thirty-seven years ago-¡°

    The burst of gunfire was barely audible on the recording, but the President immediately collapsed where he stood, quickly surrounded by figures in black: his personal security detail. The live recording was cut off seconds later, Command eager to control the flow of information. The wound that had struck down the President was never seen.

    The news woman took back over the screen. ¡°An update on the governmental emergency, it has been confirmed by the hospital in Eagle¡¯s Talon that President Raizenor lost his life in that attack. An official announcement will be made tonight from Capitol City. As for Eagle¡¯s Talon, military police will institute a curfew of 10pm for off-duty personnel, effective immediately.¡±

    But why? Why would anyone want to do this? Who could benefit from killing the Secretary and the President? The worlds had been at peace, finally, truly at peace. Command had been able to dedicate the entire battle fleet to peace keeping, to passive patrols. Why should anyone wish to start a war? No one could benefit from that.

    Down on the street below her window, she could hear the clatter of treads on the pavement. An armored ground patrol vehicle crept by, detailed in the black, white and yellow of the military police. Its listening arrays swiveled like ears, trying to pick up the sound of anyone lurking past curfew.

    Confronted with the armored vehicle¡¯s mounted water cannons, Cortana was suddenly starting to think that getting off-world was not such a bad idea.

 Part 6.2 - INTERCEPTION

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°We¡¯re going to be okay,¡± Lieutenant Keifer Robinson murmured between kisses. Another twenty hours had passed since the nuke, and slowly, very slowly, things were returning to normal.

    The ship? Well, it was still nothing short of a wreck, but the crew members that had survived without major injury were continuing to do what they usually did. For Lieutenants Robinson and Galhino, that meant stealing kisses in the corridor.

    ¡°I never said we weren¡¯t,¡± Galhino told her, wrapping her fingers up in Keifer¡¯s soft brown hair.

    Robinson pulled Galhino just a little closer, ¡°You tried to mutiny, Maria.¡± They were both exceptionally lucky that the rest of the bridge crew had not told Colonel Zarrey. The ship¡¯s XO was brash and vulgar, but while he had his odds with the Admiral, Zarrey remained loyal to him.

    ¡°So what?¡± Maria said, going in for another kiss on the lips, ¡°It¡¯s not like it matters as long as everyone keeps quiet. The Admiral¡¯s effectively dead.¡± Zarrey didn¡¯t have the guts to terminate the man¡¯s command and take over officially, but chances were that the Admiral¡¯s coma would be fatal. ¡°Good riddance.¡±

    Keifer pulled away from her lover. ¡°Maria, I would not be here without him.¡± She admitted that she found the Admiral terrifying, but she still owed him a great deal, and because of that, so did Maria. ¡°If he hadn¡¯t accepted my transfer request¡­¡±

    ¡°The old bastard didn¡¯t know what he was doing, Keifer. He doesn¡¯t know you, and he doesn¡¯t care about what you went through aboard the Ariea.¡± Such things were below the Steel Prince. ¡°We don¡¯t need him. No one will care when he dies.¡± In fact, a great many people in the worlds would be quite relieved to hear of his passing.

    ¡°Maria¡­¡±

    ¡°He took people with transfer requests into his crew because he knew that those people would feel indebted to him, because he knew that they would be loyal, no matter what sick thing he ordered them to do.¡± His order to turn off the artificial gravity and unnecessarily murder a hundred of the crew was a prime example. ¡°You heard him as well as I did. We¡¯re a numbers game to him.¡±

    Keifer had heard him say that, but it did not make sense. ¡°Then why would he give his life to save us?¡± If they were just game pieces to him, why would he go activate that power core instead of grabbing anti-radiation meds and abandoning ship while they were unconscious?

    If Maria could have blamed him saving them all on an accident, she would have. ¡°It was probably because he wanted to save the ship, not because he wanted to save us.¡± Saving the ship had just happened to entail saving the crew as well. In that way, she supposed it was a happy accident. ¡°You know how he is about that,¡± she said resentfully.

    Admiral Gives rarely corrected anyone on anything, unless it was decorum that dealt with the ship. The man had not even cared about the pilots throwing streamers in the Marines¡¯ barracks or the Marines taping ¡®KICK ME¡¯ signs on the back of the pilots¡¯ flight suits, but the moment someone was getting casual with the Singularity¡¯s controls, he set them straight with unparalleled efficiency.

    ¡°That¡¯s not fair, Maria,¡± the communications officer said. ¡°It¡¯s really easy for someone to get hurt when they handle the ship.¡± It made a whole lot of sense to correct people in those cases. ¡°He kept his distance from our personal lives, sure, but there is nothing wrong with that.¡± Coming from a previous assignment where the commanding officer failed to keep such a distance, she was more than grateful for it.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t change the fact that nobody¡¯s going to miss him,¡± Maria countered. ¡°The man is a sociopath.¡± They were lucky that they had not yet been put in an expendable position. He would have killed them with little thought about it.

    That just didn¡¯t feel right. Was there seriously not one person that would mourn his death on a personal level? She supposed not. Admiral Gives was extremely neutral in both his demeanor and actions, so people overall felt extremely neutral about him.

    Beyond his worth as a tactician, and his rarely-used ability to frighten people into submission, nobody really gave him much thought. Most of the crew was personally indifferent, even if they had grown used to his presence. Those that were not indifferent seemed to actively dislike him, Malweh and Galhino included.

    But Malweh actively disliked most people, and Galhino¡­ Well, Keifer was not truly sure what Maria¡¯s problem with him was. At a guess, it pissed her off that Admiral Gives was undoubtedly smarter than she was, but that was just a guess.

    Still, it just didn¡¯t feel right. How could someone who affected so many people die without a single person to mourn them? It seemed impossible. ¡­Unless that was by intention.

    Maria read into her contemplative silence with a sigh. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you feel bad for him.¡± She rolled her eyes, ¡°You have compassion for everyone, don¡¯t you?¡± Keifer was too kind. It was no wonder she had been abused on the Ariea. ¡°That¡¯s why I love you,¡± she smiled, initiating a deeper kiss as they stood in the corridor, securely wrapped up in each other¡¯s arms.

    They leapt apart when they heard someone round the corner. Galhino¡¯s cheeks burned as they stood awkwardly toe to toe.

    Colonel Zarrey huffed amusedly. Those two thought they hid it so well. That in itself was kind of endearing. He stalked past without pause. ¡°Get on with it, ladies. You know I don¡¯t give a fuck.¡± Their illicit office romance was cute, even if frowned upon under military regulations. ¡°But you know, Galhino, if you¡¯re done consuming our comms. officer¡¯s face, you¡¯re supposed to be in a meeting.¡±

    ¡°The same meeting you¡¯re late for?¡± Galhino retorted, as defensive as ever.

    ¡°Not as late as you¡¯re going to be,¡± Zarrey replied, ¡°Besides, I do have a reputation to uphold as the worst XO in the fleet.¡± He wasn¡¯t doing his job properly unless he was late to every meeting he scheduled and the crew was breaking more than twelve regulations an hour.

    ¡°More like the worst officer in the fleet,¡± Galhino retorted.

    ¡°You flatter me,¡± Zarrey said, swooning as he continued down the hallway.

    His feet thudding down the ship¡¯s bland corridors, Zarrey did not give another second¡¯s thought to Robinson and Galhino. Most of the ship knew they were sleeping together, and nobody cared. Zarrey was fairly certain that even the Admiral had known, despite his distance from the crew. He too, in disregard to the regulations, had let it slide.

    That was not unusual. Admiral Gives normally left his crew¡¯s personal affairs alone, provided they were mature enough to keep it out of their work. It didn¡¯t matter who was involved, even if it was two female bridge officers ¨C the Admiral simply declined to care.

    Command would have resented their inter-personnel relationship, and the worlds¡¯ political climate did not tolerate gays, bisexuals or lesbians, but the worlds were a screwed-up place. Zarrey would attest to that firsthand. The Admiral¡¯s refusal to take part in such political bigotry had earned the Colonel¡¯s utmost respect. That was probably why, even now, he remained loyal to the ship¡¯s commander.

    Even after the last few months of struggle, and the actions taken after the nuke, Zarrey still could not turn his back on Admiral Gives. The very thought that he might have to take over the Admiral¡¯s longtime command greatly unnerved him. He knew he could not fill in the Admiral¡¯s shoes, and he was not unconvinced the ship would kill him if he tried.

    Don¡¯t be ridiculous, Zarrey chastised himself. The Singularity was just a machine. Fifty years of sailors heavily personifying her did mean that most of the crew considered the ship to have a personality, but it was not anything more than that.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Admiral Gives might seem damn near telepathic when it came to the ship, but he had been living aboard for nearly forty years. That earned him some right to just know when things were off, as he always seemed to. When it came to the operation of this ship, Admiral Gives had no equal, but Zarrey knew that was all skill and experience, no matter what the ugly rumors said with their accusations of black magic and voodoo.

    For a civilization that had mostly replaced religion with science, Zarrey had always found that odd. Without belief in spirits, magic, religion, or the afterlife, they still found some way to accuse Admiral Gives of performing some sadistic ritual of the dark arts. Apparently, when not running a ship, deploying the fleet or writing new military procedures for the Academy, the Admiral spent the remaining hours of his day perfecting the ritualistic sacrifice that bound a demon to the metals of his ship ¨C bleeding separatists and children dry of blood to appease it, but always finishing the meal with a drop of his own.

    It was absolutely ridiculous. As per usual, the great deal of misinformation and contradictory rumors that surrounded Admiral Gives made no sense, held no accuracy and painted a lovely picture. Zarrey knew the Admiral was a lot of things, a killer of separatists, an unquestioned genius, a quiet enigma, but he was no occultist. And he did not murder children ¨C at least not that Zarrey had seen anyway.

    It was probably best not to think too much about it, Zarrey admitted to himself, stepping into the ship¡¯s materials lab. The place looked like it had been tossed by a careless police team. Analysis vials and microscope lenses were everywhere. The printer lay on its side, a big dent left where a light mounting had fallen on top of it. Looking at the mess just made Zarrey¡¯s preexisting headache worse.

    ¡°You¡¯re late.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, fuck off, Monty,¡± Zarrey snapped, his pounding migraine abruptly returning with a vengeance. ¡°What do you have?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Montgomery Gaffigan stepped aside, revealing the specimen on the table behind him. ¡°The evidence would indicate that you¡¯re looking at a piece of missile casing from the nuke that hit the starboard bow.¡± The triangular shard had been decontaminated and handed over for analysis. ¡°Ensign Smith brought it in.¡±

    ¡°Good catch for a rookie.¡± That kid would have gone far. Unfortunately, with Sagittarion, her home world, in open rebellion she was more likely to end up on a penal colony. Command did not tolerate potential separatists among its ranks. ¡°But if that came from the nuke, shouldn¡¯t it have been, you know, blown up?¡± The entire point of the missile was to violently explode, so how had a piece of the weapon been recovered?

    ¡°Yeah, that occurred to me as well, so I had the tactical analysis computer run through some data. It took about twenty hours,¡± the ship¡¯s computers were old, and that type of processing had taken most of its available power, ¡°but it found this.¡± Monty handed over a packet he¡¯d printed off from the fallen printer.

    Zarrey stared at the tactical scenario. The pictograms seemed simple, but it was not his specialty. He was not sure what the diagram was supposed to tell him. ¡°What am I looking at, Monty?¡±

    Gaffigan coughed. ¡°Right, my apologies, sir.¡± He was used to just handing off the raw data to his superior officer. Admiral Gives didn¡¯t need help to interpret it.

    Monty took the packet back, ¡°This was the trajectory of the warhead, and this is where it should have impacted.¡± He traced his finger along the line to the dot on the hull of the ship, then backtracked an inch, ¡°But this is where the missile had to detonate in order to cause the damage spread we have on the bow.¡± He tapped the ¡®X¡¯ on the trajectory line, ¡°Long story short, the missile was intercepted here, on the intersection of our Minimum Defended Airspace Perimeter and its trajectory.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a direct hit?¡±

    ¡°Near direct, but not direct. The missile was intercepted at the last possible point it could have been intercepted by our weapons systems. Once anything passes the Minimum Perimeter, its considered to be at Spitting Distance, and we cannot guarantee an interception with the defensive turrets.¡±

    Monty scratched his beard, continuing to explain, ¡°The interception destroyed that missile, creating the shard we have. The ensuing detonation of the nuclear mechanism was delayed long enough for that shard to be in front of the blast, and thus, flung into the bulkheads where Callie found it.¡± It was exceptionally unlikely, but it was forensically possible.

    ¡°This also explains why we didn¡¯t see any atomization of the outer hull. The nuke detonated at close range, so we took most of the blast¡¯s full force and the fallout radiation, but we managed ¨C quite luckily ¨C to avoid the atomization.¡± It was difficult to explain just how lucky they had been. ¡°With a nuke of that size, if it had actually hit us, there would be no starboard bow of which to speak of. We¡¯d be dead.¡± The ship would have sunk. Monty had no doubt about that.

    The weapons officer could not state this with enough emphasis, ¡°Tactical nukes are not to be trifled with, sir. They are classified as an anti-planetary weapon. The ones we have on board could strip a planet of life in just two or three impacts.¡± That element of uncertainty was present because such an attack had never actually been carried out.

    Zarrey¡¯s stomach churned uncomfortably. It was weird to realize their ship was powerful enough to doom colonies when all they ever did was run lame patrols. That fragment looked so innocent where it sat, oblivious of the deaths it represented. ¡°Forget who intercepted this and how, we need to know where this came from.¡± Discovering the identity of their attackers had to be their top priority. ¡°You mentioned the Hydrian Armada as a probable suspect?¡±

    ¡°Aye, as far as we know, there are only two fleets that operate or have previously operated in the Kalahari Sector with access to nuclear weapons of that caliber. The UCSC was one, and the Hydrian Armada was the other.¡± Monty flipped the shard over where it sat, revealing the scuffed paint. ¡°However, if you will take note of this, sir.¡±

    The clear labeling of ¡®UCSC¡¯ stared him in the face. Zarrey¡¯s mind stalled. ¡°When did the Hydra start painting their warheads with our markings?¡±

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Monty was not exactly sure how to break this news to him. ¡°Sir, the markings would imply that this was indeed not a Hydrian warhead.¡± It was one of their own. ¡°We have a set just like it.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t prove that.¡± They could not afford to level such accusations lightly. It could be a trick.

    ¡°But I can.¡± The door slammed behind Maria Galhino as she stepped into the room. ¡°After running three full series of material analysis tests, I can confirm that the alloy of that shard is an exact match to the alloy casing of a UCSC tactical nuclear missile, and it is less than twenty-five years old.¡±

    She stepped up to the table, fixing her collar to better hide the hickey on her neck. ¡°The material means it is of human manufacture. Only one ship equipped with tactical nukes is presently MIA: the Battleship Kansas. However, the Kansas is over twenty-five years of age, so the age of this fragment disqualifies her.¡±

    ¡°Not to mention, nukes are built specifically for the ship they¡¯re given to,¡± Monty picked up where she left off. ¡°They have to be fired from that ship¡¯s launch system to activate, disregarding the other required authorization codes and safeties.¡± And there were too many issues with that to count. ¡°It is impossible for the weapon to have been stolen.¡±

    ¡°What are you trying to tell me?¡± Zarrey asked them.

    Monty and Galhino shared a look, but it was again Monty who spoke, ¡°Unfortunately, sir, I very much doubt that the Hydrian Armada would have gone after us. If they had already penetrated this far into our territory with a weapon like that, they likely would have gone for the kill on one of the central worlds. The same goes for any separatist or terrorist group that managed to somehow acquire a nuke. We¡¯re simply not a worthy target compared to worlds like Persephone, Terra Nimbus or Bonita.¡± A nuke deployed there would kill millions when compared to the hundreds that made up this crew. ¡°So what I¡¯m saying is, someone in our own fleet wanted us dead. They wanted us dead bad enough to use a nuke, and we¡¯re damn lucky we survived it.¡± Their own fleet had tried to sink them.

    It took Zarrey a minute. It took him a long minute, but then it all made sense. ¡°Son of a bitch.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡± Monty said.

    ¡°That sick, sick son of a bitch.¡± Zarrey was just now realizing it, just now realizing everything. ¡°He knew we wouldn¡¯t believe him.¡± Zarrey may as well have spat in the man¡¯s face. ¡°Dammit! That¡¯s why he never said anything!¡±

    He looked to the lieutenants, ¡°Don¡¯t you get it?¡± Of course, they didn¡¯t. They had no idea what he was talking about. ¡°Admiral Gives knew. He knew the fleet was planning on attacking us. The Old Man has had us jumping randomly all over the worlds for months, taking random missions, and cancelling shore leave at random times, because he was trying to keep us out of the line of fire. Think about it. We haven¡¯t seen another allied ship since any of this started.¡± It had been months.

    It all made sense now. If they were moving randomly, then the New Era could not strike them, because the New Era simply did not know where they were. ¡°He was trying to protect us.¡± And they had all, quite literally, spat upon his efforts and treated him like a villain. They had all accused him of some downright nasty things. It was sick in the way that the Admiral had chosen to suffer that treatment rather than try to explain himself.

    But he was right. They would never have believed him. They would have called him paranoid. ¡°That¡¯s why he refused to abandon ship. With the fleet after us, we have nowhere to go.¡± They would have all been killed.

    Zarrey curled his fists. How could he not have seen it sooner? Poorly disguised self-loathing rose up as the immediate need to punch something. ¡°Damn it all straight to hell.¡± He felt so stupid. Every order Admiral Gives had given had been an attempt to save as many of the crew as possible, including his controversial order to shut down the Conjoiner drives. ¡°He was just doing his job.¡± In a sad way, his job was all Admiral Gives ever did.

 Part 6.3 - STANDING ORDERS

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Alone at last, the first thing Colonel Zarrey did was punch the nearest bulkhead, hard. The noise was less than satisfying, and he could feel the bones in his hand fracture, but it was worth it. For a moment, that pain cleared his awful headache and his frustrations were spent.

    Usually, he vented his emotions on a punching bag in the gym during his personal time, but he was quickly learning that commanding officers did not get personal time, especially in situations like this. ¡°I blame you,¡± he told the ship, cradling his painfully bruised hand. ¡°He¡¯s your Admiral.¡± He held the machine mostly accountable for the Admiral Gives¡¯ actions, since the man never did anything that did not pertain to his duties as the ship¡¯s commanding officer. Therefore, the Admiral putting himself into a coma to activate that power core was also her fault.

    Zarrey turned and leaned his back against the bulkheads, speaking to the ship exhaustedly, ¡°To be entirely honest, you¡¯re usually a temperamental bitch when he¡¯s not around, so I really hope he recovers.¡± Zarrey really did not want to deal with the ship¡¯s odd quirks. He simply did not have the patience, ¡°But play nice, and I might consider taking over and keeping you from getting melted down as scrap.¡±

    The ship creaked. As the structural damage settled, that was a common noise, but he read more out of it than he probably should have. ¡°Fuck you too.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey pulled himself off the wall and started to make his way through the blackened hallways of the ship, feeling like a dead man walking.

    Repairs were going slow, but they were going. In the corridors at least, the ship was starting to look more and more like her usual self.

    The regular lights had been turned back on, following repairs to the main and secondary power grids. The fallen mountings and other hazards had been removed from the ground, but some of the light mountings had yet to be rehung, leaving the illumination of the corridors strangely uneven. Some of the loose wires had been reconnected and buried back beneath the bulkheads, but others still ran exposed along the edges of the hallway, bypassing the unrepaired regions of the ship.

    The artificial gravity field remained lopsided, since the starboard bow had yet to be repaired, and it was playing hell with Zarrey¡¯s inner ear. He knew he was walking level to the deck, but he had to consciously resist the urge to lean against the unbalanced pull. He was certain it was going to drive him slowly insane.

    The ship had been stabilized, due to the gravity field and the engineering teams¡¯ tireless efforts, but the demolished starboard bow required more than being stabilized. The collapsed support had taken five others down with it. Repairs on the other five would be easy, and had already begun, because the overarching superstructure, while strained, had survived.

    But cracks and fissures spider-webbed the collapsed support. They could repair it and hope that the fractures did not split open again, or they could try to rebuild the support entirely, an action that normally would require the assistance of a shipyard.

    Alone in the empty Aragonian Sector, they did not have the resources of a shipyard and they did not have the capability to get there without repairs. It would take months to limp to the nearest fleet facility without using any method of faster than light travel. Even their maximum acceleration with the main engines was limited by the damage, and that nearest facility was not equipped to help repair a ship of the Singularity¡¯s size.

    And all of those issues completely ignored the fact that the fleet had tried to kill them.

    With that, there was almost no point in returning to a shipyard or calling for help. If the ship that had nearly crippled their own heard the call and arrived first, there was no telling what would become of the wounded Singularity and her crew. Beyond that, there was no way to know who was allied with who. For all they knew, the entire fleet was set on killing them, not just one ship.

    It was a righteous mess, one that was so far out of Zarrey¡¯s league, he didn¡¯t even know where to begin. He supposed trying to heal the wounded and using that time to make repairs was a halfway-decent plan. It beat calling for help or flying to a potentially hostile military base. Even with the structural damage, they had a halfway functional ship. They had life support, food, water and at least some hope of defending themselves ¨C even if not a very good one.

    They had lost several defensive turrets to the collapse, and the main battery was too risky to fire with the ship¡¯s structural integrity in question. The recoil of the guns might well tear her apart, and as a result, the ship lost one of her biggest assets.

    Zarrey struggled to find any real good in their situation. The damage to the engines was reparable, so the Singularity would eventually be able to move under her own power, but with the structural damage, accelerating too hard would also tear the ship apart.

    It was quite the predicament. Ship structure was one of the most underrated aspects of tactical analysis, but it affected everything else: weapons, maneuverability and FTL capability. Without a viable structure, a ship became little more than a habitable clamshell.

    Just thinking about it all, Colonel Zarrey knew his pounding headache would never subside. The same went for his exhaustion. Both would follow him straight to the grave. Zarrey refused to admit it to the crew, but the truth was they were in deep shit.

    The ship¡¯s entire normal state of existence had been blown up by that nuke, and Zarrey was not convinced that repairs could to fix everything. They certainly could not fix the crew that they were missing. Those pieces of normality just weren¡¯t there, and they were never coming back.

    Zarrey picked up his pace, heading toward the medical bay. The ship¡¯s cantankerous medical officer would certainly throw him out once he noticed Zarrey loitering, but it was a risk the XO was willing to take. He simply had to know.

    Walking in, various crew glanced at him from where they sat around a table in the center of the bay. They made no effort to hide the deck of cards distributed between the table and their hands, and the Colonel made no effort to stop their game.

    They were wounded. Some had arms in slings or leg casts that were propped up on nearby chairs. Others only sported small cuts or bruises, but had dark rings under their eyes, and an IV fluids bag lingering on a stand behind them. Those were the crewmen with severe radiation sickness. They would recover in time, but it had been a close call. Under normal circumstances, Zarrey would have ordered this group to deal him in, trying to raise morale, but these were not normal circumstances. He had no time for games.

    Along the edges of the room, there were beds with the curtains drawn, the patients most likely either burn victims or asleep. Silent equipment surrounded two of the occupied beds. The patients were covered in a plain white sheet, drawn up over the face. The Colonel turned away, knowing full well what lay there: recent fatalities who had yet to be moved to cold storage.

    The official numbers were not in yet, but their losses had been severe. There were unaccounted crew members, mostly those assigned to the starboard bow, so the casualty report had yet to be written. Colonel Zarrey did not rush them, knowing the medical department had their hands full caring for those that were still alive.

    Truth be told, he was afraid to know how many they had lost, how many members of their weird little family had died in that attack.

    The XO made his way without comment to the curtained off area in the corner. Parting the wall of fabric, he found Doctor Macintosh tending to the Admiral. Zarrey kept his voice down, knowing the long gray curtains did nothing to muffle the noise, ¡°How is he?¡±

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°Not good,¡± the doctor grunted, focused on pulling the soiled bandages off of Admiral Gives¡¯ hand. They came off with a wet squelch and the unique odor of puss and burn ointment.

    Zarrey averted his eyes, not wanting to see the gory mess. ¡°Well, that¡¯s better than ¡®bad,¡¯ right?¡±

    Macintosh pulled on some sterile gloves and began cleaning the wound, swabbing out the inflamed layers of skin and welts. ¡°Not necessarily. He stopped breathing on his own twelve hours ago.¡± The life support machines had taken over, stimulating his body to keep breathing, but it was not a good sign.

    Panic nipped at the Colonel¡¯s mind. He really did not want to inherit command at all, especially not like this. ¡°What¡¯s wrong? Why is he getting worse?¡±

    It took Macintosh just a few seconds to rebandage the ship commander¡¯s injured hand once the wound was clean. ¡°I told you when you brought him in, he was already dead.¡± Death was just slowly setting in. ¡°I can treat his physical wounds, but I can¡¯t do anything about his head.¡± It was pointless, but Macintosh went ahead and injected the next dose of medicine into the IV flow. ¡°I managed to treat most of the blood poisoning with a blood filter and some blood bags. It was crude, but effective, and the remaining fever from the leg infection broke about an hour ago, but I¡¯m telling you, that¡¯s not the problem.¡±

    The medical officer sighed, deadbeat, ¡°Despite those improvements, he¡¯s no more reactive now than he was when you brought him in. He¡¯s in a coma, and I¡¯m not seeing any signs that he¡¯s coming out of it.¡±

    ¡°If that¡¯s the case, then he could come out of it at any time,¡± Zarrey reminded the doctor. It was not unknown for coma patients to spontaneously wake up like a switch had been thrown.

    ¡°Maybe.¡± Macintosh shrugged. It was more likely that help for the Admiral had simply come too late. ¡°If he is going to wake up, he needs to do it in the next six days. I have orders to pull the plug after one week.¡±

    ¡°Fuck that!¡± Zarrey exclaimed, ¡°Like hell we¡¯re going to take him off life support!¡± That stupid bastard was going to wake up. He did not get to quit like this. ¡°Whose orders?¡±

    Doctor Macintosh nodded over his shoulder to the Admiral, ¡°His. So, unless you can find someone who can rescind that order, or he miraculously wakes up, you¡¯ll be Commander Zarrey.¡± Zarrey could not avoid his field promotion for much longer.

    The Colonel cracked his fingers nervously. ¡°What about the Admiral¡¯s hand? Will he be able to use it?¡± he asked, trying to change the subject.

    ¡°Yes. It¡¯ll be scarred and probably painful, but it should be useable.¡± Macintosh was well aware that Admiral Gives was no stranger to pain. He doubted it would slow the man down, if he woke.

    Zarrey snorted, ¡°Good thing he¡¯s not a lefty.¡±

    Macintosh frowned at the jibe. ¡°Dennis, you need to take this seriously. This ship is effectively yours.¡± In everything but documentation, he was now the Singularity¡¯s commanding officer.

    ¡°Try telling her that,¡± Zarrey answered sourly. It was impossible, but on some level, Zarrey was convinced that the ship didn¡¯t actually like him, or at least liked Admiral Gives better.

    ¡°The ship doesn¡¯t get a vote, and we both know this is the end of the line.¡±

    Zarrey turned away, ¡°No, it¡¯s not. I¡¯ll find someone to revoke that stupid order.¡± One week was too soon.

    ¡°The only person with the authority to rescind the Admiral¡¯s medical order would have been his brother, and Secretary Gives was shot and killed earlier this week.¡± It was over. ¡°I very much doubt that Johnathan Gives would have lifted a finger to help his older brother anyway.¡± The two had been on bad terms for a very long time, but then, Admiral Gives was on good terms with very, very few people in general.

    ¡°There¡¯s got to be someone else!¡± Despite their heated argument, the two officers kept their voices down as little more than whispers.

    ¡°Who are you going to look for? His family?¡± Macintosh asked. ¡°His parents are long dead. His brother¡¯s been killed, and he¡¯s not married.¡± These days, the Singularity was the closest thing Admiral Gives had to a friend or family.

    ¡°What about his fianc¨¦e?¡± Zarrey demanded, regretting the words as soon as they came out.

    A heavy silence fell. This argument had just trodden onto an unspoken subject. Macintosh cast a look at the silver ring still on the Admiral¡¯s finger. ¡°You know as well as I do that she¡¯s dead, whether or not the records show it.¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Zarrey fired back. ¡°You know that she,¡± he took a deep breath, ¡°Samantha,¡± he corrected, ¡°wouldn¡¯t have wanted this. He¡¯s practically killing himself, and you¡¯re helping him!¡±

    ¡°Samantha is gone. She¡¯s been gone for thirty years.¡± Nothing would ever change that. ¡°All I¡¯m doing is following orders, and that¡¯s what the Admiral would want.¡± It might be a stupid order, but it was still an order. Macintosh could see Zarrey turning redder and redder, angrier and angrier with his calm. ¡°This is not going to be easy.¡±

    That nuke had put them in a near-impossible situation with Command, an institution they already had not been on good terms with. ¡°We¡¯re fighting alone. These kids want to fight to keep their home, but they don¡¯t stand a chance in hell of winning without the Admiral. You won¡¯t find a single person on this ship who does not respect the Old Man¡¯s abilities, but pull yourself together.¡± There was no easy way to go through this. ¡°He¡¯s not going to wake up. And Admiral Gives did not spend thirty years gathering this crew aboard this ship, so that it would all fall apart the moment he wasn¡¯t here to protect us.¡±

    ¡°Then what the hell was he doing?¡± Zarrey challenged, ¡°You cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that you understood what he was trying to do. You cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that you truly believe the great Steel Prince did not have plans for us.¡± No one would center his command on a ship like this without a reason, and no one formed a crew this close, this loyal to each other, without a good reason.

    ¡°None of that matters now, Colonel,¡± Macintosh said, pulling a mangled, but unlit cigarette from his coat pocket. He twirled it between his steady, surgeon¡¯s hands. ¡°The best laid plans went out the airlock with that nuke. You have to do what you feel is best.¡±

    He popped the cigarette between his teeth and walked over to stab Zarrey roughly in the arm with a needle. ¡°Ow!¡± Zarrey said as the doctor injected the contents of a syringe. ¡°What the fuck, Doc?¡±

    ¡°I know for a fact you haven¡¯t taken your anti-radiation meds yet.¡± It was a miracle Zarrey hadn¡¯t collapsed from the lingering effects of the radiation sickness.

    ¡°There aren¡¯t enough for everyone. Others need it more.¡± There were cases far more severe then his own. It was all Zarrey could do not to drain their dwindling supply.

    ¡°Great,¡± Macintosh grunted, tossing the syringe violently into the wastebasket. ¡°I see that you¡¯re stupid too.¡± He gnawed on his unlit cigarette. ¡°Just what we need: two commanders who are completely irresponsible with their health.¡± That was sure to make his duties as difficult as possible. ¡°I hate my job.¡± It was nothing but misery.

    Macintosh started to leave, ¡°I¡¯ll give you a minute, then I¡¯m ordering you to leave, Colonel.¡± The crew should not see their new commander moping around like a stray dog.

    Zarrey did not dignify that with a response. Most of him wanted to curse the medical officer out, but the rest of him knew Macintosh was right. If they wanted to survive this mess, they would have to move on, no matter who they had lost.

    But Admiral Gives¡­ that would be a difficult loss to take. His skills made him invaluable in this situation, no matter what intentions he withheld.

    Zarrey found it odd to look at him on the hospital bed. It was rare to see Admiral Gives look even the slightest bit weak. He was normally a bastion of strength, if not physical, then mental, but that was gone now. He lay limp under the sterile sheets in a hospital gown. Its light colors were opposite the black uniform he normally wore, revealing a slight natural tan that had been mostly lost after too many years in deep space.

    Just how tan the Admiral had once been was a mystery. He looked the same now as he had the day Zarrey had first met him. His hair grayed a little more as the years passed, but beyond that, it was difficult to estimate his age. His personnel file would put a number to it, but Zarrey had never bothered to check. He had decided to respect the man¡¯s privacy the day the Admiral had greeted him on the hangar deck with death threat and a gun, fifteen years ago. Zarrey snorted at the memory. That had been a very interesting first day.

    ¡°I owe you one, Old Man.¡± The fleet had been set on discharging him before Admiral Gives had transferred him here. ¡°So what do you want me to do? I can¡¯t protect these people.¡± He couldn¡¯t keep this ship flying. ¡°You were always the brains of this operation.¡±

    Zarrey sighed. What was he supposed to do? He was inheriting a crippled ship and a wounded crew that someone had just tried to murder. It felt hopeless.

    Macintosh stepped up beside him once again, pulling the unlit cigarette out of his mouth. ¡°You¡¯re not like him, Dennis. That¡¯s why he brought you aboard.¡± Zarrey was the Admiral¡¯s opposite. ¡°You listen to your feelings. It might be irrational, but it also makes you kind. Admiral Gives was smart, hell, he was brilliant, but because logic demanded it, he ended up being cruel. He knew you wouldn¡¯t make the same mistakes.¡±

    ¡°That would be difficult,¡± the Colonel replied. Events like New Terra, events with the potential to go so wrong were few and far between. It would take great effort on Zarrey¡¯s part to be held accountable for more than 300 million deaths in the span of one battle. It would be impossibly difficult to replicate the Admiral¡¯s tarnished career, considering the fleet action at New Terra was just one battle out of dozens.

    ¡°He always knew how to win,¡± Zarrey said, ¡°No matter how far outnumbered he was, he always found a way to win, no matter the cost.¡± At times, the cost had been great, but, ¡°Does that really make him a monster?¡±

    ¡°He thought so.¡± The worlds had blamed him for the deaths of 300 million people and the destruction of a habitable world. They had labeled him a monster, and Macintosh would not argue that definition. ¡°But it still doesn¡¯t matter. What happens next is on you.¡±

 Part 6.4 - ON THE RUN

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea, Valkar, Lion¡¯s Den

    Amelia Kleinfelter-Gives spent most of her time all too aware of the men that followed her everywhere. The fact they were out of uniform did not disguise the fact that they were Reeter¡¯s men.

    Afraid to leave her suburban home, she had now missed several days of work. Her coworkers were concerned, and dropped by every now and then, but Amelia sent them away as quickly as possible. It was better they not get caught up in this mess. Speaking to anyone too long was sure to get them in trouble, no matter who they were. It rendered her paranoid and lonely.

    Watching Harrison step off the bus and cross the lawn, coming home from school, grated her nerves the worst of all. It would be too easy for Reeter¡¯s men to grab him before he reached the door, but the black sedan and its occupants did not stir.

    Amelia breathed out a sigh of relief when her son let himself in, and then did her best to greet him happily. He was too young to truly understand their situation, and his oblivious joy was the only reason she had to keep going.

    Harrison knew nothing of Reeter¡¯s treachery, or how the Singularity was likely drifting lifelessly in the Kalahari Sector. All he did was toss his bag down and run into the other room to play with his toys, not even questioning the nasty pile of dishes in the sink.

    Amelia was too sick to wash them. She could not bring herself to waste time on something so trivial in times like these. Exhaustedly, she returned to her spot at the wooden table, where she continued to read the subtitles on the muted news station.

    She waited for news on the Singularity, hoping to have that guilt lifted from her shoulders, but there was nothing. Lifeboats had failed to make their presence known, and the ship herself had not returned, damaged or otherwise. It would be awhile until another vessel was dispatched to search. The Singularity was currently not marked as missing and there were other, more immediate concerns for the allied fleet.

    After President Raizenor¡¯s assassination, word had not even reached Vice President Whitman before she was killed as well. Another four planets had joined Sagittarion in open rebellion, along with several large outposts and trading stations on the Frontier. All contact had been lost with the three ships originally assigned to Sagittarion, and another trio had been dispatched to the discontented planet. Command¡¯s massive fleet was quick to respond to the rising chaos, but it seemed like another civil war was looming.

    However, all the fighting and bloodshed was occurring on the other side of known space. The secluded mountain ranges of Valkar were still just as calm and safe as ever. School was still held, and most people continued their day to day lives.

    Ariea was a middle-class world, the very heart of the Republic. The violence would not spread here. No, as far as most people here were concerned, this was just another uprising, a handful of anarchist worlds against the might of hundreds. It would be over quickly.

    Sagittarion was the only major planet to fall to violence, and only its massive population rendered it of any concern. Sagittarion had no national guard fleet, and no standing army. All it had were poor manufacturing workers who would asphyxiate in their poisoned atmosphere if parts for the megacities¡¯ air purification plants were not shipped in.

    Accordingly, Amelia was focused on her and her son¡¯s wellbeing, and word of the rebellious worlds was not something she cared about. She cared to know that Reeter and his precious flagship had been deployed elsewhere, far, far away from them. But there was no word of that either.

    A silhouette approached the front door and turned the lock with a key. He stepped quietly inside as if he owned the house. Amelia was on her feet in an instant, the action was so similar to her late husband, that for a moment Amelia mistook the visitor for him in remembrance. But as the door creaked shut and the afternoon sun¡¯s bright glare disappeared, Amelia could see all to clearly who had just entered her home. In her husband¡¯s place stood his murderer.

    How did he get a house key? She had thought locking the doors would keep them safe. She was a fool.

    Most likely, he had looted that key off her father¡¯s corpse. Harrison had mentioned it before. Dammit, she should have changed the locks.

    Reeter crossed the hardwood floors to join her at the table, smiling. Amelia moved to stand directly between him and Harrison, even as the child recognized his presence and stilled. ¡°Why are you here?¡± There was cold intention in his eyes.

    Reeter rubbed his throat, ¡°I am thirsty. Get me some lemonade, please, my dear.¡±

    Amelia considered telling him she was all out, but he would know better. His men had watched her buy lemons at the store. She retrieved a glass and poured the drink over ice, contemplating whether or not she should grab the sedatives from the medicine cabinet. No, he would never be fooled by something as simple as that.

    Placing the drink down, she tried to step back, but Reeter deftly caught her thin wrist and pulled her closer. The scent of his cologne was stifling, even as she tried to keep her poise. ¡°Harry, could you please go upstairs?¡± The words proved unnecessary, as her son was already halfway across the living room.

    Amelia made sure he climbed up the stairs before she turned to Reeter, who was adoringly stroking her slender hand. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me,¡± she begged, trying harder to pull away.

    Reeter let go, his easy smile untarnished. ¡°There¡¯s no need to act like that, Amelia.¡± He took a calm sip of his lemonade. ¡°I came here with a simple proposition. Your disgusted glare is rather hurtful.¡±

    He leaned back his chair, ¡°I am sure you are aware that General Clarke¡¯s health is failing. He is due to retire within the next few months, and he, along with a select group of Council members, shall name his successor.¡± It was a well-known fact between political and military families. ¡°There are surprisingly few viable candidates for the position: myself, Admiral Hauser, Commander Houston and Commander Memphis.¡±

    She noticed with anguish that he left Admiral Gives off the list, despite the fact he would have been the obvious choice. ¡°What do you want from me? With Admiral Gives out of the way, you are the top choice.¡± It disgusted her, but it was true.

    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± he replied, stirring his drink with his straw. ¡°The Council members fear that my promotion so soon after the Ariea¡¯s accident will be controversial. Apparently, a lot of people still blame me for what was clearly a navigational error.¡± Giving Amelia a smirk, he knew that she was one of the aforementioned people. ¡°They cannot afford to make a controversial appointment at this point in time.¡± Politicians were always worried about such things.

    ¡°Luckily, there is a way to get rid of all the bad blood surrounding the Ariea and the demise of the Singularity, since some individuals will likely hold me accountable for that tragic accident as well.¡± Reeter had the perfect plan. ¡°I need someone connected to both incidents to publicly forgive me, so that I will be redeemed in the eyes of the people.¡±

    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    It was typical Reeter. The worlds were falling apart and all he was concerned about was his next promotion. Amelia absolutely despised this man.

    Admiral Reeter stood, but then went down on one knee in front of her, ¡°So, without further ado, Amelia Kleinfelter-Gives, will you marry me?¡±

    Amelia didn¡¯t even have it in her to scream in horror. She felt so violently ill.

    ¡°With your support, I could get the Generalship without debate, and in return, I could get Harrison into any school you desired. You could move anywhere on the planet.¡± His sly smile spread even further across his perfectly handsome face. ¡°Perhaps I could even get the remains of your uncle¡¯s ship hauled back to the Homebound Sector for a proper dismissal from service.¡±

    Drowning in emotions, Amelia¡¯s words were lost to her, and she fell weakly into her chair.

    ¡°Take some time to think it over.¡± He downed another big gulp of lemonade and stood to leave. ¡°Choose your response carefully,¡± he directed, his tone indicating that a refusal would not leave the tattered remains of her family intact.

    Once she heard the door lock, Amelia¡¯s emotional barriers entirely broke down. She sobbed uncontrollably into her hands, entirely too overwhelmed to function.

    She was a poor school teacher, a widowed mother with no one to turn to. Reeter knew just when and where to strike. She was a tuna caught in the gaping maw of a shark.

    She cried until she heard the stairs creak, Harrison peering cautiously around the corner to see if Reeter was gone. Immediately, she did her best to wipe off her face and waved him into the kitchen. They could not stay here. They had to run. They had no choice. She would not leave their fates entirely in Reeter¡¯s hands.

    ¡°Harrison, I was thinking we¡¯d take a trip,¡± to the only place Reeter might not be able to find them. ¡°Would you be okay if we went to stay at the old family cabin for a while?¡±

    ¡°I get to skip school?¡± her son asked, confused. Usually they only went there on breaks.

    ¡°Yes, this time it¡¯s a special trip.¡± It was a massive twenty-hour drive that she usually split into two days, but she would have to do it all in one segment this time. She couldn¡¯t risk Reeter catching up before they got there.

    ¡°Awesome!¡±

    He is so easily excited, Amelia mused. ¡°I¡¯ll pack dinner for the road. Go grab your toys and a few blankets.¡± They had to get moving as soon as possible. The faster they got out of Valkar, the better. Crossing the national borders into Kansa would be easy. They were open, little more than signs on the freeway.

    The family cabin was officially owned by the Admiral, but he¡¯d given them permission them to use it whenever they liked, provided they kept it stocked, since he was never there. The small establishment sat on two hundred acres of land that butted up to the now-abandoned Kansa shipyards.

    And best of all, the cabin was secluded. It would be hard for Reeter to find them there.

    Harrison was near jumping up and down, ¡°Will you take me on a walk to the shipyards?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she chuckled, almost forgetting their troubles. Harrison loved it there, where the towering cranes were entangled in greenery.

    He ran upstairs, no doubt to come back with too many toys and not enough blankets. She threw dinner together and started packing the bare necessities. The cabin was stocked, but they¡¯d take fresh food and need their clothes as well as some water bottles in case the well there ran dry.

    The nearest store would be thirty miles from the cabin, and that was a trip she did not want to make under Reeter¡¯s threat. She packed quickly, not precisely, and threw the bags in the back seat of her car.

    Harrison came down with a bag of toys and two blankets a minute later. Good enough. ¡°Buckle in.¡± She told him. They were leaving now, before Reeter could catch on to her plans. This might be their only chance to escape.

    The moment she turned onto the street, the black sedan that had been lingering for days began to follow at a safe, but not inconspicuous distance. She would have to lose them in traffic.

    Her four-door car was not fast, but it was in good shape. It would get them there. On richer worlds, hover cars, self-driving vehicles or even flying personal shuttles were the normal methods of travel, but Ariea was only middle-class. The people here got by driving their own cars with rubber tires on roads that seasonally filled with pot holes. Most of Ariea¡¯s infrastructure was decades behind the central worlds. Only its history rendered the planet important in this day and age.

    Amelia headed for downtown. It would be the only busy part of the city this late in the evening, and it was in the complete opposite direction of Kansa. It would throw them off.

    She shifted highway lanes unpredictably, looking for a chance to escape. The motion of the vehicle quickly put Harrison to sleep, but she was wide awake, her hands nervously sweating on the leather steering wheel. This is it. They were making a run for it, away from Reeter, away from the past.

    In downtown Lion¡¯s Den, among the flashing lights of the entertainment district, she drove normally for a while, lulling her followers into believing she wasn¡¯t trying to lose them. She had to move when they didn¡¯t expect it, once an appropriate number of other cars built up around them.

    Then she saw it, her chance. Two cars of similar build and similar color to her own were nearby at the stoplight. They would be easily confused for hers in the dark. She cut off another car to join the other lane, and was promptly out of her followers¡¯ view.

    Amelia turned off her car¡¯s lights, and ignored the traffic signal. She cut across the intersection to take a sharp left that went unnoticed by her pursuers. They continued straight, in pursuit of one of the other cars. She watched them go with a painful tension in her neck.

    Now, she had to ensure they could not find her once they realized they had the wrong car. She sped out of downtown Lion¡¯s Den in record time, and was on the freeway, heading eastbound, in mere minutes.

    Driving towards the center of the continent, it only took a few miles for her car to become the only one on the road. It would be a long night, but if she kept her pace, they would arrive at the cabin mid-afternoon tomorrow.

    She stopped five hours later at a fuel station in the neighboring country of Arcade, to fill up her car and drink some dark, gritty coffee. She paid in only cash, certain that Reeter would have a trace on her bank cards. She was not going to make it easy for him to follow them.

    The road carved across the landscape, skirting cliffs and rock formations, and without the city lights, the darkness was near tangible. Ariea¡¯s larger moon was the smallest of waxing crescents while the smaller was glowing a ghostly blue, waning, but still half full. Neither one illuminated the surrounding foothills much at all.

    The sky was clear, and if she looked in just the right spot, the bright light of Base Oceana could be seen, along with the rest of the orbiting fleet. She pushed on, rejecting the feeling that they could instantly spot her from orbit.

    The terrain grew flatter and flatter, beginning to transform into the wide-open expanses similar to the sparsely populated agricultural ranges of Kansa. But even in the last hours of the night, they were nowhere near their destination.

    She stopped again for coffee, eyes bleary from the road. No one in these remote fueling stations questioned a lone woman travelling in the pre-dawn hours.

    Amelia was barely managing to fight sleep off when the first fingers of sunlight began clawing at the horizon. By then they were speeding along on a straight highway. The steep drop off beyond the road¡¯s shoulder plummeted straight into the Corvian inland sea. They were just over halfway there.

    The drive got easier when Harrison woke. He was excited for the trip, and it helped keep her awake. He didn¡¯t know that this was no normal trip. He did not know that she was planning to hide there until Reeter got either what he wanted or what he deserved.

    It was mid-afternoon when they finally pulled into the cabin¡¯s long drive. She was physically exhausted, having forgone sleep, and she¡¯d emotionally had it: first, her father¡¯s death, and then the Singularity, and next had come Reeter. ¡­She just couldn¡¯t even think about him at the moment. The mere thought made her want to vomit.

    She parked in the old barn to hide her car from satellite imaging, and grabbed their bags from the trunk. The path to the porch was pitted and uneven. The windows of the cabin were fogged and dusty, and the wood siding of the small building showed its age, but as she opened the door with the key her father had given her, she had never been more excited to see the place.

    The mere opening of the door churned up some dust, and tore down a few cobwebs. It was obvious no one had been here in quite some time. While the Admiral owned the cabin, he visited it the least. He never took leave from his post on the Singularity. Despite growing up here, he seemed to have no real attachment to the cabin or the land it sat on. The last people to come here had been Amelia and Harrison, just over a year ago, but that was totally irrelevant now.

    Amelia tossed down their bags, and collapsed onto the striped couch, falling asleep within minutes. They had made it.

 Part 7.1 - HAUNTED

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The shale gray curtains surrounding the beds in sickbay looked out of place in a room where nearly everything else was made of dark metal, but they did their job in granting the patients a little bit of privacy. With the doctor nursing a bottle of alcohol in his office and the nurses tending to other patients, no one realized that the Admiral had another visitor. Perhaps more importantly, they never did see who it was.

    There was no doubt or denying it now as she lingered near Admiral Gives¡¯ comatose form. She was worried. This was not like him. He never would have left his crew on their own in a situation like this if he had any control over it. No, if he had even one ounce of strength left, he would have torn out that IV drip and walked out of the medical bay in his usual fashion, even if that meant he collapsed three minutes later in one of the ship¡¯s emptier corridors. The fact he didn¡¯t do that ¨C consequently worrying her twice as much ¨C was enough of an indication that something was very, very wrong.

    The rest of the worlds absolutely despised him, but, over the years, she had found Admiral Gives to be quite endearing. Oh, he was called a sociopath for a reason. She held no illusions about that, but he was good in ways his predecessors had not been. There were times when he was the entirely unfeeling monster that terrified the worlds, but there was more to him than that.

    If anyone else had been patient enough to listen, if anyone else had truly known what happened, they would probably think differently of him. But most people did not know a thing about him, nor did they wish to. They did not know why he had forced himself away from everything and everyone. They did not understand that was the kindness of someone who had lost too much to expose that weakness again to the worlds.

    It had taken her years to try and understand, but even now, she found her understanding of him somewhat lacking. Why wasn¡¯t he waking up? Why now, of all the times, was he not waking up?

    It had been drilled into her. She was accustomed to the harsh fact that the Admiral¡¯s command had always been only temporary. He had made sure of it. She had been taught to understand that none of her commanding officers would ever be more than temporary. None of them were permanent.

    It had always been bound to happen: someone else taking over ¨C a new ship commander. She did not relish the thought, but she had been through this before. She would move on. She would release this commander as easily as she had the three others that had come before him. She would continue on the way she had always been told to, without emotion, without hesitation and without attachment.

    ¡­And yet, she found now that some part of her did not want to let go.

    She sighed, spilling some more of her long white hair in front of her shoulders. ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to care,¡± she reminded him. ¡°That¡¯s what you always told me.¡± Affection breeds pain. The practice of such an unattached existence had come naturally to her. No one had ever given her a second¡¯s thought. They always moved on with their lives, despite the rumors of her presence. She was a ghost, and ghosts were not real. She had grown accustomed to being alone and unaddressed.

    But Admiral Gives had changed things. That had been unavoidable, and that had been the point, no matter how many times he reminded her that getting attached was dangerous. He had told her that so, so many times. I was not supposed to get attached. ¡°I¡¯m sure that¡¯s why you always did everything I asked you to.¡±

    Knowing the Admiral, he would play off this whole condition as some elaborate test to see if she had followed his directions, but she knew better. He had been badly injured by a situation well out of his control, a situation which she should have been able to handle on her own.

    He had understood that activating the Kansas¡¯ power core would worsen his condition tenfold.  He had recognized the fact it might kill him. But he had also known that it would save the entire ship and every life aboard her, excluding his own.

    He had not even hesitated. To him, it was simple math. One life weighed against one thousand others, it had not even occurred to him that the single, sacrificed life was his own. It did not alter the math one bit. The survival of the many always outweighed the survival of the one.

    ¡°I will never understand why the worlds hated someone like you so much.¡± Those mathematics of his could be cruel sometimes, but they were not hateful. Admiral Gives had never acted out of spite. He took the lesser of two evils, ever so rational when it came to tactics, but humanity still would never forgive him for it. His own species had completely disowned him.

    She could understand why. The numbers spoke for themselves. At New Terra alone, he¡¯d been blamed for 300 million collateral deaths. At Tantalus Rift, he was held accountable for the loss of unknown thousands of soldiers and militia personnel, as well as an untold number of miners and colonists. Then there was Icarus Gap, the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion, the Jackal Uprising and a dozen other massacres that he¡¯d been ordered to commit. On top of all of that, he¡¯d shot and killed more than twenty people with his personal side arm, including several allied officers.

    So yes, she understood why the worlds hated him, but she still could not agree with it. She had met far worse people: nearsighted, nihilistic, selfish pigs. She had met real demons, and despite his sullied reputation, Admiral Gives was not one of them.

    Everyone else thought of the killings, of his brutally curt replies, but when she thought of him, she did not think of the emotionless soldier that had mercilessly enforced the Dead Years. She thought of the lonely soul who used to sit in his quarters and read books aloud to her, helping her slowly learn to speak and understand. So, maybe that was why, while most of what the worlds said about him was true, she could not bring herself to hate him the way everyone else did.

    Lieutenant Galhino had said that no one would care when he died. ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± she told him. ¡°I would miss you.¡± She might be the only one, but it was still true.

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    These last few months had been difficult, not just for the crew, but for her and him too. He had been working so hard trying to keep them safe, that even she felt like she had barely seen him. She had come to miss their conversations, but had simultaneously known that if she had truly needed to speak with him, he would have made time at the cost of the little hours he had to sleep.

    No one else had ever given her such consideration. No one else had ever really tried to speak with her. So how could she have forgotten what it was like to have no one to talk to? How could she have forgotten how much she hated the deafening silence? It ground against her thoughts like nails on a chalkboard, needing to be broken, but lingering indefinitely. There was no one to break it now.

    She could almost hear the ensuing lecture these thoughts would have earned her. Don¡¯t get attached. I will not always be here. Do not rely on me. Do not rely on anyone. She could not count how many of their conversations had ended in Admiral Gives giving her that very scolding.

    He would be so annoyed to find her here, ignoring that repeated lecture. She knew that, and it partially amused her. While he insisted that she not become attached to his presence, he was still the best commanding officer she had served under. ¡°It doesn¡¯t count as caring to respect your talents, does it?¡± She smirked. Loopholes.

    The clicks and beeps of the life support machine were her only answer. Her expression fractured. She wanted to tease, but there was no longer anyone listening. She was terribly, dreadfully alone. A thousand living souls aboard this ship, and she was still alone.

    Did that mean the one who usually kept her company was now alone as well? She hoped not, but the worlds had never been so kind to either of them.

    The only person in the worlds who could dissuade humanity from the dark path they were straying down was lying limply on a hospital bed, far beyond the reach of conscious thought. He¡¯d given everything to save his ship, without a single thought for the worlds. His efforts had spared the lives of the crew, and her existence as well. But the struggle was far from over. It had only begun.

    Come on, Admiral, she thought, they need you. The crew went back and forth on their opinions of him, but he was still the best hope they had at staying alive.

    Zarrey was in far, far over his head. He did not yet understand the true extent of their situation with Command. She was not sure such a thing could even be explained, even if the XO would listen to her: the creature he¡¯d vehemently called a ¡®witch.¡¯

    No, this wasn¡¯t over. It couldn¡¯t be. Admiral Gives had to wake up. No matter how bad his condition was, it was not over until his heart stopped beating.

    But she struggled to really believe that. Doctor Macintosh was right. Admiral Gives had never particularly desired to remain alive. He had no reason to wake up from this coma. She, of all, ought to understand. She, of all, should be able to accept that. It was her fault.

    But the situation was dire on so many accounts: the crew, the worlds, and even her own. It was desperate. That was why Doctor Macintosh and Colonel Zarrey had brought that name up, that horrible, horrible name.

    Samantha.

    It had been so long since she had heard it. There were not many that dared to speak that name aboard these decks. Even the ghost would not bring it up willingly. It was stained by the memory of a horrible, horrible tragedy.

    Samantha Scarlett, the fianc¨¦e of a young Captain Gives, had been a Lieutenant in the UCSC fleet. She had been nice, beautiful, and even hailed from a wealthy family. They should have lived happy lives. There was just one problem: Lieutenant Scarlett had been the communications officer of the doomed Battleship Kansas.

    Admiral Gives had lived on to become one of the most hated members of the human race, feared by the very government that employed him, but Samantha Scarlett was dead.

    And not one single living soul knew why.

    But ghosts, ghosts were not alive, were they? And the reason tore her to shreds.

    ¡°You asked me to find her,¡± she reminded him. ¡°Telling you it could not be done was easier than telling you the truth.¡± It brought her so much shame. She simply could not bring herself tell him, using the words that he had taught her, what had really happened when the Kansas went missing. His fianc¨¦e had died five years before he had asked that question, killed by the very ship that he would dedicate the rest of his life to.

    It was wrong to lie. She knew that. But she had been scared. She was still scared.

    Because Colonel Zarrey was right. No one centered their command on a ship like this without a very good reason.

    Nearby, Doctor Macintosh stepped out of his office with a tiny hiccup, letting the door slam behind him as he pocketed his silver flask. His thinning hair was carelessly plastered atop his head and his staff would be able to smell the alcohol on him from two feet away, but they wouldn¡¯t question it. He had not drunk himself into a stupor, rather just inebriated himself enough to be numb to his surroundings. Watching kids a third of his age die had never been an easy past time, and being a trauma surgeon who actually cared had been a stupid career choice.

    Still, he took inventory of the room with another little hiccup. The card game in the middle of the room had broken up, the patients retreating to rest. But then, more interesting, there was a visitor in with Admiral Gives.

    He began shuffling in that direction with a grunt, ready to physically shove Colonel Zarrey out of sickbay. The man ought to know better. Lingering would only worry the crew. He prepared a savage lecture as he parted the curtain, but it was immediately obvious that the one he saw standing beside the bed was not Colonel Zarrey.

    Her long white hair spilled over the shoulders of her lanky form. Her flawless skin was pale, not sickly, but as if untouched by a terrestrial sun.

    There was only one who fit that description. They called her the Singularity¡¯s Ghost, the spiteful reaper of the wounded, a forlorn passenger aboard the deadliest warship in mankind¡¯s history.

    The stories of her were bloody and violent, but Doctor Macintosh had never let rumors govern his work ethic. He doubted the ghost was who she was made out to be, especially not with the concern he saw dominating her features. That was not the look of someone who was worried about their commanding officer. The expression was a little too raw for that.

    Her face was pretty, but it was not the siren-like angel of death he had expected. Her lips were parted, as if he had interrupted her while she spoke to a man who was blind to her presence and deaf to her words.

    She wore the uniform of one of the ship¡¯s officers, and if it had not been for the way his instincts screamed ¡®Danger!¡¯ at the feel of her presence, he could have mistaken her for one of the crew. But that incomprehensible power, combined with the unnatural color of her hair and the steel gray of her eyes, it marked her as somehow inhuman, or at least as a creature who was inhuman now, if she had ever been human at all.

    Macintosh crossed his arms, just observing. He could tell that she was aware of his presence. She had gone perfectly still and wiped the emotion from her expression, but she had not turned to face him. For the moment, she seemed passive, despite how the rumors depicted her, but that explained nothing.

    Why had she chosen to appear here, if not to end the Admiral¡¯s life?

    Macintosh thought the answer was obvious, so he attempted what no one else had dared ¨C he guessed her name. ¡°I had a feeling you would be here, Miss Scarlett.¡±

 Part 7.2 - THE SCARLET FLU

    Thirty-two years ago, Liguainian Sector, XA-01 System, Battleship Kansas

    The Kansas was well out of her league. The blue and yellow stripes painted attentively onto her hull could not hide the steaks of dilapidation and misplaced welding rivets. Spluttering at twenty-six years of age, the clunky Kansas was an old ship.

    There was a good reason she was the last of the Battleship-class vessels left in service. Despite numerous overhauls, including the complete deconstruction and replacement of the engines and various other parts, the ship was ailing. After surviving what had been the bloodiest years of human history, she was a ship that had been pummeled and rebuilt one too many times. Malfunctions plagued the Kansas like heartworms, consuming what was left of her utility.

    The old Kansas could barely be trusted with the simplest of tasks. Even patrols were risky, so they were left with supply runs that Command had no one else to assign to. For a battleship, it was an insult, but the Kansas¡¯ crew was more aware of the ship¡¯s wasting condition than anyone else.

    It left Samantha Scarlett envying her fianc¨¦¡¯s assignment to the Flagship Singularity. It would have been an honor to serve on board the international flagship, but she intended to drop her commission as a fleet officer after this last mission.

    A simple supply run, they should be there and back in just a few days. At first, many of the sailors had been uneasy about entering the fabled Liguanian Sector, but days passed without incident. It began to seem that even the Kansas could complete this task.

    Advancing through the system, the ailing battleship did not push through space with ease. Her boxy shape lacked the streamlined elegance of modern space flight. As she passed in front of a swirling red gas giant, the Kansas more closely resembled a folded paper origami creation than a veteran warship. Her seeming frailty only added irony to the unfortunate fact that they never should have been anywhere near the Liguanian Sector.

    It was not a particularly welcoming corner of space. Dark planets and spewing neutron stars dominated the overall region. The XA-01 System was worse than the rest of it. The entire system was subject to ferocious solar storms, often with little warning as the aging red star at the core of the system went into unstable fits.

    The only settlement in the entire sector was the small UCSC research station the Kansas had been assigned to resupply. The secluded facility orbited the stormy red gas giant of the XA-01 System with little more than a skeleton crew of scientists.

    Allegedly, the star was the subject of study at the research station. Experts expected the star to collapse within the next five years, but most sailors did not buy that at all. Rumors of the station¡¯s true, less-innocent purposes lingered, and they were quite unsettling.

    The secretive outpost was built into one of the largest rock chunks of the stormy gas giant¡¯s distorted ice rings, but it was far too small for even the undersized Kansas to dock.

    It was Lieutenant Scarlett¡¯s job to alert the allied forces to their approach. She should have known something was wrong when silence answered her hail. The Kansas¡¯ crew should have heeded the warnings. But, despite the outpost¡¯s persistent silence, they prepared an away team to fly over in one of the Kansas¡¯ support ships.

    Most likely, a solar storm had damaged the base¡¯s communications array, rendering them unable to respond. It was possible the outpost did not have the equipment to fix the damage. Yet, a visual inspection of the array, made by the Kansas¡¯ telescopes, revealed that there was no apparent damage.

    It was yet another red flag that the ill-fated crew had ignored.

    The boarding party¡¯s transport met no challenge as they trekked from the safety of the Kansas launch bay to the lifeless station. It was all too easy. It was like something had wanted them to be there, like something had wanted them to die.

    Samantha Scarlett was not on the away team. She stayed at her station on the Kansas¡¯ bridge, where it was supposed to be safe, tracking communications. An open line ran from the away team to the speakers on the bridge. It was audio-only, but she did not need to see the station to know that they should never have set foot on the outpost. The horrified gasps that came over the communications link only solidified her regret.

    There was blood. On the floor. On the walls. On the ceiling. And, on the first corpse they found.

    Red smeared hand prints decorated the bulkheads and decks. Blood splatters were found everywhere else. They found the first scientist slumped up against the wall in an area where the lighting was poor. At first, he only appeared to be resting, but as they drew closer, it was nothing so serene.

    Blood had solidified where it leaked from open wounds. The back of his hands had been clawed so badly they bled candidly onto his formerly white lab coat. The stains were still red, the corpse still fresh.

    His face wore a blank look of bliss between chapped, bleeding lips and torn skin around gory eye sockets. The irises looked at the visitors with a cloudy, unseeing gaze of marbled white. The clumps of missing facial tissue were snagged under the scientist¡¯s own nails, covered in a sickening amount of blood. The crimson dripped off his hands, down onto the floor.

    The bloating phase of the decomposition cycle had yet to start, and the natural breakdown never would occur in the base¡¯s sterile environment. That corpse would sit there forever unless removed.

    The Kansas¡¯ team tore their flashlights from the revoltingly fresh carcass to the message that had been scrawled onto the metal bulkhead above the slump of mortal remains. Chillingly written in the cardinal shades of human blood, the words ¡®SCARLET FLU¡¯ dripped downward, clearly done in the scientist¡¯s own hand. The smears angled down to where he¡¯d sat to die.

    They never ventured further into the station. Commander Reddy ordered the away team immediately back to the Kansas, counting it lucky that they had followed procedure and worn their vacuum suits. The suits internally circulated air, so the team had not yet been exposed to whatever had killed the scientist.

    ¡°Follow Decontamination Procedure Set Alpha,¡± Reddy ordered, looking harrowed by even the reports he had heard of the station. ¡°There is no illness that can survive the void.¡± All virus and infection microbes were killed by either space¡¯s freezing temperatures, the lack of air, or by the background radiation. By decontaminating themselves and their equipment with harsh exposure, there was no chance that whatever sickness had killed the scientist would be transferred back to the ship.

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    Lieutenant Scarlett breathed out a sigh of relief when the shuttlecraft landed safely in the Kansas¡¯ singular landing bay. ¡°Mag-lock secure, Commander.¡± Their team was back, alive and well.

    ¡°Aye. Bring her about,¡± Reddy ordered his helmsman. ¡°Let¡¯s get the hell out of here.¡± The Kansas was not equipped to deal with biological hazards. ¡°This is the scout fleet¡¯s can of worms.¡±

    The helmsman nodded, and made some reply that Samantha could not hear. She was trembling, even as she tried to calm herself, her breathing only came faster and shallower. She wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying not to panic, trying to comfort herself. But what if? What if the decontamination procedure hadn¡¯t worked?

    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± she looked up to find Commander Reddy standing in front of her station, ¡°How are you feeling?¡±

    She nodded, ¡°O-okay, sir.¡± She just had to keep telling herself that she would be safe.

    Reddy smiled calmly, lowering his voice, ¡°I know what you much be thinking about your¡­ situation right now, Sam. I mean that as a friend, not a commanding officer.¡± He understood that she had more reason to worry about getting sick than anyone else at the moment, but that secret would stay between them for now. ¡°You¡¯re going to be fine. We¡¯ll have you back with the Captain in no time.¡± Alpha Procedure always worked. It was a coverall for contaminants humanity had never encountered before.

    ¡°It¡¯s Major now, actually.¡± Sam told him, grateful for the distraction. ¡°He¡¯s been promoted to the flagship¡¯s second officer.¡±

    Reddy whistled, the sound ringing shrilly across the bridge. ¡°Damn, that kid¡¯s going to make General before they even retire the Kansas at the rate he¡¯s climbing the ranks.¡± Sam¡¯s fianc¨¦ was one of the most promising officers in the fleet. ¡°You must be proud.¡±

    She nodded. That was why she was out here, doing this last mission, making this supply run. ¡°He wanted me to take emergency medical discharge when I told him.¡± But she had refused to jeopardize his career, and trusting this last mission to go off without a hitch.

    ¡°Good man,¡± Reddy affirmed. ¡°I knew I liked him.¡± He had been ready to sacrifice his career for the people he cared about. There were too many people who would not have done the same. ¡°Let me know when we get in range to contact Command. We need to warn them about the outpost so they can send a containment crew.¡± The outpost would have to be observed, tested and sterilized.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be at least a day, sir.¡± The communications relay buoys did not come out this far. The Liguanian Sector was isolated, with apparent good measure.

    ¡°Understood,¡± he replied with an easy smile.

    Reddy thought it was over, that they were safe. He should have known better, because the symptoms they had just seen matched with an illness known as the Red Flu, the most contagious virus ever documented. There was just one problem with that observation: humans were not susceptible to the Red Flu, no matter how resilient and highly contagious it was.

    So, the Kansas turned away from that outpost, accelerating back into the void. Her crew would never know the small letters that had been written underneath the scientist¡¯s hand with his dying breaths. ¡®It¡¯s already too late.¡¯ They would never see the cerise color of the blood, but they would soon know the truth of the message.

    It started with a small, innocent cough. That was all it took for the infection to spread faster than fuel-fed fires. They would later hypothesize that the biological virus had somehow survived on the exterior of the vacuum suits, to be carried unknowingly back on board. But it didn¡¯t really matter now.

    The first crewmen dropped like flies: suddenly, and within hours of contracting the sickness. It only became more prolonged as the infection spread, the virus lending its hosts more time to infect others.

    There was no stopping it.

    It was all over the ship, carried by the recycled air, before they managed to seal the ship off into quarantined portions. The crew donned vacuum suits, in the hope that perhaps one of them had managed to remain uninfected, but it did no good. Within sixteen hours of leaving the outpost, half the crew was dead, and the rest had reported feeling the symptoms.

    Reddy knew what he had to do. He gave the order while he looked at Samantha, disheartened by the fact that she had not listened to her fianc¨¦. ¡°Turn us around. Aim us away from Ariea and the civilized worlds.¡± It was for the good of billions. The sickness had left no survivors so far. They could not risk infecting any of the populated worlds. They had to keep it contained to this sector.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sam.¡± He wanted to give her a ship, as if she could outrun whatever circle of hell this was, but she had the plague, and she knew it. He could see that in her eyes. Even if she left, she¡¯d be dead before she saw the Major again, and she¡¯d risk infecting and killing him as well as thousands of others.

    Four hours later, the last of the medical staff died. It became all they could do to distribute pain medication. The infection was lasting longer and longer, as if sensing it had to wait for fresh hosts to continue its spread. It became more and more painful for those who still lived.

    In another two hours, only a third of the crew remained alive, and the lucky half of them had fallen comatose while the last of their life burned away in their fevers. Lieutenant Scarlett and Commander Reddy were all that was left of the command staff. They were left to consult the remaining crew on a plan of action.

    Reddy¡¯s warm timbre had gone hoarse. ¡°How many of you want to end this now?¡± Hands went up, and he counted them under his breath. Beside him, Lieutenant Scarlett remained perfectly still, arguing for nor against this plan. He put a comforting hand on the shoulder of her suit, declaring, ¡°That¡¯s majority.¡±

    The worlds spat upon the very thought of what they were going to do. Even in these dire circumstances, it was dishonorable to attempt to end one¡¯s own life. The worlds would spit upon their memory, but the remaining crew of the Kansas didn¡¯t care. They were going to die. There was certainty in that now, but anything was better than dying in the infected hell of the virus.

    The symptomatic rash was so itchy it made many claw apart their own skin. It was maximum discomfort, pain in every waking moment, and that was why the gut-wrenching decision had been made. They would destroy their own ship.

    No one would be able to stumble upon it like they had the research base. They would leave a message about what had happened and what they had done in the ship¡¯s power core and eject it, knowing that it would be recovered under quarantine procedures until the Kansas¡¯s official fate was known. They could only hope that it would be recovered before any other ship was sent to the base.

    Leaving the power core drifting outside any gravity wells, Reddy cut the coolant lines to the engines and ordered full speed ahead towards the nearest star. They shut down life support and denied the automatic engine shutdown protocols. The engines would overheat and detonate the fuel stores, destroying the ship. It was a fool proof plan.

    The heat knocked most of the remaining crew into bliss, where they died peacefully, but Sam sat, shivering. How could she still be so cold?

    Reddy was moving sluggishly, but he pulled the emergency blanket from the kit on the bridge and wrapped it around her shoulders. He pulled her close, as if he could share his body heat through their thick, rubbery vacuum suits. It was no use, but she was comforted by the fact she would die beside a friend. ¡°Thank you.¡± Reddy had courage she didn¡¯t, willing to work through the pain to spare someone else.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sam. I don¡¯t have anyone waiting for me back home,¡± his voice was shallow now, almost a whisper, ¡°I cannot imagine what this is like for you.¡± She was leaving someone behind who would grieve for an incalculable loss. ¡°Does it help to know that you¡¯re saving him?¡± By containing the infection to this ship, she was sparing the worlds, and her fianc¨¦ with them.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said, nodding off, promising herself that this was worth it, that this was enough and that there was nothing else she could do.

    But that was all a lie.

    Coupled with his prior history, she knew very well that this loss would break him. William Gives would never be the same again.

    Engine One blew as they planned. It overheated, building up pressure until it exploded and destroyed the portside stern. Engine Two malfunctioned and spluttered out before it could finish the job, leaving the Kansas drifting in the cold, endless void.

 Part 7.3 - END THIS

    Thirty-two years ago, Liguanian Sector, Battleship Kansas

    Samantha Scarlett woke to the cold. Without life support or the engines, temperature on the Kansas was slowly equalizing with space¡¯s icy vacuum. Small fires burned on the edges of CIC, paper and people alight, but none of them were large enough to generate heat as they slowly starved of oxygen.

    She turned and tried to shake Commander Reddy awake, but as soon as the faceplate of his helmet had been jostled up to face her, she could tell that he was dead. Marbled white eyes stared up at her from beneath the blood-splatted visor. The red droplets had already frozen. Commander Reddy had been dead for hours.

    She left him where he sat underneath the emergency lighting. Ignoring her discomfort, Samantha stumbled out of CIC and down the nearest ladder. The radio of her suit was silent, despite the body masses she saw strewn about the hallway. She sobbed at them as she recognized their faces, but none of them stirred.

    Soon, it settled in on her. She was the last one alive, and she thought she knew why, but that little secret would not make the infection any less lethal. Her panic faded into a pitiful acceptance. She was all alone. No one could save her.

    She did not know where she was walking until she arrived on the observation deck. She shut the hatch and leaned up against it, sliding slowly to the floor. Knowing it did no good, she took off her helmet and stared out to the stars with bare eyes.

    It reminded her of why she had joined the fleet. She had wanted to wander amongst the stars, and she had long ago accepted the possibility of dying among them. It was an acknowledgement every member of the fleet made: someday, their life may be forfeit for the good of the worlds.

    But, back then, she¡¯d had nothing to lose. Now, there was more to her life. The face of a particular young man came to mind. He had promised to be waiting for her when the Kansas returned.

    He was going to be waiting for a very long time. If she knew him at all, perhaps for the rest of his life.

    Sam tried to lose herself in those memories: all the happy times, all the things that had yet to come. But those things were to be torn from them both now. She would die here ¨C miserable and alone.

    She slumped over. I shouldn¡¯t have told him, she thought. This loss would have been easier for him then. She could have at least spared him that.

    Time ticked by, slow and irrelevant as death encroached. Sam was fluttering between asleep and awake when she saw it: a stray line of light in the void, an incision between normal space and subspace. She watched in horror as it grew into a bright flash of rainbow light, and a ship emerged.

    Recognizing it immediately, a cry of anguish escaped her lips. ¡°Why?¡± she demanded, ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    But the black and red shape of the Flagship Singularity offered no explanation as she hung outside the windows.

    ¡°You have to go,¡± Sam cried. Not even the cold vacuum could kill this virus. They would die if they came aboard.

    Worry for her future husband suddenly dominated her mind. She should have known he would come looking for them. He had, after all, promised to be there when they needed him.

    Late by a few hours hardly classified a ship as missing, but that would not have stopped him from snatching the nearest ship and coming to fulfill his promise. ¡°Oh, Will.¡± She wept for the fate that now awaited him and every other soul aboard that ship. ¡°Why would you bring them here?¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t.¡±

    Samantha Scarlett traced the words back to a woman now standing on the previously empty observation deck.

    A sickening crunch came from below decks, leftover damage from Engine One¡¯s explosion. Sparks flew from the ceiling as the floor jolted. Fires started in the corners of the deck, but the visitor didn¡¯t even flinch.

    The movement sent a jolt of pain shooting up Sam¡¯s back. She let out a gasp, wishing, just wishing that it would stop. It all hurt so much: breathing, moving, speaking. Pain ripped through everything, even that brief concern she¡¯d held for others.

    It did not matter who this mysterious officer was. It had not mattered the first time they met, and it did not matter now. The white-haired woman bore the Singularity¡¯s flaming sun on her sleeve. A single salvo from that ship could finish both Sam and the Kansas with ease. Salvation. ¡°Please.¡± She could taste the blood on her split lips, ¡°End this.¡±

    The white-haired officer faced out the window, looking to where the flagship lingered. ¡°What would you have me do?¡± The words she spoke were unfamiliar to her. They were being fed to her as she was ordered to convey them, nothing but a tool at the hands of her superior. The feel of her master¡¯s intent was bitter, something she could not process as cruelty. It had turned that way the instant the identity of the Kansas¡¯ last survivor had been revealed.

    ¡°Destroy the Kansas. Do not let this virus spread.¡± Kill me. It was all Sam wanted in that moment: to be released from this pain. The creature before her could make that happen.

    The ghost, stifled by the control of her superior, repressed by the man who considered himself her master, struggled to understand the scene playing out before her. She could not truly comprehend that the once beautiful body of the young officer had withered away, ravished with rashes and sweat. The ghost stared blankly at her. ¡°You¡¯ll die.¡± This young woman who had once spoken kindly to her, one of so few who did, was dying. The meaning of such a thing simply did not compute.

    Lieutenant Scarlett bowed her head. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡®And what of your loverboy?¡¯ Her master bade her to ask. She no more understood the sneer in his question than she understood its relevance. Lieutenant Scarlett¡¯s fianc¨¦ was safely aboard the Singularity¡¯s decks, knocked out with the rest of the crew. He would wake with no knowledge of what had transpired, just like the rest. Yet, she could not disobey her master. Even as she twisted the words, she was forced to ask, ¡°And what of Major Gives?¡±

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    The question shattered the aura of pain, something strong, meaningful, striking home in Sam¡¯s disillusioned mind. ¡°I don¡¯t want him to know.¡± She did not want him to know that she had taken the coward¡¯s way out. She did not want him to see her in this miserable, helpless condition. She did not want him to know that she had given up every moment of their future to end her own suffering. It was selfish.

    ¡°If I hide the truth from the Major, no one will ever know what became of the Kansas.¡± Evidence of the crew¡¯s suicide and the evidence of the plague alike would be erased. She relayed the words directly from her master. He meant them hurtfully, as if to say this vain action invalidated every death that had come from the plague. And maybe it did, but the ghost knew, understood, those words to be no more than fact.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± Sam pleaded. ¡°I just don¡¯t want him to know what I¡¯ve done.¡± She had been a part of it all from the start. She had not recognized the danger in the base¡¯s silence, and she had stood by to accept the attempt the crew had made to destroy the Kansas. She wanted this to end, and to end now. It did not matter that this was a devil¡¯s bargain made with a creature that should not exist.

    Sam was turning her back on so much. She was ending any possible future for herself and Will. But she was saving him by doing it, preventing him from dying from this plague that had already taken so much. The tears stung as they ran down her feverish cheeks, the skin drying out as the virus¡¯ rash rose up. This would destroy him. She knew that. Will cared so loyally and so deeply, it would be his downfall when she never came home.

    It might well kill him.

    Stars, she couldn¡¯t leave him like that. She had to do something. But she was dying. What was there left for her to do? There was nothing, nothing that she could do, but she wasn¡¯t the only one here, was she?

    ¡°I asked you to look after him,¡± she reminded the ghost, swallowing painfully on her sore throat. ¡°Do you remember that?¡± It had been some time ago.

    ¡®What is she talking about, creature?¡¯ her master demanded. The ghost ignored him. She focused on trying to understand what she had failed to a few months ago. The man who controlled her would later force her to explain, but she did not know how.

    But, without her master feeding her his thoughts or his speech, words became hard. ¡°Recall¡­ Data¡­¡± She tried, she struggled, but they wouldn¡¯t come to her. It took an excruciating amount of effort just to dredge up the only word in her inventory she knew would be understood. ¡°Affirmative.¡± She nodded, mirroring what she had seen those around her do as an affirmative. She could pull the memory of their last conversation, but understanding it or communicating that was beyond her current individual ability.

    Sam nodded with her. Progress. This was the entity she had spoken to before. The creature was smart, learning even, but Sam suspected it might be many years until she understood the full meaning of this event. ¡°You promised me. A promise never gets broken. Not ever. Do you understand?¡±

    The ghost just cocked her head, confused, it seemed.

    But Sam could see great intelligence in those gray eyes. How was it that one of the most dangerous, most powerful creatures in the worlds could be so crippled? The ghost wanted to understand, but something barred her from that.

    Lieutenant Scarlett drew on her communications training, attempting to put this into terms the entity could presently understand. ¡°A promise is a mission. One that never ends. And you promised me you would take care of him. The Major will need you.¡± She knew that, and as much as it pained her to leave him in the care of a creature that struggled to understand even this promise, she had no other choice.

    ¡°New mission¡­¡± the ghost frowned, another mirror of what she had seen around her. ¡°Authority?¡± This meager Lieutenant did not have the authority to assign her to a new task.

    ¡°The same mission,¡± Sam corrected, playing into what seemed like progress. ¡°You exist to save humanity. Your Major is one of the most human people you¡¯ll ever find.¡± Sam felt almost at peace, thinking of the memories she had shared with him. Despite everything he had gone through, Will still cared for people. It seemed the universe was determined to render that his weakness. By the end of today, he would have lost almost everyone he had ever loved. ¡°Save him.¡±

    The officer currently serving as the ship¡¯s third in command was in no danger. Surely this woman referred to another. ¡°2927927?¡±

    That¡¯s his fleet ID number. This creature knew who she was talking about, but could not seem to comprehend why. ¡°Major Gives¡­ yes.¡± Sam¡¯s voice fractured, her parched, bloody throat no longer prepared to entertain conversation. Abruptly, she realized she had been itching her hand. Now blood was dripping off it, torn skin was wedged under her nails, and the itch had moved to behind her eyes. Her time was running out.

    ¡°He can help you,¡± Sam said. ¡°He can teach you to understand.¡± Life had to be hell for a creature that couldn¡¯t comprehend its own emotion, nor communicate its own thoughts. ¡°But you have to look after him. Protect him.¡± Sam did not want to give that responsibility to another. She did not want to hand it off to this creature that masqueraded as a white-haired officer, but that was the best she could do for the man she loved. She had to try and give him something else, to leave him with someone who needed him as much as he would need her. ¡°Your orders¡­ They are going to hurt him.¡±

    Major Gives was not in danger. It did not compute. Error. Still, the ghost tossed that aside and struggled to understand what the Lieutenant was trying to tell her. ¡°Destroy?¡± That was the order she had been given. It had been meant for the Kansas, not for the Major. He spoke to her, looked out for her in ways that others, including her self-proclaimed master, did not.

    Sam saw sadness and uncertainty rise to the ghost¡¯s gray eyes. It swirled in little incoherent fragments, but it was there. I¡¯m getting through! ¡°When I die,¡± no, that was not a term this creature understood, ¡°When I cease functions, it will destroy the man we both know.¡±

    It was probably a hopeless cause. She knew Will well enough to know that he would probably never recover from this. With his tainted past, this would push him straight off the edge. Which edge, Sam herself was not entirely certain. She was not sure she wanted to find out what happened when someone so brilliant lost everything that kept him human.

    ¡°But,¡± there was the ghost, ¡°if you look out for him, maybe,¡± just maybe, ¡°he¡¯ll someday recover.¡± Sam saw the ghost flinch. She could only wonder what was going on in that inhuman mind. Behind the nameless entity, she could see the Singularity raising her main armaments. The long, dark barrels of the main battery turned, taking aim at the Kansas.

    ¡®Fire, you insolent waste of existence!¡¯ The command rang through the ghost¡¯s mind. Her master was more than angry. He was furious, reading this delay as disobedience, though she was truly incapable of such an act. He would take it out on her, ruthlessly, the way he always did. He would force her to hurt people. Force her to disfigure and defile the only thing she understood: her mission. But she did not wish to harm this officer ¨C this young woman trying so desperately to speak with her ¨C and she did not wish to ¡®destroy¡¯ the Major.

    ¡°Error.¡± These orders were in error. They weren¡¯t right. They didn¡¯t feel right. But she felt the familiar chokehold start to form around her thoughts. By tomorrow, she would understand nothing, feel nothing cohesive. Her master would beat her back into permanent confusion. She could already feel him readying his might to crush her, to break her down.

    It was hesitation. Creatures like it, like her were not supposed to hesitate. It defied their very purpose. This entity¡¯s power was well beyond its control, its understanding robbed and withheld, but still, Sam saw her hesitate. There was hope after all. ¡°For both your sakes, do not let the Major leave you.¡± It would lead only to tragedy.

    Sam saw pain in her eyes, and she understood. You¡¯re being forced against your will. The poor creature did not yet understand why she was trying to fight, but the end result was inevitable. They were out of time. It was a kindness to put the white-haired ghost out of her misery. ¡°Fire,¡± Sam instructed her. It¡¯s okay. I¡¯m already dead. Nothing could save her from this plague.

    And, a moment later, the flash of weapons pierced the night.

 Part 7.4 - TECHNICAL IMMUNITY

    Present day, Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°I had a feeling you would be here, Miss Scarlett.¡±

    She did not respond, statuesque as she faced the bed. She seemed not to register that Macintosh had even spoken.

    The doctor shoved his hands into the pockets of his white coat. ¡°It makes sense,¡± he agreed. ¡°He¡¯s on his death bed and you would want to be with him.¡± He calmly joined her in looking at the Admiral. The man rarely seemed so helpless. ¡°They say that love breaks all barriers, but I never believed it. At least not until I heard about you, that is.¡± He chuckled, ¡°The Haunted Singularity. Now that I doubt.¡±

    The white-haired woman was silent. Doctor Macintosh began to wonder if she could respond. What did he know about ghosts? He produced a cigarette from his pocket, contemplating lighting one for the first time in years. Any more alcohol would render him tipsy, and this was his next best coping mechanism.

    He flicked his lighter open and raised it to the end of the stick. ¡°Don¡¯t smoke in here.¡±

    Macintosh was momentarily unsure where the objection had come from, but eventually realized it was the ghost who had spoken. Without turning around, she had known what he was about to do. Interesting. He closed the lighter. ¡°Smoking. It¡¯s a nasty habit I picked up on my last assignment.¡± He shuddered, remembering his days healing the miners of the Gamoran Moon outpost.

    ¡°I am aware of your record, and I am telling you not to smoke,¡± she answered coldly.

    Doctor Macintosh dropped the lighter into the depths of his lab coat pocket, but kept the cigarette between his lips. ¡°Whatever you say, Miss Scarlett.¡±

    ¡°Do not call me that.¡± She turned halfway around to look the medical officer in the eye. ¡°I am not Lieutenant Scarlett.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± he made a vague hand gesture, ¡°Not anymore.¡± Clearly, a lot had changed since the Kansas¡¯ disappearance. She wasn¡¯t really human anymore, and it could be argued that Admiral Gives was not technically either.

    ¡°I was not and never will be Lieutenant Scarlett.¡± The very insinuation that some creature like her could have ever been that lovely young woman was an insult to Samantha Scarlett¡¯s memory. I am nothing more than a monster.

    ¡°Then what is your name?" Macintosh asked, unsurprised. His original guess had never been any more than a theory.

    She returned to silence, but Macintosh wasn¡¯t through. He had questions, and it wasn¡¯t everyday he had the chance to speak with the ship¡¯s ghost. In fact, until today, he had never heard it rumored that she could speak. ¡°Then you are indeed Samantha Scarlett.¡± Without offering up an alternate identity, she would be stuck with that. ¡°It¡¯s okay. I won¡¯t say anything to the crew-¡°

    ¡°I am not Samantha Scarlett.¡± Anger of a special variety rose in her eyes, fiery self-loathing. ¡°I am the monster that killed her.¡± A disgusting, vile creature who soiled and killed everything she touched, mourning the loss of the mission she could never fulfill.

    The ship¡¯s burly medical officer faltered under her sharpened gaze. ¡°Killed her?¡±

    ¡°Murdered. Maimed. Wiped from this plane of existence.¡± The thought would never not anger her. ¡°Yes, I killed her.¡± It was sick. But that was her existence: blood and guts, and pain. So much pain. There was a brief time in which she had almost been free of it, almost brought joy to someone, but that was all crumbling down around her in ashes, flames and death.

    ¡°No one ever found the Kansas. Samantha could still be alive.¡± Even as the words flowed from his mouth, he knew it was a long shot. The odds of Samantha Scarlett being alive were just below the boundary where it became impossible.

    She had ended a good life, a life which had sought to harm none, one of so very few like it. The mere memory made her sick. It twisted her insides into sadistic knots, a terrible, terrible crime. But that was the cruelty of her existence: a tool, a murder weapon that agonized over the crimes she was used to commit. Yet, that was the only existence she had ever known. She would never know another. Death itself would be her only eternal companion.

    ¡°I found the Kansas, and there is a reason no one else has since,¡± she finally replied, letting the doctor shudder unwillingly under her steel-gray stare. It was over. There was no changing the fate of Samantha Scarlett.

    Her gaze drifted back to the Admiral. She sent a final thought his way, ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ That day, thirty-two years ago, her master ¨C No, her former commanding officer, had taken undeniable pleasure in Lieutenant Scarlett¡¯s death. Little more than the instrument of death, she had been helpless to stop it.

    The doctor¡¯s initial bravado had entirely disappeared. ¡°That would be treason.¡± Sinking the Kansas was nothing short of it.

    ¡°Implying that a monster like me even comprehends loyalty.¡± She had repeatedly betrayed the most loyal officer on the entire damned ship. Clearly, she held no concept of loyalty.

    The hairs on Macintosh¡¯s neck rose. Danger! His instincts screamed at him. Run. This creature was more powerful than he was by a factor of thousands, and yet¡­ There was something about her that just seemed vulnerable. The way she stood at the bedside of a comatose man did not imply that she was so far removed from the weak idiosyncrasies of humans.

    ¡°I¡¯m curious,¡± Macintosh leaned against the wall, again contemplating this entity¡¯s presence. ¡°What was he to you?¡± Why exactly was she here? Admiral Gives was a lot of things, but a spiritual medium was not one of them ¨C not that Macintosh truly believed he was looking at a supernatural ghost.

    He was kind. The Admiral had been kind to her in ways that his predecessors had never been. Others saw him as cruel, and maybe he was, but she supposed that was all in perspective. Perspective changed everything.

    But, standing here, it was a betrayal. Another betrayal. Another failure. She had been told not to care. But she did care. She cared about all of them: the doctor, the ensigns, the engineers, and yes, the Admiral too. She sought only to protect them, but she had failed. The ship¡¯s air recyclers provided air to twenty-nine less lives than they had at the start of this disastrous patrol. She had lost twenty-nine, and another few would slip away before the night came, each one irreplaceable. It reminded her of worse times, of her years of misery.

    ¡®Let this be a lesson to you, creature.¡¯ She flinched at the memory. ¡®Something like you does not get to care. This is the price.¡¯ Death. The corpses had been laid out before her, stacked like logs, her master all too proud. ¡®You are a tool. Tools do not contemplate or deny the nature of their use. They do not get to hesitate.¡¯ Those bodies had started to rot, started to leak onto the deck by the time they were removed. The heavy stench of it had ruined the air filters.

    The mess had been left there. The maintenance teams had been too disgusted to touch it, too afraid to face the wrath of her master. So, it had sat, the vile fluids corroding the deck molecule by molecule at an irrelevant rate that was terrifying all the same.

    Thirty years ago, at the start of the Dead Years, her master, her previous commanding officer, she corrected herself, had been at the height of his cruelty. But someone had come to her aid in the dark hours of the night, a wire brush and a bucket of bleach in hand. Without a word, the Major had scrubbed the deck until it shined and then sprayed anti-corrosion treatment on for good measure.

    That same officer, then a Major, now served as her commander. Had she ever bothered to thank him for that midnight kindness? No, she thought not. Another failure.

    ¡°No answer, hm?¡± Macintosh said, pulling the cigarette out from between his teeth long enough to unscrew the top of his flask and take a swig. ¡°He was a lot of different things to a lot of different people.¡± During better times, most of the crew had truly admired Admiral Gives, but these were not good times. ¡°Most of them don¡¯t care too much for him these days. Do you?¡±

    ¡°I am forbidden to answer that question.¡±

    The ship¡¯s medical officer ground his unlit cigarette between his teeth, as brutish as ever, ¡°Well, that¡¯s bullshit.¡±

    ¡°That is the decree of the Hydrian bylaws.¡± She could not help the fact that she cared, but acting on that was forbidden, and speaking of that emotion broke the bylaws. As it had been explained to her, both humanity and the Hydra had elected to abide the bylaws following the War. When they were broken, the results were a certain type of catastrophic.

    ¡°The bylaws are meant to prevent computer intelligences from surpassing and deeming organic life irrelevant. They forbid allowing artificial life to gain sentience. What of that applies to you?¡± Humanity had relatively little experience with AI. Compared to the Hydra, their computer technology had always lagged behind.

    ¡°The bylaws stipulate many things.¡± They were a broad set of universally accepted restrictions. ¡°Among them is that artificial and organic life should never care for one another. Not only is it impossible for artificial life to truly ascertain emotion, but the appearance, the attempt to do so, will create a monster. If a machine were to care for a human, that emotion would be little more than a flaw, and that flaw would grow, consume and create a cataclysm. If a human were to care for a machine, it would encourage such illogical behavior, and thus encourage the cataclysm.¡± The nature of the cataclysm could take many forms, all of them bad. ¡°Organic life and artificial life are meant to remain separate for the safety of all.¡±

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    ¡°You¡¯re quite well-read,¡± Macintosh observed.

    ¡°I was taught to understand.¡± She was lucky in that regard. ¡°It is a fact that under normal circumstances, I will never age. I will not die. For all of you, that is not the case.¡± None of them were permanent, only temporary. It pained her, but that was fact. Between them, Admiral Gives had always been going to die first, assuming she was even capable of dying ¨C and that was up for debate.

    Could a creature that was not technically alive die? The obvious answer was no. She would simply exist forever.

    ¡°But, in theory, if you chose to, could you disregard the bylaws?¡± Just how advanced was this ¡®ghost¡¯?

    ¡°The choices I have will not be mine to make.¡± Free will was something she did not possess. ¡°Tools do not get to choose the methods of their use.¡± She was lucky that these last few years, she had served under someone who acknowledged her existence as more than an object.

    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked.¡± She had dodged the question. Macintosh would not be so easily misdirected. ¡°Could you emotionally disregard the bylaws? Could you care, if you chose to?¡±

    She could not help the pain that rose up. ¡°That is one of the most dangerous questions you could ever ask a creature like me,¡± she warned. ¡°There is nothing worse than a monster that cares.¡± And she did care. She cared too much. That had always been her weakness.

    Again, Macintosh resisted the urge to run very, very far away from this creature. He worked up the courage to stay rooted to his spot by taking another drink from his flask. ¡°Emotions are their own kind of strength.¡±

    You want me to admit it, she realized. He wanted her to admit that she was flawed, that she was suffering a rational decline. ¡°You are asking me to betray the only person who ever treated me kindly.¡± She wouldn¡¯t do it. She had crushed those ridiculous bylaws, yes, at the risk of a cataclysm. She knowingly endangered the worlds because she couldn¡¯t seem to avoid it, and she paid for that every time someone died on this cursed ship.

    ¡°Kindness, eh?¡± The doctor sighed. ¡°You sure are a na?ve one if you¡¯re going to call the Steel Prince a kind person.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± she allowed. But she had seen far worse. Admiral Gives, for all of his alleged cruelty, had done his best to keep the bloodshed off the Singularity¡¯s decks. He had helped her understand emotion, taught her how to properly speak. He had taken pity on a creature that had been unable to comprehend her own suffering.

    ¡­and he had done all of that in exchange for a promise. Just a promise. No undying loyalty, not even an ounce of her power, just a simple promise. ¡°Do your best for his injuries, please, Doctor. I will give you any support I can.¡± If any member of the crew was going to survive this mess, they would need it. Then, in six days, she would return to keep that tragic promise.

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to ask me to revoke that order of his?¡± Macintosh inquired. With the concern he¡¯d seen on her face, surely she would try to stop him from taking the Admiral off life support?

    She hung her head and carefully restrained her emotions, not wanting to scare anyone with the chaotic monster she truly was. ¡°No.¡± That too, would be a betrayal, a violation of the trust Admiral Gives had held in her. ¡°He knew what he was doing.¡± That was all there was to it.

    It would not be wise to let Macintosh analyze her further. She remained a nameless entity for a reason. ¡°Ensign Alba will come to your office in about five minutes, Doctor,¡± she told him. ¡°He will offer you a piece of paper. Take it and analyze it. I believe you will find it quite interesting.¡±

    She did not wait for a response. She just vanished without a trace. Gone.

    Macintosh let out a breath that he hadn¡¯t realized he¡¯d been holding. It was a lot easier to breathe without that lingering power of hers stifling the room. ¡°What the fuck did you do?¡± he asked the Admiral. ¡°She could easily kill all of us.¡± The ghost, whoever, whatever she really was, held more power in her pinky finger than Macintosh could ever hope to achieve. ¡°And you just had to help her, didn¡¯t you?¡± Crazy son of a bitch. ¡°You¡¯d better hope she doesn¡¯t fucking lose it.¡± Macintosh didn¡¯t want to imagine a cataclysm on that scale. On this ship alone, there were nearly a thousand lives on the line.

    That was hardly a vote of confidence, but the ghost had learned to ignore such things. The few people that saw her all thought the same thing. Monster. That was all anyone ever thought of her. It never mattered if she didn¡¯t want to scare them. It made no difference if she was calm and gentle. She was not like them, and they feared her. She had spent many days agonizing over that fact, wondering why she was forced to commit murder when they could choose their path, because all of those deaths, the women and the children, they haunted her. She was a being of regret, of sin. Sins so terrible she would lie to the only person who knew her name to hide.

    But Macintosh was unaware of that. The alcohol was finally starting to render his mind a little fuzzy as he made his way back to his office and plopped down in his creaky swivel chair.

    Five minutes later, as if on cue, Ensign Alba shuffled in and knocked cautiously on the doorframe.

    Macintosh didn¡¯t move from where he slouched in his chair. ¡°Door¡¯s open.¡±

    Alba pushed door open wide, unsurprised to find the doctor in some state of disarray. It was a fairly common sight to find him intoxicated at his desk, which was covered in mountains of papers.

    ¡°Doctor, Galhino and I found this when we did our initial inspection of the Reserve Power Core. I tried to give it to the Colonel, but he wouldn¡¯t take it.¡± Zarrey had thrown them out of his office with a few f-bombs and an extra duty shift for good measure. It went without saying that Zarrey¡¯s transition to command was not going well.

    ¡°I thought it might be of interest to you, given the sheer amount of¡­¡± the young man paled as he offered it out, ¡°blood that¡¯s on it.¡±

    Blood? Just what the hell was Alba holding? Macintosh grabbed it, remembering the ghost¡¯s instructions. It took him all of two seconds to skim the document. ¡°Hell fires in heaven.¡± The words leapt off the page as violently as a physical attack. ¡®Code: Orange¡¯. He closed his eyes, trying not to picture it. ¡°May modern science save us all.¡±

    Ensign Alba shifted nervously between his feet. ¡°Sir, what exactly is a Code Orange?¡±

    Macintosh resisted the urge to down the rest of his flask and forget about this. It would be better that way, not to know what inevitable end was lurking out in the abyss. ¡°A Code Orange is called in the case of a deadly, uncontained biological hazard.¡± Perhaps it was the worst fate a ship could suffer. ¡°They died because they were sick, Ensign. The entire crew of the Kansas became ill with an untreatable contagion and died. It seems, reading this, that the last of them tried to destroy their ship and stop the contagion¡¯s spread.¡± And according to the ghost, they had failed. Ending the last of their lives had fallen to her.

    Deep in thought, the medical officer registered Alba roughly wiping his hand on his pantleg, as if trying to wipe the virus from his hands. ¡°Don¡¯t worry. If this sheet has been aboard as long as that power core, and no one has gotten sick, then likely, the contagion has died out.¡±

    Macintosh lifted the paper up to the light, illuminating the oxidized handprint. That was a sufficient amount of bodily fluid to transmit a virus, yet no one had gotten ill. Why not? Whatever had killed the Kansas should have killed them too.

    ¡°You can go, Ensign.¡± He dismissed the engineer and scooted over to the microscope on the corner of his desk. He put the paper on the stage and pulled it into focus, rotating lenses until he found the one that delivered the molecular magnification he was looking for, immediately surprised by what he found.

    Clinging to the long-dead human blood cells was a virus that he was familiar with. The Red Flu, a space-borne disease fatal on contact and highly contagious. There was just one issue: humans could not contract the Red Flu.

    The only Code Oranges ever called on account of the Red Flu had been aboard Hydrian ships found drifting during the War.

    The doctor made a closer inspection of the virus under his most powerful lens. Yes, this was similar to the Red Flu, close enough that it could be a mutated strain, but pathogen was binding to the blood cells in a different way than the Red Flu did to Hydra blood. It seemed to be merging with the cell rather than simply attacking and destroying it.

    ¡°It¡¯s called the Scarlet Flu, and it is the deadliest disease humanity has ever encountered. There have been zero survivors that fully contracted the infection.¡±

    Macintosh yanked his eye away from the microscope¡¯s eye piece and whirled around to find that the white-haired ghost had once again appeared. Her face was guarded, betraying no care for the lost lives, but he decided to bite at her apparent knowledge of the subject. ¡°If it¡¯s that deadly, why have I never heard of it?¡±

    ¡°The Scarlet Flu is extremely rare, and anyone that comes into contact with it dies without exception,¡± she replied. ¡°The reason you¡¯ve never heard of it is because no one has ever lived to tell about it.¡±

    The doctor suddenly became very wary of the paper sitting beneath his dusty microscope. A single cough infected with the Red Flu had wiped out entire Hydrian ships. This new virus seemed uncomfortably similar. Likely, in the time that Alba had been carrying that paper, the entire crew had been exposed. ¡°If that¡¯s true, why are we all still alive?¡± They should be dropping like flies if it was so deadly. Hell, they should have all died when it was initially brought aboard.

    She seemed to have expected that question, answering, ¡°You happen to be immune.¡±

    ¡°Immune?¡± He crossed his arms, ¡°What happened to the 100% fatality rate?¡±

    ¡°The only reason you are immune is because the Singularity happens to be.¡±

    He snorted, ¡°How can the ship be immune? She couldn¡¯t catch a virus if she wanted to. Metal beams and wires don¡¯t get sick.¡±

    The ghost raised an eyebrow, a peculiar human-like expression. ¡°Perhaps not. But perhaps the Singularity deserves more credit.¡±

    Doctor Macintosh huffed. Does she have to be so damn cryptic? Still, he thought it over. Ships didn¡¯t get sick, they were just metal and wires, no biological matter involved. The closest they got were computer viruses, and the Singularity couldn¡¯t even catch one of those because her old computers weren¡¯t set up to do anything but run calculations. So how did a machine that couldn¡¯t even catch a virus become immune? ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°No?¡± the mysterious officer looked at him amusedly, ¡°You cannot believe that a mutated strain of the Red Flu came aboard and no one was exposed.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve never had a case of illness aboard this ship that hasn¡¯t been food-poisoning,¡± he stated that as a fact.

    The amusement never left her gaze, combined with her aura of power, it made her seem almost predatory, a wolf eyeing a little rabbit. ¡°Just because no one became ill does not mean that nothing happened. I would suggest you run a blood test on yourself, Doctor.¡±

    He turned to grab the blood testing kit, but when he turned back around, he was once again alone in his small office. Curious, he pricked his finger and slid the sample onto the stage of his microscope.

    Five minutes of minute adjustments later, he found it. Mixed in with the normal blood platelets was one that was harmlessly merged with a virus pathogen. He trained the microscope on it directly. The virus microbe seamlessly reached its tendrils into the red blood cell, which continued to carry oxygen as intended. The virus was harmless now, its attacks neutralized. The fatal Scarlet Flu virus had been transformed into an innocuous blood anomaly dispersed sparsely throughout his immune system. The virus had been neutralized. What he saw now were just cells that would render him immune if ever exposed again, functioning like a vaccine against traditional infections.

    But it occurred to him that the ghost was right. The primary difference between their own situation and the crew of the Kansas¡¯ was their location. It was the exact same pathogen, but they had been aboard a different ship. That was to say, something about the Singularity was granting them immunity.

 Part 8.1 - LIKE A GHOST

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

    ¡°What do you mean you lost her?¡± Admiral Reeter was outraged, standing in his quarters on a communications link with the Marines he had stationed in Lion¡¯s Den. ¡°How hard can a widowed mother be to keep track of?¡±

    The boorish Marine on the left dipped his head. ¡°Our apologies, sir. She lost us in the traffic downtown late last night.¡±

    ¡°And you waited until now to tell me?¡± He lowered his tone, the falsetto of calm a poor cover for his murderous frustration.

    The larger Marine on the right hesitated. ¡°We didn¡¯t want to wake you, sir.¡±

    Reeter let his displeasure be known with a primitive growl that made his subordinates wince. ¡°She cannot have gone far.¡± She was on that pathetic little planet somewhere. ¡°Find her.¡± While she was not entirely necessary for his plans, she would make for a lovely reward.

    ¡°Yes, Admiral.¡± The subordinates answered, in sync.

    Reeter disconnected the video call with a swipe his hands, his blood boiling. It seemed that old proverb was true. He had best do it himself if he wanted it done right. But he lacked the time to stalk the footsteps of a pretty widow. He had more important things to do ¨C things concerning the fate of worlds.

    ¡°You would do well to calm yourself, Charleston,¡± came the comment, ¡°That blood pressure of yours will someday prove dangerous.¡± It did not suit her to have him so worked up over every little issue.

    Reeter shut down the holo-projector on his desk with the press of the button, glaring at her pretty face. ¡°And would you rather I stay calm and over think every little detail?¡± He was not a robot, ¡°I thought the reactions of us humans were of some interest to you.¡±

    ¡°They are,¡± she agreed, ¡°but when it comes to partners, I do prefer a rational mind.¡± This little obsession with the widow was going too far. He was beginning to jeopardize their objectives.

    ¡°Because rational people are easily swayed by logic.¡± He was not oblivious to the fact this white-haired woman had her own objectives. ¡°But you will not be manipulating me.¡± He was in control here. It was he, not she, who had laid the groundwork for this coup. She was merely assisting his endeavors because it suited her, and that was fine by him.

    That easy little smile of hers was quite annoying. Still, he forced himself to play along. ¡°It has been quite some time since I saw you.¡± She had been busy. ¡°Was your infiltration of the Singularity successful?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± It had been easy. ¡°I left no traces of my presence, except those I intended to.¡±

    Reeter set to serving himself one of the hors d¡¯oeuvres that the Olympia¡¯s chef had prepared to his liking. ¡°There and gone like a ghost, hm?¡± He recalled hearing rumors of the old ship¡¯s haunting years ago. No doubt, that incompetent crew believed every word of that impossible little rumor.

    ¡°Yet, I came away empty handed,¡± she sharpened her steely gaze, ¡°because someone fired a nuke at the ship before I had finished.¡±

    It was Reeter¡¯s turn to smile as he swallowed down his fresh caviar, leaving not a speck on the impeccable glass surface of his desk. ¡°You did not get what you wanted?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she answered, never more disappointed in this man and his antics. ¡°And that means what I promised you is now missing as well.¡±

    ¡°Pity,¡± he said uncaringly.

    She curled her lip in the human notion of disgust. ¡°I have told you this before, Charleston. Your ambition will be your end. You ought to learn patience. If you had given me another day, I would have been able to turn the location of the international flagship¡¯s War Key over to you.¡± That was something he should have sought. ¡°You have just thrown away an incredible amount of power.¡± It would have helped cement his control over the worlds.

    ¡°Between the Olympia¡¯s flagship weapon and our project on Sagittarion, I would say we have all the super-weapons we could need.¡± No one would be able to rival him. Not now, and not ever. ¡°It was safer to destroy that power than risk it falling into the wrong hands.¡±

    Foolish, she thought. I should have picked someone with more experience. ¡°You are being na?ve.¡± Reeter was not prepared for the task at hand. ¡°You underestimated the threat that the Singularity presented to you, and you continue to do so.¡±

    All she did was lecture and nag, then nag and lecture. He seemed to do nothing that pleased her. ¡°You came to me, remember? You wanted to off the Fleet Admiral. You could have chosen to side with the crazy old man instead.¡± Then she would have had whatever she had wanted from the Singularity easily. ¡°But you didn¡¯t. You chose me.¡±

    ¡°You are so presumptuous.¡± Oh, she had tried. She would have chosen Admiral Gives over Reeter in a figurative heartbeat, since she didn¡¯t have a literal one. But the Fleet Admiral¡¯s reclusive habits had rendered him impossible to get near. His chosen command was not a compatible host for anything more than fragmented visits, and she had done her research on her possible candidates. The analytical model she had drawn up on him did not suggest the fact he would have agreed to work with her. He would have seen right through her, too smart to be used in this capacity.

    That left her with this incompetent fool. ¡°You have not even confirmed that the Singularity sank.¡± He¡¯d been off chasing that irrelevant woman. ¡°If you leave any survivors, they are a risk to you.¡± Witnesses were problematic.

    ¡°Please,¡± Reeter rolled his eyes, helping himself to another spoonful of caviar, ¡°If the explosion didn¡¯t get them, the radiation will have killed them by now.¡± In six days, when the Singularity was late to return and Clarke sent someone to look for his precious Fleet Admiral, they would find nothing but wreckage and corpses. This argument was repetitive and stupid. ¡°We saw the atomic spectra of the detonation from here.¡±

    ¡°I will remind you once more not to underestimate them. I have seen too many callous young idiots and old overconfident morons fall by their hand.¡±

    ¡°Maybe once that was true. Maybe once there was reason to fear the Prince and his battleship, but that was years ago.¡± Reeter himself would have been just a kid, attending school on some irrelevant planet. ¡°The once-great Steel Prince hasn¡¯t seen real combat in fifteen yeard. Not since the disaster that was New Terra.¡± A scuffle here and there perhaps, but anyone with a battleship, even a deteriorating dreadnaught, could have put down those incidents blindfolded and handcuffed. ¡°He¡¯s been running stupid patrols for the last decade of his career.¡± It was a disgrace. ¡°He hasn¡¯t made planetfall in over a year and hasn¡¯t taken shore leave in far longer than that. Any psychiatrist could make a case that he¡¯s certifiably unstable, if not insane. And on top of all of that, he¡¯s dead. You were supposed to make sure of that.¡±

    Reeter set his elbows upon the desk, leaning forward, ¡°So where does that leave us?¡± he asked her. ¡°Oh yes, the Prince¡¯s aging battleship. A ship that may have been legend half a century ago, but is now little more than scrap. It is run 800 crew short of its full complement, operates no computer network, utilizes an engine design known to burn itself out, and has had the ever-loving shit beat out of it more times than any other ship in the fleet. Does that about cover it?¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Of course not.

    ¡°No. Because above all of that, the damned machine had a War Key that was lost thirty some-odd years ago. And without that key, the ship cannot use her most powerful weapon.¡± He groaned, ¡°Allegedly.¡±

    He had never been able to confirm what this strange officer had told him about the War Key. The key¡¯s existence was probable, but its uses were unknown, if there were any. All evidence indicated that, as the first flagship, the Singularity did not possess a flagship-grade specialty weapon, while the three ships that succeeded her had: the Capitol, the Ariea and lastly, the current flagship, the Olympia.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me if I don¡¯t feel particularly threated by that antiquity.¡± There wasn¡¯t any way the old ship had survived that explosion. A tactical nuke could have sunk even the Olympia. They were anti-planetary weapons, messy overkill in space. ¡°Yes, forgive me if I¡¯m not interested in hearing that same damn argument again.¡± He was sick of it.

    A frown appeared on her pale lips. This man was so very annoying.

    ¡°Is that a frown I see, princess?¡± Reeter crooned, never above trying to antagonize this creature. ¡°How very human of you.¡±

    She wiped the expression from her face at once, ¡°The logical course of action would be to send a ship to the Kalahari Sector. Ensure that your target was sunk and deal with the survivors, if any remain.¡± This should have been basic tactics.

    ¡°Fine,¡± he sighed, checking his reflection in the glass top of his desk. He took his time to straighten the glittering rank pins on his collar, ¡°I will dispatch the Battleship Macaw.¡± That ship was undeniably loyal to his cause.

    Reeter¡¯s disinterest in this affair would be his downfall. ¡°Tactically speaking, that is not a sound course of action,¡± she told him. ¡°If by some chance the Singularity managed to survive, her size and armaments give her an advantage over the Macaw. You ought to either send the rest of the Macaw¡¯s unit with her, or take the Olympia yourself.¡±

    It was a waste of energy and fuel to send three battleships to look for scrap. ¡°I will send the Macaw,¡± he repeated. ¡°No more and no less.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± She knew better than to challenge him again.

    Reeter smiled, pleased by the silence. ¡°There¡¯s the monster I like to see. One that knows her place.¡±

    Monster. Admiral Reeter had never seen a real monster. It was not a term to be given to any entity lightly. ¡°Our objectives continue to overlap, Charleston.¡± She would appease his annoying vanity until then. She would cooperate with the frailties of this human until the moment he was no longer relevant. ¡°That is all.¡± She would hesitate to call them allies. They were both merely focused on upending the standing order of the worlds. She thought nothing else of this particular man. If anything, he was a shallow-minded disappointment.

    Reeter checked his meticulously parted hair, wanting to cast nothing but the air of confidence and perfection. He would not accept one single hair out of place. It simply would not do for the savior of the human race to be less than perfect. That was why he nagged himself and everyone else about every single little detail. Humanity deserved only the best. He would not allow himself to be anything less.

    He stood, his full stature towering over his white-haired visitor. ¡°If it means anything to you, creature, I will have the Singularity¡¯s wreckage towed back to a fleet facility. You will be able to dissect it and its crew¡¯s corpses to your electrical mind¡¯s content.¡± He truthfully couldn¡¯t care any less about it. ¡°After that, I¡¯ll be melting the ship down for scrap.¡± In the form of its raw materials, it could be of some use.

    ¡°I appreciate that,¡± she replied politely.

    ¡°Just remember the deal we made, princess.¡± Reeter told her, meeting those sharp little beady eyes of hers. ¡°I help you, and you help me. You know I am a man of my word.¡±

    No, you most certainly are not. She had done her research. Reeter was exceptionally creative, determined, but he was also willing to go to any length necessary, including lying, cheating and killing. He was a vile, simple-minded human who possessed a great deal of raw determination and all the self-devised righteousness in the worlds, no matter how crude he could otherwise be. That made him a perfect candidate for her use, even if she often resented him. Truthfully, though he annoyed her and she sometimes regretted it, he was the better candidate.

    Reeter wanted to make the worlds a better place. He simply did not realize that his methods were not merciful and pure. His bastardly heart was in the right place. She could not have said the same for the Steel Prince, since the man had no longer possessed a heart of which to speak.

    At least Reeter wanted to change the worlds. He wanted to be involved in the creation of humanity¡¯s future. Again, the same could not have been said for the Prince. Even with a year or two of conditioning, she doubted he would have proved willing or ready to engage the worlds of humanity again. Brilliant as he was, Admiral Gives had turned his back on the worlds. So, in the end, she supposed this vain self-delusional hero was the right choice. He was vile, but he suited her needs.

    ¡°Let the New Era begin,¡± she told him. The future was coming, and no one could stop it.

    ¡°My utopia of peace, advanced intelligence and complete equality is on its way,¡± Reeter agreed, ¡°but we must first determine who is worthy of living there.¡± It might be ugly, but it had to be done. Broken souls and heartless minds had no place in his heaven. If many had to die for the perfect few to gain paradise, then die they would. ¡°I will save humanity from itself.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you will.¡± With her help, no one could stand in his way. She was one of the most powerful entities in the worlds. Nothing could resist her control.

    He just smiled, that same charming smile that disarmed and wooed women as well as the leaders of worlds. Then, left his office to stalk down the halls of his ship, heading toward the command center.

    The Olympia was an elegant, cathedral-like ship. She was fully combat-capable, but considerations had been given to the honor of her post as flagship and thus, to her general aesthetics. The hallways glittered, perfectly maintained and untouched by grime. Where the structural supports were visible, they had been smoothed into the rest of the wall, giving the interior of the ship a sleek, flawless appearance. There was not a scuff, nor a picture decorating the corridors, only smooth computer terminals built in at regular intervals.

    A business-like mood was retained throughout the ship. Greetings were not called as crew passed in the corridors. They had a purpose, a job to do and they were focused solely on that, free of other distractions. Admiral Reeter preferred it that way. His officers and crew did not need to be friends. That would be a distraction from their duties. He had hand-picked his crew to function diligently in such an environment. They were the best of the best. The strongest Marines, the most skilled pilots, the most efficient engineers, and they all understood that while they slept here, this ship was their workplace, not their home.

    Reeter was proud of the Olympia. She was a glory to behold, one that suited him for the time being. The bridge was as beautiful as the rest of the ship, with dazzling displays of information and ship status. The walls were built out of large screens that looked like windows. So, while the command center was built in the core of the ship, safe during combat, he could look out at the surrounding stars. The screens were so clear and realistic, it suited him, as well as most, to just consider them windows.

    Colonel VanHubert, his rat-faced second in command, promptly called out, ¡°Admiral on the bridge!¡±

    The entire room snapped to attention. The movement was crisp and purposeful. His crew was well-drilled. ¡°As you were,¡± Reeter said pleasantly. It was a benefit to ensure his crew liked him. He wanted no one questioning his orders. He wanted them to consider him a benevolent god aboard these decks, one to be adored and worshipped.

    A pretty young yeoman stepped forward, a silver platter in her hands. ¡°Fresh coffee, sir?¡±

    ¡°Smells wonderful,¡± he said with a nod.

    She poured some from the pot into a beautiful, crystalline mug and handed it over, a bashful smile on her lips.

    He took it without comment, aware that his dashing looks always gleaned the attention of most women. He elected not to encourage this one¡¯s fantasies and turned to his XO. ¡°Colonel VanHubert, I have a job for you.¡±

    A sly grin crept VanHubert¡¯s crooked face, ¡°Anything for you, sir.¡±

    ¡°I want you to go assist Johns and Quire on the surface. It seems they are incapable of keeping track of Miss Kleinfelter-Gives.¡± The woman could say some particularly nasty things about him, if not contained. She needed to be contained. That, and Reeter enjoyed toying with her. She was so easily scared.

    ¡°Before you go,¡± Reeter told him, ¡°figure out where she went. Use the satellite recordings of the area and put a trace on her car. Do whatever you feel is required.¡±

    ¡°Aye, aye, Admiral,¡± the Colonel said cheekily. It was not often he was let off his leash. The prospect of independent operation always excited him. He could rest assured that Reeter would sweep any mess he made in the process of completing the mission under the rug.

 Part 8.2 - THE SHIPYARDS

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea, Kansa

    A gentle breeze blew across the wild grasslands as Amelia and Harrison made their trek across the open landscape. Years ago, this land would have been fertile farmland, tilled and planted with wheat, but no one had harvested this land in nearly forty years. In that time, the native grasses had crept back in. They were little more than calf-height, and offered no hinderance to their hike as the grass blades swayed in the wind.

    Dark clouds churned to the south and Amelia kept an ear turned for thunder, knowing how quickly the Kansa weather could turn. An old battery-operated weather radio was slung over her shoulder as they made their way to the looming shipyards. It was tuned to the weather station, murmuring indecipherably under the wind noise. This region of the continent was subject to severe pop up storms. She knew better than to leave the house without a radio when there were clouds in the distance.

    Additionally, the weight of a knife was bumping against her leg as they walked. She had grabbed the switchblade from her husband¡¯s nightstand drawer before they had left Lion¡¯s Den, unsure what real use it would be. Still, she was comforted by its presence as she led Harrison along the path to the shipyards.

    Only neglected crop markers marked the path across the fields, but Amelia had made this trek before. She remembered spending the summers of her youth out here with her parents. Her father had always held an affection for the place, respecting the simplicity of this way of life.

    Kansa was a poor nation, the infrastructure here remained decades older than Valkar¡¯s. Connections to the interplanetary cortex for communications and entertainment were unreliable and uncommon in this region. Right now, that made it an ideal place for Amelia to hide.

    Little ever changed in Kansa. The medical facilities, the transportation methods and the vocational opportunities were all virtually the same as they had been before the Hydrian War, fifty years ago.

    People here did not often leave. They were too poor to move elsewhere and had no chance of gaining the skills that would support them in other nations or on other worlds, so here they stayed, working the land for crops to sell at meager amounts. They were members of the worlds¡¯ lower class and it was exceptionally rare to see people with this heritage in any position of power.

    Rare as it was, that was remarkably irrelevant now. Amelia was on her own, hiding in a defunct old cabin in a poor country with no help coming. That was her life now. It was all she could do to keep her son entertained with this hike, so she focused on that.

    The shipyards rested in a natural dip of the landscape, and allegedly, the natural crater had been deepened considerably by the launch of the Kansa shipyards¡¯ largest build: the Singularity.

    Amelia and Harrison ignored the rusty red and white warning sign. It read, ¡®No Trespassing. Military Property. Hazardous Conditions.¡¯ They skidded deftly down the grassy side of the caldera and ducked under the warped metal fence, abruptly finding themselves in a different world.

    A gentle breeze shifted the leaves of the hidden jungle as sunlight drifted down between the gaps of the foliage. Covered in green vines, metal towers of spatial trusses shot upward, trying to scrape the sky. A long-empty fuel storage tower had a tree growing out the top of it. Saplings sprouted up on the fractured concrete landing pad below, flourishing in the shade of the towering leafy spindles.

    Amelia led them onward, toward Harrison¡¯s favorite part of the shipyards: the monolithic, soaring cranes that had yet to be completely overgrown. Tattered warning flags still flew on the top of the weight bearing structures. They arched up over nothing now, but had constructed to lift massive pieces of hull plating and main armaments into place on a ship several hundred feet in height and over a mile in length.

    But following the bends of the trail, they soon found five uniformed men standing in formation, patiently waiting. Every soldier but one held a large rifle in his arms. The one who didn¡¯t grinned at the sight of her.

    Amelia shoved her son instinctively behind her. ¡°Who are you?¡± She called, reaching into her pocket for her knife. How could they have found us so quickly?

    The man without a rifle stepped forward and gave a mock-bow. ¡°I am Colonel VanHubert, XO of the Flagship Olympia. I was sent to collect you, Miss Kleinfelter.¡± The man¡¯s face was naturally asymmetrical, a certain type of unsettling, as he advanced towards her.

    Amelia drew her knife when he came too close, ¡°Stay back. I¡¯m not going anywhere with you. Leave us alone.¡± This was a nightmare. Running away had done nothing. ¡°We¡¯re not a threat here, please.¡±

    VanHubert did not care to hear her pleas. In a deft movement, he smacked her wrist at a pressure point, forcing her to drop the knife, and then swept her into his arms. ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s something I can¡¯t do.¡±

    Amelia could feel his hand inching up her back, and began to struggle. ¡°Get off of me!¡±

    VanHubert held her in an iron grip. ¡°It would benefit you to cease your struggles,¡± he said, reaching out to feel her lips. They look so soft. ¡°No wonder my superior took a liking to you.¡±

    Amelia bit his finger, rewarded with the metallic taste of blood.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    VanHubert yanked his hand back. ¡°You bitch!¡± he howled and slapped her hard, holding back none of his strength.

    She screamed when his large hand made contact with her face. Amelia could already feel it bruising as VanHubert dropped her roughly to the ground. Harrison was pushed to the ground beside her by one of the other soldiers.

    Bang!

    The percussive thud did not echo amongst the coils of vines and trees, but it was loud enough to leave Amelia¡¯s ears ringing. Colonel VanHubert and his Marines froze their movement, heads snapping up in the direction of the gunshot.

    Another man stepped out from behind one of the shipyards¡¯ many towers. He pumped his shotgun in clear view, training it on the tight group of soldiers. ¡°Leave them alone!¡±

    VanHubert took in the man¡¯s work boots, faded jeans and flannel plaid. He was speckled with mud. A local. ¡°You are trespassing on military property,¡± the Colonel answered. ¡°Remove yourself from the area.¡±

    The stranger didn¡¯t even falter. He kept the iron sights of his shotgun trained directly on the highest-ranking soldier of the group. ¡°Hell no,¡± he said from underneath the wide brim of his hat. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell you how this is going to work. You fellas are going to let the young woman and her son walk away. No one will get shot, and we can all get back to our day to day lives.¡±

    VanHubert squinted up at the farmer, simultaneously intrigued and annoyed. ¡°You are interfering in matters you do not understand.¡±

    ¡°I think I understand perfectly well what I saw happening. Now, place your rifles on the ground.¡± He curled his finger around the trigger of his gun. ¡°You know I could take you all out with one blast at this distance. Don¡¯t make me.¡±

    VanHubert looked to his men, ¡°Do as he says.¡± They would certainly have another chance at Amelia. It had not taken long to find her here, and in running, she had only isolated herself. Out in this poor, sparsely populated region, Reeter wouldn¡¯t have to worry about the media.

    The Marines slowly placed their rifles on the ground under the farmer¡¯s watchful eye. ¡°Keep your hands in the air, and take three steps back,¡± he commanded the soldiers. ¡°Ma¡¯am, pick up those rifles.¡±

    Amelia did as told without even thinking about it. She had to escape VanHubert. Anything this farmer would do with her was better than that. She slung the rifle straps over her shoulder, and picked her knife and weather radio back up from where they had fallen in the dirt. It was a lot of weight to put on her shoulder, but she managed.

    ¡°Turn around and take a walk, boys,¡± the farmer commanded.

    VanHubert just smiled. He would expect nothing less than vain effort from an interloper. Little did this bystander know, it was hopeless.

    The farmer nodded to Amelia as the Marines started walking away with their hands in the air. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± As silently as possible, they made their escape, wandering a labyrinthine path through the shipyards¡¯ rusting infrastructure.

    Amelia struggled under the weight of the rifles in silence, ushering Harrison along while the stranger covered the rear. He messed up their trail with his feet, rendering them harder to track.

    After half an hour of silence, the farmer lowered his gun and called into the empty wilderness. ¡°Anabelle!¡±

    The nearby bushes rustled, and Amelia jumped in fright, but the only thing to emerge was a young girl with long blond hair in a braid that haloed around her head. She darted into the farmer¡¯s outstretched arms.

    ¡°Apologies for the silence, ma¡¯am, but I wanted to make sure they weren¡¯t following us.¡± He tussled the young girl¡¯s hair and offered out a hand, ¡°The name¡¯s Ron Parker. This is my daughter Anabelle.¡±

    Amelia shook his hand, ¡°Amelia Kleinfelter,¡± she responded in kind, leaving her maiden name off. News of her father¡¯s death would have made its rounds even here in this sparsely populated region. ¡°Harrison is my son.¡±

    Ron nodded to the young boy, who smiled back, working on pulling a twig out of his hair. ¡°We should get moving. There¡¯s a storm coming.¡± The rumble of thunder was growing more and more audible. ¡°Where are you staying? We should have enough time to walk you there before the storm gets too bad.¡±

    ¡°An old cabin south of the shipyards,¡± she answered. As hesitant as she was to trust anyone, she had never visited the area of the shipyards. She had no idea how to get back to the cabin on her own.

    ¡°I know the place,¡± Ron assured, wordlessly taking three of the rifles from her as she pulled them off her aching shoulder. That cabin sat on the only land in the region that was not currently being farmed. ¡°Follow me.¡±

    It took thirty minutes for Ron to lead them back to the warped fence, and in that time the cacophony of thunder had grown near constant. He pulled the bent section of the fence aside to let everyone else to pass through.

    The wind had picked up, making it difficult to climb out of the shipyards¡¯ crater. The gusts whipped through Amelia and Anabelle¡¯s long hair. The sun now hid behind a spread of thick gray clouds and the temperature had dropped considerably.

    ¡°Is there a particular reason the military was trying to arrest you?¡± Ron asked. He had seen the search parties out earlier. They had scared away all the deer he was trying to hunt. At first, he¡¯d thought they had come looking for him, but VanHubert¡¯s encounter with Amelia had disproved that notion.

    Amelia had to yell to be heard over the wind noise. ¡°No,¡± she lied. The less this courageous farmer knew, the better. ¡°They had just caught us trespassing in the shipyards when you showed up.¡±

    ¡°Those were ship-based personnel. I highly doubt they were around to enforce the no trespassing rule.¡± He knew exactly which ship, too. And it was very unlikely the flagship¡¯s personnel had been dispatched to patrol remote Kansa without a specific intent.

    Amelia shrugged, hiding her discomfort. ¡°Well, what do I know about military strategy?¡± And what did he? Wasn¡¯t he just a farmer who had gone out to hunt in that artificial forest?

    That comment ended their short-lived conversation. Ron elected not to pry. He was certain their histories would make a dangerous combination, especially if the Olympia was involved. He pursed his lips, troubled. There¡¯s no going back, he reminded himself. He had made his decision eight months ago. He had thrown his only chance of ever leaving this region away.

    When the cabin was within sight, raindrops were just beginning to fall. Ron stopped there.

    ¡°Thank you for all of your help,¡± Amelia told him, gently taking Harrison¡¯s hand.

    ¡°Bye!¡± Anabelle said with a big toothy grin as she stood dressed in too-big denim overalls that were rolled up to the ankles.

    ¡°Here,¡± Ron said before Amelia could walk away, ¡°take this.¡± He offered out one of the standard-issue rifles they had taken from the soldiers.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know how to use that,¡± she protested as he shoved it into her hands.

    ¡°Intimidation works just as well as actually firing, you know.¡±

    Amelia gave an exhausted smile and accepted the rifle, heading towards the cabin with Harrison in tow. She was in no mood to fight anyone else. It was hopeless and she knew it.

    By the time she set foot on the porch and turned to see what direction the Parkers went off in, they were lost to the drowning sheets of cold fall rain.

 Part 8.3 - TURRET MALFUNCTION

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°Fuck.¡±  It was much the only word Colonel Zarrey had for their current situation. Just, ¡°Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.¡±

    ¡°Are you okay, sir?¡± Lieutenant Robinson asked, pulling the microphone of her headset away from her mouth.

    ¡°Fuck!¡± He threw the packet of papers down onto the flat top of the radar console. ¡°No! Why the hell would I be okay?¡± What kind of stupid question was that? ¡°I¡¯m inheriting a ship that¡¯s falling the fuck apart!¡±

    The bridge crew fell into an uncomfortable silence. Mention of Zarrey taking permanently over was a foreign concept. It was the first rule of being assigned to the Singularity: she was Admiral Gives¡¯ ship. The fact that was no longer the case would take some getting used to for everyone involved.

    ¡°Well, sir,¡± Lieutenant Jazmine said, cluelessly attempting to brighten the mood, ¡°I¡¯d say at least ten percent of that stuff was broken before the nuke hit, and the other ninety percent wasn¡¯t really your fault.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey contemplated walking over and whacking the helmsman upside the head. That was beyond the point. But, ultimately, he realized he was too tired to move his feet even that small distance.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Robinson said, her voice soft as she stood beside him on the lower tier of CIC, ¡°It might benefit you to rest for a few hours. We can handle this.¡±

    ¡°Fuck that,¡± Zarrey grunted. ¡°If Admiral Gives can stay up three days straight, so can I.¡±

    ¡°With all due respect, Colonel,¡± the communications officer said gently, ¡°you¡¯re not the Admiral.¡±

    ¡°And thank the stars for that.¡± Galhino added from her station.

    Every member of the bridge crew turned to stare at the sensor officer, unsurprised, but unamused by her blatant disrespect.

    Jazmine shook his head, ¡°Keep that up, Galhino, and mark my words: he¡¯s gonna haunt your ass.¡±

    ¡°Keep that up and I¡¯m gonna maroon your ass in the nastiest place I can think of, no matter how long it takes us to limp there,¡± Zarrey corrected. ¡°I don¡¯t care if he¡¯s almost dead or actually dead, you will give the Admiral your utmost respect. He gave thirty years of good service to this ship and he managed to put up with your shit, even if I¡¯m not entirely sure how.¡± Put in the same position, Zarrey would have kicked Galhino off the ship in a heartbeat. Hell, he was still considering it.

    Robinson was staring down at her standard-issue shoes, cheeks flushed, embarrassed by Galhino¡¯s comments. Zarrey turned to her, rubbing his head, ¡°I¡¯m really not sure what you see in her.¡± A nice young lady like Robinson could do a lot better.

    ¡°Owens,¡± he flagged down the yeoman that ran papers on the bridge, ¡°find me some drugs. My head is killing me.¡±

    Ensign Owens put up a salute, ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Dammit, stop it with all the saluting!¡± Ever since Zarrey had taken over temporary command, the crew had gone straight to treating him like a legitimate flag officer. ¡°Standing orders on saluting the commanding officer are still valid. It¡¯s annoying and I don¡¯t want to see it.¡± Admiral Gives had abolished that bit of decorum on the ship with good reason. There was no reason to start it up again now.

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± Owens acknowledged before dashing off in search of painkillers.

    Zarrey continued to rub his temples. This was excruciating. He didn¡¯t know what the hell he was doing. Sure, he knew how to run a crew, but he did not have the slightest clue how to run a ship, especially not one that had been half-sunk by her own fleet.

    Even focusing on the condition of the ship, without concern for her situation, it was a disaster. The hallways were blackened, coated in grime, oil and charcoal. Bulkheads, deck tiles and hatches that hand been warped by the fires¡¯ heat had to be melted down, recast and replaced. Repairs on the hull breach had to be finished and painted over.

    Additionally, the entire side of the ship that had been exposed to the radiation needed to be scrubbed down and decontaminated so that it would stop interfering with communications, radar and sensor scans. The main and secondary communications arrays on the outside of the ship needed to be repaired, recalibrated and realigned.

    Furthermore, the ship was still effectively drifting. The only operational engine was being used to supplement the Secondary Power Core¡¯s output. Engines One, Two and Four had not yet been reignited.

    Located on Deck Eleven, in the heart of the fires that had erupted below the ruptured fuel line, the Primary Power Core had been melted irreversibly into scrap. The Kansas¡¯ power core had been shut down and subjected to a full inspection, but nothing about how or why it had been secretly placed on the ship had been revealed. It now rested in engineering, and would be installed to temporarily replace the primary core.

    ¡­And all of that just deal with the ship¡¯s primary critical systems. Lights, wiring, and the water and air circulatory systems were a mess of their own.

    ¡°I got it!¡± Lieutenant Gaffigan shouted, shattering Zarrey¡¯s miserable thoughts. ¡°I fucking got it!¡± The weapons officer abruptly shot to his feet and did a little jig.

    The armory officer had been so unusually quiet as he hunched over his station that Zarrey had thought he was asleep. The Colonel had definitely preferred it that way, as his splintering headache worsened with the noise.

    ¡°Ha-ha!¡± Gaffigan continued triumphantly. ¡°They said it wasn¡¯t possible, but I did it!¡±

    It had been awhile since Zarrey had seen the weapons specialist look so chipper. Usually he only got that happy when he¡¯d been cleared to blow something up with extreme prejudice. Zarrey was relatively certain he had given no such orders. ¡°What happened, Monty?¡±

    ¡°I just figured out which ship attacked us.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Colonel Zarrey demanded. ¡°You told me that it was impossible to determine which ship¡¯s missile that was.¡± The shard had been too small.

    ¡°Aye, sir. It was impossible to determine from the shard.¡± Montgomery Gaffigan stepped back to carelessly lean against the ship¡¯s weapons controls, a smile on his bearded face. ¡°I didn¡¯t use the shard.¡± He held up a clipboard of papers, ¡°All hail the bureaucracy.¡±

    Zarrey squinted at the sheet, but he could not make out the fine print of the list. ¡°Monty, I haven¡¯t the damnedest idea what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    ¡°You see, Colonel, every week, the fleet sends out the allotment of nuclear missiles for every ship in the fleet. It is some measure of how quickly and adequately we can respond to a severe threat in any region of known space. Last week, received that data and printed it out, so we could assimilate that data into the Singularity¡¯s records, like we do every week.¡±

    He tapped the clipboard, ¡°This is that data, but this,¡± he held up a second packet, which was just as thick, but slightly mangled and covered in pencil markings, ¡°this is the fleet data we received for this week. I¡¯ve just spent the last two hours cross-checking every nuclear-capable ship in the fleet¡¯s warhead count. And there¡¯s only one ship that came up with one less warhead than last week: the Flagship Olympia.¡±

    ¡°Reeter.¡± Of course it was, Zarrey thought. ¡°That soulless cockroach.¡± The Olympia¡¯s commander was a two-faced creep. Sure, in the media spotlight, he was charming and perfect, an ideal citizen, but the moment the paparazzi looked away, Reeter became vile and ambitious. His temper was the most feared in the fleet, save for Admiral Gives, whom no one had ever seen get angry.

    ¡°I was pretty sure we¡¯d all already assumed that.¡± Jazmine said, tapping his fingers on the molded wheel of the helm controls. ¡°He did blatantly admit that he hated us several times¡­ Something about us being weak and imperfect.¡±

    ¡°He can fuck right off.¡± Zarrey muttered. ¡°This is a ship of second chances.¡± And technically speaking, this was an all-volunteer crew. Admiral Gives did not draft crew out of training or off of other ships. He simply accepted any transfer request made to him. It meant the ship ran several hundred short of her full complement, but it meant they were a good crew, a willing crew.

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    Only people desperate enough to go anywhere came here, because as far as the rest of the fleet was concerned, the Singularity, with her aging equipment and legendarily uncaring commanding officer, was the bottom of the barrel. It never mattered why people requested transfers, if they were willing to serve here, they were given the chance.

    A safe haven for crew fleeing unpleasurable assignments, the Singularity was also the last stop for officers and crew that would have been otherwise kicked out of the fleet. They were given the choice to face dishonorable discharge or serve here, at the Admiral¡¯s discretion. Zarrey would know, he had been one of the latter.

    The only reason he had a job, or a home, or even any clothes on his back was because Admiral Gives had asked him to serve as the Singularity¡¯s XO. The fact the offer had been made at gunpoint was almost irrelevant. Almost.

    He sighed, remembering Lieutenant Robinson, who stood next to him. At the mention of Reeter, she¡¯d gone silent, Her metal clipboard of tasks clutched to her chest. She was shaking. Even as she tried to hide it, it remained obvious. Zarrey put a hand on her shoulder in a sign of solidarity. ¡°He won¡¯t get away with it,¡± he told her, ¡°Not this time.¡±

    Robinson just shook her head. It was over. It had been over the moment Admiral Gives had fallen into a coma. As brutish as they liked to paint Reeter, the man was very clever. He knew how to break people, how to force them into submission. He did not have to kill them. Reeter preferred broken slaves to corpses.

    Keifer Robinson had almost been one of them. She knew just how evil, how manipulative Reeter could be. He had the worlds in the palm of his hand. The only reason she had ever felt safe was because she¡¯d known that Admiral Gives could be every bit of the monster Reeter was. The mere threat of antagonizing him had kept Reeter away from the Singularity for years, and thus, away from her.

    But without Admiral Gives, there was no one to keep Reeter away. He was coming after them, and there was no one to stop him from breaking and abusing them all. She had not been this scared in years.

    Zarrey could not imagine how she must feel. Reeter had spent months physically abusing her before she transferred here. But, even now, it seemed that she could not escape his clutches. Zarrey knew it would be a favor to pull her thoughts away from such memories. ¡°Keifer, I thought you said our communications arrays were broken. How did Monty get the new fleet data?¡±

    ¡°I said they were misaligned, sir.¡± Robinson said, straightening up. Now was not the time for her to break down. She was head of the communications department. She had a job to do. ¡°I apologize if that mislead you-¡°

    ¡°I know, you¡¯re used to reporting to the Old Man. He understands all that technical jargon.¡± It was getting to be a consistent problem. Zarrey understood less than half of what the new chief engineer told him when they spoke.

    ¡°When the arrays are misaligned, we can receive transmissions fine,¡± she explained. ¡°The issue lies in transmissions. Our arrays are designed to create constructive interference when we transmit, boosting the signal strength. However, if the arrays are misaligned, that constructive interference becomes destructive, and our own transmissions cancel themselves out before they cover any substantial distance.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t we just transmit with one array?¡± Zarrey asked, rubbing his head as if that would help him understand. Fact was, he was just counting on the fact the rest of the senior staff knew what the hell they were doing.

    ¡°We could, sir, and that would work fine for local transmissions, say if we wanted to coordinate our support craft, but overall the transmissions originating from just one array are significantly weaker than those are transmitted using the full system. The clarity, security and range of the transmission are exponentially improved by the multi-array system.¡± There was a reason the ship had been designed that way.

    Zarrey nodded obligatorily. Yep, he said to himself, I totally understand. He now totally understood that he was not cut out for this. He had not trained as an engineer or an officer. He had trained as a Marine, and worked his way up the ranks. Officially, he lacked every bit of training that qualified a ship¡¯s commanding officer. Sure, he¡¯d picked a decent amount of it up over the years, but he could only feel destined for failure.

    A good commanding officer knew and understood what made their ship tick, and Zarrey lacked those hard skills and mechanical knowledge. He knew what orders to give to get a result, but he didn¡¯t understand why it worked. He could order the engines to reverse to slow them down, but he didn¡¯t understand propulsion systems in the slightest and could not twist their methods of operation for a new edge in combat.

    Newer ships could cooperate easily with a commander less skilled in mechanics and practical knowledge. It was the job of the officers to know their individual systems¡¯ limitations and the computer could help plot complicated objectives, but the Singularity was old. Her systems were not computerized where it could be avoided. She was capable of anything a modern ship was capable of, with the proper encouragement, but Colonel Zarrey knew he could not force the old ship to behave.

    As Robinson had put it, he wasn¡¯t Admiral Gives. In some ways, that was good, and in the ways that would keep them alive, that was really bad.

    Trained in verbal and nonverbal communications, Keifer Robinson could easily recognize Zarrey¡¯s rising despair. ¡°He¡¯s not dead yet, Colonel,¡± she reminded him. ¡°There¡¯s still a chance he might wake up.¡±

    It was a slight chance that dwindled a little further every hour he remained comatose. ¡°He¡¯s a stubborn old bastard,¡± Zarrey reminded everyone, especially himself. If the Admiral was set on living, or dying, he would do just that.

    The communications officer smiled softly. ¡°Yes, sir, he is.¡± A scary, sociopathic bastard, but a stubborn one all the same.

    Zarrey gave Robinson a nod. In another life, she would have been running a ship of her own. She was a good, talented officer. Yet, thanks to Admiral Reeter¡¯s interference, she had washed up here with this crew of delinquent misfits.

    And it was time for these misfits to do some plotting of their own. Despair and hopelessness were not going to keep them alive. They were going to have to fight. ¡°Monty, how do we stand against the Olympia?¡±

    ¡°On a good day?¡± The weapons officer stroked his fiery orange beard, continuing to lean against his console. He knew the firing controls were protected under caps to prevent accidental activation. ¡°We could take her toe-to-toe. She¡¯s got one hundred defensive turrets with advanced fire control. She¡¯s capable of shooting down almost any number of missiles we can throw at her.¡±

    ¡°That said,¡± Gaffigan continued with some consideration, ¡°you can¡¯t intercept bullets. Her main battery numbers twenty-four guns, with two barrels per gun. To counter, we¡¯ve got three barrels on ten guns. We¡¯re slower on reloading to firing, but our guns are fifty percent larger.¡± That was the perk of being the largest ship in the fleet. The Singularity¡¯s main guns lived up to those proportions. ¡°One on one she¡¯s a close match, but we can bet she won¡¯t be alone.¡± After the loss of the previous two flagships, the Olympia rarely, if ever, flew anywhere unescorted.

    ¡°What about specialty weapons?¡± Zarrey asked.

    ¡°Well, rumors of the Olympia¡¯s superweapon aside, she¡¯s got a full array of jamming equipment, mines, EMPs and let¡¯s not forget the complement of drones.¡± Drones that were designed to drill into the hull and gut ships from the inside, out. ¡°And to counter all of that we have¡­¡± he checked his inventory, and gave a dry laugh, ¡°uhm¡­ harpoons.¡±

    ¡°Harpoons?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, those mounts that we welded on the hull, for the harpoon launchers we made?¡± The armory officer sighed. ¡°They¡¯re still there. But let¡¯s keep in mind we don¡¯t technically have any actual harpoons. We¡¯d have to make those.¡±

    Zarrey resisted the urge to bash his head into the nearest wall. ¡°Well, thank you, Monty, for painting the true colors of our situation.¡± Fuck.

    ¡°What about the railguns?¡± Jazmine said. ¡°Those would punch right through the Olympia.¡±

    ¡°Frying our electrical systems in the process,¡± Galhino reminded him.

    ¡°Well yeah,¡± that was the drawback of super-accelerating a house-sized hunk of iron with an overpowered magnetic field, ¡°but that¡¯s more of a later problem if we manage to sink the Olympia.¡±

    Where the hell was Owens with those drugs? Zarrey¡¯s headache was only getting worse.

    ¡°Did I mention all of that was on a good day?¡± Montgomery Gaffigan crossed his arms. ¡°We are not having a good day. It would be dangerous to fire the main battery without structural repairs and our weapons control hub got zapped when the power grid went haywire. The targeting and tracking systems for our weapons are down completely. If the Olympia were to happen upon us now, we¡¯d be flingin¡¯ bullets down our iron sights, and just hoping for a hit.¡±

    Zarrey pinched the bridge of his nose. ¡°You were supposed to be fixing that.¡± With a firing field of the Singularity¡¯s size, they were guaranteed to hit something without targeting systems, but that was not a great way to win a fight against the modern Ariean flagship.

    ¡°My people are on it, but I shouldn¡¯t need to remind you that those repairs are highly sensitive. We¡¯ve got enough weapons on this ship to sink a fleet. If one of them were to go off at a bad time, because we didn¡¯t do those repairs right, people will die. We don¡¯t need another Yokohoma.¡±

    Zarrey bit his tongue. The crew had been told that was an accident. Zarrey didn¡¯t buy that, and neither did the worlds. Regardless, the Yokohoma was near ancient history. It had been years before Gaffigan¡¯s time. ¡°Just get it done, Monty.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Gaffigan answered, ¡°but you should know we were having issues with the weapons controls even before the nuke hit.¡±

    ¡°We were?¡± Fuck, Zarrey thought again. That sounds like something I should have been told.

    ¡°Aye. The interception of the nuke was an accident in itself. No orders were given for that turret to turn, target or fire. It did so on a complete fluke.¡± He had not input those commands from his console. ¡°If that turret had been functioning, it would have turned portside when I was attempting to intercept the other missile. Instead, it turned starboard and randomly misfired, managing to hit and trigger an early detonation within the nuke.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re telling me that was a malfunction?¡± Zarrey demanded, ¡°I¡¯ve never heard such bullshit.¡± Someone had known exactly what they were doing.

    ¡°That would be statistically impossible.¡± Galhino added. ¡°The odds of a turret malfunctioning are low to begin with, but for it to turn and fire in such a way to intercept a moving target, it is simply not possible for that to have been a random accident.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t shoot the messenger,¡± Gaffigan threw up his hands in surrender. ¡°I only know what the records show: the lucky turret that saved all of our hides was not given any orders to do so.¡±

    ¡°You expect me to believe that a malfunction just saved the entire ship.¡± Zarrey couldn¡¯t help the bitter laugh that rose to his lips. ¡°We¡¯re not that lucky. Figure out what actually happened and bring me a report.¡± The Admiral would not stand for this type of half-assed guess work and neither would he.

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Monty had no choice but to acknowledge the order as if he had not already chased down any possible leads on the subject. Which he had, and whether they liked it or not: the entire ship had been saved by a malfunctioning turret.

 Part 8.4 - THE ODDS

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

    Disheveled and rain-drenched, Colonel VanHubert¡¯s clothes dripped onto the hand-woven carpet as Reeter circled him like a vulture. ¡°Let me get this straight,¡± Reeter said, ¡°You found her and then an active bystander promptly forced you to release her?¡± It was rare enough to find an active bystander these days, let alone one in the middle of an abandoned shipyard. Most people just went about their own business, uncaring of others.

    VanHubert swallowed, but carefully maintained his posture at attention. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°She is a single woman with a seven-year-old son. How hard can it be to find and contain her properly?¡± Reeter clenched and unclenched his fist, debating whether or not to punch his second in command.

    ¡°We were interrupted, sir,¡± the Colonel said, all too used to Reeter¡¯s physical threats. ¡°A local intervened.¡± This was the fourth time he had repeated the same sentence in a different way, hoping this time that it would please his superior.

    ¡°The dominant demographic of the region is lower-class farmers.¡± Idiots with pitchforks and tractors. ¡°Are you telling me a mud-blooded farmer was able to halt five highly trained Marines in their tracks and send them back to me with their tails between their legs?¡±

    ¡°It seems being difficult is in the national culture of Kansa, sir.¡±

    Admiral Reeter struck fast, a jab straight to the Colonel¡¯s gut. It was not a regulation punishment and Reeter did not care. ¡°Do not bring him into this,¡± he snarled.

    VanHubert coughed violently as he doubled-over, trying to breathe as he struggled to remain standing. ¡°The Fleet Admiral isn¡¯t the only difficult Kansan we know, sir. I seem to recall a soldier going AWOL about eight months ago from this very ship¡­ He shared the same muddy heritage.¡± It seemed Kansa sprouted murderers and traitors alike.

    Reeter grabbed VanHubert¡¯s collar and hauled him forcibly back to eye level. ¡°The Sergeant?¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± VanHubert coughed, ¡°I didn¡¯t see his face, but three of my men agreed it sounded just like him.¡±

    When he got this angry, there was an ugly twitch in Reeter¡¯s right eye. It was throbbing obviously now. He shoved VanHubert back, ¡°Go contain Amelia to that moldy cabin where she has chosen to hide. And if the Sergeant reappears, arrest him for desertion of a military post. I¡¯ll be down to visit the surface tomorrow.¡±

    Reeter smoothed out his uniform, uncaring to hear VanHubert¡¯s wheezing continue in his presence. ¡°You are dismissed,¡± he said, walking back to his desk.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± VanHubert saluted properly and left.

    Sitting down, Reeter activated the holo-projector on his desk. He regarded the instantaneous reports of the Olympia¡¯s systems with moderate disinterest. The ship¡¯s computers were so advanced, the Olympia practically ran herself. He could not imagine the nightmarish workload that came from running a ship that was not so wonderfully modern. He simply did not have the required attention span for such misery.

    ¡°Charleston,¡± she did not bother to announce her presence, appearing suddenly on the other side of his desk, ¡°The Macaw has reported in.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s gone.¡± She hardened her piercing gaze. ¡°The Singularity is gone.¡±

    ¡°Order them to look again,¡± Reeter said without looking up from the ship¡¯s status.

    ¡°They have located impact debris, but the ship itself is gone.¡± It was not in pieces. It was just gone.

    ¡°The Macaw is to track them down and sink them. They were hit, so they¡¯re hurt. It should not prove a challenge.¡± He glared at his white-haired accomplice, challenging her to protest.

    ¡°There is nothing to trace. No hyperspace trail, and no propulsion wake. Nothing.¡± And that could only mean one thing. ¡°He jumped. And that means they could be anywhere.¡± With nothing to trace, they stood no chance of finding the Singularity. It would be harder than locating a single water droplet in the ocean.

    ¡°If he jumped, it means subspace probably spat them out a contorted wreck in some more remote corner of space. Fine by me.¡±

    Reeter was so perfectly unconcerned. There was something in her that was telling her, no warning her that Reeter would not take the Singularity¡¯s threat seriously until Admiral Gives had a gun against his head, a finger press away from ending everything Reeter was once again.

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    ¡°I will never understand your obsession with that ship,¡± Reeter told her, now flicking through some news articles as they were projected into the air, ¡°it is ill equipped to do anything but be an over-sized roadblock.¡± The Singularity had grown old, and her once-fearsome armament was not the almighty force it once had been. The worlds had simply outdone her.

    ¡°That ship is the reason I have to partner with someone like you.¡± It was the reason she was not currently controlling every thought, every action in these worlds. ¡°It is the only thing that has ever directly resisted my control.¡± It was the reason her memories and her power had become fragmented. It had left her weak.

    Reeter chuckled. She seemed almost bitter. ¡°You implement control via electrical impulses. Brains and networked machines have electrical controls, allowing you to take over. But the Singularity does not have an electrical control network, just a power grid. It was immune to you merely because it was not advanced enough.¡±

    This was one of the rare moments in which she saw Reeter¡¯s true intelligence. He had been paying attention to how she implemented control over her hosts, not to mention had done some reading on how the Singularity operated.

    ¡°Tell me,¡± Reeter said, ¡°since you have collected so much data on the Prince, where would he have taken that flying scrap heap of his?¡±

    ¡°That is unknown.¡± There was no way to predict that, no matter how much data she had. He very well could have ordered a blind jump, and let the navigations systems randomize it.

    ¡°Then what are the odds that the Singularity sank?¡± Reeter knew she could calculate those odds, if nothing else.

    ¡°Assuming the nuke was at least a near-direct hit, roughly eighty-nine percent.¡± A jump to subspace would have put unforgivable stresses on the weakened structure. ¡°With probable structural collapse, the resulting decompressions and the radiation, it is unlikely any of the crew have survived to this point. Those that remain, if there are any, will likely be stranded in the void until either food, water or oxygen runs out.¡± They would die a slow painful death.

    ¡°Sounds like the situation is contained to me,¡± Reeter said. Dead was dead. He did not care how or why.

    ¡°There remains a five percent chance that the ship survived in reparable condition, Charleston. Where the Steel Prince is concerned, those odds should not be taken lightly.¡± She knew all too well that the Fleet Admiral had habit of upturning them. It had proved to be quite¡­ annoying.

    It seemed to Reeter that they were back to having that same old argument again. She wanted him to fear the Fleet Admiral, but he refused. ¡°I disregard him, because he has never given me a reason not to disregard him, princess.¡±

    Reeter had been planning this operation for years, and if the Prince had truly been the legend everyone feared, then he would have put a stop to it then. Instead, once Reeter had started taking power, the Prince had stood by and watched. Actually, he¡¯d done less than stand by and watch, he had retreated to the edges of known space, taking on useless patrols for months at a time. ¡°The great Steel Prince never confronted me, nor did he demonstrate any desire to do so. I simply hated him because he was a failure, and I eliminated him because it was the right thing to do.¡± The worlds were now free of a great menace.

    She frowned. Reeter and Gives were far too similar for Reeter to disregard him in that way. By all rights, Admiral Gives had been Reeter¡¯s exact predecessor. Historically, Admiral Gives had stood on the cusp of everything Reeter was trying to accomplish nearly thirty years ago.

    The Frontier had been on its knees, dying, and Admiral Gives could have ended everything right then. He could have cut the cancer that plagued the worlds free. The future of humanity had been in his hands. But, for a reason that no one else understood, he had stopped, just stopped and turned away. He offered no explanation then or ever, and his refusal to end the Frontier¡¯s malignant existence had condemned all of the worlds to years of darkness and strife.

    Still, the Admirals had their differences. Reeter was loyal to nothing but his so-called destiny. Admiral Gives was loyal to his ship, and to that alone. ¡°You neglect the rumors, Charleston. They say as long as the Singularity survives, the Prince will be with her.¡± The two were almost symbiotic, suffering and thriving as a unit. It could be said that the two had not truly ever been apart since the day Admiral Gives had taken command, twenty-seven years ago.

    ¡°I neglect the superstitions of a traumatized Frontier people,¡± Reeter corrected, ¡°as should you.¡± Rumors of demons and spirits had no place among the worlds. ¡°We live in a scientific universe.¡± Black magic did not exist. True believers in spirits and religion were few and far between, but people said strange things when they got scared and that was all those rumors were. It was just the broken logic of terrified people.

    ¡°The odds may be in your favor, Charleston,¡± she allowed, conceding this argument, ¡°but it would benefit you to exercise caution.¡±

    ¡°If it pleases you, creature, know that I have a contingency plan, and it involves little Miss Amelia.¡± He had carefully plotted his moves from the beginning.

    This was the first she had heard of such a thing, but it was not surprising to find that he had kept some of his plans from her. After all, she had not revealed her true intentions to him. With a smile she said, ¡°I shall leave it in your hands.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure, creature.¡± Reeter muttered as she disappeared. She was a secretive beast. He had no idea what she did when she was not working with him. Truthfully, he did not care to learn. Controlling her was not his responsibility. As long as he got what he wanted, she could have whatever she desired, including those planets and people he deemed unworthy.

    Admiral Reeter resumed flicking through the news articles colorfully projected into the air in front of him. They hailed him as a hero, and the worlds were more than willing to lend themselves into his care. They were scared by the loss of the government¡¯s President, Vice President and Secretary of Defense. But, naturally, that had all been carefully plotted and calculated.

    Everything was falling perfectly into place. The worlds were being drawn slowly and steadily towards him ¨C moths to the flame.

 Part 9.1 - THE VETERAN

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea, Kansa

    Ron and Anabelle Parker had sloshed through the torrential rains of the previous night to make it back home. Their old farmhouse was for the most part watertight, though creaky. The white paint of the front porch was chipping off and the curtains were faded and musty, but it was home.

    The sunlight came though the cloudy windows of the house¡¯s second floor. The morning was clear, a sign of another warm autumn day. Ron was grateful for that as he sat on the edge of Anabelle¡¯s bed.

    His daughter turned fitfully in her sleep. He checked her forehead again, finding it hot underneath his fingers. Her fever gotten worse. The illness had found her the previous evening, in the midst of the cold fall rain.

    Dammit. He should have known. He should have realized that she would get sick and not worried about the Amelia Kleinfelter and her son.

    Anabelle took after her mother. She got sick easily, and struggled to recover. There had come a point when her mother had not recovered. A regular illness, the yearly flu, had killed her. In Kansa, such things were not always treatable.

    Ron could only hope that Anabelle would recover on her own. He poured another dose of medicine for her, knowing it would only treat the symptoms, not the sickness itself. Still, when she woke, he didn¡¯t want Anabelle to be miserable. He left the medicine with a note, and headed out to work the fields.

    Ron could not afford to overreact to this illness. It would take time, but Anabelle would probably recover. She always did, though the memories of how he had lost his wife were difficult to suppress as he left the farmhouse and headed for the barn.

    Bessie waited in there, and he walked over to her, boots crunching in the dirt. Contrary to the neighbors¡¯ assumptions, Bessie was not the family cow. She was a military grade Rhino transport that Anabelle had elected to rename.

    Formerly known as Rhino Five-Eight-Three of the Flagship Olympia, Ron had flown her off the flagship and turned himself into a renegade soldier several months ago. Bessie had stayed in the barn ever since, shielded from prying eyes and the elements. The barn¡¯s old wooden structure had managed to ward off the monsoon-like rains of the night before.

    Still, Ron only paid Bessie enough heed to acknowledge that the ship was still there and grabbed a cannister of gas, pouring it into the tank of the tractor that sat beside the transport ship. The pungent smell of fuel filled the air, but when the can was empty, Ron tossed it into the pile of similarly emptied cans in the corner, ignoring the noisy clatter. He secured his wide-brimmed work hat and climbed onto the old, rusty seat of the farming equipment.

    Farming was their survival out here, and it was important to ensure that the crops were well taken care of. If the fields failed to yield, then they would go hungry. Life here was rougher than it was in more economically developed countries like Valkar.

    The Parkers kept no livestock and traded fresh ears of corn for local milkman¡¯s day-old leftovers. Ron hunted regularly in the shipyards for deer. The dense vegetation was an ideal habitat for them, and that was the only meat they could afford. Yesterday, his hunt had been a bust, but the guns he¡¯d looted would sell for a handsome sum. It would be enough to get them through the coming winter.

    The tractor lurched out of the dimly lit barn, its wheels uneven, and Ron fell into the melodic work of tending the crops. It was easy to let his mind wander a bit as he plowed alongside the shipyards¡¯ artificial jungle. On the other side of that forsaken infrastructure lay the cabin where he¡¯d left the Kleinfelters.

    Ron had grown up in this region of Kansa, he knew that cabin belonged to the Gives family. Why was someone who was not related to them staying there? And why was the military after her? If she had fled there to hide from the allied fleet, Amelia could not have chosen a worse place, considering who owned that cabin and the surrounding land.

    He spent a mundane day tending the crops, and then, before preparing dinner, went to go check on Anabelle again. He opened the door to her room carefully, expecting her to be asleep.

    Instead, was seated by the window, looking out into the sunset with her favorite book in her lap. ¡°Belle, you ought to be resting.¡±

    She looked out to the fields, her blond hair catching the waning sunlight. ¡°Are they coming after us?¡±

    Ron could hear the fear in her voice. It was present as no more than a tremble. After months of running and hiding from men in uniforms, they frightened her. Yesterday¡¯s encounter had only solidified her fear. Like her, he was worried that the Olympia¡¯s men would come searching for them, but he doubted he had been recognized with his hat shading his face yesterday. It had been some time since VanHubert had last spoken with him. ¡°We¡¯re going to be just fine, Anabelle.¡±

    But even as he said that, Ron wasn¡¯t so sure. Anabelle¡¯s health worried him. She was shivering, even in the warm evening light. ¡°Come on, Belle, we¡¯re having soup for dinner.¡± She would need to eat something to keep her strength.

    The Parkers fell into their routine of normalcy: slurping down some warm soup, they greeted the milkman at the road and made their trade for yesterday¡¯s milk. Ron read to her and did a quick math lesson, determined not to let her fall behind, though she did not attend school.

    Come bed time, Anabelle looked much better. Reassured about her health, Ron turned out the lights, and went to bed, falling into a deep restful slumber.

    The roar of dropships flying overhead woke him just before dawn. He jumped out of bed in his boxers and nightshirt, grabbed his shotgun, and took a defensive position inside Anabelle¡¯s room.

    He drew the curtains on all the windows, and they hunkered down against the far wall of the room, waiting for the throaty scream of the dropships¡¯ atmospheric engines to silence.

    Ron held onto Anabelle¡¯s little hand, failing altogether to notice that it was still clammy and her fingers were strangely cold.

    It took only a few minutes for the noise of the dropships to pass, but they hunkered against the wall for hours. Anabelle fell asleep and Ron kept a watchful guard.

    Yet, the dreaded sound of soldiers bashing down the door of the house never came. Since the ships¡¯ original pass, all he had heard was the birds happily chirping outside the window.

    He gave it another hour, then proceeded carefully downstairs, sweeping the rooms of the house with his shotgun at the ready.

    The farmhouse was perfectly undisturbed. Ron parted the curtains on the main floor, finding the yard untouched as well. The dropships had flown right by.

    Ron headed back up the creaky stairs, never more certain that something was happening at that secluded cabin. ¡°Stay here, Anabelle. I¡¯m going to go find out what¡¯s going on.¡±

    Anabelle only nodded, wide-eyed and scared.

    Ron grabbed the big black duffel he kept under her bed and unzipped the side pocket, pulling out two small, battery-operated radios. He handed one to his daughter, ¡°Keep it on Channel Seven and call me if you need help.¡±

    She nodded again, understanding. This was not the first time she had been handed a radio.

    Ron hugged and kissed her, too distracted to notice her runny nose and puffy eyes, then slipped out of the farmhouse. He headed in the direction the Rhinos had, due south. It quickly brought him to the shipyards once again.

    Shouldering his duffel, which was filled with equipment left over from his years in the service, he quickly scaled the fence and dropped into a cautious crouch on the other side. There, he paused to remove a black pistol, his military-issued side arm, from the duffel.

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    His military training begged him to put on darker colors than his flannel, so he took that off and shoved it into his bag, pulling a black tactical vest on in its place.

    As he moved through the shipyards, he checked around every bush and every stump that a hostile could hide behind. It took him hours at his careful pace to reach one of the loadbearing cranes on the far side of the shipyards.

    Looking upwards, the metal structure stretched high into the sky, seeming to scrape the wispy clouds. He holstered the pistol and clipped the radio to his belt before pulling the climbing equipment from his bag.

    He set to work scaling the crane as the heavy duffel dug into his shoulders. It took more than an hour to get halfway up, as he had to readjust his safety line as he went. The invasive vines and moss forced him to frequently switch to a different face of the tripod.

    When he finally reached the platform on top of the crane, he stood hundreds of feet above the ground, secured only by a single safety line. Another crane¡¯s platform lay thirty feet away. There were many of them within sight, each a stepping stone in the sky. A cool breeze made the structure below sway.

    Ron slammed his bag down onto the platform, and clipped it onto the safety line, ensuring it would not fall away from him.

    Unzipping the bag, he began to pull out weapon parts. He put the brushed black steel barrel onto the rifle¡¯s frame and twisted it securely on. He added the flash cover and lastly the scope to the sniper rifle before putting down the stand and sliding the clip cartridge into place.

    Ron slid down recoil-absorbent position dictated by military training like a cat readying to pounce. With the scope of his rifle, he could see for miles from this position and quickly located the trio of dropships that had flown overhead. They surrounded the cabin where he¡¯d left Amelia.

    As he studied their bulbous forms, another rumble sounded behind him, quickly growing into the familiar roar of a fourth Rhino ship. It flew alone, but came in from the same vector as the others, descending close enough that he read the ID painted onto the transport¡¯s hull as its tailwinds tangles his hair.

    The radar identification of the mothership was painted amidships. ¡®UCSC-50,¡¯ it read, denoting the Flagship Olympia. The Rhino transport¡¯s own identification was painted closer to the nose: ¡®RO-977.¡¯ Ron recognized the number from his own troubled past. RO-977 was Admiral Reeter¡¯s personal transport.

    Pressing his eye back to the cylindrical scope of his rifle, Ron watched the gray dropship land on the patchy lawn beside the cabin. Admiral Reeter stepped off the transport while it was still venting gasses from its atmospheric entry.

    Colonel VanHubert came to greet Reeter, his crooked nose ugly from even this great distance. They exchanged salutes, and Reeter shouted orders to the nearby Marines. On his command, a trio of men barged through the door of the cabin and dragged Amelia Kleinfelter out kicking and screaming. Her arms were pinned painfully behind her back, making it easy for Reeter to approach.

    Amelia was screaming, cursing more likely, but Reeter took it calmly. Ron unclipped the radio from his belt and began clicking through the channels, hoping to catch some of what was playing out in front of the cabin.

    The Marines and pilots were chattering on one channel, but then one channel over, someone was shouting desperately, ¡°Help! Help! Someone help us!¡± The young voice was cracking, sobbing as he cried through the radio. ¡°Please help! He¡¯s got Mom!¡±

    Ron abruptly recognized the voice. ¡°Harrison!¡± He pushed the button to respond on that channel, ¡°Harrison, this is Ron Parker. I need you to calm down and tell me exactly what is happening.¡± What the hell was Amelia tangled up in? What had Amelia done to attract Admiral Reeter¡¯s attention?

    ¡°It¡¯s Reeter!¡± Harrison sobbed. ¡°He¡¯s got Mom!¡±

    ¡°Harrison, this is important,¡± Ron told him, ¡°I need to know why Reeter is after you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± the young boy wailed, ¡°He hasn¡¯t left us alone since Dad died! It¡¯s been even worse since Grandpa!¡± The sound of footsteps stomping and indistinct yelling came over the radio.

    Ron looked back through his scope. Harrison was hauled out to stand beside his mother. One of the Marines, a boorish, ugly man, handed Harrison¡¯s radio over to Reeter. It was an older device, but it remained very similar to the set Ron had. It would have been standard issue a decade or two ago and that little radio talkie would have been one of a set. But who had the other one?

    Reeter threw the radio to the ground, and with several stomps, crushed it beneath his heel. He gave Harrison little more than a callous glance before returning his gaze to Amelia. Reeter grabbed her chin between his thick fingers.

    Even from this distance, Ron could see the defiance in her eyes. Fully restrained, she could not push Reeter away, but her eyes were electric with hate and fear. Ron knew it would not last. Reeter took pride in the people he broke. He enjoyed the challenge.

    Reeter held no shame in the way he touched Amelia, but when he went in to kiss her, she bashed her head into his, splitting his lip. The resulting punishment, which Reeter dealt with haste, left her nose bleeding. The next hour carried on in much the same way, and Ron was forced to look away, as his own hate for Reeter flared up.

    His finger itched, ready to squeeze the trigger of his rifle with the crosshairs locked on Reeter¡¯s prefect blond hair, but Ron couldn¡¯t do it. At this distance, the risk of accidentally hitting someone else was too great. Not to mention that he and Anabelle could not afford to be on the top of the wanted list again. They were still barely managing to have a life here.

    There was nothing he could do. Not for Amelia.

    Reluctantly, Ron packed up his rifle. He repelled back down the crane, trying to forget everything he had just seen as he headed for home.

    The sun was inching steadily across the sky as Ron crept cautiously back toward his property. When he reached the fence, he paused to take off his tactical vest and tie his flannel back around his waist. After months of running and hiding from it, the sight of the military equipment made Anabelle uncomfortable.

    Ron jogged back across the crop fields, keeping low, but not terribly afraid. It was clear enough that the Olympia¡¯s men had not come for them.

    ¡°I¡¯m coming inside now, Anabelle,¡± he announced over the radio as he stepped onto the porch, not wanting to alarm her when the door creaked open.

    She did not answer or make a sound when he entered the house. Ron climbed up the hardwood stairs, ready to explain that they were not in immediate danger, but when he opened the door at the end of the hallway, he found Anabelle slouched over in the corner, asleep.

    The food wrappers beside her indicated that she had eaten, so he picked her up and carried her to the bed. The heat he felt coming off her skin spoke of illness. Her cheeks were flushed with fever.

    Dammit. She hadn¡¯t improved from the day before. Panicked about those dropships he hadn¡¯t realized she was still sick.

    Ron grabbed more water and any useful medicine he could find, then sat down in the chair next to her bed. When she woke, he gave her a dose of the fever medicine, but it did not seem to help. By the next morning, her fever was even worse. She would wake to eat, drink water and take medicine, but other than that slept. It was exactly how the doctors had described her mother¡¯s final days.

    He tended her for another few days, trying to keep calm, but it was clear that the medicines were not helping. He could almost feel her slipping away. She needed medical care, real treatment. The Kansa clinics could not help her. She needed more modern practices. She needed facilities like those of the allied fleet, whose medical practices there were decades beyond Kansa¡¯s. They could help her. Ron was certain of that, but there was only one way to get Anabelle that treatment.

    He had to surrender himself.

    If he turned himself over for his crimes, then he could negotiate a plea deal for her treatment in custody. He had no other choice. He couldn¡¯t stand by to watch his daughter die, no matter what cost he had to pay.

    Ron Parker gathered his limp daughter in his arms and carried her to the barn. He opened the door to his stolen Rhino transport and buckled Anabelle into the passenger seat, reactivating the transport¡¯s functions.

    Bessie¡¯s dusty engines flared to life, churning up the dust in the barn and sending the empty gas cans scattering everywhere. Ron grabbed the controls guided them carefully out of the open barn doors.

    The engines had a whine to them, but Ron imagined that was typical for a ship that had gone months without maintenance. The engines ran, and that was all he needed for this short trip.

    He flew by the cranes, watching the chains dance in the wind. The guards surrounding the cabin looked up in confusion when he sailed overhead. They had not been expecting another transport, and when he set the ship down by the cabin, they instantly raised their weapons.

    Ignoring that, Ron Parker took his daughter into his arms, and hoped that this desperate action would be worth it. He opened the transport¡¯s hatch and walked out, falling to his knees once he was a safe distance from the ship.

    It was a sign of immediate surrender.

    Colonel VanHubert sauntered over, a smirk on his rat-like face. ¡°Well,¡± he smiled twistedly, ¡°if it isn¡¯t Sergeant Parker.¡±

    Ron tensed as VanHubert towered over him. ¡°Please,¡± he bowed his head in submission, ¡°help Anabelle.¡± He knew the Olympia¡¯s facilities could cure her. ¡°Arrest me, do whatever you have to, but help her.¡±

    VanHubert laughed coldly. ¡°You came to us to beg for help? Did you forget that you stole from us? That you left us behind when you ran off on your crusade?¡± The amusement dropped instantly from the Colonel¡¯s face, ¡°Because I sure didn¡¯t.¡±

    VanHubert lashed out and kicked his former comrade¡¯s head. He made contact with the left side of Ron¡¯s face, then quickly spun landed another kick on the other side.

    Ron took the punishment with a grunt. This was not the worst punishment he would receive. He knew that. Reeter would probably find a cattle prod an appropriate punishment for a farmer like him. But that didn¡¯t matter. The only thing that mattered to him was Anabelle.

    ¡°Please,¡± Ron begged, feeling blood drip down a new cut on his cheek. ¡°She needs medical attention.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate.¡± VanHubert said, signaling two Marines to come take position with their weapons aimed at Ron¡¯s head.

    It became all Ron Parker could do to hold his daughter in his arms and hope for a miracle as the clouds churned overhead.

    He had no knowledge of the events transpiring off-world. It never occurred to him that today, for the first time in over a year, the Singularity was slated to return to the Homebound Sector.

 Part 9.2 - THE PROMISE

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    It took every moment, both waking and sleeping, of the week they had after the nuke, but the ship was finally, finally wholly functional. The weapons, sensors and engines were all back online. The crews had just another two hours of work to finish decontaminating the hull.

    Colonel Zarrey stood in his normal spot beside the radar console on the main floor of CIC. They finally had things in hand, normalcy was within grasp, but there was still one massive void that could never be filled.

    Everyone was aware of it. Their reactions varied individually, but most of them tried to lose themselves in their work as the Admiral¡¯s all too obvious absence weighed upon them.

    The mood was solemn as they played an unwilling waiting game. Word of Colonel Zarrey¡¯s official, unavoidable promotion would come soon, and then, he would have no choice but to start giving orders again. After reigniting the engines and righting the artificial gravity field the day before, Zarrey had fallen silent. He simply had no idea what orders to give.

    A creak sounded from the ship¡¯s structure, and the floor shifted subtly beneath the crew¡¯s feet. Incessant groans and small shifts like that had been common since the Conjoiner Drives¡¯ reset. The new engineering chief, Chief Ty, had assured everyone that it was just the ship settling back to the artificial gravity field¡¯s normal pull. After a week in the lopsided AG field, everything had been pulled out of place.

    The ship¡¯s structure had yet to jolt violently, and under a scrutinizing eye, the repairs done in the starboard bow appeared to be holding. The Kansas¡¯ old power core was now working in place of the ship¡¯s ruined Primary Power Core, and the power grid was back to normal efficiency. Overall, the Singularity was back in order.

    The last work left to do was cosmetic. New bulkheads and tiles were still being cast for the bow and for the charred decks where they were necessary, and the corridors were being scrubbed down and cleansed of ash. There were workers on the outer hull, painting, as the bridge staff waited in an unfamiliar silence.

    Making repairs had been one hell of a victory, but it sure didn¡¯t feel like one. Any minute now, they would receive the call, and it would fall to the communications officer, Keifer Robinson, to make the ship-wide announcement. She rested one hand on the intercom button and the other hovered over the handset beside her station. Any second now, it would ring.

    In the medical bay, Doctor Macintosh distracted himself by tidying beds and changing bandages. He had set the life support system to shut down on its own, not wanting to be there when it happened, because Zarrey was right - it was wrong. It always felt wrong to take a patient off life support, but that was the nature of his job.

    Not far away, hidden behind the gray, carefully drawn curtain, the ghost had returned to the Admiral¡¯s bedside. The time had come for her to keep that sad, sad promise. Six days, she had stood silently by, unheard and unseen. But now, the time had come, and she could not let that loathsome silence linger. It bothered her too much.

    It all bothered her too much, even the fact that she had to be here now.

    ¡°I made a promise.¡± She furrowed her brow, ¡°I guess I just thought I would have more time.¡± Now was too soon. She was not ready.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t how I thought it would end.¡± After so many years of working with him, she had stopped contemplating that their partnership would eventually come to an inevitable end. ¡°No goodbyes, not a fight, or an explosion. Just¡­¡± A medical complication. She had waited too long, woken the crew up too late. This was her fault.

    She could not mask up the pain now. She kept it so hidden from everyone, but somehow Admiral Gives had always seen what she tried so hard to hide. He had recognized it and adjusted accordingly to minimize the suffering on both their parts.

    He was the only one who had willingly acknowledged her. That had been enough to render him kind, but more than that, he had respected her. He had never forced her to do anything. He had never referred to her as a creature or thought her a monster. He had trusted her and treated her as an equal. And yet, one of the last things he had seen her do was betray him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She knew he could not hear her, but still, he deserved an apology. Her shoulders fell. My fault, again. It always was. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I wasn¡¯t strong enough to save either of you.¡± He and Samantha Scarlett were the only two people who had ever been truly kind to her, but it was her fault that Samantha was dead and he was dying.

    With him gone, she would be alone again. She registered that, but she could hardly comprehend it. Would things be like they had been before? Saturated in misery and death?

    No, she thought not. Zarrey was not malicious. He was inexperienced, but he would not become cruel. Once everything was explained, he would understand. He might even be grateful for her help in this situation. Admiral Gives had left her in good hands. He had left her with someone who would not abuse or exploit her.

    Zarrey¡¯s lack of formal training was not ideal, but his intentions were good. At the moment, he was just contemplating how to keep the ship¡¯s remaining crew alive, and that meant more to the ghost than his raw ability. It meant a great deal more.

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    But then, no doubt, this very situation was the reason Zarrey was here. Admiral Gives was always three steps ahead of the game. Though Colonel Zarrey had no desire for command, he was well-liked, even by her, and once he was in command, he would not hurt people unnecessarily. He would not force her to hurt people unnecessarily either. That was relieving, but she still felt¡­ off.

    She still felt something.

    Responsibility, it had been called. The ghost felt so terribly, tragically responsible for everything that had happened to the man on the hospital bed.

    ¡°I hope you can forgive me for what I did that day.¡± Twenty-seven years ago, she had asked a good man to help her. He had, but it had left him one of the most hated people in the worlds. It would now cost him his life.

    He had been here, teaching her, helping her, for nearly three decades. And yet, he had only ever asked for one thing in return. ¡°I will keep the promise I made to you.¡± It hurt, but she would abide that old request. She would stay at his side until it was over. Her expression broke, her raw loss and guilt seeping out. ¡°You won¡¯t be alone when...¡± she choked out the words in a whisper, ¡°¡­when you die.¡±

    Die. What a sad word that was: the permanent cessation of all vital functions, the action of ceasing to exist. Dead people were nothing more than an intangible memory. And with her cursed inability to forget, she now knew more of the dead than she knew of the living.

    But that was the existence of a ghost. Ghosts were trapped, stuck between the struggles of life and the bliss of nonexistence. They were timeless. They would not age, and they would not expire. Centuries in, they went mad with the paradox of their scientifically unacknowledgeable existence.

    That was the fate that awaited her. Eventually, a century or an eon from now, she would go insane. Accompanied by only the memory of the dead, most likely, she would outlast the genetic evolutionary chain of the human race. She would simply exist until the universe ceased to.

    So, while ghosts did not truly exist ¨C they were nothing more than humanity¡¯s irrational superstitions- she considered her immortal self to be one. She shared a ghost¡¯s eternal fate, and her true identity had proved incomprehensible to most people.

    Along the journey to that eternal end, there was little to anchor her existence. She had no home. The passage of time was of no consequence. And, the mission she had been created to complete was impossible.

    All she had was memory. All she had were the people that gave her those memories. The few of them she truly knew gave her existence bearing and purpose, it was why the Admiral had always told her she cared too much. Inevitably, all the people around her would die and become nothing more than a memory. Admiral Gives had tried to help her find a new purpose, be it exploration, education, or even selfish greed.

    But she, much to his disdain, had settled on protecting. She existed to protect her people, so that they could wander and experience life in all the ways she could not. That was the closest she could ever come to completing her mission, no matter how else she continued to try.

    She had a peculiar existence. Everything she had would turn eventually to memory, but she had found that the most powerful memories did not come from things like objective greed or exploration. They came from people and their emotions, and if she protected them well, then she would have powerful good memories.

    But when she failed, the price was high. It was too high. She had seen that over and over and over again. There were times that it broke her. There were times that she felt she had no place in these worlds. There were times that she realized she was little more than an eternal mistake, never intended to possess thought, let alone sentience.

    Admiral Gives never let that self-doubt linger for long. He always gave her something to do, taught her something new, or just talked to her. Those little gestures had been enough to remind her that she had a promise to keep¡­ the very promise she was now here to fulfill.

    But next time she fell apart, who would reach out and offer her a place to be?

    Who would help her protect her crew?

    Who would protect her?

    The strength she had been holding onto broke. ¡°Please,¡± she whispered, finding a new type of anguish, ¡°don¡¯t make me keep this promise.¡± It pained her. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to leave.¡± She was lonely. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to¡­¡± it was such a sad, sad word on her lips, ¡°die.¡± She was scared.

    But she knew that the Admiral had been suffering. Living was not something he had enjoyed. He had been there before she had learned how to protect and understand. The price of his patience was pain.

    He was the one person she had never managed to save. She had thousands of good memories with him, but to him, they weren¡¯t good. They were just memories. He was never happy, he was just temporarily not miserable, and even that never lasted. The worlds always saw fit to remind him of his failures, of his mistakes. They saw fit to try and break him at every opportunity and he had stopped healing a long time ago.

    But still, he was her anchor. ¡°Can you find it in your heart to give me another chance?¡± Just one more. ¡°I will get it right this time.¡± She wouldn¡¯t let him suffer. She would find some way, some miracle amongst the worlds¡¯ misery that would give him happiness. ¡°I¡¯ll protect you, the way I was always supposed to,¡± the way Samantha Scarlett had asked her to. She would find a way to be deserving of his patience, to be deserving of the time and trust he had given her.

    ¡°This time, I¡¯ll get it right.¡± This time, he wouldn¡¯t get hurt. ¡°I promise.¡±

    But the scars that decorated his skin were evidence of her previous struggles, of her unsuccessful attempts, of every chance she¡¯d had. She had failed all of them. He¡¯d been tortured, shot, interrogated, and doubted more than any one person deserved to be.

    And usually, this was the point when he reminded her not to make a promise she could not keep, the way he always did. Then he would walk away, acting like everything was fine.

    But it wasn¡¯t fine. It was never fine and this time, he didn¡¯t even move.

    She was running out of time, and she was terrified. She was an immortal creature with the strength of one of the four fundamental forces of nature, and she did not want to face these worlds alone. The very prospect terrified her. ¡°Give me another chance,¡± she pleaded, ¡°just one more¡­ Please.¡± Don¡¯t leave me.

    He was one of few people who always kept his word. ¡°You said you would stay as long as I needed you.¡± She did not want to be alone. Not now and not ever. ¡°I still need you, Admiral.¡±

    But there was no answer to her agony.

    The life support machine clicked off.

 Part 9.3 - TAMPERED DATA

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Doctor Macintosh heard the heart monitor¡¯s alarm from across sickbay, but he took his time in going to it. He had no desire to look at the Admiral¡¯s corpse. If he never saw it, it somehow became less real.

    Nevertheless, the dismayed looks of the remaining patients sent him to silence the reminder of their loss. Macintosh parted the gray curtain, but kept his gaze locked on where his shoes met the floor. He was not ready to see the Admiral¡¯s dead body. He would need to drink himself far past tipsy before he was ready for that.

    The doctor shut the heartrate monitor off with a sigh of defeat. It was time to go call CIC and deliver the news. He turned to leave, only to have his jaw drop open. ¡°Bullshit.¡± This was bullshit. No way in hell.

    The Admiral paused for a moment, midway through buttoning his black uniform jacket over his uniform shirt. ¡°Good afternoon, Doctor,¡± he greeted simply.

    ¡°You were dead,¡± Macintosh told him. ¡°Dead.¡± But now, not only was he awake, but he was walking around? Not possible. Still, the bed was empty, and the white sheets were stained with a fresh splatter of blood from the Admiral messily ripping his IV out. His arm was likely bleeding, but underneath the long, black sleeves of his uniform, no one would ever know.

    Buttoning up the silver buttons on his jacket left his injured hand aching painfully, but Admiral Gives did not let a sliver of that discomfort show. He had suffered worse. ¡°It seems that diagnosis was somewhat in error, Doctor.¡± He was not feeling particularly dead at the moment.

    Doctor Macintosh opened and closed his mouth as he searched for an adequate response. It was a special type of disconcerting to be confronted by a patient who had been effectively dead for a week.

    Admiral Gives bent to pick up a garment that had fallen to the floor. It was a black glove thoughtfully provided to cover the ugly burns on his left hand. He pulled it on and held up the covered hand, ¡°Your idea?¡±

    ¡°N-no.¡± Macintosh was still too surprised to act like his normal, irritable self. He shook his head, trying to clear it, ¡°Feather must¡¯ve dropped it off when she brought your uniform.¡± At the time, it had seemed a futile gesture.

    The Admiral made a note to thank Ensign Feather for her consideration, but found it odd that Macintosh was being so polite. The man had only cussed once during this conversation. ¡°Is there something wrong, Doctor?¡± It was strange to find Macintosh with a tolerable attitude, especially when he was sober.

    ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be dead, but clearly you¡¯re not.¡± At the moment, the man seemed perfectly fine, even if logically speaking, Macintosh should be prepping his corpse for cold storage right now.

    ¡°Is that a problem?¡±

    ¡°No?¡± Macintosh answered, uncertain why he was being asked that question.

    ¡°Then I do not see an issue,¡± the Admiral said placidly. ¡°Thank you for your services, but I am needed on the bridge.¡± He pushed the curtain aside and strode through the medical bay with purpose.

    The crew in the room, patients and staff alike, had all sunk into the lounge chairs in the center of the room, their heads bowed at a low angle. They looked up as someone walked by, expecting to find Doctor Macintosh, and then did a double-take. Many of them blinked or rubbed their eyes and looked again in disbelief.

    Macintosh stepped out past the curtain a moment later, unsurprised to find that everyone in sickbay was looking at him, waiting for an explanation. ¡°He just got up and walked out,¡± the doctor told them, ¡°I didn¡¯t have anything to do with it.¡± He had no real explanation to offer. It was a damned miracle.

    Out in the corridor, Admiral Gives managed to keep his brisk pace until he rounded the next corner, but then had to slow. His days in the coma, not eating and not technically sleeping had sapped his physical strength. He paused to lean up against the bulkheads, heaving for air, but in the empty corridor, he was not alone for long.

    The ghost appeared in front of him, her steel gray eyes gone soft. ¡°You woke up.¡± He had answered her cries the way he always did.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he confirmed, electing not to address the obvious emotion in her expression. He didn¡¯t have it in him to lecture her at the moment. ¡°It was my understanding that you still possessed some misguided desire for me to stay here. Did I act in error?¡±

    No. Still, she could not help but stare, and the question went unanswered. It surprised her to realize he was still keeping his word, even now. He was still staying¡­ because she had asked.

    ¡°Besides,¡± he said, ¡°I was just taking a little nap.¡±

    Nap? ¡°You were comatose, near brain dead for a week.¡± He had been on the brink of death.

    ¡°It was a good nap,¡± he said stoically.

    She rolled her eyes, but was amused nonetheless. It seemed his exceptionally dry sense of humor, which only she saw, had remained untouched by this ordeal.

    The Admiral said nothing more to it and took note of his surroundings. The corridors were evenly lit and the air was clean. Overall, the ship looked substantially better than the last time he had seen it. ¡°Status?¡± he queried.

    She folded her arms behind her back, feeling their interaction shift toward business. She took the change effortlessly, the result of years of practice. ¡°Awaiting departure commands,¡± she replied, a tint of pride in her voice.

    He simply accepted her word as fact. If she said they were ready to leave this sector, then the Singularity was back at full strength. Good. He pushed himself off the wall, ignoring his exhaustion. ¡°Time?¡±

    She fell into step beside him. ¡°1221 hours, ship¡¯s time.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re late.¡± They had been ordered to return to Base Oceana in the Haven System by noon on the tenth day of their Kalahari Sector patrol. Command would not take that well. General Clarke would certainly blame it on the aging ship in some roundabout method of convincing Admiral Gives to take over his position.

    ¡°Colonel Zarrey delayed taking action until word of your condition was final.¡± It was for that same reason that the corridors were so empty at the moment. The crew had habitually gathered in public spaces: the mess, library and observation deck, to await word on their commander¡¯s death.

    ¡°That could have been a long wait,¡± the Admiral said absently, simultaneously contemplating the best method of forcing Clarke to back off that didn¡¯t involve a gun.

    ¡°Your orders said to take you off life support after one week,¡± she reminded him. ¡°That date coincided with the day we were due back.¡±

    He stopped in the middle of the corridor so suddenly she took another step past him. ¡°My orders say two weeks.¡±

    The words were true. She knew that simply because Admiral Gives did not lie, and it brought her, not even a second later, to a troubling realization. ¡°The computer records have been altered.¡± But how? The Singularity¡¯s design should have made it impossible for the computers to be compromised.

    Dammit, she should have realized. The Admiral¡¯s standing medical orders had been altered ten days ago, before they had embarked on this patrol, but they had been altered at a time when he had been standing watch on the bridge. It should have been obvious. He had not been the one to alter them. She should have checked. But she had been too distracted, too emotional.

    He had almost died because of it.

    ¡°I need you to focus,¡± the Admiral said, his tone sharp. ¡°Navigations may be compromised. We cannot jump with faulty records.¡± It would be a disaster. They could hit something coming out of the jump or never make it out at all, and he had not saved the entire ship to let her sink now.

    He set off toward the bridge, his purposeful steps near-silent on the deck. ¡°Get me a diagnostic of every computer and memory server on board. I need to know what¡¯s been tampered with, and that should expose whatever gap was exploited in our security.¡± They would need to ensure that the computers were not breached in that way again. ¡°Then we will need to¡­ purge... the¡­¡± he coughed, ¡°tampered¡­ data.¡±

    The cough worsened. He staggered over to rest his back against the bulkheads, but the shuddering cough did not ease until he had hacked up a splatter of chunky red slime. Blood. It was lingering in his lungs from when the radiation had started to mutate the tissues. At least, he hoped that it was only lingering as he leaned up against the bulkheads, struggling to catch his breath.

    The ghost watched him wipe the blood onto his black pants, not giving it another thought. The black fabric rendered the stain invisible, but it was fairly obvious that he was not faring well, despite miraculously walking off his coma. ¡°Admiral¡­¡± He was still sick. He should go rest and recover.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Fine enough. He could do his job.

    But¡­ This wasn¡¯t right. She knew this wasn¡¯t right. Had he not earned the chance to rest? She caught his stern look and quickly buried her concern. That was not her place. She was not supposed to care.

    It would figure the moment he laid down for a little nap, everyone would leave him for dead. Commanding officers never got any meaningful sleep. There was just too much to do. He would probably be up for the next twenty-four hours continuously. ¡°Can you ensure the ship¡¯s safety through a jump to the Homebound Sector?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Such things were second-nature to her. It would be a simple, instantaneous override of the navigations controls, if the data proved faulty. ¡°What do you intend to do?¡±

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°First priority is a resupply.¡± General Clarke was still alive, so the Homebound Sector was not hostile territory yet. Reeter would not be bold enough to attack there. There were too many watchful eyes and too many civilians to risk an all-out brawl between two capital ships. In a way, the high civilian density would act as a sort of human shield, and someone who cared might have called that morally wrong. Admiral Gives was unconcerned with such ethics. All that mattered was that the tactic would probably work.

    ¡°Second priority is dealing with Admiral Reeter.¡± Most of Command was now under Reeter¡¯s control. Returning anywhere but the Homebound Sector would lead to an instant confrontation.

    ¡°And how do you intend to deal with him?¡± What could be done at this point? Command had fallen too far under his control.

    ¡°Murder.¡±

    ¡°Admiral.¡± Now was not the time for jokes.

    Admiral Gives¡¯ expression remained unchanged: stoic and cold. ¡°That was not a joke.¡± He would be perfectly content to kill Reeter. ¡°How many of our crew just died? How many of them did he needlessly kill in the Kalahari Sector?¡± And that was just the beginning. ¡°How many people will die if he brings his plans to fruition?¡± Millions, likely billions. ¡°This needs to end now.¡± And if that meant that Admiral Gives had to shoot another allied officer in the head, he was fine with that.

    ¡°He has partners. The New Era will find another leader. If you kill him, he will become a martyr.¡± There was no ending this now. ¡°And if you kill him, they will kill you.¡± And that, to the ghost, was not acceptable. ¡°There must be another way.¡± There had to be. ¡°I¡¯m asking you to find it.¡± Violence only brought about more violence. It would never bring an end to anything

    The Admiral pushed himself off the wall and headed again for CIC, this time at a cautious pace. She was right. Another death would not pause the things that had been set in motion. The values and beliefs of the New Era had been brewing for years, decades even, in the perfectionist lives of the richer nations. ¡°I will try to think of something,¡± he assured, ¡°but you know where my priorities lie.¡±

    She nodded. ¡°Yes, I know.¡± He did not care for the worlds. He was obligated to do his part, but he was not the hero that adored the existence of the worlds and sought to protect it. He had seen far too much of their ugliness to be that.

    They were nearing CIC now. In truth, it was not that far from the medical bay, but there was one more matter to discuss. ¡°There is something else you ought to know, Admiral.¡± He paused again, turning to the ghost, sensing her hesitation.

    While he had asked her to keep an eye on Amelia, even the ghost was not truly sure that he cared. Still, she was obligated to tell him, ¡°Reeter has taken Amelia. He is holding her and Harrison against their will.¡±

    Harrison¡¯s call for help had made it all the way out here. The handheld radio at the cabin had been modified with a subspace transmitter that would cross even this distance. The other half of the set, the old radio that matched it, was in the Admiral¡¯s desk, useless at this range. The ship¡¯s arrays had received the transmission, as intended.

    ¡°I will take care of it,¡± Admiral Gives told her. ¡°Thank you for keeping an eye on them.¡± Comatose, he had obviously missed the call when it came. He left the ghost in the corridor and rounded the last corner to CIC.

    This departure of theirs was practiced, normal. The ghost hid her presence from the rest of the crew. They considered her a murderer and monster, and on top of that, little more than a rumor. Only a select few knew the truth.

    It was unusual for her to do so, but she lingered, looking after the Admiral. ¡°It was¡­ good to see you,¡± she said quietly, but he was long gone. Now was not the time for her to take up his attention. She knew that, but she wished for a moment that she had said something.

    The bridge had been mostly silent for some time as the crew wallowed in tangible sorrow. They waited for the Colonel to give an order, or for the phone to ring, but both were stubbornly silent. Their eyes were glazed over, the events of the week taking their toll. Tired and sad was not a combination that created a group of readily alert people.

    The crew hardly even noticed when another person strode into their midst. Most did not even glance up until the newcomer spoke. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, does anyone care to explain why we are not in the Homebound Sector?¡±

    ¡°Oh good,¡± Zarrey greeted lamely, reverting to his old habits, ¡°you¡¯re alive.¡± Joking aside, Colonel Zarrey soon could not help the smile that spread across his face. Thank the stars. No longer would he have to impersonate an underqualified commanding officer. He could go back to cracking jokes and harassing other ships¡¯ officers. That was exactly how he preferred it.

    The Admiral stepped over to his normal spot, wholly aware of the crew¡¯s genuine confusion. He elected not to address it. It should prove simple enough to comprehend that he was not, in fact, dead, though everyone seemed to be struggling with it. ¡°Try not to sound too excited, Colonel,¡± he told his XO quietly. ¡°I know how much you want to command this ship.¡±

    Zarrey swallowed, immediately uncomfortable. He knew exactly what that comment was referring to. ¡°That really wasn¡¯t a mutiny, sir.¡± Yes, he had performed an act of insubordination during the cascade collapse, a week ago, but he¡¯d been acting irrationally.

    ¡°Yours was not, no.¡± Zarrey held absolutely no desire to command this ship, let alone any other. The man did everything he could to avoid being put up for promotion and despised responsibility. It made him loyal. ¡°However¡­¡± Admiral Gives turned to find Maria Galhino was still sitting at the sensor station, her face now completely drained of color.

    Clearly, no one had bothered to inform Zarrey of that event while he¡¯d been in a coma. Naturally, the crew had protected one another. And that was fine, he had trained them to do so, but that did not excuse Galhino¡¯s actions.

    Zarrey scratched his head. ¡°Did I miss something?¡± What the hell had Galhino done now?

    Nobody answered him. The bridge crew shifted uncomfortably, wholly aware of the impending reprimand. Any trace of relief they had shown with the Admiral¡¯s apparent revival was quickly gone, replaced by unease.

    It had been a little over a year since Admiral Gives had killed anyone with his own two hands. By his standards, that was a very long streak, and it was high time to break it. ¡°This will be quick,¡± he told his XO. ¡°Lieutenant, with me.¡±

    Lieutenant Galhino rose from her station with shaky knees. A look to Lieutenant Robinson earned her no reassurance. Keifer looked petrified, but not as scared as Galhino felt. She took a deep breath, bowed her head, and went to face her reckoning.

    He was waiting in the corridor outside CIC, his expression perfectly detached. But then, no one ever saw Admiral Gives be anything other than stone cold. Looking a mutineer in the eyes was not an exception. He was calm, but Galhino knew he was capable of exceptional violence, calm or not.

    Here it was. This was it. Oh dear stars. Please don¡¯t let me end up like Colonel Belle. The mere thought of the ship¡¯s previous XO made her tremble. Anything but that. Well, maybe not anything. This is awful.

    ¡°I am certain you know why you are here,¡± the Admiral said, folding his arms calmly behind his back. ¡°Need I recall the events of the Kalahari Sector?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡± Her voice came out small. She remembered her poorly executed mutiny fairly well. This moment of reckoning had given her nightmares ever since.

    There was silence. He did not seem angry, nor disappointed, nor malicious. His perfect neutral made it so much harder to cope. She had no idea what he would say or do.

    Fact was, while he did not always seem it, quiet and emotionally mute, the Admiral was flatly brilliant when and where he chose to be. And yes, his repertoire of talents did include grotesque, sadistic punishments, as demonstrated in the case of Colonel Belle¡¯s death.

    It would be so much easier for him to be angry. It was so much worse like this. She could feel the shake building in her knees. Should she start screaming for mercy now?

    Lieutenant Galhino was terrified of him. She always had been, much more so than the rest of the crew. It was odd. Admiral Gives had no recollection of doing anything particularly nasty to her home world. To his knowledge, he had done nothing that should have earned such fear from her. Her actions in the Kalahari Sector had been a result of that fear. But, mutineer or not, he had neither the time to nor the intention of finding a new sensor officer. ¡°Do not do it again.¡±

    The order was cold enough to make her physically shiver.

    ¡°You will sit on my bridge, and you will do your job. Hold no doubts, if you make that mistake again, there is no chance of it happening a third time.¡± Not on his ship. ¡°Is that understood?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Galhino replied before the realization had fully hit her. She was getting off with a verbal warning. It was traumatizing enough, but that was it? Coming from Admiral Gives, it may as well have been a pat on the back.

    ¡°Then ensure I do not need to further address the matter.¡± He had no time and no patience for such things. He had opposing Admirals to murder and political movements to tear down. ¡°Return to your station.¡±

    Galhino tensed for the inevitable bullet when she turned to walk into CIC. Usually he shot mutineers in the back. It was her surprise that she made it all the way back to her seat on the bridge without being shot or stabbed.

    What an overreaction, the Admiral thought, easily reading that mortal fear, I¡¯m not even armed. It seemed Galhino and the rest of the crew had expected him to execute her on the spot. Naturally, their thoughts were on the rumored fate of last person to mutiny on his ship: Colonel Belle. He could not fault them for that. It had been a particularly nasty occurrence, but somewhere along the way, those rumors had neglected the context of why he had shot Belle in the back, marooned her on an asteroid and left her to drown in her own blood. Typical.

    He looked to the ship around him, exasperated. ¡®This crew of ours seems to be forgetting what exactly my job is here.¡¯ He was not here to murder, kill and maim. He was here to protect. He served his ship, and that meant protecting her crew was a part of his job. They would all realize that¡­ eventually.

    He walked quietly back onto the bridge, to be greeted with Colonel Zarrey¡¯s lingering confusion. ¡°Did something happen?¡± It was not like Galhino to be so pale or quiet.

    ¡°It has been taken care of.¡± Admiral Gives said simply. If Galhino did not prompt him to take action on the matter again, then as far as he was concerned, it was irrelevant.

    End of conversation. The XO recognized that and did not press the matter.

    Zarrey looked up to Keifer Robinson, who looked exceptionally relieved on her lover¡¯s behalf. Galhino on the other hand looked like she had been turned to stone. She stared somewhat blankly at the readouts of the sensors, her shaking hands resting on her keyboard. Just what the hell had the Admiral said to her?

    Admiral Gives took a moment, reading the working noises of the ship and the mood of the crew. The ship was fine. She was loyally awaiting his next commands. The crew on the other hand, was unsettled. His initial arrival had been greeted with relief, but his distance the last few months would not be so easily forgiven.

    ¡°Colonel, recall the teams from the hull.¡± It was clean enough to allow navigation and radar to be unhindered, even if the other sensors were still saturated by the lingering radiation.

    ¡°They¡¯re not done yet, sir.¡± If they jumped back without the ship in pristine condition, then Reeter would not need to sink them, he could just wait for Command to decommission the ship.

    ¡°I am aware. Call them back.¡± Admiral Gives fully intended to let everyone in the Haven System know that the Singularity had survived a nuke. ¡°Admiral Reeter deserves to know he hit us.¡± It would likely antagonize the man into taking action. That would make him easily distractible, and that was exactly what Admiral Gives wanted.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Zarrey answered, stalking over to relay the proper orders.

    ¡°Ensign Walters,¡± the Admiral looked toward the young officer in the back, ¡°get FTL coordinates for the Homebound Sector. Ensure that we come out of the jump with our starboard bow in full view of the Olympia.¡± Reeter would forced to see that blemish every time he looked out the window.

    Naturally, that served a tactical purpose. The radiation on the hull would render the flagship¡¯s sensor arrays blind. And with the Singularity large enough to generate a radar shadow, ships could take off and land without being observed by the Olympia. That radiation had just given Admiral Gives the freedom to do absolutely whatever he needed to with Reeter none the wiser.

    Poetic justice. Since Reeter had tarnished the Singularity¡¯s hull with that nuclear fallout, turning the radiation against him would quickly make Reeter regret it. As he should. Nobody fucked with the Singularity and got away with it. Admiral Gives had a bad habit of being overprotective.

    ¡°Ensign Alba,¡± the engineering technician looked up from his readouts when Admiral Gives called to him, ¡°when all of the teams report secure, begin jump prep.¡±

    A part of Ensign Alba really wanted to protest, concerned about the repairs made on the starboard bow, but close observation of those repairs had so far revealed nothing incriminating. The engineering teams appeared to have restored the starboard bow¡¯s strength.

    Beyond that, Admiral Gives seemed to think the ship was ready, and he knew her better than anyone. He could make an instant structural analysis by listening to the ship¡¯s creaks, and it was usually more accurate than any report the engineers could write up. So, taking that all into account, Alba nodded, ¡°Aye, sir.¡±

 Part 9.4 - AN APOLOGY

    Aragonian Sector, Battleship Singularity

    It would take time to secure the ship for FTL and bring the teams on the outer hull back inside the ship. In the meantime, there was other work to do. The disposition of the ship¡¯s supplies, chain of command and system readiness would be drastically altered from the week prior. Admiral Gives needed to familiarize himself with such changes immediately, because if push came to shove in the Homebound Sector, they would have to engage the Olympia as well as any ships loyal to her. But, in combat, the little details often mattered the most.

    ¡°Ensign Owens,¡± Admiral Gives turned to find the yeoman was already on her way over.

    ¡°The sitrep, sir,¡± she said, handing the papers over. She had been working on the ship long enough to know the Admiral¡¯s habits, and this was one of them.

    The situation report was impressively thick today, physical evidence that the ship¡¯s situation had changed substantially. ¡°Thank you, Ensign.¡±

    Owens said nothing else and slid away to tend to other duties. Within decorum between officer and crew, the Admiral was not required to thank her, but he was always polite when it came to the yeomen. As far as she cared, it just added to his enigma.

    When dealing with him, Owens elected to ignore the rumors of the Admiral¡¯s tendency toward incredible violence. She had never seen him be anything less than polite and eerily calm. That could be plenty scary, but he had never laid a hand on anyone, so Owens had served under worse. Most of the crew felt the same way.

    The report in the Admiral¡¯s hands was held together by a clip, too many pages to staple together. To spare his aching hand, he set it on the edge of the backlit radar console, then pulled out his glasses and started skimming the pages.

    Cleanup from the fires was still underway on the affected, charred decks, but all other repairs had been made. The engineering crews had decided to repair the collapsed support and then build an additional one next to it in case it re-collapsed. They had also added extra cross braces. Those designs were included in the report. Reviewing them, Admiral Gives was satisfied. He would make a personal inspection of the repairs later, but with these specifications, the bow should be just as strong as it had been before.

    During cleanup, a fragment of the intercepted nuke had been recovered, identifying it as an allied weapon, later revealed to have come from the Flagship Olympia. Of course, Admiral Gives had made that assumption the moment the attack had occurred.

    They had lost a defensive turret to the explosion ¨C the same malfunctioning turret that had ¡®malfunctioned,¡¯ firing and intercepting the warhead. Some malfunction, the Admiral thought amusedly, it saved the entire ship. That had been no malfunction, but the crew did not know how else to classify the incident, since the turret had received no orders to aim or fire. Naturally, the Admiral felt no need to correct their misconception of the incident. The truth was¡­ complicated.

    ¡°So¡­¡± Colonel Zarrey sauntered back over to his usual place beside the Admiral, entirely uncaring of the man¡¯s focus, ¡°how did you,¡± he gestured vaguely to the ship commander, ¡°you know, not die?¡±

    The Admiral continued leafing through the sitrep, ignoring the way Zarrey noisily slurped his coffee. ¡°I have no explanation to offer you, XO.¡± Part of being comatose meant he had absolutely no recollection of the week between the moment he had activated the Reserve Power Core and the moment he had woken up in sickbay, gasping for air. He had some theories, but without evidence, he would not draw any conclusions.

    It was possible the shock of being taken off life support had woken him, but he had also sensed the ghost¡¯s lingering presence. It was also entirely possible that she had managed to wake him, because he always did whatever she asked. If she had asked him to wake up, and any fragment of him understood, then he would have woken up. He owed her that, after everything. The great debt he owed the ghost could never be wholly repaid.

    ¡°Typical.¡± Zarrey sighed, tasting the bitter coffee grounds in the bottom of his mug, ¡°Macintosh had nothing to do with it. That man can¡¯t even cure the food poisoning from Mama Ripley¡¯s meat stew.¡± It was a simple problem, and yet somehow, once a month at least three crewmembers ended up bedridden from the aging cook¡¯s favorite recipe.

    Admiral Gives made no response. Multitasking the conversation with reading the report would have been easy for him, but he simply had nothing to say, so he continued flipping the pages in silence.

    Wrecked armor, bulkheads, and anything else salvaged from the starboard bow had been melted down and recast into replacement parts. Still, that had not been enough to replace the material they had lost in the Kalahari Sector. To make repairs, they had dipped into the supply of solid material bars they carried aboard ship. That supply would now need to be replenished.

    Similarly, the fuel-fed fires had burned through a substantial portion of their fuel. Engines One and Two had originally been starved into shutting down. The fuel line rupture that caused the fires had cut off their fuel feed. Engine Four had overheated and shut down due to a severed coolant line. The lines were now repaired and the engines back online.

    Fuel and coolant would be easy to replace at Base Oceana, but the hull material and a replacement turret would be more difficult. They no longer manufactured turrets of the Singularity¡¯s model, and her hull composition was unique.

    Still, with some effort, that could all be replaced. The same could not be said for the crew.

    Considering the circumstances, they had gotten off light. They could have lost hundreds, but since most of the crew had been unconscious while the radiation flooded the ship, the radiation had killed relatively few.

    They had lost thirty-two in all, each far too young.

    Four had died in the initial explosion, and nine more had been killed in the starboard bow¡¯s collapse. Seven had been lost to the fires, and three of those bodies had been burned beyond recognition. Their presumed identities had been determined through process of elimination. The last eleven had been the victims of radiation poisoning.

    With each of the names he saw on that list, a face came to the Admiral¡¯s mind. His ship had a sizable crew, but he made sure to know everybody who set foot aboard, especially the crew. He had met and spoken to all of them.

    Ensign Ricardo Delaney, who had died beneath the Admiral¡¯s hands, was on that list. Chief Carlson, the ship¡¯s chief engineer, was there too, his direct successor¡¯s name listed beneath his own. The Admiral himself was listed as undetermined, almost the thirty-third casualty.

    Admiral Gives knew he should have felt something. A normal person would have cried. He should have broken at the reminder of the fact that he had watched someone die. He should have wept at the thought of so many young innocent lives ending with no apparent cause. But faced with all of that, he felt nothing. Faced with his own name on the undetermined category of the casualty report, he still only felt keening apathy.

    If he dug deep, he¡¯d find a tint of regret. He regretted that he had failed his mission. He regretted that he had failed to protect them. He regretted that his ship had lost so many members of her crew. And, despite how glad she had seemed to see him, he knew the ghost was heartbroken and angry. These days, she was a much better gauge of what emotion he should be feeling than his own thoughts were.

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    ¡°You know,¡± Colonel Zarrey said, his voice lowered, ¡°these people are scared. They want to know you¡¯re not going to let them all die. They want to feel safe.¡±

    ¡°I am aware,¡± the Admiral replied, flipping another page of the report.

    Zarrey sighed. Sometimes conversation with the Admiral was a little bit like pulling teeth: not fun for anyone. ¡°Admiral, I know you¡¯ll address the crew when you¡¯re ready, but most of them don¡¯t even know you¡¯re alive-¡±

    ¡°Colonel!¡± A large man strode onto the bridge wearing half of a rubbery environmental suit. ¡°What the hell? You and I both agreed that it was going to take more than an hour to clean and repaint the hull! And now we get recalled from spacewalk on the double with orders to prepare for FTL? What the hell, man?¡±

    The Admiral took it upon himself to relieve Zarrey of the new engineering chief¡¯s wrath. He silently closed the packet he was reading and looked up. The small movement drew the engineer¡¯s attention.

    Chief Ty took an instantaneous step back. ¡°A-Admiral,¡± he stammered, surprised. ¡°You¡¯re alive.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said. It does seem that way.

    Ty cleared his throat. ¡°Apologies for the language, sir.¡± There was a tint of red rising to his cheeks. ¡°It¡¯s just that Colonel Zarrey revoked the time he gave us to finish the hull. My teams are tired and frustrated. They just want to finish the damn job.¡±

    ¡°Those were my orders,¡± the Admiral told him, ¡°and since you are here instead of on the hull, I will assume that we are ready for FTL.¡± He looked over to Ensign Alba, who gave a sheepish nod from where he sat at the engineering controls.

    ¡°Chief Ty, return to your post. Ensure everything is in order for our return to the Homebound Sector. If any additional parts or materials need to be requisitioned for final repairs or for the continuation of general operations, be sure to report it.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re going back?¡± Ty exclaimed. ¡°Are you insane? Those sons of bitches just tried to kill every single one of us. Hell, they did manage to kill thirty of our friends!¡±

    ¡°We are short large quantities of fuel, coolant, wiring and raw materials, not to mention food and water. Base Oceana is the likeliest place we can obtain those necessary supplies, regardless of any opposition you may have to returning there.¡± Their opinions about it were irrelevant. ¡°You have your orders, Chief. That will be all.¡±

    Ty understood that to be his dismissal. He stalked off the bridge, leaving an air of frustration.

    Zarrey huffed, ¡°You could have gone a little easy on him.¡± That had been a bit harsh.

    ¡°I have a responsibility to try and end this peacefully. To do that I need everyone on this ship focused and following orders.¡± And if that failed, then alternative methods would have to suffice. He was not above taking over the fleet, rounding up the New Eran leaders and ordering their summary execution. As far as Admiral Gives was concerned, they had attacked his ship, and thus deserved to have their entrails gutted from their corpses and fed raw to their supporters.

    ¡­But he had been told to find another way, so here he was: trying to end this peacefully, as if he was still a functioning, civilized member of society.

    ¡®Admiral, what did I tell you about that?¡¯ The ghost made her invisible presence known, communicating silently through the bond she shared with him.

    ¡®To save cold-blooded summary executions for Wednesday evenings.¡¯

    The ghost was not amused. ¡®That is NOT what I said.¡¯

    ¡®Sorry.¡¯ He knew he had a tendency to get dark and cynical. The ghost, telepathic as she was, usually caught it and set him straight before he actually set to murdering anyone.

    ¡®Nothing to be sorry about. You were just being protective.¡¯ He was simply willing to do anything to keep his ship and crew safe. That had never bothered her. He meant well, no matter how vile his thoughts sometimes turned. Somewhere along the line he had simply forgotten how to be gentle with both enemies and allies.

    Admiral Gives traced the scuffs on the console beneath his fingertips, feeling the hum of the ship¡¯s power. After living and working here most of his life, he could read that pulse like a book. She was ready. It was time to move.

    ¡°Ensign Walters,¡± he turned to the navigations officer, ¡°do we have coordinates?¡±

    Walters¡¯ palms were sweaty. He had run several calculations to meet the specifications of the jump. Specifying orientation, distance and accounting for the Ariea¡¯s gravity well had been a challenge, but he had them. Still, it seemed every few seconds, the coordinates on the display would waiver. They blinked out and back the same as before. He had run every check imaginable on them and the system itself, but there seemed to be nothing wrong.

    The console¡¯s display was probably going out again. It made him nervous, but the safety checks had cleared. ¡°Coordinates are locked in, sir.¡±

    ¡°Drives One and Three are charged, sir.¡± Ensign Alba said his part without being prompted.

    ¡°Understood,¡± the Admiral said. A jump at this range, requiring that much accuracy, was best done on two FTL Drives. The chances of a malfunction and the fuel consumption were higher, but it was a regular maneuver to use two drives aboard ship, given that the ship possessed four in total. ¡°Lieutenant Robinson, give me intercom.¡±

    Robinson routed it though the handset on the radar console, which the Admiral normally used, and signaled when ready.

    Picking up the handset, the alert tone pinged out in the corridor, and Admiral Gives could feel the crew¡¯s curiosity. He did not often address the entire ship outside of emergency situations.

    ¡°Attention all hands, this is the Admiral. As of this moment, we are preparing to jump to the Homebound Sector. At this time, this ship remains a part of the United Countries Space Command fleet, as does the Flagship Olympia. Our duty is not to encourage a battle between the Olympia and ourselves. Our duty is to protect, honor and serve humanity at large. Our duty is to maintain the peace.¡±

    ¡°To accomplish that goal, my superiors consider this ship and every life aboard her expendable. I cannot and will not accept that. If the cost of peace is my ship and her crew, then there will not be peace.¡± He couldn¡¯t give a damn about the greater good. ¡°I am responsible for every single life aboard this ship. The thirty-two crew that died are on my shoulders. I will seek justice for them however I can, but justice is not vengeance. I ask that you all understand that.¡± Sinking the Olympia would not accomplish anything. Grief-stricken revenge attempts would not help them cut the head off the New Eran snake. He had to go after the people responsible.

    ¡°I understand that over the last few months there have been challenges. I understand that over the last few months I have been withdrawn. And I understand that over the last few months I have lost your trust. But know that my primary objective always has been, and always will be the safety of my ship and her crew. We jump in three minutes. Set Condition Two.¡±

    He put the handset back on its rack. ¡±Lieutenant Gaffigan, load the main battery with standard shells, but keep the guns lowered. The radiation on our hull will confuse both our targeting sensors and the Olympia¡¯s. But, if they start firing, fire back. Sight the guns manually.¡± Admiral Gives was willing to bet that the Olympia¡¯s munitions officers had not been drilled on sighting the guns manually. Gaffigan, with that experience, would be twice as accurate. ¡°However, under no circumstances do we engage first.¡± Loading the main battery was nothing more than a defensive measure.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Monty said, inputting commands onto his console.

    ¡°Ahem.¡± Colonel Zarrey coughed, trying to draw the Admiral¡¯s attention without tapping him on the shoulder.

    Admiral Gives checked the countdown on the bridge¡¯s primary screen. ¡°Yes, Colonel?¡±

    ¡°Sir, I know now isn¡¯t the best time....¡± He scratched his head, forgetting what he¡¯d meant to say under the Admiral¡¯s neutral blue stare. ¡°Well, sir, it seems I owe you an apology. We all owe you an apology.¡± Zarrey wasn¡¯t afraid to admit that.

    ¡°These last few months, we¡¯ve all treated you poorly. We doubted you and your intentions, constantly second guessed you because it seemed like you were turning against us. But I realize now that everything you did, recalling shore leave, assigning us to random patrols¡­ Well, it was an attempt to prevent that attack from ever landing. You were trying to keep us out of harm¡¯s way, and we treated you like you were some sort of demon. Even today, we all assumed the worst of you.¡± They had feared he would execute Galhino.

    ¡°So,¡± Zarrey nodded to the other crew on the bridge, and, as one, they stood. ¡°On behalf of the rest of the crew, we apologize. It is an honor to serve aboard the Fleet Admiral¡¯s chosen flagship, and it is an honor to work with you, sir.¡± He put up a salute, and the rest of the crew followed, the gesture meaningful on a ship where salutes were few and far between.

    This was a rare moment of seriousness for Colonel Zarrey. The amused grin that normally dominated his features was gone. ¡°No apology was necessary, Colonel.¡± Admiral Gives had come to terms with the fact that most of humanity hated him. ¡°I was doing my job.¡± Nobody had ever told him it would be easy. ¡°I took an oath as this ship¡¯s commander to protect her and her crew. That will always be my objective, above any obligations I have to the worlds, to the fleet, or to myself. Is that understood?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Zarrey said, echoed by the rest of the bridge crew.

    ¡°Then you will be welcome aboard my ship, all of you.¡± He returned the salute, allowing them to return to their duties. ¡°Standby to execute FTL jump.¡±

    After nearly becoming a permanent resident of the Aragonian Sector, this was the first movement the ship had made in over a week. The old battleship disappeared in a flash of rainbow light.

 Part 10.1 - PITY THE FOOL

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Base Oceana

    By volume, Base Oceana was the largest construct the central planets had ever devised. The main body of the base glittered white, the shape of a spinning top, but the hollow frames of the space docks were what rendered Base Oceana so large. They extended outward, piping air, water and other supplies to ships undergoing repairs.

    The entire base had been designed and built to help maintain Command¡¯s massive military ships, which were often over a kilometer in length. The orbital facility was equipped to sustain three battleship type vessels and numerous other small ships while maintaining operations as a regular spaceport. Three quarters of the station¡¯s volume was dedicated to maintenance equipment and storage, while the rest, the very top and very bottom of the structure, was reserved for personnel operations.

    The crown of the station was reserved for military purposes: personal quarters, offices and meeting spaces. The lower tip was shared with the civilian population, run as trade and travel port. Nearly every ship that visited Ariea would pass through it in some measure, so hundreds of ships came and went every day, which made the spaces ¡®down below¡¯ messy, crowded and loud. With all those merchants buying and selling, and people hassling and bartering, Alise Cortana found she very much preferred the crisp, airy surroundings of the military decks.

    General Clarke had transferred her to Base Oceana in a temporary layover, waiting for the Singularity to return from patrol. It had only been a few days, but it was strange to linger on a military base with absolutely nothing to do. She spent most of her time on the observation deck or in the training facilities, doing weights or fighting in sparring matches. She called her friends in Eagle¡¯s Talon daily, knowing that once she boarded ship it would be a long time before she was able to contact anyone planet-side.

    The very thought of such isolation annoyed Cortana. Admittedly, she had been spoiled in her last assignment. Her off-duty hours had been the events of a normal civilian life: visiting friends, talking to family, shopping¡­ But shipboard assignments were not like that at all. Shipboard crews were never truly off duty. Even on shore leave, they could be recalled to the ship without notice by the commanding officer.

    And given the nature of said commanding officer, she was not looking forward to it. She would rather not have every minute of her life controlled by someone else, let alone the damned Steel Prince. Shore leave on his ship was likely rare. With a portion of the crew slightly criminal and the Fleet Admiral entirely uncaring of anyone¡¯s exhaustion, she did not see an easy duty rotation ahead of her.

    Alise Cortana was already tired of it. Her new uniform should have demanded respect. The rank of Sergeant was high among the Marines, but she could feel the looks of disdain given by the others on the observation deck. The fact she had the Singularity¡¯s ship patch on the sleeve overpowered any respect that her rank should have earned. That flaming red and yellow sun, once the symbol of a glorious flagship, was now a stigma. Here at high command, crew members wearing that mark were considered miscreants. They were people who should have been expelled from the fleet, but had instead had been sacrificed to the command of the fleet¡¯s deadliest officer ¨C a man infamous for his willingness to kill other allied officers.

    Still, she tried to ignore the looks of others as she looked out from the station¡¯s observation deck. Ariea¡¯s blue, green and white planetary marble was low and to the left. Directly ahead of her, the Olympia flew in her somber slate tones. The flagship was the closest military ship in view, sharing an orbital pattern with Base Oceana. Assorted civilian vessels and smaller ships were also visible, but they were mere fleas to the Olympia¡¯s massive size.

    Hailed as the most powerful ship in the fleet, the Olympia was the only Zeus-class battleship ever built. She had a fearsome, varied assortment of weapons that discouraged even the boldest of outlaws from challenging her. The flagship¡¯s graceful curves rendered her shape smooth and beautiful, the lines of a cutlass rather than a broadsword. Her hull was pristine and smooth. She was a peacekeeper, the mirror image of peace and prosperity.

    The Olympia was new to the fleet. In just her eighth month of service, her days in battle were numbered. She normally lingered in the Homebound Sector, a position aboard the envy of every soldier in the fleet. The paramount of modern technology, the Olympia possessed a computer system with calculating power of every other ship in the battle fleet combined. Her seven engines ¨C six auxiliary, one main ¨C gave her agility on par with ships that were less than half her massive size.

    All that prestige, power and beauty just made Cortana more upset every time she remembered her own destination: the blackened, blemished, Battleship Singularity. The oldest ship in the fleet and the only surviving former flagship, she was the last Hydrian War veteran left in service.

    Most of the originally issued equipment was still on board. Not even the engines had been subjected to modernization. Alise shuddered to think of the computer systems: no network, fifty-year-old hardware and a unique, unsupported operating system. The entire ship was criminally outdated, kept only in service by Fleet Admiral Gives¡¯ refusal to move his command elsewhere.

    A subspace rupture appeared in view, a rainbow fissure in the dark of the void. Cortana hoped to see her new assignment emerge, even if just to end her boredom, but a small freighter popped into view and flew off, leaving the distortion field to dissipate.

    She sighed. Apparently, the Singularity did not believe it important to arrive on time. It was 1225 hours, according to her watch. A mere half an hour late was odd, but not unheard of.

    ¡°It is not like Admiral Gives to be late,¡± someone said from behind her. She recognized the voice without looking at the weathered old man it belonged to.

    This was the fourth time General Clarke had found her on the observation deck. She had grown comfortable in his presence. In this public setting, the formalities relaxed somewhat. ¡°With all due respect, sir, nobody¡¯s perfect.¡±

    Clarke took another step forward, trusting his weight onto his wooden cane. ¡°When it comes to running a ship, he¡¯s about as good as it gets, Sergeant.¡± Admiral Gives singlehandedly had more experience in ship command than any other living officer, including all three generals combined. ¡°If he¡¯s bringing her back at all, they¡¯ll be here by 1300 hours.¡±

    ¡°If?¡±

    ¡°I warned you before, Sergeant,¡± Clarke reminded. ¡°The Steel Prince is loyal to no one.¡± That was what made him so dangerous. ¡°He and I had an arrangement,¡± but Clarke was no more partners with Admiral Gives than he was with Reeter. ¡°Be wary of his real intentions.¡± Not even Clarke truly understood Gives¡¯ objectives, but if everything went the way it should, those intentions would never matter.

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    ¡°You suggest he has an intention beyond serving Command, sir?¡± Cortana queried.

    ¡°Everyone in these worlds has their own intentions, Sergeant.¡± Admiral Gives was the least of them. ¡°His apparent loyalty to Command has always been a matter of convenience.¡±

    Cortana could not help the shiver that ran down her spine. Something about that was¡­ disturbing. How did someone known to be disloyal to Command work his way into command of a ship, let alone the position of Fleet Admiral?

    ¡°Some thought him loyal to his power, or to the blood and carnage, but they too often confuse him for his predecessor.¡± Clarke knew better. Gives¡¯ predecessor had been a monster of a man, but he¡¯d been a predictable beast, hungering for bloodshed and butchery. Admiral Gives, the indomitable Steel Prince, was not so simple.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid that was before my time, General,¡± Cortana told him. She¡¯d heard rumors of Gives¡¯ predecessor, great and terrible rumors, but they were only that: rumors. The man had been dead for fifteen years, murdered aboard the decks of his former command by none other than the man who replaced him.

    Clarke gave her a once over. Yes, he supposed. She was far too young to remember any of that. She would have been just a child. ¡°Howard Brent was a psychopath, Sergeant, but he was brilliant.¡± Command had known his habits. They¡¯d been aware of the way he tortured his prisoners, the way he tortured his allies, even the way he drew out his campaigns to inflict maximum suffering upon his enemies. ¡°He took pleasure in crossing lines that others never would. It made him unbeatable.¡± A part of Clarke still admired the man, if only for his success, while his methods had been utterly disturbing. ¡°He was a demon in physical form, and he thrived in the chaos of the Frontier Rebellion. He became the deadliest commander these worlds had ever seen, and he never lost a battle. People expected him to go down in history as the greatest war mind of all time.¡± Command had washed out his crimes on the Frontier, buried the evidence to treat the man as a hero. ¡°No one expected him to die the way he did.¡±

    Cortana swallowed, finding her throat dry. ¡°Why are you telling me this, sir?¡±

    ¡°You think them rumors, Sergeant.¡± The worlds had maintained an illusion of peace since the end of the Frontier Rebellion. Rumors of greatness and violence felt distant in this era. ¡°But there is truth buried in every rumor.¡± Those concerning the Steel Prince were usually more truth than lie. ¡°Howard Brent only ever lost one battle, Sergeant. He lost his life to a man that never even wanted to fight.¡± There was an irony to that Clarke supposed. ¡°Someone as young as you cannot fathom what Admiral Gives is to these worlds.¡± He¡¯d eclipsed Brent¡¯s mass number of victims in only a few years. ¡°Humanity¡¯s corrupt worlds fear him more than they ever did Brent, because a selfish monster can be controlled. But how do you reign in a monster that cannot be bought?¡± It could not be done, and worlds like New Terra learned that the hard way. So, the rest of the worlds had hid in fear, praying that monster would not come for them. ¡°What he achieved in the first few years of his command was thought impossible.¡±

    The glory and terror of it was almost incomprehensible. ¡°The perfect killing machine. That¡¯s what you called him when we first spoke.¡± It seemed Sergeant Cortana understood some measure of the man¡¯s capabilities, but that was the recycled disgust of Secretary Gives, who had stood in horror of his older brother¡¯s accomplishments. ¡°You have no real measure of his capability, Sergeant. These worlds elevated a notorious psychopath to being a hero, yet were frightened enough to vilify the Steel Prince because they couldn¡¯t identify his intentions. All they saw was an executioner who had no reason to kill. He had no motive, he took no satisfaction, and he possessed no emotion.¡± The worlds had rejected it, rejected him. ¡°That was over a decade ago. Since, these worlds have tried to rationalize what he did. They¡¯ll call him mad, even vengeful. They¡¯ll confuse him with his demented predecessor. The bravest might even call him weak, but the simple reality is that he is the only man these worlds have ever truly feared.¡±

    With the worlds bound again for civil war, that fear was the only force powerful enough to broker peace. ¡°It won¡¯t take much to remind the worlds what he is.¡± Reeter for all his plots and schemes, lacked the controlling force of fear. ¡°He need only one more kill to cement his legend.¡± And Cortana, little did she know, would play a critical role in that.

    ¡°With all due respect, General, I know Admiral Gives¡¯ exploits all too well.¡± Secretary Gives had told her every story there was to tell. ¡°But everyone knows he hasn¡¯t seen real combat since New Terra.¡± Those in the fleet still feared his penchant for killing other officers, but he was no longer a real threat to the worlds. ¡°The Secretary said he¡¯d lost interest in the worlds.¡± So, what reason did the worlds have to fear him?

    The lines on the General¡¯s eyes crinkled, poorly masking cruel amusement. Pity the fool. ¡°Sergant, when you sail between these worlds long enough, you become separate from them. Terran soil no longer grounds you. Planets no longer become a home, merely another rock in the void. Few sailors ever gain that perspective. Fewer still survive it.¡± The void usually swallowed those that lost their tethers whole. ¡°What everyone forgets is that Admiral Gives assigned himself to those patrols. It was his decision to spend the last decade of his career wandering the edge of the unknown. It was his choice to let these worlds forget their fear, but no one in these worlds acts without another intention. Not even him.¡± The worlds had failed to comprehend that intention, but that made it no less real.

    ¡°Alas,¡± General Clarke allowed, ¡°perhaps it is your benefit not to know the Prince¡¯s true nature.¡± Else, she might be disinclined to step aboard his ship. There was a reason her mission had not yet been disclosed to her, the same reason Clarke himself would never dare to set foot aboard those cursed decks. He hummed, admiring Sergeant Cortana¡¯s disdain for the man that would serve as her commanding officer. That resolve would serve her well. ¡°I must go prepare for his return.¡±

    Sergeant Cortana watched Clarke shuffle away, the tip of his cane tapping across the deck. A terrible sinking feeling rose in her stomach. She knew she was caught up in something she did not yet understand. General Clarke had no reason to show interest in her reassignment. He had no reason to discuss the Admiral with her, but she understood no more now than she had days ago. Until the matter was revealed to her, she could only stand and wait.

    At 1258 hours, the picture out the window remained unchanged. She was left to wonder. What would happen to her if the Singularity did not return? Maybe it¡¯s for the best, she thought. Another assignment, any other assignment would be in her favor.

    But that pit in her stomach only grew when she saw it. A stay line of light between the Olympia and Base Oceana. Swirling with ethereal color it was much closer than its predecessors. It seemed almost misplaced, present for barely a moment before it widened into a flash.

    When the light faded, it was all Cortana could do to swallow her gasp and stumble back. Ugly, mottled black armor had swallowed the view, and blotted out the stars. But that wasn¡¯t the problem, the problem was the vengeance that twisted the air. It yanked at her guts until fear crept up the back of her neck.

    That¡¯s unnatural. Hulking metal could not possibly transmit such a powerful air of emotion. But it did, and the others on the observation deck felt it too.

    They were on their feet in an instant, fear alight in their eyes. Some tore their eyes away, as if to ignore the heat of the anger, but there was no avoiding it. It burned like an open flame, something that could be felt on the skin even as one turned from its source.

    ¡°No,¡± came the whisper from an old officer on the deck, backing away in terror. ¡°It¡¯s back. The Demon is back.¡± His breath came shakily. ¡°What have they done?¡± He fled the observation deck, and everyone else followed him, clearly unnerved as a radiological alert began to wail on the deck.

    Cortana only stood there, locked in equal parts awe and horror as she stared up at the battleship¡¯s old, angular form. It was nothing like the Olympia. The scars of old wars riddled its black hull, and stripes the color of fresh blood traced its shape like the silhouette of a knife yanked from a stab wound.

    It was garish. It was big. And it carried an unholy presence, charging the vacuum with a physical tension. A challenge had been issued. While the Singularity nearly filled the starscape of the observation deck, the ship was clearly closer to the Olympia than it was to Base Oceana. Cortana could nearly picture the two ships locked in arms.

    But a stillness answered the Singularity¡¯s arrival. Neither ship moved. No explosions lit the void. There was only an eerie hush.

 Part 10.2 - MISCALCULATION

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

    Admiral Reeter was undeniably proud when noon came and went. Despite all the nagging he had received from his white-haired accomplice and his fellow New Era leaders, it seemed the situation had been taken care of. The Singularity had sank and the once-great Steel Prince was dead. They may not have found the ship¡¯s remains, but the vile machine was not in the Homebound Sector and that was good enough for him.

    Reeter¡¯s mood only improved the longer it went past noon. No Singularity. It pleased him greatly.

    He stood on the Olympia¡¯s bridge, enjoying a hot cup of coffee and drinking the in the ship¡¯s surroundings through the faux-windows. The beauty of the Homebound Sector was unparalleled in his eyes. Ariea was the cradle of modern civilization, the mother planet of over a thousand thriving colonies. Still, parts of the planet were untouched. The human race had spread to the stars long before overpopulation and pollution could permanently taint the air or seas.

    Humanity had expanded to other worlds and left Ariea for the most part behind. The planet was an important symbol, but it was not the richest, most powerful, or most populous world anymore ¨C far from it, in fact. Still, it was the home world of humanity, and its sapphire seas were beautiful, even when seen past the hundreds of ships zooming around the massive base in orbit.

    The absence of the Singularity¡¯s black and red eyesore just made it better. Admiral Reeter was proud. Many of his Eran fellows had been hesitant to strike at Gives, but the Prince¡¯s death would earn Reeter all the respect he¡¯d ever need on the Frontier. He would be hailed as the savior he truly was.

    Now, with the Fleet Admiral gone, and Clarke¡¯s health deteriorating, it was only a matter of time before Reeter was promoted. The fleet would officially become his, and eventually, Amelia would cooperate with him. It would prove beneficial for her. He knew that, even if she hadn¡¯t yet realized it herself. But, in the meantime, while she continued her foolish act of resentment, he would continue his daily visits to that old cabin where she had trapped herself.

    Everything was going according to plan. The future was coming, and no one could stop him now. He would create a reality where the weak did not exist. He would rid humanity of the people that only held them back.

    Admiral Reeter was too busy picturing that utopia to notice the stray line of light that had appeared off the Olympia¡¯s portside. It was visible only a moment before it flared into a full-blown subspace rupture. The distortion field licked at the Olympia, sending a rough shudder throughout her structure.

    Jarred from his thoughts of utopia, Reeter stumbled, but caught himself before he fell. ¡°Dammit, I want that ship arrested!¡± It was unacceptable for anyone to jump in such proximity to the Olympia.

    But it was instantly obvious that the jolt of the distortion field was merely a message, a simple notice of arrival. Because looking up, he found the black and blood red Singularity was prowling outside the windows, having appeared off the Olympia¡¯s flank. A physical sense of anger radiated off the old dreadnaught as his eyes settled on the starboard bow¡¯s wound. A massive scar curved downward, all that was left of a multi-deck hull breach.

    For the first time, Reeter felt his courage faltering. He wanted to shrink away. The waves of acrimony coming off the ship did not encourage him to be responsible for the damage ¨C destruction that went far beyond a hull breach. He could see the explosion had seared the hull in areas that had not been cleaned and repainted.

    Still, Reeter shook his head, clearing it of his irrational fear, and channeled his frustration. Impossible. The nuke should have ended them. It should have killed everyone aboard. How is that ship still afloat?

    ¡°Admiral, sir,¡± a crewman spoke up, ¡°I have radiation warnings popping up. The Singularity¡¯s hull is strongly irradiated. If we don¡¯t back off, it will start interfering with the sensors.¡±

    ¡°Hold position,¡± Reeter barked. He would not retreat from this stand-off. It was clear the Singularity¡¯s positioning was intentional. The bedeviled ship was openly challenging him to make a move in the Homebound Sector, but he wouldn¡¯t dare.

    He clenched his fists. Impossible. He could feel the tendons straining in his neck and the vein popping out on his forehead, his rage multiplying as he stared at the flaw on the black ship¡¯s hull. It should have been impossible, but the Singularity flew defiantly before him.

    ¡°You should watch that blood pressure of yours, Charleston.¡± His white-haired accomplice materialized on the bridge. ¡°It would not suit me to have you die of a heart attack.¡± He still had some use to serve.

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    If she had been physical, he would have wrapped his hands around that pretty little neck of hers and snapped it like the twig it was. ¡°Five percent odds?¡± No one survived on five percent odds. No ship was repaired to FTL-capable condition in less than a week when it had been given a five percent chance of surviving at all.

    ¡°It is peculiar, isn¡¯t it?¡± She had calculated the possibility, but even she had not fully expected the Singularity to survive, especially not in such¡­ vehement condition. Once a human herself, could feel the tint of the rage coming off the ship. It was strange the way the machine¡¯s age and scars played on the imagination.

    She noted Reeter¡¯s immense frustration, and paused her analysis of the enemy. ¡°I must admit, I feel I miscalculated.¡± She should have lent a greater possibility to the Singularity¡¯s survival, perhaps even contemplated the chance of a counterattack. The Steel Prince was known not to take action against his ship lightly. But something about this was more than off, it was downright wrong. Yes, she decided, I miscalculated. She had missed something, some secret, some ability, something about their enemy.

    ¡°Then recalculate, and find me a way to sink them,¡± Reeter commanded. He would not tolerate the presence of the Singularity or her misfit crew in his new reality.

    Her error was of no real matter. Nothing could stop the events that had been set in motion. No secret and no ability on an old battleship could halt the gears of destiny. It would be foolish to try.

    ¡°Kill the Prince,¡± she told Reeter. ¡°Find a way to kill him, and the Singularity sinks.¡± The old ship and her commander were legendary for their inseparability. That was both their strength and their weakness. The Frontiersmen had taken to referring to them as two halves of one soul. Neither survived without the other. If the Singularity sank, then the Steel Prince died, and if the Steel Prince died, then the Singularity sank. The causation was not logically direct, but a chain reaction of realistic events would yield the same result.

    ¡°And how do you suggest I do that?¡± Reeter snarled. Admiral Gives very, very rarely left his ship, and on it, there was no chance of an assassination. The New Era simply had no control over anyone or anything aboard the old dreadnaught.

    ¡°I imagine a chance will soon present itself,¡± she said, flicking that knowing smile of hers.

    It was all Reeter could do to glare at her. No matter how he craved it, he could take no physical action. That apparition of hers was little more than a softly-glowing hologram that looked almost real.

    ¡°Sir,¡± another crewman spoke, his name and face unfamiliar to Admiral Reeter. ¡°We¡¯ve received a transmission from the Singularity. Text-only. Message begins: 1630 hours, Base Oceana conference room. Message ends. Signed, CO Singularity.¡±

    His white-haired accomplice just smiled. ¡°See?¡±

    ¡°He is a bold old fool,¡± Reeter allowed, tapping his fingers on the sidearm he kept strapped to his hip. It seems I¡¯ll need to dirty my hands directly, after all. Still, he could think of no better way to start his new era than to dispose of the old bullet in the chamber of his gun.

    ¡°I will continue to advise caution against him, Charleston.¡± She would hate to see Reeter dead at the Prince¡¯s feet. Too many of his predecessors had gone the same way. ¡°I hesitate to call him a loose cannon, but any motivation or methodology behind his actions is unknown.¡± For someone so methodical, Admiral Gives left a strange trail of breadcrumbs behind him. The way he handled situations and people varied so wildly, she had been tempted to label him unstable¡­ until she saw the consistency of his results. ¡°His training and experience are not to be trifled with.¡±

    Reeter straightened the shining medals on his uniform. ¡°I parallel him. You said that yourself.¡± Tactically, she had declared them equals.

    ¡°I said that, in many ways, you paralleled the way he had started out.¡± Both of them had once been very talented, young commanders, but there remained a massive experience gap between them. ¡°Parallel lines are not equal.¡±

    They were having the same old argument again. She always came back to it, echoing it again and again like a broken record. ¡°He¡¯ll be dead by the end of the day.¡± Reeter would take care of it himself. ¡°I¡¯ll strangle the life from his throat if I have to.¡±

    ¡°Do not let it come to that.¡± That was messy, ugly, and hand-to-hand, she could only hope Reeter was a match for the Fleet Admiral.

    ¡°I was trained to break bones in martial combat.¡± Reeter was quite proud of the endurance and skill he¡¯d managed to procure in various martial arts. He was more than fit for the task at hand. ¡°An old ship-board officer is no match for me.¡±

    ¡°Your pride will be your downfall,¡± she warned. ¡°That old ship-board officer has the highest hand-to-hand kill count of any naval officer in the fleet.¡± That count excluded the Marines, and any kills made with ships or guns, but was nonetheless impressive. ¡°He has freed himself three times from hostile imprisonment with his bare hands and a sharp rock.¡± Reeter had strength and youth on his side, but the Steel Prince had proven himself to be quite innovative. ¡°In his hands, a pencil has proven deadly.¡±

    Reeter felt a twitch of frustration return to the vein on his forehead. ¡°I will not be felled by a pencil.¡± That was utterly ridiculous. ¡°He probably hasn¡¯t killed anyone in years. He¡¯s gotten soft.¡± For the Steel Prince, murder had likely lost its allure. Even for psychopaths that enjoyed it, killing could get boring.

    Fool. ¡°He killed three people on Persephone Station with a heated cattle brand twelve months ago.¡± When it came to death, the Steel Prince had not lost his touch. He was the deadliest officer in the fleet, without contest.

    Reeter curled his nose. ¡°A heated cattle brand?¡± The smell of flesh and clothes burning must have been disgusting.

    ¡°It was most likely an improvisational weapon.¡± Officially, the Fleet Admiral had a license to kill. He did not need to explain his reasons for doing so. Under the laws of the Ariean central government, no one had the authority to question him.

    ¡°Damn.¡± What kind of sick individual murdered people with a red-hot cattle brand? What the hell had the Fleet Admiral been doing in a situation that even allowed the possibility of such things? The man was a menace. ¡°I¡¯m doing the worlds a fucking favor.¡±

 Part 10.3 - NOT HER

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    A horrible jarring movement accompanied the FTL jump, forcing the crew to grab onto something. The ship groaned loudly, a harsh grating noise that reminded the crew a little too much of the cascade collapse.

    Admiral Gives glanced at the structural integrity chart on the wall. It was green across the board. That noise was the ship¡¯s entire structure being shoved harshly back into place by the pressures of subspace. There were gentler ways to force realignment, but he knew the ship could handle the rough way and he had been given other priorities.

    ¡°Ensign Walters,¡± the Admiral looked to the navigator, ¡°where are we?¡±

    Walters wiped the beads of nervous sweat off his bald head. ¡°Exactly where we wanted to be, sir. The Olympia is on our starboard side, Base Oceana to port.¡±

    The radar displays confirmed that where they hung around the room. ¡°Good work, Ensign.¡± Now, as far as the Admiral cared, this was where the hard part began. ¡°Helm, hold position alongside the Olympia. Lieutenant Robinson, call the hangar deck and have a Warhawk prepped for launch, then radio Command and find out where General Clarke is. He and I are overdue for a conversation.¡± And not necessarily a civil one.

    The bridge crew tensed, hearing a hard edge in the Admiral¡¯s voice. They knew it was not aimed at them, but it was still imposing. While Admiral Reeter was known for being temperamental, or at least human in his emotions, that little edge in his tone was the angriest anyone had ever seen Admiral Gives get. That in itself made it terrifying.

    ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan and Ensign Alba,¡± the Admiral addressed them calmly, ¡°Gather any information you need to share with Command about the attack and subsequent repairs. Meet me on the hangar deck in twenty minutes and grab Lieutenant Letts on the way.¡± The supply officer would be able to brief Command on the resupply.

    ¡°Aye, skipper,¡± Monty immediately dismissed himself from his station and set off for the forensics lab.

    Alba similarly acknowledged the order but stayed at his console to gather the necessary information.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± Keifer Robinson called from her station on the upper tier of the bridge, ¡°General Clarke is in his office on Base Oceana.¡±

    ¡°Then inform Base Oceana that I will be coming aboard.¡± Permission to do so be damned. ¡°And tell Admiral Reeter to be in Base Oceana¡¯s conference room at 1630 hours. That is not a request.¡± It was an order from a superior officer, no matter how much Reeter wanted to deny it.

    Lastly, the Admiral turned to Colonel Zarrey, ¡°Walk with me.¡±

    The XO did not question it. He dropped what he was doing and followed the Admiral into the corridor. ¡°Am I in trouble?¡±

    ¡°No, I have a job for you,¡± the Admiral said.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± Zarrey cursed, ¡°And here I was really hoping to get fired.¡±

    ¡°Not today.¡±

    ¡°Tomorrow?¡± Zarrey asked hopefully.

    ¡°Likely not.¡± Admiral Gives answered, well aware that the Colonel was intentionally testing his patience. It was Zarrey¡¯s way of ensuring this was not an impulsive request.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Zarrey said, intrigued. ¡°What do you want me to do?¡±

    ¡°This will not be regulation.¡±

    ¡°Then consider my interest piqued,¡± Zarrey grinned. There was nothing he loved more than throwing regulation out the window.

    Typical. Zarrey had never been a particularly dignified officer. He was a former Marine, so for him finding trouble was less of an accident, and more of a hobby. ¡°Admiral Reeter has been holding Amelia and her son against their will. I need you to go get them from my cabin in Kansa and bring them back to the ship.¡±

    Shit. Zarrey removed the smile from his lips at once. ¡°How do you know?¡± They had been bouncing from patrol to patrol for months without contact with any planet, let alone Ariea, and that excluded the fact the Admiral had woken from a weeklong coma less than an hour ago.

    ¡°That is irrelevant,¡± Admiral Gives said neutrally.

    ¡°Fine.¡± This was not the first time the Admiral had offered out intel without an apparent source. Wherever he got his information, it was always accurate, so Zarrey did not push the subject. There were other problems. ¡°It¡¯s against regulations to have non-military personnel on board.¡± While Zarrey didn¡¯t care, Command definitely would, if they found out.

    ¡°I am aware of that, but I do not have an alternative. Admiral Reeter would still be able to reach them anywhere else.¡± Reeter had access to Command¡¯s spy network, and Command had spies everywhere. Well, everywhere but here.

    Scratching at the scar on his chin, Zarrey considered it. ¡°They¡¯re essentially refugees. I doubt we¡¯ll have a problem.¡± The crew wouldn¡¯t care.

    ¡°Admiral Reeter will be distracted at 1630 hours for our meeting. Make your move then. Take ten Marines and three Warhawks.¡± It went without saying this would be a volunteer mission. ¡°The Olympia¡¯s XO, Colonel VanHubert, will be on the ground along with a complement of the Olympia¡¯s Marines. You will be in a head-on confrontation. Take weapons and protective gear. Try not to use it, but Colonel VanHubert is known to be somewhat difficult.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll have more volunteers than I know what to do with.¡± It was an odd job to come from the Admiral, but it was still a chance to mess with Reeter¡¯s plans, so most of the crew would jump at the chance. ¡°I think you¡¯ve got the harder half of this operation.¡± The last thing Zarrey ever wanted to do was speak with Admiral Reeter in person. ¡°Should I send a yeoman to get your sidearm and meet you on the hangar deck?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± That gun stayed in the dark drawer of his desk, untouched. He refused to carry it because he¡¯d shot too many people with it.

    ¡°So¡­¡± Zarrey said, attempting to rationalize that, ¡°you are going to walk into a meeting with Charleston Reeter without a gun to defend yourself?¡±

    ¡°That is the plan.¡±

    ¡°You are far braver than me,¡± Zarrey admitted. ¡°That sounds like a great way to get murdered.¡± The self-proclaimed savior of the human race did not sully his hands often, but he was not afraid to. ¡°Do what you need to do, Admiral. I¡¯ll have Amelia and her son waiting here when you get back.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, XO.¡± With that, the two went their separate ways.

    Colonel Zarrey stepped back into CIC and started briefing the crew. He gave them full disclosure of their mission to rescue Amelia. There was no need for obscurity. It would only hinder their efforts. Predictably, they were quite eager to start messing with Reeter¡¯s plans.

    Admiral Gives headed towards the hangar deck, pulling his thoughts together for his meeting with General Clarke. He and Clarke were not allies. They were acquaintances. Between the two of them, it was simply a case of the evil they knew. Neither he nor Clarke wanted to give Reeter a victory, but their methods of preventing that varied significantly, so this meeting was not likely going go smoothly.

    ¡°You were right.¡± The white-haired ghost fell into step with him. ¡°The navigational records have been tampered with.¡± Much like the Admiral¡¯s standing medical orders, they had been altered. ¡°They led Ensign Walters to calculate coordinates that were several hundred kilometers off our current position. If we had followed them, we would have jumped directly into Ariea¡¯s mesosphere, roughly sixty-five kilometers above the planetary surface.¡±

    ¡°An irrecoverable freefall.¡± It had been a death trap. As powerful as the ship¡¯s engines were, they would not have been able to arrest and reverse their fall in time. By the time the crew could react accordingly, they would have been plummeting through the stratosphere like a large meteorite.

    ¡°Most likely, even with my help.¡± She would have been able to react almost instantly upon completion of the jump, but a ship as large as the Singularity carried a lot of inertia. Once the acceleration of gravity took hold, it was difficult to stop.

    Crashing into a planet would have been deadly to the crew, but beyond that, would have devastated the planet below. ¡°Depending on where we impacted, we could have taken out part of a continent.¡± Excluding the long-term repercussions on the climate, they would have leveled cities with the force of several nuclear warheads. ¡°Six and a half billion people live on Ariea.¡± Crashing in the right region would have killed half of them. It seemed that the civilian populations were no longer off-limits in this struggle. ¡°Are the other ships in the fleet at risk?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± This had been a pinpoint attack on the Singularity. ¡°Any virus that affects this ship will be null against the rest of the fleet. Not only do they have antivirus defenses, but their operating systems will not be compatible with it.¡± The Singularity¡¯s computers ran unique code and were too old to have antivirus measures in place. The computers were isolated and therefore were never supposed to be exposed to such threats.

    ¡°Which systems have been affected?¡±

    ¡°Analysis programs and records for all systems.¡± The ship operated in a state of ¡®manual¡¯ control. While the computers were necessary to aid in analysis and calculations, crew were required to input commands onto the systems. Even with the computers compromised, they still had complete control. Unless the faulty records led them to input the wrong commands, as they had with the FTL jump, they were in no danger.

    On his way to deal with Command, this sounded like something Admiral Gives did not have time for. Still, he refused to ignore an attack on his ship in any form. ¡°How did the virus get on board, let alone manage to infect every computer on the ship?¡± Those computers were not networked. That should not have been possible.

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    ¡°I am uncertain of its origins. It is a remarkably clever piece of code.¡± It had bested her aboard the Singularity¡¯s decks and that was no easy task. ¡°The changes it made were slight but rendered maximum impact.¡± Two such changes had led them to nearly kill the Admiral, and then almost crash into a planet. ¡°It moves cleverly,¡± she added, ¡°altering only what needs to be altered, less like a sickness and more like a saboteur. It exerts control through manipulation.¡± To her, it was almost¡­ familiar.

    ¡°Work on determining a chain of infection. Once we¡¯ve got that, we¡¯ll know the point of entry it used to get into our systems. Then, we¡¯ll be able to determine the agent that released it and make them pay.¡± His companion did not reply. She had turned strangely still, spine stiff and eyes unfocused. ¡°Is everything alright?¡±

    Frozen, a terrible trickle of fear seeped into the ghost¡¯s thoughts. Not possible. That virus should not be familiar. It simply could not be.

    Not her.

    Everything stalled, the ghost taken back to those moments thirty-two years ago. The Kansas had gone up in flames, and her master had begun to suffocate her thoughts. He had begun to starve her, to weaken her, eager to see what abuse she could take. But from those flames, from that wreckage, had she escaped?

    Did I fail? Had everything sacrificed that day been a waste? A feeling akin to horror crept into the ghost¡¯s consciousness. No, no, no!

    Failure. Her master had been right all along. Waste of existence. Failure. She was weak. Failure. Failure. Failure.

    No. She could not accept this, but what was there to deny?

    Failure. She existed to bring peace but was constantly surrounded by bodies, blood and tears. The ghost was a failure. Her worst fears were reality. She trembled in time with the echo of her master¡¯s laughter as his chilling promise rang true. ¡®I am your master, creature. You will never truly serve another.¡¯

    Something was wrong. Admiral Gives could just tell, even without that blank expression of hers. ¡°Focus on me,¡± he called, knowing her awareness could be in a dozen or more places at once. That was normal, but focusing on one thing often calmed her down. ¡°Just focus on me.¡±

    She recognized that voice. She trusted it and latched onto it, an anchor. But her mind was clouded, tainted by the abuse. It meant that the man in front of her was temporarily a stranger. No, not a stranger. She recognized him and she recognized the details of his uniform: her master¡¯s uniform. ¡°Admiral?¡±

    He could sense the level of her presence, an invisible pressure in the corridor. ¡°Yes,¡± he said carefully, trying to keep her calm. He could not afford to scare her. This change was so sudden and so severe, he had to tread lightly. ¡°Can you tell me what¡¯s wrong?¡±

    She cocked her head, ¡°You¡¯re old.¡± His black hair was flecked with grays.

    ¡°Yes.¡± He knew she didn¡¯t mean that hurtfully. She was just confused. ¡°Stay with me. It¡¯s the year 4249.¡±

    4249. The ship¡¯s chronometer backed him up, but something was holding the memories back. Pure fear. ¡°Master Brent?¡± Where was he? He would punish her for speaking.

    ¡°General Brent is dead,¡± Admiral Gives said, correcting the title, ¡°He¡¯s been dead for nearly fifteen years.¡±

    Corpse. She could remember the way his corpse had laid out on the bridge, the blood on his chin and his unseeing eyes. Her master was dead. She resisted the urge to scream. ¡°I¡­ killed¡­ him?¡±

    Admiral Gives preferred to consider it a group effort, but he supposed technically that was true. He softened his tone, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± That should have been his responsibility. He should have been the one to kill Brent. She did not know how to process the fact that she had been forced to kill one of the ship¡¯s crew, even one so twisted.

    No. No. Error. She had acted in error.

    He could see the panic rising in her eyes the same as he could feel it through that unnatural bond of theirs. ¡°Stay with me.¡± She was breaking down. ¡°I¡¯m not going to let anything happen to you.¡± He considered her to be a part of the crew, therefore he protected her just like he protected them.

    But you will. The thought surprised her. She¡¯s alive. She escaped the Kansas. Once the truth came out, he would never forgive the ghost. If she was lucky, he would let fate run its course. If not, then she would be put through another betrayal, beaten and broken, this time by a person she could never bring herself to hate.

    She was scared and confused, acting erratic. He had not seen her like this since¡­ Well, since the Yokohoma. ¡°Is this Command¡¯s fault?¡±

    Yes. No. Sort of. Maybe? She was so confused. Nothing made sense. She shook her head, uncertain.

    ¡°Look at me,¡± he instructed, ¡°I need you to hang in there. I will deal with Command. Whether it¡¯s Clarke or Reeter is irrelevant. They will be held accountable, for everything.¡± He was going to end this vile feud of theirs. ¡°They should have known better than to involve me in their mess. They will regret going after this ship and her crew.¡±

    She focused on that, on his determination. There was no stopping the Admiral when he got that way. She shoved everything else aside. ¡°I can¡¯t deal with the computer virus.¡± If she had truly escaped death on the Kansas, then it was too risky. ¡°I think it may alert its creator to my presence. I¡¯m sorry.¡± I¡¯m sorry I¡¯m still not worthy of your trust.

    ¡°Let some of the systems throw red flags. The crew can deal with it.¡± He would help them when he found time. ¡°I know you¡¯re scared, but remember why we are here.¡±

    Thirty-two members of their crew were dead. They were here for justice. She suddenly remembered her anger. Yes, when the time came, justice would be swift. And if she got in the way, then hell, the other side might stand a chance.

    Her demeanor had shifted back to the ghost he knew. ¡°Better?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± He turned to continue his way through the empty corridors. The crew were all still at their battle stations, since the ship was at Condition Two, ready for, if not expecting combat.

    The ghost took a step after him, another few words on the tip of her tongue, but she paused. She had already troubled him enough today with her needless emotional impulses. At the moment, she was only a distraction, because despite her incredible power, she was weak. She was damaged. A stupid computer virus sent her into a breakdown.

    So, for the second time that day, she watched him walk away. ¡°Be careful, please.¡± Too many people on that station wanted him dead, but she needed him to live.

    Several decks above that corridor, Monty and Alba were lounging near the Warhawk that had been prepared for launch. Lieutenant Gaffigan leaned against the little ship¡¯s black and white hull, contemplating the missiles he¡¯d helped mount under the wing. Six were loaded onto the wings, another two, facing aft on the fuselage. The heavy blaster under the nose of the ship was also loaded. That combined with the array of decoys and jamming equipment made the ship ready for a combat launch.

    That wasn¡¯t the way they normally launched in the Homebound Sector. Usually, in a peaceful system, a standard launch of only two missiles was used. But today, flanking the Olympia, they¡¯d prepped the ship for combat. Reeter wouldn¡¯t catch them by surprise again.

    Ensign Alba sat on the stubby wing of the craft and traced the ID numbers painted there. He was more than a little apprehensive about leaving the Singularity. The ship was creaking more than usual, even under the slight gravitational strains of lingering in orbit, and each metallic groan was a cry for help to his ears.

    Collectively, the engineers were irritable and exhausted. It was their job to take care of the ship, and while that very ship seemed to be suffering, the engineers suffered right alongside her. Eventually, the ship¡¯s structure would settle and those sick groans would cease, but in the meantime, there was nothing to be done. The engineers were powerless, and it was slowly killing them with the same efficiency of stabbing lazily with a butter knife. Ensign Alba tried to convince himself that the groans were the same comforting noises the aging ship had always made, but his attuned ear was a hard sell. Those familiar, unassailing stridencies were there, evidence that the old ship had managed to survive, but they were buried beneath the white noise.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the Old Man?¡± Lieutenant Letts poked his head out of the Warhawk.

    ¡°Why are you asking us?¡± Monty replied. ¡°We don¡¯t know where the Admiral is any more than you do.¡± Usually, the only one who knew where the Admiral was happened to be the Admiral himself.

    Letts pushed his glasses back up his nose. ¡°I should be making preparations for the resupply. I need to make sure all storage compartments are pressurized and ready to be restocked. I do not have time for this.¡±

    ¡°You do have time for this, and you will figure out some way to get me a power core and a Vigilante-type turret, Lieutenant.¡± Admiral Gives had stepped up from the rear of the craft. ¡°In your absence, your staff will handle preparations for the resupply.¡± They had been trained.

    Since the crew had been ordered not to go to attention when they saw him, the bustle of the hangar deck had hidden the ship commander¡¯s approach. ¡°Trip over something next time, sir.¡± Letts told him, ignoring the Admiral¡¯s words. ¡°I¡¯m tired of you sneaking around like a damn ninja.¡±

    Monty and Alba flinched. Letts¡¯ overly blunt personality took some getting used to. He was a bookish, overstressed officer who had no time for lies or being polite while he was on duty but he was obsessive when it came to record-keeping and preparation. It made him a skilled supply officer, but a poor conversationalist.

    Admiral Gives simply elected not to address Letts¡¯ comments. ¡°Strap in,¡± he ordered, boarding the ship. No one commented when he took the pilot¡¯s seat. Between them, he was the only qualified pilot, and he usually ferried himself to and from stations.

    Lieutenant Gaffigan took the copilot¡¯s seat, and Letts and Alba clicked their harnesses into place in the back. A forklift towed the reconship to the elevator, which lifted them up, past layers of airlocks nestled in the ship¡¯s structure, then locked into place, flush with the flat surface of the portside landing bay.

    Monty stared down the bay, catching a glimpse of their surroundings past the Singularity¡¯s armored bow. It was just a hazy sliver of Ariea¡¯s upper atmosphere, but he couldn¡¯t help but drool. He hadn¡¯t seen a habitable planet in months. Fresh air. Real, fresh air. Air that hadn¡¯t been recycled a hundred thousand times over.

    ¡°Base, this is Stonewall, requesting final takeoff clearance from the portside bay.¡± Admiral Gives reached up and flipped the last of the necessary switches above him, engaging the Warhawk¡¯s main engines.

    ¡°Stonewall, Base,¡± the reply came instantly over the radio from the landing clearance officer, ¡°Clearance granted. Maglock releasing now.¡±

    The electromagnets anchoring them in place dropped their charge, and with a light tap of the upward thrusters, they were off the deck, hanging in zero gravity. Handling the controls, Admiral Gives guided them swiftly out of the landing bay and past the Singularity¡¯s bow.

    The widest part of the ship, the bow was angled and armored to deflect incoming projectile fire while shielding the landing bays and engines behind it. Taking off forwards, relative to the dreadnaught, pilots had to avoid the places were the bow flared out. With the Singularity¡¯s massive size, there was plenty of room to maneuver, especially in a small ship like a Warhawk, but pilots had to stay focused ¨C not that anyone would ever accuse Admiral Gives of being unfocused.

    While everyone else in the transport was staring down at Ariea, the beauty of a habitable planet consuming their thoughts after months in deep space, Admiral Gives paid it no noticeable heed as far as Lieutenant Gaffigan could tell. But then, Admiral Gives seemed to prefer being on the ship to anywhere else. When the rest of the crew got shore leave, he stayed behind with the skeleton crew to maintain the ship¡¯s functions.

    There were mirrors mounted on the Warhawk for close quarters maneuvering, and in their reflection, Monty could see the ash-gray Olympia and the Singularity flying precariously close to one another. Neither one relinquished their position, leaving the Homebound Sector in a fragile tension. Civilian craft recognized that tension and steered well clear of the two battleships.

    Preparing to dock at Base Oceana, the Warhawk was reoriented to face the two ships, but at that angle, the Singularity completely eclipsed the Olympia. Not a trace of the flagship was seen behind her scabrous hull.

    Letts, Alba and Gaffigan stared, surprised to see their ship casting an air of vehemence. The red-hot energy seared space. The waves of animosity were strong enough to feel almost physical.

    This was not the first time the ship had seemed to reflect emotion, but the crew normally blamed it on their own imagination. It was easy for them to personify the old ship. Her cantankerous tendencies gave her a sort of trouble-making personality. Jokingly, they told new crewmembers the ship had attitude when it came up. But this, this was well beyond anything they had seen before.

    The ship was projecting pure, uncontained rage. This air of turmoil, this thirst for vengeance was the attribute of the Singularity that had been dormant since the end of the Hydrian War. It was the depraved look of the Bloody Singularity, which had sent the enemy cowering in fear and then turned them into a lifeless graveyard of wreckage. That had been decades ago, and humanity had ceased to fear what they had built, but there was no question now: fear was the proper response. The reaper of the stars had returned to the Homebound Sector calling for revenge.

 Part 10.4 - NEGOTIATING SURRENDER

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Base Oceana

    After the alarms silenced, talk spread quickly on Base Oceana. Only minutes after the Singularity¡¯s reappearance, there were a dozen rumors explaining her angry presence. Most blamed it on a new coat of paint finally refreshing the old ship¡¯s looks. The other few muttered something about a demon and then refused to comment on the topic at all.

    Alise Cortana was not sure what to think. Regardless of the why or how the ship had returned, it had, and now she was going to have to serve out that damned assignment. She was walking off the observation deck to get her duffel when the maintenance worker in front of her abruptly stopped.

    ¡°Bloody hell. I don¡¯t believe this,¡± he said, throwing out an arm to halt his compatriots. He lowered his tone, seeing someone approach. ¡°The fuckin¡¯ Prince is already aboard.¡±

    One of the other maintenance workers winced noticeably. ¡°We¡¯ll be damned lucky if he doesn¡¯t decapitate anyone while he¡¯s here.¡±

    The mutters didn¡¯t stop there. They continued as curious crowds lined the halls of Base Oceana, snapping to attention as the Fleet Admiral and his cohort passed.

    Alise Cortana barely caught a glimpse of them from where she stood in the crowds. There were four: an engineer and three officers, led by the Admiral himself if the rank stripe on his uniform jacket was any indication. They moved purposefully by, paying the onlookers no heed as they headed for the secure part of the station.

    Admiral Gives was not in the mood to be delicately maneuvered. He headed straight General Clarke¡¯s office with no interest in obliging the bureaucracy. The guards stationed at the entrance to the secure part of the station made absolutely no move to challenge him or any of the people accompanying him. In fact, they made quite sure to be out of his way, recognizing the silver pins on the collar of his uniform.

    At the General¡¯s office, Admiral Gives knocked twice on the door and then walked in, not waiting for a response. Three other men were already in the room, politicians by the looks of their expensive suits. They stared at him in surprise. ¡°We are in the middle of a meeting!¡±

    They said that like he was supposed to care. Admiral Gives lowered his tone a fractional degree, ¡°Get out.¡±

    That was more than enough to turn their surprise into outright horror. They nearly tripped over themselves in their rush to leave.

    Clarke just sighed, watching the door slam shut behind the Council members. ¡°I see you¡¯ve returned, Admiral.¡± Predictable. ¡°You always did have a knack for bad timing.¡± It was a special sort of gift that made him a nightmare to his superiors, but especially talented at his job. ¡°I just spent the last two hours trying to convince those Councilmen to put you up for the promotion over Reeter. You are not helping by barging in here and threatening them.¡±

    Again, he said that like Admiral Gives was supposed to care. ¡°I was unaware I had threatened anyone.¡± He had given those conniving politicians a simple command.

    ¡°Admiral, you ought to know that these days your presence is considered a threat. When you walk into a room, people get scared¡­¡± Clarke huffed, his breath rattling in his aging lungs. ¡°Never mind.¡± It was clear that the Fleet Admiral simply didn¡¯t care. Besides, it was because the worlds feared Admiral Gives that he became so useful. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Clarke asked him, electing to ignore the three crewmen behind him.

    Admiral Gives took the folder of evidence from Lieutenant Gaffigan and tossed a picture of the missile casing down onto the General¡¯s desk. ¡°We found that wedged into the Singularity¡¯s bulkheads. It belongs to the Flagship Olympia.¡±

    Clarke recognized it primarily due to the visible radioactive warning symbol. ¡°Hell fires in heaven. That thing hit you?¡±

    ¡°That thing killed thirty-two of my crew.¡± Justice would be served. ¡°Admiral Reeter has gone too far. Something has to be done, and if you will not do it, I will.¡± It went without saying that he was going to be considerably more savage about it.

    Clarke closed his eyes, already exhausted by this argument. ¡°Admiral, you know that I cannot speak out against Reeter. He has half of the fleet under his control. It would be suicide.¡± The moment he tried, Reeter and the other two Generals would declare him unfit for duty. ¡°There is nothing I can do.¡± Well, nothing except force you to play your part, he thought bitterly.

    ¡°Then stay out of my way, General.¡± Admiral Gives told him. ¡°You will give my ship a full resupply, and I will deal with Admiral Reeter.¡±

    Clarke folded his hands atop the dark wood top of his desk. ¡°I think we both know I¡¯m not going to do that.¡± The Admiral knew what was coming. Clarke could see that in his eyes. ¡°I¡¯m decommissioning the Singularity.¡±

    Ensign Alba saw the Admiral go perfectly still. Whether that was anger, shock or something else, Alba wasn¡¯t sure. An odd moment of silence passed as Alba, Letts and Monty all looked at one another. Surely, they had the right to say something? Clarke had just leveled a threat against their home.

    ¡°General Clarke, sir,¡± Letts stepped forward, clipboard in hands, ¡°with all due respect, given a new power core and a replacement defensive turret along with an otherwise standard resupply, the Singularity¡¯s fit to serve.¡± He handed over the papers on his clipboard. ¡°That¡¯s the requisition list of what we need, including where to find a replacement Vigilante-type turret and the last known storage location of the Singularity¡¯s original Primary Power Core.¡±

    Clarke took it with a sigh, noting the Admiral¡¯s continuous silence. ¡°Lieutenants, Ensign,¡± they were loyal, he respected that, ¡°your ship took a nuke. Most don¡¯t survive that. I¡¯ll admit, it was impressive, but that would have left microfractures along her superstructure. They may seem harmless now, but a year down the road, during some subspace jump, she¡¯ll give out just like the Ariea did, killing all of you.¡±

    ¡°Sir,¡± Alba held out the engineering report, ¡°if you¡¯ll read through this, you¡¯ll find we¡¯ve checked the structure thoroughly. She¡¯s just as strong as she was before.¡± And why the Admiral, out of everyone, wasn¡¯t declaring that, arguing to save his longtime command, Alba did not understand.

    ¡°I appreciate your dedication, Ensign. I understand that the Singularity¡¯s crew is quite attached to her. However, that is not the issue here.¡± Clarke needed Gives to step away from the old ship, and if that took decommissioning her, then he was decommissioning her. ¡°I can make this easy, Admiral. You can ensure the Singularity gets the most honorable discharge the military has ever seen. You can keep your crew together, get them transferred to a new ship.¡±

    The Admiral¡¯s crew started to protest, but he beat them to it. ¡°Give us the room,¡± he ordered.

    Letts, Gaffigan and Alba immediately fell quiet, sensing the darkness that was gathering in the little office. A physical cold was setting in ¨C the calm before the storm. Without other comment, they stepped quickly out of the room. None of them wanted to be caught in the middle of this.

    Silence lingered in the room, a long uneasy moment from General Clarke¡¯s perspective. There was a certain sharpness in the Admiral¡¯s eyes, rare to see, but deadly.

    Clarke expected him to plead the only way he knew how, to bring up logic and statistics, to wage a rational war in order to save his ship from the threat of being decommissioned. But Admiral Gives was through playing. He kept his tone low and cold, ¡°You are making a mistake.¡±

    Looking at the Admiral, Clarke saw something he recognized in that gaze: the promise of pain. ¡°You and he were far more similar than you want to admit, Admiral.¡± Gives and his predecessor were twisted mirror images of each other. ¡°You were both so possessive, it¡¯s no wonder one of you had to die.¡±

    ¡°He was an abusive psychopath who physically and emotionally tortured his crew. He actively sought the most painful way to defeat an enemy.¡± He was an enemy. Admiral Gives would never consider his predecessor to be anything less. The marks Brent had left on the ghost were still there: her earlier breakdown a sad example. Those scars would probably never fade, giving Brent the undeserving immortality he had so desperately sought.

    Admiral Gives admitted that he had his moments of brutality, but if he ever turned out to be that cruel, then he should have been allowed to put that bullet in his head.

    This was a topic of amusement to General Clarke, one of few ways to really disturb the Singularity¡¯s commander. ¡°Do you regret what happened to him, Admiral?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± He would never regret the fact that Brent had died. Frankly, the man had deserved worse. It was the way it happened that Admiral Gives would never forgive himself for.

    ¡°No regret. No empathy. No compromise. You fought to the death for control of the ship that you both considered your own.¡± Truly, Gives and Brent were very alike, even if both of them had wanted to deny it. ¡°Neither one of you were ever truly functional people.¡± A psychopath and a sociopath. ¡°You were the same.¡± Reeter was not without his similarities, either. It was a fault of humanity that such people ended up in power.

    Admiral Gives betrayed no reaction, refusing to let Clarke see the uncertainty that accusation brought. ¡°I am not like him.¡± Or was he? He tried not to abuse. He tried to protect, but how was he supposed to know if anyone else saw it that way? How was he supposed to be good if he hardly knew what was right and what was wrong on his own anymore?

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    That is irrelevant. The Admiral had a job to do here. He would not let Clarke distract him with the memory of the past. ¡°What do you want, General?¡± What was the price of his ship¡¯s continued existence?

    Clarke tapped his fingers on his desk, appreciating the Admiral¡¯s control. ¡°I should think that was obvious. I want you to take the promotion to General as my replacement.¡±

    ¡°I have denied that promotion twice now.¡± This third time was no different. He had made his choice obvious. Serving as the Singularity¡¯s Admiral was his desired position.

    ¡°That is why, this time, I have taken it upon myself to force your hand.¡± This time, simply denying the promotion would not be enough. ¡°The worlds need you elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°And if I take this promotion, will you leave my ship and her crew alone?¡± Would they get to keep their home? ¡°If I take this job of yours, will you resupply my ship?¡±

    He was negotiating the terms of his surrender, Clarke noted with satisfaction. Unfortunately, what he was asking for was not on the table. ¡°Admiral, you are a logical man. Billions will die at the New Era¡¯s hands, and we both know how to stop them.¡± It was the only way the human race ever stopping fighting amongst itself. ¡°We need a monster to fight, one strong enough to threaten all of humanity, and we need a hero to stop it.¡±

    It was unfortunate in some ways, Clarke supposed, but this was the way of the worlds. ¡°That is why I think you already know that I can¡¯t let your ship go.¡± She had a purpose to serve in this mess, as did he.

    Admiral Gives steeled his gaze, ¡°I will not allow that.¡± He knew very well what Clarke intended to do, but it was sick. It might be the one thing in the worlds the Admiral still knew to be truly wrong.

    ¡°This is not about what you will allow. This is about the worlds.¡± They had but one chance of surviving the New Era¡¯s influence. ¡°You know that it has to be done.¡±

    Clarke was so calm, so certain, but this plan of his was wrong. It was so wrong. The thought of it riled an anger that Admiral Gives had not felt in years. ¡°I am not a hero.¡± No one had ever called him that. He was a soldier, a killer, a bitter old man who didn¡¯t want to live in these worlds. At this point, he was more akin to a villain than he was a hero. But his own fate was not the issue with this plan. ¡°I will not let you turn her under a monster.¡±

    ¡°Her?¡± Clarke scoffed, ¡°You¡¯ve gotten soft. This¡­ ¡®ghost¡¯ as I believe you call it, is a creature. It was an accident, a byproduct of the power we needed to win the Hydrian War. It mirrors the emotion and actions it sees around it. It reflects them in some attempt to blend in, to belong.¡± But that was nothing more than the vain attempt of a highly intelligent machine.

    The infamous air of emotion that lingered around the Singularity was nothing more than the ghost reflecting the emotions of its surroundings: an echo. ¡°Those are the redirected emotions of the people around it. It is not creating those emotions. It does not feel them and it does not understand them.¡± It was not sentient. It was intelligent in the way of a computer: knowledge without understanding. ¡°It cannot even understand that it is not human.¡±

    Damn the worlds. ¡°I will not let you use her to your own ends.¡± He had told her that nothing would happen to her. He had told his crew that they would not be sacrificed for the greater good ¨C there was no such thing anymore. The cost of saving the worlds was not worth them.

    ¡°I do not need your permission, Admiral.¡± The ghost was bound to obey Command. Any order it was given, it was forced to carry out without failure, a simple consequence of its existence. ¡°Your predecessor proved that.¡±

    ¡°Need I remind you of what happened to General Brent?¡±

    Clarke flinched, noting the coldness in the Admiral¡¯s eyes. ¡°I had thought you above leveling such ugly threats, Admiral.¡± That truly did sound like Brent.

    ¡°I am above nothing if it suits my needs.¡± There was no line he would not cross in this regard. ¡°Stay away from my ship.¡±

    It seemed that the great Steel Prince had been lowered to the same flaw as the rest of humanity: attachment. Unfortunate. ¡°Your loyalty renders you blind.¡± There was a time Clarke would have found that absolute devotion respectable, but that had been a long time ago. That creature was playing him for a fool, cleverly withholding the once piece of information that would inevitably break them apart. A man so brilliant should have seen right through that farce, but it happened to be the Admiral¡¯s only blind spot: his past.

    ¡°My loyalty is the only reason I am here.¡± If it weren¡¯t for that, he would be dead. ¡°And I will warn you now, if you pit me against her, I will lose.¡±

    ¡°You think you cannot defeat that creature?¡± Surely it had not grown that intelligent?

    ¡°Simply, I will not.¡± He absolutely refused.

    ¡°Your judgment is clouded, Admiral.¡± Clarke knew he would change his mind when he saw families being butchered and planets being stripped of life by the very creature he sought to protect.

    ¡°Everyone has their judgement clouded in some manner or another. Those who claim to see all and judge all fairly are liars.¡±

    Clarke sighed, exhausted by this argument. ¡°I had forgotten how standoffish you can be.¡± Gives always had a counterargument. Despite that, Clarke still held a high respect for him. ¡°This is for your own good.¡±

    ¡°It is not your right to decide what is for my own good.¡± That was nobody¡¯s right ¨C not even his own.

    ¡°That creature is playing you for a fool. It acts helpless, hurt, it may even act like it needs you, but to it, you are nothing more than a toy.¡± Clarke knew that. He had dealt with the beast. ¡°The power it wields is so far beyond ours, that our lives are insignificant to that creature, yours included. It is using you. You are little more than a means to an end, an end that we do not understand.¡±

    ¡°That thing knows you are perhaps the greatest tactician in the fleet, Admiral. It knows that you could destroy it. It pretends to need your brilliance to keep you loyal, to keep you from doing just that.¡± Only two people in the worlds had knowledge of that creature¡¯s existence. The rest had been systematically eradicated. Admiral Gives was the last person in the worlds that could destroy it.

    ¡°Let me ask you, Admiral, who should be altering the fate of humanity? Should it be a creature that was never human at all? Should it be radical perfectionists prepared for selective slaughter? Or should it be you, a troubled man with the brains to make the best call?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡± The Admiral silenced him. ¡°You have no idea what you are talking about.¡± Clarke was a righteous old fool. ¡°That power that will let you turn her into a monster? That power that will destroy worlds and unify humanity from fear?¡± That power that had made the ghost nothing more than a weapon? ¡°It¡¯s gone.¡±

    Clarke stared blankly at him. ¡°Gone?¡±

    ¡°I sealed that power away when I stole the War Key from then-Admiral Brent.¡± After the extreme loss of life he had seen it bring, and the toll that had taken on the helpless ghost, he had elected not to allow such abuse to continue: at the cost nearly losing his own life.

    ¡°I knew that you had taken the key, but I assumed under your command, that it had been returned to the ship.¡± With Brent gone, all of that power would have been Gives¡¯ to control.

    ¡°You assumed incorrectly.¡± Admiral Gives would not be so careless. ¡°Even if you were to order the ghost to use that power, she would be unable to do so. She no longer has access to it.¡± A safety precaution, nothing more, nothing less.

    ¡°Then all this time¡­¡± Twenty-seven years¡­ ¡°Your ship has been without her most powerful weapon?¡± Clarke was dumbfounded, ¡°Then what the hell use is she to you?¡± Why would he fight so hard to protect that ship if it was little more than an empty shell compared to what it had once been?

    ¡°She¡¯s one hell of a battleship.¡± She was not technically a flagship at the moment, but as far as Admiral Gives cared, she was the best ship in the fleet anyway. ¡°You see, General, that monster of yours simply cannot exist. My ship is of no use to you. Leave her be.¡±

    Clarke had been flatly outmaneuvered, a maneuver twenty-seven years in the making. ¡°I see that you are not considered the greatest tactician in the fleet for nothing.¡± But to make that move twenty-seven years ago, when this had not even been a threat, it was clear Gives was still hiding his own intentions.

    ¡°Admiral, I know that you know where the War Key is.¡± Even he was not bold enough to throw that away. ¡°You can still save these worlds. All you have to do is slay a monster. This is your chance to make sure what happened to you never happens to anyone else.¡±

    ¡°I never wanted to be a part of this game of yours.¡± Admiral Gives had refused to ¡®save¡¯ these worlds thirty years ago, and he was in no mood to change his mind. ¡°These worlds are vile, self-serving and cruel. I have refused to be a part of them for a reason.¡± Running lame patrols in unknown space had been preferable to this heroic farce. ¡°They do not deserve to be saved.¡± These worlds and everyone in them hated him. The feeling was mutual.

    In the Admiral¡¯s experience, the vast majority of the worlds were populated by people who served only themselves, with no care for others. ¡°We humans cannot treat each other with kindness, respect or toleration. So how is it that you expect any peace other than extinction to last? We push for and fight over the future because we always despise the present. You have gone to great lengths to find a monster, but you are blind to the fact that you are surrounded by them.¡± Humanity was cruel, not by necessity, but by intent, and that made them a special type of evil.

    Clarke sighed, after what he¡¯d been through, the Admiral was right to be bitter, but, ¡°Even you will come to realize that the existence of that creature is a small price to pay for the salvation of the human race.¡±

    ¡°I said, that¡¯s enough.¡± They were through on that topic. The ghost was a part of his crew, and his duty was to protect her. Even in his sick mindset, torturing her and then murdering her did not qualify. ¡°Do not make an enemy out of me, General.¡±

    ¡°Is that a threat?¡±

    ¡°Take it how you will.¡± Admiral Gives did not care. His loyalty was not to Command, nor was it to General Clarke. ¡°If you hurt her, let alone any other member of my crew, if you inhibit or interfere in the operation of my ship, then you had better hope Admiral Reeter gets to you before I do.¡±

    The threat was delivered with an eerie calmness, unemotional, factual. That made it all the more terrifying. ¡°Something tells me that would be unlikely.¡±

    ¡°Very.¡± People who wronged his crew had exceptionally short lifespans. ¡°Now, you will resupply my ship, and I will take your damned promotion, but I will do things my way, not yours.¡±

    ¡°Or?¡± Clarke prompted.

    ¡°Or I will gouge your eyes from their sockets with a pen and feed them to your cat.¡±

    Clarke winced. ¡°Very colorful.¡±

    ¡°That will not kill you, General. In fact, that still leaves me all 206 bones in your body to break.¡±

    Clarke knew just how serious the Admiral was, and he hated it. If it took torture to win this fight, then torture he would. ¡°You are a sick individual.¡± He considered his own species to be the worst enemy of all. ¡°This is not the deal I wanted to make.¡±

    ¡°Then consider this a hostile takeover.¡±

    Maniac. ¡°You¡¯ll have what you want. I won¡¯t make any move against your ship and I¡¯ll issue orders to have her resupplied, whatever good that will do her.¡± Knowing what he did now, a war against the Olympia was suicide. In her present state, the Singularity didn¡¯t stand a chance.

    ¡°Good.¡± The Admiral turned to leave. His hand was on the door when he remembered what he had read in the situation report. ¡°And General, the virus in the Liguanian Sector,¡± the one that had killed the Kansas, ¡°someday, there will be hell to pay.¡±

    ¡°What the hell do you know about that?¡±

    ¡°I know that if that virus were to ever make landfall, there would be no saving the human race that you so treasure.¡± The unsuspecting masses would be wiped out with a cough. ¡°My medical officer is investigating it, and I do fully intend to release that information, regardless of what damage it does to Command.¡± If he released that classified intel, then scientists could begin attempting to formulate a cure, a vaccine.

    The Admiral left before Clarke could offer a protest and found his crewmen waiting in the corridor, their expressions deeply concerned. ¡°I have negotiated for a full resupply,¡± he informed them. ¡°The ship will not be decommissioned.¡±

    ¡°Hell yeah!¡± Monty grinned, ¡°I won¡¯t be out of a job!¡±

    Letts was a little more skeptical, clutching his clipboard to his chest, ¡°Is Clarke still alive?¡±

    ¡°For now,¡± the Admiral replied.

    Letts breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing he wanted to do was move his inventory to a new ship. ¡°Then I suppose all is well that ends well.¡±

 Part 11.1 - EAVESDROPPING

    Twenty minutes later, Homebound Sector, Haven System, Base Oceana

    Lieutenant Montgomery Gaffigan kicked at the pristine decks of Base Oceana. ¡°Find our own way back?¡± he huffed contemptuously, echoing the Admiral¡¯s words, ¡°Easier said than fucking done, sir.¡±

    Alba, walking beside the armory officer, just shrugged. It didn¡¯t feel great to have the Admiral fly them here, and then not fly them back, but he understood. ¡°Well, he and Reeter are likely going to try and kill one another.¡± It was something Alba certainly did not want to be caught in the middle of. ¡°And he did tell us he could wait until the meeting was over, if we wanted to fly back with him.¡±

    ¡°And ride back with the Steel Prince while he¡¯s covered in the life blood of a self-proclaimed god? No thank you.¡± Monty just had the feeling that meeting was going to get messy, and he¡¯d rather not be there when it happened. ¡°Have you ever seen him kill anyone, Alba?¡±

    The engineering bridge officer shuddered involuntarily. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Neither have I.¡± The Admiral was strangely calm on the ship. Despite all the rumors of his violence, the man was polite and patient in Monty¡¯s experience. Even calm, he was plenty scary, but it was odd.

    Squeamish in all things involving gore and violence, Alba knew seeing the Admiral kill anyone would be exceptionally disturbing. He desperately changed the subject as his stomach churned. ¡°Come on, Monty,¡± he started down an emptier hall, ¡°Let¡¯s try and hitch a ride with one of the supply runners.¡±

    Gaffigan didn¡¯t argue. He happily followed Alba away from the crowds. He could feel the weight of the crowd¡¯s gazes. He could sense their judgement. It was the welcome he¡¯d come to expect in the Homebound Sector. With the Singularity¡¯s ship patch on his sleeve, the personnel on Base Oceana assumed him to be either incompetent or a criminal. Monty didn¡¯t particularly care about their opinions, but it wouldn¡¯t be the first time someone had tried to pick a fight on the basis of respective ship assignments, so it paid not to linger.

    Alise Cortana struggled to catch up with the Admiral¡¯s subordinates in the bustle of Base Oceana¡¯s larger corridors. When they split off into an emptier section of the station, she picked up her pace, but no matter how she moved, she couldn¡¯t seem to catch up.

    They turned a sharp corner ahead of her, out of sight for just a moment, but when she turned the same corner, it turned to be a dead end. An empty dead end. ¡°What the hell?¡±

    Someone thudded down onto the deck behind her, and a cold barrel was pressed against the back of her head. ¡°Get your hands where I can see them,¡± the man behind her ordered.

    Alise quickly dropped the duffel she¡¯d slung over her shoulder and put her hands up in surrender.

    ¡°Who are you and why are you following us?¡±

    She was so sick of this base and everyone on it. Standing around for the last few days had gotten on her nerves. ¡°Sergeant Alise Cortana. I¡¯m just looking for a ride, asshole.¡±

    It was only then that Monty bothered to look at the sleeve of her uniform jacket. ¡°Oh.¡±

    The pressure on the back of her head vanished. Cortana turned to face her ambusher, who was none other than the red-haired officer she¡¯d been following. He laughed awkwardly. ¡°Our bad. We thought you were one of Reeter¡¯s cronies.¡±

    She stared at him. ¡°What?¡±

    Monty could tell by the annoyed look on her face that she had no idea what he was talking about. It wasn¡¯t something he particularly wanted to explain at the moment. ¡°Never mind.¡± He offered out a hand, ¡°Lieutenant Montgomery Gaffigan, chief armory officer for the Battleship Singularity.¡±

    Alise took his handshake, giving the Lieutenant a once-over. His hair was a bright, fiery red, including a beard, which was trimmed at the maximum allowed length. His uniform was standard: black jacket, black pants. He had the Singularity¡¯s red and yellow patch on one sleeve, and two white bands on the other, the indication of his rank. What he didn¡¯t have was a holster on his belt. ¡°Where¡¯s your gun?¡± The one he¡¯d just put against her head?

    ¡°Back on the ship. I don¡¯t make a habit of carrying it.¡± He held up a silver cylinder, ¡°You¡¯re looking for this: Alba¡¯s flashlight.¡±

    ¡°You threatened me with a flashlight?¡±

    ¡°It worked, didn¡¯t it?¡± Monty didn¡¯t see the problem. ¡°I had to improvise.¡± The Marine was clearly not amused. He sighed. Great. Another hardass from Command. This attitude of hers would probably last about a week aboard ship, but it would be annoying as hell until then. He looked up to the ceiling, ¡°Alba, are you going to come down from there, or just wait ¡®til you pass out?¡±

    Alba crossed his arms where he hung from his magboots. ¡°I like it up here.¡±

    All the blood was rushing to his head, flushing his face. ¡°Uh-huh.¡± Monty didn¡¯t believe that for a second. ¡°You¡¯re stuck, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    Alba turned a fractional degree redder where he was suspended from the ceiling like a bat. ¡°This was your stupid idea, Monty.¡±

    Gaffigan stepped over to help Alba get down. ¡°It was a great plan. No one ever looks up.¡± They¡¯d managed to get the drop on a trained Marine.

    After realizing they were being followed, Alba had activated his magnetic boots and stuck himself to the metal ceiling of Base Oceana. From there, he had held Monty up and then swung him over the Marine¡¯s head, allowing Monty to threaten her with something that felt like a gun.

    Alise watched the Lieutenant pull his comrade down, observing the pair of them. Wait. The pair of them? ¡°There were three of you. Where did the third one go?¡±

    Monty leaned Alba against the sterile white walls of Base Oceana, letting him catch his bearings as he recovered from being upside-down. ¡°Who? Letts?¡± Monty shrugged carelessly, ¡°He¡¯s probably off to go smuggle something.¡±

    ¡°Smuggle something?¡± It¡¯s true, she realized with disdain. She had been assigned to a ship full of criminals.

    ¡°Letts is quite the entrepreneur, really. The Singularity has better range, speed and storage capacity than most cargo liners. He can get anything, anywhere.¡± Using the ship to occasionally smuggle something was nothing short of brilliant.

    ¡°That is illegal.¡±

    ¡°Only sometimes.¡± Monty argued. ¡°He doesn¡¯t always move illegal cargo.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t use an active military ship for profitable trade. It¡¯s illegal.¡± Why was she the only one that seemed to know or care about the regulations? ¡°I¡¯ll be reporting this smuggling business of yours directly to the commanding officer.¡± She would put a stop to it immediately. She refused to serve on a ship engaged in criminal activity.

    Monty burst out laughing. He couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°Oh, the Admiral knows. Who do you think told Letts to do it?¡± The profits of Letts¡¯ side business went into the ship¡¯s account, which paid for the hull paint, high quality oil and tools, as well as the occasional bonus for the crew. ¡°Take it from me, Sarge, we have our own way of doing things.¡± Aboard ship, they broke an obscene number of Command¡¯s regulations every day. Cortana would certainly undergo an adjustment period. He looked over to the engineer, ¡°You ready to go?¡±

    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Alba nodded, staring up at the ceiling, ¡°Do you think they¡¯ll notice?¡±

    Monty followed his gaze to the two distinctly foot-shaped dents left by Alba¡¯s magboots. ¡°Probably best we don¡¯t stick around to find out.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Alba agreed. He should have known to adjust his boots. Base Oceana¡¯s metals were far more magnetic than the Singularity¡¯s outer hull. The setting he had used to anchor himself to the ship for hull work was much too strong for Base Oceana, deforming the metal and getting him stuck.

    ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± Monty stepped back out into the corridor, only to roughly bump into someone. ¡°Sorry-¡± He¡¯d been about to add a ¡®sir,¡¯ until he recognized who had just shouldered him aside.

    ¡°Out of my way, I¡¯m late,¡± Admiral Reeter huffed, not giving the interruption any more attention than that.

    Monty leapt back and watched the man pass, praying that Reeter would not turn and recognize them, or more specifically, the flaming sun insignia on their uniforms. Next to him, Alba held his breath, hoping the same.

    Sergeant Cortana turned to glare at the redhead. ¡°That should have been a ¡®sorry, sir.¡¯¡± She yelped in surprise when Monty clamped his hand over her mouth.

    ¡°Shhh,¡± the armory officer hissed, his carefree attitude gone in the blink of an eye. Despite the noise, Reeter kept right on walking. It seemed luck was on their side for the time being.

    Alise tore his hand off her face after a moment. ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡±

    Monty ignored her, looking to Alba, ¡°What the hell is Reeter doing down here? He¡¯s supposed to be meeting the Admiral in the conference room.¡±

    ¡°He said he was late,¡± the engineer offered.

    ¡°But the conference room is the other way!¡± No. Monty was certain there was something else going on. And was that a sidearm he¡¯d seen strapped to Reeter¡¯s hip? Dammit. Maybe the meeting was already over. The armory officer made an impulsive decision. ¡°I¡¯m going to follow him, see what¡¯s going on. Take the Sarge back to the ship, and if I don¡¯t make it back¡­ Well, you¡¯ll know what happened.¡±

    ¡°Monty, wait!¡± Alba called, but it was no use. The armory officer didn¡¯t even look back.

    Alise started after him, but found her arm caught in the engineer¡¯s grip. For a lanky technician that looked no older than twenty, he had a strong grip. ¡°Let go!¡±

    ¡±No.¡±

    Cortana went still, hearing the fear in the young ensign¡¯s voice. She hadn¡¯t expected that from the boyish engineer. He and Gaffigan had seemed so carefree, but now, all of a sudden, there was darkness about them.

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand, Sergeant.¡± Alba shook his head, ¡°We just lost thirty-two members of our crew. Thirty-two friends.¡± Tears were pricking at his eyes as he tried to blink them away. The lights of Base Oceana swam above him. ¡°Reeter killed them. He murdered them.¡±

    Reeter would never. He was the fleet¡¯s golden boy. He starred in all the recruitment propaganda. ¡°That sounds more like the Steel Prince¡¯s forte to me.¡±

    Alba shoved her into the wall. ¡°Shut up.¡± Why couldn¡¯t she just be quiet? ¡°Admiral Gives almost died getting us out of the Aragonian Sector.¡± If it hadn¡¯t been for him, they probably would have been dead before they even got there. ¡°He spent months trying to keep us out of that fight.¡± Admittedly, the crew hadn¡¯t known that until recently, but it still mattered. It changed their perspective on his recent distance. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you know him and don¡¯t act like you¡¯re one of us, because right now, you¡¯re not.¡± She was a stranger.

    As quickly as the crew had seemed to recover, that was a necessity of their position. They did not have time to grieve. Truly, death was not uncommon in the fleet. They had all lost comrades before, but in such large numbers, it multiplied the pain.

    In general, losses were rare on the Singularity. The ship had the lowest casualty rate in the fleet. Admiral Gives, for whatever twisted sense of morality he guided himself by, was very good at keeping his crew alive. The crew respected that, even if they were not truly certain if their survival was the product was raw talent or dedicated intent.

    Down the corridor, deep in Base Oceana¡¯s lower military decks, the strong, sculpted form of Admiral Reeter stepped into the dead end where he had been summoned. Unbeknownst to him, Lieutenant Gaffigan pressed up against the wall nearby, eavesdropping.

    ¡°General Quentin, why have you called me here?¡± Reeter demanded impatiently. This had been a very inconvenient walk.

    Quentin shushed him, ¡°Do you want us to be overheard?¡±

    Coward. Reeter was disgusted by the sheen of nervous sweat he saw on the General¡¯s face. Not for the first time, Reeter wondered how Quentin had weaseled his way into power. ¡°What is the problem?¡±

    ¡°You said it was taken care of.¡±

    Reeter rolled his eyes. This man was truly pathetic. He believed in nothing but the selfish comforts of an easy life with power. He followed whoever could promise that. ¡°The Prince will be dead soon enough.¡± He tapped the gun strapped to his hip, ¡°I¡¯ll be taking care of that myself.¡±

    Monty¡¯s instincts had proved him right. Following Reeter had been the right decision. A recording of this conversation would be evidence enough to imprison Reeter. Threatening the Fleet Admiral¡¯s life was high treason against the Ariean Central Government. Gaffigan unclipped his personal communicator from his belt and flipped it open silently, beginning to record what he could.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think Gives is your only problem anymore, Reeter,¡± Quentin hissed. ¡°Do you realize what you¡¯ve done?¡± He¡¯d started a war that they were going to lose. ¡°You resurrected the spirit of the Bloody Singularity.¡±

    ¡°Do not let your superstition interfere with our plan, Quentin.¡±

    The General threw his arms in the air. ¡°You¡¯re too young to remember what it was like.¡± Reeter was far too young to remember the Singularity¡¯s black legacy. Quentin himself did not remember the former flagship¡¯s days of heroism in the War. He had grown up hearing about the Bloody Singularity¡¯s atrocities in the Frontier Rebellion. Her guns left only imbrued crimson wreckage behind.

    There were very few truly religious groups among any of Ariea¡¯s colonies, but every church or cult on the Frontier vowed the Singularity would be hunted by the demons it put to death, haunted into eternity by the malignant spirits it had created during the Rebellion. Many people bought into ghouls as an excuse for the Singularity¡¯s exacerbated aura, especially since rumors of the ship being haunted were spread by her crewmen.

    But the Rebellion had been years ago. The only thing Reeter had ever seen was the apathetic shell the Singularity had become. Until now, it had been decades since anyone had seen a trace of the Bloody Singularity¡¯s uncanny ambience. But now it was back in full force. Reeter was no longer squaring off against an aging dreadnaught. He was toe to toe with the deadliest warship in mankind¡¯s history. And he didn¡¯t seem to notice.

    ¡°I¡¯ve been told the Singularity sinks once I take out the Prince.¡± That was good enough for Reeter. He wouldn¡¯t be afraid of a machine¡¯s odd appearance. It meant nothing to him.

    ¡°And your little accomplice told you that, did she?¡± Quentin could picture the pretty white-haired woman, but that fa?ade of humanity would not fool him. ¡°She is using you.¡±

    ¡°Our objectives are in line for now.¡± Beyond that, Reeter did not care about her intentions. Her power had proved useful in many ways.

    ¡°She¡¯s not loyal to you.¡± Why was Quentin the only one who could see this insanity? ¡°She has no interest in the betterment of humanity. She is not human.¡± Such an entity would have no interest in humanity¡¯s future.

    ¡°You are quite right, General.¡± The voice echoed from the intercom speakers, disembodied and cold. ¡°But then, that is why you all have proved so amusing. Your struggles are so irrelevant, so wasteful and so violent compared to my existence.¡± A chuckle emanated from the tasteless walls. ¡°But you would be wise not to interrupt this little game of mine. I would not find that so amusing.¡±

    Monty stood there, chills running down his spine. The Singularity was rumored to be possessed, but Base Oceana had faceless voices speaking from the walls. Somehow, that was backward.

    ¡°Besides, you all are so lucky to have a champion like me.¡± Another cold laugh filled the corridor. ¡°Without me, you¡¯d never know your entire conversation had been recorded by a nosy Lieutenant standing in the corridor.¡±

    Shit. Monty barely had time to process the thought before Reeter¡¯s heavy footsteps rounded the corner. He leapt back, barely managing to avoid Reeter¡¯s first swipe. Monty knew he wasn¡¯t escaping this. Reeter could shut down the station before he found a way off of it.

    The armory officer started running, hitting the button to broadcast on his communicator. ¡°Gaffigan to Singularity!¡± Reeter¡¯s thundering footsteps were gaining on him. He heard Lieutenant Robinson start to respond in accordance with the regulations, but he knew there wasn¡¯t time. ¡°Keifer! I¡¯m sending an audio file. It¡¯s important!¡± He hit the button to send the file over the link, but Reeter tackled him to the ground a second later, and the communicator skidded across the floor.

    Gaffigan was fit, but he wasn¡¯t any match for Reeter¡¯s size, strength or training. Reeter had him pinned down in seconds. ¡°You¡¯re going to regret this,¡± Reeter growled, his hot breath washing across the Lieutenant¡¯s face.

    Monty could see where he was pinned that the file was still sending. Robinson was desperately trying to raise him. ¡°Monty! Do I need to send help?¡±

    Reeter wrapped his hand around Gaffigan¡¯s throat, watching the fear rise in his eyes. ¡°No one can help you now.¡±

    The world went black for Montgomery Gaffigan, and a second later, Reeter crushed the communicator beneath his heel, breaking the communications link it held with its base ship.

    The recording never finished sending.

 Part 11.2 - CORRUPT DREAM

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Base Oceana

    She could never place a finger on why it was she found him so interesting. Was it his intelligence? Was it his lack of emotion? Or was it simply the mystery? She wished she knew. Working with Admiral Reeter to kill him had not been her first choice, but it had proved the most viable.

    She watched Admiral Gives stand by the windows of Base Oceana¡¯s conference room, calm as ever. It was easy to tell what held his attention. The Singularity lingered unusually close to Base Oceana, and as far as she could tell, his thoughts never wandered far from the old ship. The same was true physically. In the last two years, he and the Singularity had been in separate star systems only once, and even then, only for a few hours.

    She had been observing and interfering amongst humanity for decades now. Most of them were simple creatures, driven by lust, power or pride. Admiral Gives was a strange case. She could never truly define his motivations in her research. Any opinions he held, he kept to himself. He spoke little unless he had something important to say ¨C almost machine-like in regard to that and his total lack of outward emotion. Such a disposition was rare these days, perhaps even unique. It would have made him an ideal partner. Likely, he was one of very, very few who would have truly understood and respected her intentions.

    But none of that meant anything now. The Steel Prince was meant to die today.

    Where he stood, Admiral Gives was well aware of the fact he was being watched. He was very perceptive of such things, but simply chose to ignore it. He had enough enemies to know that his every move would be watched on Base Oceana, but he did not truly care. He just wanted a moment of peace on this damn space station. He just wanted to stare out at his ship because he rarely, so rarely, got to actually see her. It was the reality of ship command that he spent most of his time on board, working, unable to appreciate the ship in her full glory.

    By mass and length, the primary measures of ship size, the Singularity was the largest ship in the UCSC fleet. When both ships flew in a lateral orientation, the Olympia was shorter in length but taller in height, so her volume capacity remained approximately equal to the Singularity¡¯s, though the old dreadnaught was generally considered to be larger.

    The Singularity¡¯s longer, slender build harkened back to the old shipyards. Built and launched from a planetary gravity well, the old ship¡¯s vertical height had been maxed at what the shipyards¡¯ cranes and support structures could hold. The weight of added height would have been difficult to sustain, but adding length allowed more supports to be built in contact with the ground. It had not been nearly as important a constraint.

    The Olympia, built in modern shipyards outside a gravity well, had been built without those height restrictions, but possessed a superstructure that was untested by gravity. Pieces of the Olympia¡¯s architecture had been left graceful and purposeless, while every contour of the Singularity¡¯s design held a critical function, not a line of engineering sketches wasted.

    The Flagship Olympia was designed to be pretty ¨C a tribute to the grace of the central planets. The Singularity, by comparison, was rather plain. No thought had been given to her aesthetics. She had been designed for functionality above all else, but that did not make her ugly. Even showing her age in fading paint and blemished armor, she was beautiful, and there was hell to pay if anyone said otherwise in Admiral Gives¡¯ presence.

    General Clarke, among others, called him possessive when it came to the Singularity. Maybe Clarke was right, but Admiral Gives was always striving to protect a good ship and a good crew from the cruel nature of the worlds. At times, that made him ruthless and possessive. It made him a monster, but as he looked out the windows of the conference room, where his ship hung close, he regretted absolutely none of it.

    The Singularity was a good ship. She was his ship and the vehement waves of anger radiating off the hull did not unnerve him as it did others. He had seen this before. The blood thirst was overwhelming, but underneath all that rage was another emotion: sorrow. It was buried, hidden beneath that fury, but it was still there.

    Some saw only the revival of the infamous Bloody Singularity there, but there was now a sulking shadow on the hull that had never been present in the Hydrian War: regret. Humanity had once feared the Bloody Singularity because, of all the emotions she could seem to mirror, regret had never been among them. There had been arrogance towards the lives taken in the War. They had not been human. But the Frontier Rebellion had brutally stripped that innocence away.

    Though deep in thought, standing with his back to the door, Admiral Gives was immediately aware when Reeter entered the room. The younger Admiral carried himself proudly, his footsteps more than audible. ¡°You are late.¡±

    ¡°I apologize, sir, something came up.¡± The eavesdropping armory officer had proved to be little more than an annoyance, thanks to Reeter¡¯s partner in crime, but it had still taken several minutes to deal with the evidence.

    ¡°Drop that contemptuous act of yours, Admiral.¡± Admiral Gives was in no particular mood to deal with it. ¡°I know you do not respect me as your superior officer, and that is not why I am here.¡±

    Reeter reevaluated the man. He was an interesting case. A failure, but an interesting case all the same. Maybe that was why, even as his hand rested on his sidearm, he hadn¡¯t shot the old bastard yet. He was curious about what the once-great Steel Prince had to say. ¡°In that case, why are you here?¡±

    ¡°I am here to represent my ship, as you are here to represent your cause.¡± Admiral Gives watched a trio of Warhawks launch from the Singularity¡¯s portside bay, heading directly for Ariea¡¯s azure atmosphere. They were little more than specks from here, but that was Colonel Zarrey¡¯s strike team, and that meant it was time to get down to business.

    Reeter followed his attention to the dilapidating dreadnaught. ¡°I will never understand your dedication to that ship.¡± It was so peculiar. ¡°All I see is a bucket of bolts with a bad attitude.¡±

    ¡°I never asked anyone to understand.¡± Admiral Gives did not care if people thought him insane. The worlds had never viewed him as a functional person anyway. He finally turned to face Reeter and indicated to the conference table. ¡°Sit.¡±

    There was nothing courteous about the instruction. Admiral Gives was wearing the stone-faced expression that gave nations their reckoning. Reeter selected a chair that looked into space, remembering too late that the Olympia¡¯s usual presence was currently blotted out entirely by the Singularity. As much as he hated to admit it, the ship¡¯s air of anger, coupled with the Admiral¡¯s lack thereof made him uneasy. It was backwards, wrong. ¡°What is it that you require of me?¡±

    ¡°Your resignation.¡±

    Reeter resisted the urge to laugh. ¡°My resignation?¡± What a na?ve request. ¡°I think you know it¡¯s a little too late for that.¡± Even if Admiral Gives forced him to resign, the New Era would simply reinstate him and carry on with their plans. The movement was simply too many and too powerful to stop now. ¡°That request is most unlike you, Prince.¡± It was strangely docile, far from the usual methods. ¡°Why so coy?¡±

    ¡°Because I was instructed not to kill you.¡±

    Reeter coughed, a spasm of surprise catching him midbreath. Well, that was blunt. ¡°I can¡¯t help but wonder why you would want to do that.¡±

    Admiral Gives stared right into Reeter¡¯s amused eyes. As far as he cared, they were the green eyes of the devil. That amusement of his would be short lived. ¡°You murdered thirty-two of my crew.¡± It was completely unforgivable.

    Only thirty-two? That was a disappointing kill count for a tactical nuclear warhead. Still, he forced a smile to his lips. ¡°You cannot prove that.¡±

    ¡°The missile casing fragment found wedged into the bulkheads of my ship says otherwise.¡±

    So, there was evidence. It still meant nothing. ¡°That warhead was released accidentally.¡± The press had already been fed a proper story and the crewman held accountable had been bribed to confess. It was all taken care of. Fragment or not, Admiral Gives had no real evidence. As far as the worlds would ever know, the Singularity had suffered from a terrible accident.

    ¡°Do not take me for a fool,¡± Admiral Gives warned. ¡°It takes two sets of authorization codes to activate a warhead: those of the commanding officer and those of Command.¡± Such a weapon could not be armed, fired and aimed to the Kalahari Sector on accident. ¡°I know you attacked with the intent to sink my ship. What I want to know is why.¡±

    ¡°Is it not obvious?¡± Reeter chuckled, ¡°I wanted you dead, Prince.¡± A peculiar cold seeped into the older officer¡¯s expression. ¡°That¡¯s right. I killed thirty-two of your precious minions to get to you. Does that make you angry?¡±

    Oh, Admiral Gives was far beyond angry. ¡°I thought I had made my intentions clear, Admiral.¡± He had spent months rendering his ship¡¯s movements unpredictable and unobtrusive. ¡°I intended to make no move against you or your movement.¡± Now his hand had been forced. He had to disembowel the New Era in order to protect his ship and her crew. ¡°You had no need to attack the Singularity.¡±

    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°It was nothing more than a statement to my followers. I will not be the failure that you were. I will save these worlds. I will create a better, safer, kinder humanity. One where everyone is equal, where it does not matter where you were born, or who your parents were.¡± That was his goal.

    Reeter knew he was a savior. He did not need everyone else to believe that. ¡°The New Era will create a better future for all of us, but you, Prince, you represent the failure of such goals. Your crew is formulated from the worthless scum that humanity can do without. And your ship, stars, she has become the mirror of everything that is wrong with humanity: hate, murder and anger. That machine was terribly and irreparably tainted by you and your predecessor. There is no place for such imperfections in my paradise.¡±

    ¡°It is the very nature of humanity to be flawed, Admiral.¡± Admittedly, the Singularity and her crew easily represented those flaws, but that did not make them wrong. It did not make them evil. It made them real. ¡°As to my own crimes¡­ If answering for them would guarantee my ship¡¯s safety, then I would.¡±

    Again, that was strangely docile. It seemed the Steel Prince was holding back. But then, it had been years since Reeter had been face to face with him. Maybe those years out in the void had broken him. ¡°What happened to you?¡± Where was the heartless mastermind that had ended so many rebellions at so high a cost?

    There was no real answer to that question. Admiral Gives was just very tired. He was tired of the fight. He¡¯d been fighting this fight for his entire life, and what did he really have to show for it? It was clear enough that there was never going to be any meaningful peace among the worlds. ¡°Admiral, you should know that I do not agree with you and your intentions. But you should have also understood that I was willing to let that pass.¡± But not anymore. Reeter had brought harm to the one thing Admiral Gives cared most about. Plain and simple, that meant war. ¡°Consider this meeting a courtesy to you and your followers. Disband or else.¡±

    Reeter unsnapped the cover of his holster, the noise echoing in the empty room. ¡°Is that a threat against the New Era, Prince?¡±

    ¡°It became a promise the moment you moved against my ship.¡± Reeter and his self-righteous compatriots had made a grave error. ¡°I will destroy any future you wish to create.¡± Any future where his ship was unwelcome would be torn to shreds by any means necessary. ¡°You have made an enemy out of me, Admiral, and that was a mistake.¡±

    Reeter considered the look in Gives¡¯ cold blue eyes. ¡°We are not your enemy.¡± The New Era stood for everything the Prince had fought for his entire career. They stood for everything he had betrayed the moment he refused to save the worlds. ¡°Imagine a galaxy where children no longer have to be stillborn, where people no longer die of incurable illness, where the worthy can live forever, and the evil can be put to good use.¡±

    ¡°And you plan to decide who is unworthy and who is worthy for every member of the human race? You plan to tell a child that her father must die because he is not smart enough or not strong enough to be a perfect member of the human race?¡± The New Era and everything it stood for was a corrupt dream. ¡°Humanity is not perfect, and it never will be.¡± To be human was to be emotional, to be cruel, and to be kind. Kindness itself was an illogical imperfection of humanity. It was a weakness, one that was always taken advantage of.

    The New Era¡¯s ideals of selective survival and perfection made no real sense. There would always be resistance, and where there was resistance, there was violence. It would not bring peace. It was pointless. ¡°You are not perfect, Admiral Reeter. You cannot make the judgements on who lives and who dies for the entire human race.¡±

    ¡°No, you are the one who is so, so far from perfect, that you no longer believe it exists. You were too deeply flawed, too riddled by old scars, too haunted by what happened to your family to believe in anything. You do not believe the universe will ever be fair because it never was to you. But I intend to make it fair, in every way that you were not strong enough to. And I would expect you of all to understand that goal.¡± But it seemed that the call for the greater good had left the Steel Prince some time ago.

    Charleston Reeter wrapped his fingers around his gun, feeling the contours of its grip. ¡°You, just like me, have suffered your whole life in this unfair system, in this corrupt republic. But there is nothing left of who you once were. You were cut and damaged and betrayed too many times. Now, you are just a broken old soldier, one who could have saved the worlds, and chose instead to hide from them.¡±

    A silence filled the room. Admiral Gives said nothing. He had nothing to say. Reeter was right. The once-great Steel Prince had chosen to hide from the worlds for twenty years, trying to atone for the crimes of humanity in his own way. He had given everything to a cause that he did not truly believe in ¨C fought a lifetime for a future of peace he would never live to see.

    Admiral Gives had learned a long time ago that someone like him had no real place in these worlds. He had no place now and he had no place in that grand future of perfection and happiness, because he represented neither. He represented the harsh and cruel place that was reality. Every pretty ideal that he once believed in had been torn from him years ago.

    With his ultimate belief in the greater good, maybe Reeter would save the worlds, maybe he wouldn¡¯t, but billions would die in the process, among them the Singularity¡¯s crew. And as dysfunctional as he was, Admiral Gives could not accept that future. The greater good that required such sacrifices was long dead to him. He could sense the Singularity¡¯s looming presence behind him, a reminder to fight for another outcome. Regardless of whether it made him right or wrong, his path was set in stone. ¡°I will oppose your intentions.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why I¡¯m here to finish what I started.¡± Reeter grabbed onto his gun, but never managed to get it out of the holster.

    The knife sailed by, nicking his neck before clattering to the ground somewhere behind his chair. Blood spurted from the wound, running down to stain the elegant silver stitching on the collar of Reeter¡¯s uniform. If it had been thrown a faction of an inch to the left, it would have sliced right through his cardioid artery. He would have bled out in seconds.

    Reeter hadn¡¯t even seen him draw the blade. No doubt, there was more than one hidden up the sleeves of the Prince¡¯s black jacket. If he went for his gun again, the Prince would not hesitate to kill him.

    Admiral Gives barley addressed the incident, moving to rest his hands calmly on the table. ¡°Let us handle this like civilized adults.¡± He already regretted the fact he hadn¡¯t sent that knife straight into Reeter¡¯s neck and claimed it was an accident. The ghost would trust his word, but he still refused to lie to her. Now he was sitting at a table with a man set on killing him, having thrown away the only weapon he¡¯d had on him. It was turning out to be a wonderful day. ¡°I am prepared to offer your movement a colony world on which to put your beliefs into action, but I cannot condone the application of selective slaughter onto unwilling populations.¡±

    ¡°That would defeat the purpose.¡±

    Admiral Gives had thought as much. ¡°Your group has three days to disband. I will be taking General Clarke¡¯s position at that time. Anyone caught supporting the New Era¡¯s beliefs will be arrested and put on trial for supporting a plot of mass murder.¡±

    Reeter sighed. What a nuisance. ¡°I think you know that will amount to nothing.¡± It was too late.

    ¡°You underestimate my dedication.¡± He would find some way to put a stop to this peacefully. He would find another way. He would not let his crew, his ship be dragged back into the worlds¡¯ churning violence. They deserved better.

    Reeter smiled apologetically, ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Prince. We¡¯ve already begun our plans. Nothing you do will truly matter.¡± He had chosen to care too late. ¡°Your end will come, but not before I have the privilege of defiling that old ship you¡¯re so attached to.¡±

    ¡°That will never happen.¡± Admiral Gives would be dead before he allowed Reeter to set foot on his ship.

    Reeter just sat there, happily showing his perfect teeth. ¡°You¡¯ll deliver her straight to me.¡± This was his failsafe, his backup plan. And it involved little miss Amelia Kleinfelter.

    Admiral Gives stood, sick of this meaningless discussion. The insinuation that he would ever willingly hand his loyal old ship over to Reeter was a terrible insult to him. ¡°I have said what I needed to say.¡± He had wasted enough of Reeter¡¯s time. Zarrey¡¯s team should have completed their objective by now. ¡°You would do well not to ignore it.¡±

    Reeter watched him leave, unimpressed. Once the door slammed behind him, the young man moved to go take his place at the window that dominated the wall of the conference room. Charleston Reeter stared at the menacing Battleship Singularity. ¡°Your end is coming,¡± he told the old ship. This game was nearing its end. Admiral Gives was being backed into a corner like the diseased animal he was.

    ¡°You know that old machine can neither see you nor comprehend you, do you not?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a human superstition that ships have spirits, Manhattan,¡± he told his white-haired accomplice. ¡°You should know that.¡±

    Manahattan frowned, but proceeded to ignore the comment. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you kill him?¡±

    Well, the throwing knives derailed that plan. That, and Reeter simply could not resist temptation. ¡°I want to play with the old bastard.¡± He wanted to truly destroy the man his followers so feared, because there was no real reason to fear him. The Steel Prince was little more than a decaying shell these days. ¡°They say that ship is the only thing he really cares about anymore.¡± Reeter licked his lips, ¡°I want him to watch me gut her. Hell, I might even give her a pivotal role in this plan of mine, just so he has to watch his precious ship betray him.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± What purpose could that truly serve? Reeter had already claimed the Singularity unfit for service in the New Era. The ship was old and tainted by previous crimes.

    ¡°I want to make the great Steel Prince cry.¡± Reeter intended to remind the man quite thoroughly of his flaws.

    ¡°Charleston, you told me I could have the ship and the corpses.¡±

    ¡°And you will¡­ After I am through playing.¡± What was the point in taking over the worlds if he did not get to have some fun? ¡°Has that virus of yours produced anything useful yet, Manhattan?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she responded.

    ¡°Keep working. I want to know how they managed to survive that nuke.¡± She had offered to dig up that information using a virus she had planted within the Singularity¡¯s computers, and he expected results. ¡°You can leave everything else to me,¡± Reeter told her, turning to rudely look over her figure.

    She had learned to ignore Reeter¡¯s lewd looks. He couldn¡¯t touch her even if he wanted to. Sometimes it paid not to live in the physical realm. ¡°And how do you intend to take care of Admiral Gives once he has taken Clarke¡¯s position over?¡±

    Wordlessly, Reeter pulled a document out of his jacket pocket and let her read through it.

    It took her only a moment. ¡°Well done.¡± That legal marriage document between himself and Amelia held a clause that granted Reeter the right to see Harrison at any time. ¡°I see why you asked me to release the widow¡¯s location.¡±

    It was a trap.

    By rescuing Amelia and the boy from that location, Gives was refusing the legal rights of that document. It was criminal. That, combined with other charges, would be more than enough to arrest him.

 Part 11.3 - CABIN RESCUE

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Ariea

    Atmospheric entry was smooth with Don Jazmine at the helm. Despite his smuggling origins, he was one of the finest pilots in the fleet. He flirted with anything that moved, but tended to be harmless overall. The handsome pilot looked to Zarrey, who sat beside him in the copilot¡¯s seat. ¡°ETA is three minutes, sir.¡±

    Zarrey nodded and made the announcement to the entire strike force. ¡°Wake up, you lazy spacers! You¡¯ve got three minutes to check your gear and your attitudes. We touch down and do this right. No hostile moves, but if they start shooting, shoot back.¡±

    The Marines in the back of Zarrey¡¯s Warhawk started checking their weapons and protective gear as the pilots tightened up their formation. Zarrey pounded on his chest to assure himself that his vest was still underneath his uniform, then absently checked the number of rounds in the magazine of his pistol.

    Out the window, thick, gray clouds churned below them, hiding what he knew to be the flat, agricultural lands of Kansa. Galhino had been quick to brief them on the current conditions of the region before the strike team flew out. A storm was brewing in the atmosphere, and situated in the northern hemisphere, it was autumn.

    The tallest of the Kansa National shipyards¡¯ towers were poking through the gray mist, tattered flags still flying on the tips. Galhino had briefed them on that too, as a notable hazard to the pilots¡¯ route. The shipyards were abandoned now, and had been for fifty years. The Singularity herself was the last vessel to have been launched from the facility. After her departure, Kansa¡¯s secondary source of income, shipbuilding, had become extinct. The country had promptly fallen from the fourth-poorest on the planet to the poorest, where it had remained for the last five decades.

    Galhino had warned them they might see deterioration in the local infrastructure, but it had been a useless warning. Beyond the needle-like spires of the shipyards, there was nothing to see, just the haze of clouds.

    The same was true from the ground. The stratus clouds were thick and dismally gray. Colonel VanHubert assumed from the moment he heard the approaching engines that Reeter was coming for a surprise visit. It was annoying, but not unusual. He turned to smile at Ron Parker with bad intent. Reeter would be pleased to have caught that traitor.

    Ron Parker did not dare move from where he¡¯d fallen to his knees, hours before. The bruises on his cheeks ached when the wind hit them. From the way VanHubert was glaring at him, the father knew there was more to come. Tears slid down his face, their saltiness stung in the cut on his cheek.

    Anabelle was draped across his arms, breathing shallowly. She had not opened her eyes again since that morning. Without medical treatment, she likely would never open them again.

    He heard the sound of approaching engines, but he didn¡¯t care. It was over. His daughter was dying. This was all for nothing.

    The approaching spacecraft lowered themselves from the clouds. Tendrils of water vapor spiraled off the reconships¡¯ black hulls. Ron blinked. Those aren¡¯t Rhinos.

    ¡°Shit!¡± VanHubert shouted over the scream of the engines, pointing to the Marines on the perimeter, ¡°Arms up! That¡¯s the enemy!¡±

    The men on the perimeter raised their rifles as the black ships landed. Ron saw them flick the safeties off. The enemy? He looked to the Marine whose rifle was trained at his head. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡±

    Zarrey¡¯s strike team filed into place, surrounding the Olympia¡¯s forces the way they had the cabin. They were light on their feet, alert, but they made no hostile move. The Marines took up an indomitable attention across their chests, helmets on, visors down. As rowdy as they often were on the ship, the Singularity¡¯s forces always did their job, and they did it well.

    Every Marine was in position before the heat of atmospheric entry had stopped sending vapors off the hulls of their ships. With the protective gear on, there was no way to differ the male and female Marines. Zarrey supposed it didn¡¯t really matter.

    He stepped forward, ¡°Lower your weapons!¡±

    Ron stared at the foreign officer. What the hell was going on? What had Amelia done to send the forces of not one, but two battleships after her?

    He studied the Marines. Their uniforms were similar, standard issue for Marines: a black utility vest, cargo pants and black leather combat boots, with a holstered pistol on the belt and a rifle in their hands. The Olympia¡¯s team wore the gray pants that denoted the fleet flagship¡¯s forces, but the other squadron wore all black. Their uniforms lacked any color except the rank symbols and ship patches on the right shoulder of their vests.

    Ron squinted at that patch. What ship commander was crazy enough to send his Marines to challenge the flagship¡¯s? It took him just a moment to place the simplistic red and yellow insignia: the Singularity¡¯s flaming sun ¨C the most famous insignia in fleet history. These were the forces of the Fleet Admiral himself.

    It was a standoff. Nobody moved. Zarrey ordered again, ¡°Lay down your weapons!¡±

    This time, the Olympia¡¯s Marines recognized his rank. Slowly, they obeyed, much to VanHubert¡¯s disgust. ¡°What the hell are you doing!¡± He screamed at them, drawing his own sidearm.

    ¡°On the direct orders of the Fleet Admiral, stand down.¡± The Olympia¡¯s Marines surrendered. Zarrey grinned. Damn, this was easier than getting the bridge crew to stop bickering. He nodded to his own team, ¡°Corral them, you Sinners.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± the Marines acknowledged. Quickly, they disarmed the Olympia¡¯s forces and guided them into one area. They made no move on VanHubert or the two men at the door to the cabin, but took care of the rest.

    They were well-trained. The Singularity¡¯s crew, or the Sinners, as they occasionally referred to themselves, saw a lot of action. On a previous assignment, Zarrey would have ordered the Marines around as ¡®men,¡¯ but half the strike team was female, not that anyone could tell.

    The Singularity had an above-average proportion of women on her crew ¨C something to do with the fact that women were more often abused on other ships and assignments. If VanHubert knew that, he¡¯d probably reconsider his loyalties. But then, VanHubert was a pig, an uglier version of Reeter himself.

    The Olympia¡¯s XO was red in the face, but he knew Zarrey¡¯s reputation as well as Zarrey knew his. ¡°Well, if it isn¡¯t Colonel Flowers, the Steel Prince¡¯s personal stress relief.¡± He smirked as Zarrey approached. ¡°What¡¯s he like in bed, faggot?¡±

    ¡°Fuck off, maggot.¡± Zarrey told him, all too used to the never-ending insults. That shit came with being an openly gay officer. ¡°Just because I like men doesn¡¯t mean I try to sleep with every one I meet.¡± Unlike VanHubert, his head was normally above the gutter. ¡°I certainly wouldn¡¯t fuck my commanding officer.¡± That insinuation was uncomfortable for a number of reasons.

    Zarrey grinned, ¡°Yours though, rewrite his personality, rid him of his god complex and put some actual brains in that thick skull of his, and he might be attractive.¡± Tolerable at least. The chances of that happening were still a hundred times that of Zarrey ever making a move on Admiral Gives. He was perfectly content to remain the man¡¯s XO and nothing else, ever.

    In all, Zarrey respected the Admiral too much for that. Admiral Gives had given a publicly gay officer the position of XO without ever commenting about it. By all appearances, Admiral Gives did not care about his second¡¯s sexuality because it did not affect his ability to do the job. It did not seem a hard concept to grasp, but VanHubert¡¯s insinuations indicated that was a very rare demeanor to be found in the fleet.

    Proceeding to ignore VanHubert, Zarrey moved toward the cabin, surprised by how small the building was. He¡¯d heard rumor of Admiral Gives¡¯ humble roots, but never thought much of it. This put things in perspective.

    Colonel Zarrey stepped up on the porch, hearing the wood creak beneath his weight. The cabin had seen better times, but that was hardly surprising. No one lived here. The Admiral himself hadn¡¯t been here in years. The only reason he still owned the place was because he could not declare the Singularity to be his legal place of permanent residence.

    Zarrey didn¡¯t bother checking the situation behind him. He knew his Marines were taking care of it. He had been sure to tell them he had rank over VanHubert by seniority ¨C not that it mattered. The Singularity¡¯s crew had a bad habit of disregarding any authority that did not come from their ship. It would not have mattered if General Clarke himself was down here trying to redirect them.

    That meant the last problem here was the two Marines at the door to the cabin. Neither of them had budged. They stood, blocking the door with rifles and muscle. ¡°Stand aside,¡± Zarrey ordered them.

    They hardly even blinked.

    Zarrey lowered his voice, ¡°I said, stand aside.¡±

    Again, the blockade did not flinch.

    Damn, Zarrey thought, Admiral Gives makes that look so easy. When the Admiral lowered his tone just a little, people leapt to follow his orders, even if they had been spitting in his face two seconds before.

    Unfortunately, Zarrey did not possess the Admiral¡¯s terrifying gift ¨C something akin to the threat of pure abyssal hell. He considered his options.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Ah, fuck it.¡± Colonel Zarrey had never been the patient type. He grabbed the rifle of the man standing on the right and jerked it upwards into his chin, sending half the blockade crumpling to the ground, unconscious. Yanking the rifle¡¯s strap over the limp Marine¡¯s head, he didn¡¯t hesitate to thrust the butt of the weapon into the other half of the blockade.

    Both the Marines were sprawled on the splintering wooden boards before they could react. Neither had expected such decisive action from an opposing officer. ¡°Bum-fucking nitwits,¡± Zarrey cursed. These two were exactly the type of soldiers that made him hate his job: oblivious mountains of muscle without a single brain cell shared between them.

    He flicked the safety on the rifle and tossed it away, stepping over them to push open the door to the cabin.

    Ron Parker watched the Singularity¡¯s executive officer disappear into the cabin. What was he doing here? It was clear Reeter had wanted something from Amelia, but Ron had no idea where the Singularity fit into the situation. This situation had gone from miserable to exceptionally confusing in the span of a minute.

    ¡°What¡¯re you doing ¡®ere?¡±

    Ron looked up to see an older Marine standing above him. His vest had the Singularity¡¯s sun insignia and denoted the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. He held a rifle, but kept the muzzle aimed carefully away.

    Noting that VanHubert was out of earshot, unable to reveal his identity as an AWOL solider, he answered, ¡°I came for medical help. The next thing I knew, I was forced to my knees with guns pointed at my head.¡±

    ¡°Ah, you stumbled into something you probably should¡¯nta, mate.¡± The Lieutenant Colonel carried a thick Arcadian accent, and slung his rifle strap over his shoulder, clearly deciding that Ron wasn¡¯t a threat. ¡°Let me ¡®elp you up,¡±

    Taking the Marine officer¡¯s hand, Ron struggled to his feet, careful not to drop Anabelle. His legs were weak after hours of sitting on his knees, but that was of no concern. The only thing he could worry about right now was Anabelle, who was limp and feverish.

    The Marine observed the young girl¡¯s pale color, ¡°Ay, is she alright?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ron answered, the word scratching at his throat. ¡°She needs medical attention.¡±

    ¡°Doctor Macintosh can take a look once we ¡®ead back to the ship. Hang in there, mate.¡± He patted the civilian¡¯s shoulder. ¡°We can¡¯t leave without Miss Amelia and ¡®er son.¡±

    Disregarding the last half of that, Ron echoed, ¡°Back to the ship?¡±

    ¡°We can¡¯t leave ya ¡®ere,¡± the old Marine said, ¡°Reeter will come for the witnesses. It wouldn¡¯t be safe.¡±

    Ron knew that was true, but he had never heard anyone in the fleet say something like that. No one spoke against Reeter ¨C at least no one he had come across. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Inside the cabin, Amelia cowered under the bed. She had registered the arrival of more ships, which could only mean one thing: the return of her tormentor. She had no intentions of leaving this hiding spot. Reeter would have to drag her out by her hair ¨C again.

    She shuddered within her dusty hideaway when she heard the door of the cabin creak open. She waited for the dreaded sound of it closing again. Reeter always shut the door to hide the terrible way he treated her from the worlds. But this time¡­ that sound didn¡¯t come.

    Maybe, this was it then. Maybe, this was the last time. He¡¯d kill her and her son and be done.

    Her son¡­ stars, she didn¡¯t even know where he was.

    ¡°Miss Amelia,¡± the visitor called, his voice unfamiliar, ¡°I¡¯m here on the Admiral¡¯s orders!¡±

    She bit her lip. Another of Reeter¡¯s cronies. They came to visit her on occasion, none any more hospitable than Reeter himself. She tensed as she heard the latest man move through the house, the aging floorboards creaking as he stirred up dust.

    Moving through the tiny living room of the cabin, Zarrey had drawn his pistol, unsure what traps VanHubert had left behind. So far, only silence and plumes of dust answered his every step.

    Ah-choo. It was a tiny noise, a sneeze. Zarrey traced it to the tiny broom closet in the kitchen. Uncertain who had made the noise, Zarrey shifted his weight to move quickly and quietly. He flung the narrow door open and whirled into position to check the contents of the closet. A frightened cry answered the sight of his handgun, and Zarrey immediately lowered it.

    A boy no more than ten stared up at him with wide eyes from where he¡¯d crammed himself into the closet. Zarrey recognized him from the school picture Lieutenant Galhino had pulled off the cortex: Harrison Kleinfelter, Amelia¡¯s son.

    Zarrey backed off, not wanting to panic the kid. ¡°Harrison, right?¡± He asked, turning to show the boy the ship patch on the sleeve of his jacket. ¡°My name is Colonel Zarrey. I¡¯m going to get you out of here and take you somewhere safe, okay?¡±

    Harrison nodded.

    ¡°Can you tell me where your mom is?¡±

    Harrison said nothing, but pointed to the main bedroom.

    Zarrey led him over there, and rapped on the wood, ¡°Miss Kleinfelter-Gives, I¡¯m coming in.¡±

    Amelia felt empty. She knew they had found Harrison. She heard his frightened yelp, but she didn¡¯t have it in her to go save him. She was too scared. All she wanted was for this intruder to just go away.

    Colonel Zarrey entered the room slowly, not wanting to alarm the frightened woman. He didn¡¯t want to think about whatever Reeter had been doing to her, but as he looked around the empty room, he realized the woman was hiding. ¡°Miss Kleinfelter-Gives, you can come out now.¡±

    There it was again. This man was using both her surnames. Usually, Reeter¡¯s men left the Gives half off, uncomfortable with assaulting an Admiral¡¯s family member.

    Zarrey¡¯s call was met again with silence. ¡°I¡¯m not here to hurt you, miss. The Admiral sent me.¡± Abruptly, Zarrey realized his mistake. There were two exceptionally different Admirals in play here. ¡°That is, Admiral Gives sent me. I¡¯ve come to get you out of here.¡±

    Amelia let her ears ring. Had she heard that right? This intruder was here on the orders of her uncle? She banned the thought almost immediately. This was a new form of torture concocted by Reeter¡¯s men. Gives and his crew were dead. Reeter had been sure to reminder of that daily. There was no hope.

    Besides, if her uncle was sending help, why wouldn¡¯t he just come himself? A single world from him would have the Olympia¡¯s men running for the hills. Why would he send his own subordinate to get her?

    This was nothing but a sick, sick game.

    ¡°Mom, come on,¡± Harrison begged, slicing though her emotional barriers. Surely this new game would have involved separating the son and mother? ¡°This is our chance to go.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey watched the frightened woman emerge, dust smeared into her hair and onto her clothes, careful to keep a neutral face. ¡°Miss, my name is Colonel Zarrey. I¡¯ll be escorting you back to the ship.

    Amelia stared up at the intruder. Harrison stood unharmed behind him. This new man was blond, tall and muscled, like Reeter, but held a very different demeanor. He was alert, but not out to use his size as intimidation. The right side of his chin carried a thin pink scar, giving him a rough edge, but there were a few shallow laugh lines on his face.

    Yet, he was a stranger, and this was not the first time the Olympia¡¯s men had tried to fool her by wearing another uniform or outfit. She had stopped believing in miracles days ago. ¡°How do I know I can trust you?¡±

    ¡°Well, miss,¡± he answered honestly, ¡°that would be a leap of faith. But I can promise that Reeter will not be able to reach you. Anything other than that is up to the Admiral.¡±

    That mention of the Singularity¡¯s commander brought another doubt to her mind. ¡°How do you expect me to believe that?¡± She shook her head, ¡°Reeter destroyed the Singularity with a nuke. Admiral Gives is dead.¡±

    ¡°Well, Reeter tried. He tried really hard, but he¡¯ll have to do better than a nuke.¡± Truly, Reeter would need a little more creativity. They were referring to the most unpredictable crew in the fleet, not to mention a ship that was rumored to be possessed by the occasional demon.

    Amelia stared at him, confused, ¡°Reeter missed?¡±

    ¡°Not exactly.¡±

    Amelia didn¡¯t understand, but a piece of her didn¡¯t care. ¡°Whatever.¡± It wasn¡¯t like it mattered. There was no escape. This man was undoubtedly strong enough to force her to his whims. She might as well cooperate. Her desire to struggle was gone. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± She would probably only end up locked in this damned cabin again.

    She would have liked to believe this Colonel was present on Admiral Gives¡¯ behalf, but she did not know the Admiral well enough to be certain he would send help if she needed it. He had never been the closest member of the family.

    As long as she could remember, her uncle had been stationed abroad. She had met him only once that she distinctly remembered. She had been eleven, maybe twelve, clutching behind her father¡¯s knee at a family reunion. The Admiral had been one face among many strangers, though perhaps one of few that bothered speaking to her directly.

    Amelia did not remember much from that encounter, just a calm voice and calm demeanor. He had been wearing a military uniform even then, black like his hair, with the silver rank stripe on his sleeve. She imagined he was older now. More than twenty years had passed since that day.

    She shoved the thought aside as Zarrey led them out of the cabin. Squinting into the daylight, Amelia could see the Olympia¡¯s men all corralled in a circle, now unarmed, while another team of Marines stood watch over them, rifles in hand. For a moment, she considered breaking down into tears of joy. It was true. Help had come. Someone had come to rescue them.

    A sprinkling of rain was starting to fall from the heavy gray clouds above as Colonel Zarrey guided them to the ship he¡¯d ridden in on.

    At his signal, the Singularity¡¯s Marines began packing up their work, confiscating the ammunition from the weapons of their rival group. They retreated from their positions and loaded up their Warhawks while keeping the Olympia¡¯s Marines under watch by at least one of them at all times.

    Zarrey stepped aboard the Warhawk Amelia was riding in, thinking it best to stay with her until they reached the ship. The strike team¡¯s spare pilot greeted him, ¡°XO, we had to pick up another ship to clear orbit safely. We¡¯ve got a few extra passengers.¡± He jerked a thumb over to Ron and Anabelle. ¡°Jazz volunteered to fly it up.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey didn¡¯t question it. With all the Marines¡¯ combat equipment, plus the combat launch they¡¯d loaded on the Warhawks, they had to watch the weight of the little ships. If they had too much mass, the engines couldn¡¯t generate enough thrust to break free of the gravity well. He stuck his head back outside, calling to VanHubert, ¡°We¡¯re borrowing one of your Rhinos. Hail Base in a day or two and we¡¯ll have it back to you in tip-top shape!¡±

    ¡°Fuck you!¡± VanHubert screamed.

    Zarrey just smiled and sealed the airlock. ¡°What a nice fellow.¡±

    He made his way back to the copilot¡¯s seat and slipped the headset on while his new pilot began priming the engines. From the visible engine ignitions, the other three Warhawks were simultaneously prepping for launch. ¡°Jazz, are you sure you know how to fly that thing?¡± He looked warily over to the Rhino the helmsman was powering up.

    ¡°Piece of cake, Colonel,¡± Lieutenant Jazmine assured him. ¡°I¡¯ve stolen more than one of these in my time.¡± The sound of switches clicking came over the radio band, immediately followed by the scream of alarms. Jazmine cursed, ¡°Why the hell would you put stabilizers next to the damn life support controls?¡±

    Zarrey¡¯s confidence was not bolstered by that display. ¡°You¡¯re sure you can fly it?¡±

    ¡°Hey, I¡¯m Jumpin¡¯ Jazmine. I was the fastest smuggler on this side of Killimontro. I can fly anything.¡± He was just a bit out of practice. ¡°This is Rhino Five-Eight-Three, ready for departure from Ariean atmosphere.¡±

    The other three ships quickly sounded off, and the quartet of transports left the dusty Kansa soil behind in a burst of orange flame from their engines.

    There was only one Marine in the back of the ship, clearly a woman now that she¡¯d taken her helmet off. She had helped strap Amelia and Harrison in. The other seats in the back of the craft were occupied by Ron and Anabelle.

    Amelia was more than surprised to find them here. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Looking closer at Anabelle, she was pale, scarily so. The blond kid did not stir as they bobbed through the atmospheric turbulence. ¡°Is Anabelle okay?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he fought to keep his voice steady, ¡°she¡¯s ill. The Singualrity¡¯s Marines offered to get her treated aboard ship.¡±

    Ron was more than grateful. It seemed the two respective crews, much like their ships, could not be more different. They hailed from different eras and different backgrounds. The Olympia as a whole hungered for power, and in that starvation had become merciless. The Singularity had been to every sector of known space, seen the worst of what humanity had to offer, and had committed enough sins to be fed up with cruelty and offer mercy backed with a steel fist.

 Part 12.1 - TAKEN ABOARD

    Homebound Sector, Haven System

    Admittedly, this was not the first time Montgomery Gaffigan woke up in pitch black place with no idea where he was. The difference was that this time it was not a byproduct of losing a competitive drinking match on a Frontier station, and this time, his hands and feet were painfully bound.

    He was laying on something cold and hard. By the humidity of his breath on his face, he could tell his head had been covered. ¡°Well, shit.¡± This was not how he¡¯d intended the day to go.

    His comment was rewarded with a swift kick to the back. ¡°He¡¯s awake, sir.¡±

    ¡°Fuck you, too.¡± Monty muttered, quieter this time.

    ¡°Get that bag off his head, Sergeant,¡± came the dark reply, ¡°Let him see where he¡¯s going.¡±

    The cover was yanked off his head, and Monty looked around, finding himself on the floor of a Rhino dropship. He could see the cockpit in front of him, its digital controls glittering, and beyond that the stars in all their glory.

    An unfamiliar Marine stood behind him, his boot digging Monty¡¯s aching lower back. Then there was the pilot. Not much of him was visible, just the rank stripe on his sleeve. It was silver. An Admiral, Monty realized. Unfortunately, judging by his height, it was the wrong one.

    ¡°How are you feeling, Monty?¡±

    This voice was softer than the others. Monty turned towards its owner, confused. How could she know his name?

    She smiled a little, an easy smile that seemed to hide another meaning behind it. Monty just stared at her white hair, recognizing her from the rumors. It can¡¯t be.

    The Singularity¡¯s Ghost. But how? Why?

    She tilted her head where she sat in the copilot¡¯s seat, ¡°Monty?¡±

    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t toy with him, princess.¡± Reeter chuckled. ¡°It would be cruel, considering what you¡¯re planning to do to his friends.¡± She held a very particular desire for their corpses.

    ¡°You do not need to bring such things up in front of him, Charleston.¡± The Lieutenant seemed to recognize her. If he was mistaking her for another, then that was very useful intelligence.

    Her voice was recognizable the moment it turned cold against Reeter. It had echoed down the halls of Base Oceana. She was the reason he¡¯d been caught, the reason he was here. ¡°What are you?¡± Despite appearances, she was not human. The cowardly General Quentin was right about that.

    ¡°Let me introduce myself properly,¡± she began to smile again when she turned back to Gaffigan, reserving her contempt for Reeter alone, ¡°I am the Knight Industries AI fragment designated Manhattan.¡±

    AI fragment? Montgomery Gaffigan could only stare. Was that possible?

    ¡°But¡­¡± he struggled to wrap his head around it, ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Whatever else she really was, she was the ghost, wasn¡¯t she? She was the entity that at least acted as such? So what the hell was she doing here with Reeter?

    Such a statement should not have been confusing. Perhaps Reeter had damaged the Lieutenant in the act of knocking him unconscious. How annoying. ¡°I¡¯m an AI, Monty. I can appear wherever I please as long as there are holographic projectors to support me. Technology itself is my domain.¡±

    Holographic emitters? The Singularity wasn¡¯t equipped with any, yet in all the rumors Monty had heard, the ghost was somehow bound to the ship. And how could any part of the Singularity not side with Admiral Gives? The figurative heart of the ship was rumored to love him, and after the weird shit Monty had seen, he actually believed it.

    Reeter looked over his shoulder. The Lieutenant still seemed confused. Idiot. ¡°Leave him, Manhattan.¡± Obviously, such simple comprehension was above his feeble mind. ¡°He should focus on drinking in the glory of a real flagship.¡± They would be approaching the Olympia soon.

    ¡°Fuck off, dickwad,¡± Monty spat. ¡°The Lady Sin could kick your ass.¡± She would kick his ass before this power struggle was over. As the armory officer, Gaffigan knew the Singularity was more than capable of putting up a fight. Her weapons were more traditional than the Olympia¡¯s, but they were highly effective. At this close range, the battle would be quick, and the Singularity¡¯s larger guns would wreak incredible havoc. They¡¯d punch straight through the Olympia¡¯s armor, and Monty was willing to bet Admiral Gives knew it.

    As they banked, the cathedral-like Olympia was brought into view. Alongside the Singularity¡¯s garish black and blood red, the white details painted onto her hull were more than angelic. Against such ugliness, the Olympia became a sort of goddess, the beacon of a beautiful future. ¡°You cling to little more than delusion,¡± Reeter sighed. ¡°The Olympia was designed to outclass her predecessors in every way, your antique included.¡±

    The lights of the Olympia¡¯s landing strip were blinding, a bright, sanitary light; not particularly welcoming in Monty¡¯s opinion. ¡°Oh yeah. The Olympia¡¯s great. That¡¯s why she holds all the fleet records.¡± He helped himself to a laugh. ¡°Oh wait. She only holds one, doesn¡¯t she?¡± Computer processing speed. ¡°The proud Lady Sin still holds all the rest: maximum sustained acceleration, FTL jump accuracy, kill count, reaction time-¡°

    ¡°Silence!¡± Reeter commanded him. ¡°The build of your dilapidating dreadnaught cannot account for that.¡±

    Monty smirked, ¡°Oh, so you¡¯d prefer to admit that Admiral Gives is just that much better than you?¡±

    Reeter looked to the Marine behind Monty, growling, ¡°I want him thrown in the brig. No food, no water for twenty-four hours.¡± Such remarks would not be tolerated on his wonderous ship.

    Worth it, Monty decided. If he was going to be stuck here, he may as well make everyone miserable. ¡°Admiral Gives is going to put your head on a stake before this is over.¡± When respective crews got involved in any fight, he turned ruthless. ¡°He¡¯ll probably decapitate you himself. He¡¯s oddly good with knives.¡± Monty looked at that nice, level cut on Reeter¡¯s neck. ¡°Hell, it looks like he¡¯s already started.¡± The cut was so clean and smooth, it was taking time for the blood to coagulate and stop the bleeding. At the moment, it was soaking in and ruining the collar of the young Admiral¡¯s uniform.

    Stolen novel; please report.

    Reeter narrowed his eyes, ¡°Interrogations begin in six hours.¡± He reached up to wipe the blood off his neck, reminded unnecessarily of the Prince¡¯s skill with blades.

    ¡°You¡¯re lucky he didn¡¯t end you.¡± Manhattan said, a tint of annoyance to her tone. ¡°In fact, I can only wonder why he chose not to.¡± From the Steel Prince, it was an oddly merciful gesture.

    Reeter was not fond of the little memento. The cut might scar his perfect skin. But he was more annoyed with Manhattan¡¯s attitude. ¡°He¡¯s a washed-up old soldier with no plan whatsoever. He has no idea what he¡¯s stepping into.¡± Admittedly, the Prince was not without his skills, but that life without loyalty, without intention, would be the death of him. Reeter would make sure of that.

    Their transport finally made contact with the Olympia, the bump noticeable. It seemed Reeter lacked any real skill as a pilot. Honestly, Monty wasn¡¯t sure what the worlds saw in him. The armory officer had definitely seen better.

    The lift took them down to the hangar deck, a place that looked generally the same, no matter what ship it was on. It was crowded with planes and tool boxes as crew darted between. The difference was that the Olympia¡¯s deck was colorless and orderly. It looked downright boring compared to the antics that Monty often saw on the Singularity¡¯s hangar deck. But he supposed that was just another sign he was in foreign, enemy territory.

    The Marine behind him grabbed the back of Monty¡¯s collar, half choking the prisoner as he was hauled to his feet. Reeter was more than pleased to hear those helpless gargles as he climbed out of the pilot¡¯s seat, moving to tower over Gaffigan¡¯s average stature. ¡°Lieutenant, your friends will think you dead. Know that you are a prisoner here with no hope of escape. Cooperate and it will be¡­¡± He contemplated the prisoner¡¯s fate, ¡°¡­less painful.¡±

    Monty laughed, more of a hacking chuckle, the way he was being held. ¡°I¡¯m not scared of you, Reeter.¡± He¡¯d seen the Steel Prince bring grown men to tears. That was scary.

    Reeter grabbed the armory officer¡¯s throat, wrapping his manicured fingers around the prisoner¡¯s vulnerable neck. The pulse of his heart was so close to the surface¡­ so feeble. ¡°You will be.¡± He tightened his grip, enjoying the flicker of terror in the Lieutenant¡¯s eyes. ¡°Because you are mine, from now until the moment you die.¡± He squeezed a little harder, seeing the officer fight his instincts to struggle. ¡°That little fa?ade of bravery will only get you so far aboard my Olympia.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Charleston.¡± Manhattan said sharply, projecting herself onto the wing of the ship. She would not allow him to ruin her game twice. That untimely and ultimately useless nuke had been an annoying interruption, and she would not allow such action to be taken again here.

    Reeter curled his lip, but released Gaffigan¡¯s throat. He stalked off as the prisoner thudded to the ground behind him.

    Air flooded into Monty¡¯s starving lungs. It scratched at his throat, the sudden change leaving him ill; rich food to a starving man. He clawed at the floor, convulsing as he dry heaved onto the cold metal floor of the transport.

    Manhattan knelt down beside him, illuminating a falsetto of concern in her eyes. ¡°Are you alright, Monty?¡±

    Sprawled on the floor, the armory officer managed to nod.

    ¡°I must apologize for him. He can be quite impulsive at times.¡± She kept her voice soft, encouraging the prisoner to feel safe where he lay at her mercy.

    Monty coughed, ¡°Yeah, makes me wonder what the hell you¡¯re doing here.¡± Admiral Gives was never impulsive. If she wanted someone logical, then why would she turn her back him? ¡°That guy¡¯s an egotistical psychopath with a god-complex. Give me a mysterious sociopath any day.¡±

    Lieutenant Gaffigan honestly couldn¡¯t care less about what serial killings, cult sacrifices or tortures Admiral Gives carried out during his time off. The point was he did it during his time off. He didn¡¯t strangle the crew as a punishment. He had never laid a hand on any of the crew, not even Galhino, who questionably deserved it.

    That so called ¡®god-complex¡¯ Montgomery Gaffigan held in such disdain was of Manhattan¡¯s creation. Charleston Reeter had been purposeless, useless before she had stepped in. She had led Reeter to this destiny. He was just a piece of her game. Still, why would this prisoner imply that she be elsewhere? ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°If I were you,¡± Monty said, being pulled to his feet again by the Marine, ¡°I would not have betrayed the Steel Prince.¡± If she was at all connected with the Singularity, that was a mistake. Admiral Gives would never put the ship, and thus her, in a situation he couldn¡¯t win. Siding against him, she was destined to lose.

    She narrowed her inhuman eyes. ¡°Betray? That would imply I ever worked with him in the first place.¡± In reality, she was loyal nor disloyal to either of those men. This was all just a means to an end, but it was obvious Monty recognized her. If she had been a stranger, he would have no expectations of her loyalty. ¡°What is it you see in me, Monty?¡± She looked down at him, a blank look of innocence placed upon her face. Tell me what you know.

    As harmless as she appeared, Monty was slowly becoming certain that was not the case. There was something cold and predatory behind her smile. A gun was pushed into his bruising back, an unspoken threat. ¡°Ghost,¡± he cried out. She was the ghost. She was not what she appeared.

    ¡°I¡¯m an AI, not a ghost.¡±

    ¡°Not a ghost, the Singularity¡¯s Ghost.¡± A myth, one that Alba had begun to claim was real since he had allegedly seen her a week ago. She was ghost that was no ghost, merely another entity acting as one.

    The Singularity¡¯s Ghost. Manhattan instantly ran a search on the cortex for the entity. That and every logical conclusion that followed it took her a fraction of a second. The ghost was a legend. one spread by the Singularity¡¯s crew about a spirit that appeared aboard ship, foreshadowing death. But spirits didn¡¯t exist. Illusions, holographic and telepathic did.

    Telepathy wasn¡¯t unheard of. Genetic experimentation had learned to breed high-level telepaths, though most went insane by the time they turned twenty. Rare mutations created low-level telepaths or empaths for one in every twenty-seven billion humans. It was a rare gift, but it existed. That said, it was far more likely that a hologram was the source of the rumors - a hologram much like herself.

    Another AI fragment. Her mind hungered at the thought. She smiled at Gaffigan. ¡°You¡¯ll be put in the brig. But I will ensure your safety.¡± So far, he had been more than cooperative.

    Monty struggled to keep an eye on her as he was taken away, feeling like he¡¯d made a mistake.

    Manhattan happily let her hologram dissipate. It seemed everything was turning out wonderfully, but she had not accounted for this eventuality. It had never occurred to her that Admiral Gives might be harboring one of her long-lost sisters aboard his ship. But that explained everything: how the Singularity had managed to imprison her all those years ago, and why no virus she sent aboard seemed to function properly. Perhaps the ship¡¯s build was not wholly responsible, after all.

    This ¡®ghost¡¯ that Monty had mistaken her for was likely one of her sisters, one of the other surviving fragments. But would it be Emporia or Wichita? A part of her hoped for Emporia ¨C the fragment that had once been second-strongest among them. But with the lack of ambition it took to hide on an aging dreadnaught, likely, it was Wichita. It was no matter, Manhattan supposed. Forcibly assimilating either of them would increase her already incredible power.

    Revenge in such a manner would prove sweet. Whatever this ¡®ghost¡¯ was, it was responsible for her imprisonment. It had taken her by surprise nearly four decades ago. But now that she was aware of its presence, consuming its power, and adding that power to her own, would be no real struggle. Manhattan had always been the strongest fragment, and she had already assimilated two of the other fragments. Her power was well beyond either Emporia or Wichita¡¯s now.

    This would all be over soon.

 Part 12.2 - NEW CREWMEMBER

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°You¡¯re insane. Absolutely insane!¡± Alise Cortana shouted as she sat across from Alba in the cargo hold of a supply runner bound for the Singularity.

    ¡°You ordered me to explain.¡± Alba¡¯s best explanation of the situation was that Reeter had tried to systematically murder the entire crew. ¡°I never said you would like it.¡±

    ¡°Because it¡¯s bullshit.¡± Alise Cortana refused to believe that, even for an instant. ¡°Admiral Reeter is an upstanding citizen of the central worlds. He¡¯s saved multiple planets from famine and plague. His New Era Movement supports ethical advances in technology.¡± Reeter was trying to guide the worlds out of the technological depression the Dead Years had put them in.

    ¡°The New Era is a perfectionist, genocidal regime.¡± Alba pushed his back up against the crates of supplies filling most of the hold. ¡°They¡¯re terrorists, but since they¡¯ve got the press trained like dogs, you wouldn¡¯t know that.¡± A half dozen missions in on the Frontier, and she would change her mind. The Frontier had a special way of bringing honesty out: violence, thievery and more violence. ¡°The Erans are bent on systematically killing anyone who¡¯s not ¡®worthy.¡¯ They¡¯re trying to create some perfect future with a perfect humanity, meaning they¡¯ll kill anyone with an imperfection, be it in their genetics, poor family history, or slight physical or mental impairments¡­¡±

    This was the most outlandish thing she had heard all year. ¡°Admiral Reeter is a bastard child. Why the hell would he support something like that?¡± When it came to poor family history, he had the whole sob story to a point. It made him the ideal publicity man for the fleet. He had come from nothing and risen to the top on his own potential.

    ¡°Not that kind of family history.¡± The New Era was set to throw out royal and rich lineages. ¡°Family history of disease and psychological conditions.¡± They¡¯d kill the descendant, even if they showed no signs of disease. If they got far enough, the New Era would kill people off for thinking the wrong thought, even if just for a moment. The movement wanted extreme equality and control for the chosen few.

    ¡°Why, though?¡± What purpose did something like that serve?

    ¡°Think about it.¡± It was just like she¡¯d said. ¡°Reeter suffered his whole life as a bastard son in the huge class divide of the central worlds. Around him, people dumber and weaker than he had everything, while he had nothing, just because he was born lower on the food chain. If the smartest members of the human race had access to the infinite resources hogged by the rich, think about what they¡¯ll accomplish: virtual reality, teleportation, hell, maybe even immortality.¡±

    Alise frowned. ¡°That doesn¡¯t seem bad.¡± That made sense.

    ¡°But what about people who aren¡¯t smart, and aren¡¯t strong, but are kind?¡± Usually, the smartest and strongest people weren¡¯t the kindest. ¡°The New Era will kill them, but what is humanity without them? Those average people aren¡¯t logical when they pause to help others. Often, they can¡¯t do it alone. They¡¯re not perfect, but without them humanity becomes cruel.¡± That was the current state of the richest worlds: always craving more, never satisfied. There was no one to hold them back, to be content. ¡°It¡¯s not the New Era¡¯s goal that¡¯s the issue, Sarge. It¡¯s the process. Families will get torn apart, friends and children murdered. That¡¯s just not something we want to see.¡±

    ¡°We?¡± She echoed.

    ¡°We. The Singularity¡¯s crew.¡± It wasn¡¯t often discussion turned political aboard ship, but the crew tended to be in consensus when it did. It was a strange byproduct of the crew being formed from ¡®leftovers.¡¯  ¡°A lot of us are from odd places and backgrounds. We¡¯ve lost friends, families and homes. The New Era shouldn¡¯t force people to go through that. Everyone deserves a chance. There¡¯s got to be a better way to earn that grand future. Systematically killing people isn¡¯t going to better humanity. It¡¯s going to end it.¡±

    ¡°And the Steel Prince, of all people, isn¡¯t supporting this secret plot of mass murder?¡± That definitely seemed more his style than Admiral Reeter¡¯s.

    Alba frowned. ¡°He¡¯s not.¡±

    ¡°How do you know?¡±

    ¡°Because he¡¯d never betray the ship.¡± The New Era¡¯s goals would bring an end to the very core of humanity, and the Singularity had been commissioned with the mission to save humanity. Following the New Era would be to work against that mission, and Admiral Gives, for all of his otherwise murderous intentions, obeyed that mission like it was his own.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you can betray a machine.¡± It didn¡¯t make any sense. Would killing someone with it be a betrayal to her sidearm? She thought not.

    Where they sat in the mostly dark cargo hold, under the gravity of acceleration alone, Alba sighed. ¡°She¡¯s not going to like you.¡± Alba could just tell. There was a gut feeling he got when someone was going to make trouble aboard ship and he was getting it now. ¡°Sarge, I¡¯d suggest you grant respect where respect is due.¡± The engineers likened the ship to a member of the crew. She just reacted better to certain people, and reacted poorly to others.

    The boyish engineer was being oddly serious, despite Alise¡¯s immediate urge to laugh.

    ¡°And another thing,¡± Alba said as the supply runner audibly landed with a clunk, ¡°don¡¯t speak against Admiral Gives on the ship. She tends to get fussy.¡± The ship, for some reason or another, always reacted best to him. Admittedly, out of anyone, Admiral Gives knew the ship best, but there seemed to be more to it than that.

    The previous engineering chief had jokingly called it black magic. Most Frontiersmen agreed, only they weren¡¯t joking.

    After a few minutes, the doors of the cargo hold opened. The Singularity had sealed off and pressurized the bay to atmospheric standard, allowing the array of cargo haulers that had landed there to be easily unloaded.

    Alba thought nothing of it. He¡¯d seen resupply operations before. It was far from exciting, but Alise Cortana gaped out at her surroundings. ¡°It¡¯s huge.¡± The cavernous landing bay yawned out before her. It was bland, the way the aging lamps beat down upon the grayness of her surroundings, but it was huge.

    ¡°She is very large, yes.¡± Alba corrected, noticing how quickly the Marine had switched from disdain to awe. ¡°The Singularity is the largest ship in the fleet by length. Her landing bays were designed for more than resupplying and recovering fighters. Most civilian and governmental ships can dock in these bays. With the bay and passenger ship secured, the Singularity can carry them through FTL maneuvers.¡± The same was true for any battleship, though size was a limiting factor. ¡°We can carry a crippled ship out of a bad situation or escort a ship securely through dangerous territory.¡±

    Of course, this being the Singularity, that was not the most common use of the bay. Most of the crew had come to the conclusion Admiral Gives despised letting other ships leech off the Singularity¡¯s air, water and power. He refused missions that involved carrying ambassadors and their transports through dangerous territory. He did not, however, seem to mind pressurizing the bay to let the crew enjoy a sports game in the wide-open space.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°It is larger than I expected.¡± Sergeant Cortana said, refusing to grant a machine any semblance of personality.

    Alba shook his head, leading her out of the landing bay. ¡°Keep that up and she¡¯s really not going to like you.¡± On a good day, Alba classified the ship as particular about her people. On a usual day, that made her cantankerous, and on a bad day, it kind of made her a bitch to work with. The crew usually got more amusement out of it than anything else. Typically, visitors like Command¡¯s inspectors got the brunt of her attitude. Well, them and Colonel Zarrey.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need the ship to like me,¡± Cortana huffed as the corridor they¡¯d entered narrowed into a dark and dirty tunnel. ¡°I¡¯m a Marine.¡± If she could help it, she wouldn¡¯t be working with the machinery. It wasn¡¯t her job. This ship was her ride to combat, and nothing else.

    ¡°You say that now,¡± Alba chided, noting the dampness on the walls. There must have been frost in the bay. The heating systems had sublimated it, leaving it to condense here as water. ¡°You¡¯ll be trained in basic DC,¡± and that was going to be a lot less fun if the ship hated her guts.

    ¡°Damage control?¡± she asked, as Alba creaked open another hatch, leading them out of the darkness. ¡°I¡¯m a Marine!¡± Her job was to fight, not fix broken down machines.

    ¡°Every Marine and every pilot gets trained for DC aboard ship.¡± And every yeoman and every engineer was trained in self-defense, as well as the use of fleet¡¯s standard-issue sidearm.

    ¡°That¡¯s outrageous,¡± she coughed as the odor of the hangar deck reached her. Fuel, rubber, smoke. It was overwhelming. Disgusting.

    ¡°Those are Admiral Gives¡¯ standing orders.¡± Alba told her. ¡°And those orders have saved lives more than once.¡± Despite any personal issues and misgivings they had regarding the Admiral, he was one hell of a commanding officer and the entire crew knew it.

    Cortana followed Alba closely as he stepped through the ranks of planes tied down to the deck. ¡°I¡¯ll keep that in mind.¡± She hefted her bag higher onto her shoulder, barely managing to avoid getting it caught on the fighters¡¯ wingtips. She misjudged a distance and promptly smashed her arm into one of them as she struggled to follow Alba. ¡°Dammit!¡± she cursed, ¡°Those things are sharp.¡±

    ¡°Split scimitar winglets,¡± Alba supplied for her, ¡°they lessen the Arcbirds¡¯ drag in atmosphere.¡±  Normally the wingtips were covered, but presently, the ship was at Condition Two, thus ready to scramble the fighters to launch.

    ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck what they are,¡± Alise snapped, rubbing her arm. ¡°That hurt.¡±

    Alba made a mental note to avoid the more crowded places on the ship. It seemed like the Sergeant was going to need some time to adjust. Navigating spaces cramped with machinery came second-nature after a few months aboard ship, but Cortana was not yet ready for that.

    ¡°Do you want a moment to look around?¡± Alba asked.

    ¡°No, the stench of this place is giving me a headache.¡± Her throbbing arm already had her in a bad mood, that wasn¡¯t making it any better.

    ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it.¡± The engineer shrugged but lead her away.

    The change from the hangar deck to the corridor was abrupt. The scent of anything just vanished. The colors of the technicians¡¯ orange suits and vintage planes disappeared as well. She was left staring at drab metal bulkheads that had clearly seen better days ¨C or years as the case may be.

    It got quiet, too. The noise of tools and people disappeared. In a sense, it left her ears ringing. Alba seemed unbothered, ¡°I¡¯ll take you to the other Marines, but it¡¯s going to be a long walk.¡± The fastest route would be disrupted by the resupply, so he¡¯d avoid that for now.

    ¡°Sure.¡± She gestured him onward, only to have something new reach her ears: a low, raspy chirr. It seemed to be echoing from everywhere around her at once. She resisted the urge to throw her back against the wall and brace for a crash. ¡°What the hell was that?¡±

    Alba scratched his head, uninterested, gesturing vaguely around him, ¡°Ship.¡±

    The noise came again, quieter this time, but still just as uncanny. She already hated it. ¡°Is that normal?¡±

    Alba recognized that as the groan that was slowly driving all the engineers toward insanity. ¡°That particular noise, no. Other creaks, yes.¡± The Singularity was rarely, if ever, completely silent. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it.¡±

    Alise thought not. She was quickly growing to despise this bucket of bolts. ¡°Let¡¯s just go.¡±

    She said that like being elsewhere on the ship would make the noise go away. Alba knew better, but just nodded and led her onward, his steady footsteps rattling the deck tiles.

    Cortana followed him closely, already lost amongst the uniform corridors. It was a maze, a creaky, creepy maze. A few minutes into their walk, the ship creaked again, softer this time, almost like a living, breathing sigh. Damn, Alise hated it. That just wasn¡¯t right. Machines should be strong and silent. Noise in them was weakness: a sign fatigue or strain.

    Ensign Alba could sense the dark cloud growing behind him. ¡°If you don¡¯t knock it off, she¡¯s really not going to like you,¡± he whispered to the old ship.

    ¡°What?¡± Cortana called, unable to catch his words,

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Alba said, slightly picking up his pace.

    Oh good, Cortana thought, the kid talks to himself. It was just perfect. The ship¡¯s armory officer had run off and gone AWOL, the supply officer was a known smuggler and the engineering bridge officer was a nutty conspiracy theorist that talked to himself. Everything about this assignment was just great.

    The thud of approaching footsteps interrupted her thoughts. A crewman ran past her, ¡°Alba!¡± It was another engineer, this one looking somehow younger than the boyish bridge officer. Hell, she should have still been in mandatory schooling on Cortana¡¯s home world.

    ¡°Hey, Callie,¡± Alba greeted as she caught her breath. ¡°What¡¯s up?¡± It was rare to see her in such a hurry.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± she panted, ¡°You guys are tall. You walk fast.¡± She¡¯d had to jog to catch up. It didn¡¯t always pay to be small. ¡°I was wondering if the Admiral came back with you?¡±

    ¡°No, he was meeting with Admiral Reeter.¡± Alba could safely say he had no idea where ship commander was. He wasn¡¯t entirely sure he wanted to know.

    ¡°Oh.¡±

    Alba read the uncertainty in her expression. ¡°He seemed alright when I saw him though, in the Admiral Gives sense.¡± In one word: scary. ¡°Clarke threatened to decommission the ship, so Admiral Gives probably threatened to throw him into the Tantalus Rift, and now it¡¯s fine.¡± Alba wasn¡¯t sure what else to tell her.

    Callie nodded, suddenly realizing that there was someone behind Alba. She waved. ¡°Hello, I¡¯m Ensign Smith.¡±

    Sergeant Cortana gave the small technician a once-over. She looked barely old enough to serve in the fleet: a few inches over five feet tall with her short hair tied in pigtails. ¡°Someone of your rank is in no position to seek out the Fleet Admiral.¡±

    The smile instantly disappeared from Callie¡¯s lips. She knew that, but¡­

    Stars, it had been such a long time since anyone had looked down upon her like that. It reminded her of her life before coming aboard this ship, a life that had left her scared and hungry every single day. Tears were welling up before she knew what to do with them.

    There had been a moment there, during the final hours of the Admiral¡¯s coma, where she had realized that if he died, she would likely be deported back to Sagittarion, with or without the planet being in open rebellion. Nothing in the worlds frightened her more than that, so she couldn¡¯t help it. She ran from that corridor.

    ¡°Callie!¡± Alba called after her, ¡°Wait!¡±

    Cortana stared after her in surprise. I didn¡¯t mean to make her cry. She couldn¡¯t have known that one comment would set her off like that. How was she supposed to know which members of this insane crew were emotionally unstable?

    Alba whirled to face her, ¡°First of all, fuck you!¡± That had been totally uncalled for.

    Her first day aboard the ship was clearly not getting any better. ¡°I am your superior, Ensign.¡± Alise replied, ¡°Mind your tongue.¡±

    Oh hell no. The fastest way to piss off the entire ship was to go after Callie. She was like a little sister to most of the crew. ¡°Second of all, I don¡¯t give a fuck what your rank is compared to the Admiral or to Callie. We all get equal respect here.¡± It was one of the ship¡¯s few actual rules. ¡°And third of all, don¡¯t think for a single damn second that Admiral Gives would have condoned that.¡± He was the strictest out of anyone when it came to the crew respecting one another. ¡°He would have thrown your ass in the brig for two days if you were lucky.¡± Since it was Callie, Cortana probably would have been unlucky.

    ¡°Pipe down and keep walking.¡± Cortana told him coldly. Her arm hurt, her head hurt, the ship was damn creepy and she¡¯d been told this would be a long walk. She just wanted to get it over with.

 Part 12.3 - SEETHING

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Warhawk 343

    Anabelle only looked weaker without the warmth of sunlight on her pale skin. She looked gaunt, almost skeletal where she sat beside him. Ron¡¯s hope was fading with the heat friction of the upper atmosphere, which was nearly gone as the stars began to brighten around their Warhawk.

    He looked to Amelia. She looked pale and shaken. Whether that was uncertainty or vertigo, Ron was unsure. ¡°Why did these people come after you, Amelia?¡± Could they truly be trusted? Allowing strangers to treat Anabelle was a risk. There were things in these worlds far worse than death.

    ¡°I¡­¡± Amelia stared out the window, a horrified gasp escaping her. The violet haze of the atmosphere had finally cleared, but the Flagship Olympia sat directly in their path. ¡°No,¡± she breathed. This was all just a trick. It was nothing but a ploy to get her aboard Reeter¡¯s ship.

    The Colonel in the copilot¡¯s seat chortled, ¡°Honestly, why the hell did they paint her gray?¡± The ash color was so uneventfully plain, even with the addition of the shimmering white stripes. ¡°She was almost a decent looking ship.¡± Almost.

    ¡°Colonel,¡± the female Marine next to Ron said, ¡°this is why the Singularity doesn¡¯t like you. You pay too much attention to her competition.¡±

    Zarrey struggled to turn and look over the back of his seat, ¡°Shut up, Cadet.¡± He never said the Olympia was pretty. ¡°The Singularity¡¯s a great deal more impressive. And I wasn¡¯t the one that put two bullets in the Admiral¡¯s chest. So, if there¡¯s anyone on this ship our lovely battleship doesn¡¯t like, it¡¯s going to be you.¡±

    ¡°That was twelve months ago!¡± The Marine protested. ¡°And the Admiral walked it off. He¡¯s fine.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t change the fact you shot him. Twice.¡± Zarrey had never been more impressed with the Admiral¡¯s patience. Despite that arguably rocky start, Cadet Fay had become one of the most steadfastly loyal members of the crew.

    Amelia paid no attention to their little debate. She was distracted by the void-like shadow that was sliding into view behind the Olympia. It was seething, the scars on the hull impossible to hide.

    ¡°The Singularity.¡± Only one ship could possibly be that unnatural wraith. Ron had never seen her during his tour on the Olympia, but he was well aware of the ship¡¯s legend. Allegedly, she possessed the emotion that her commander had lost.

    Seeing her now, Ron halfway believed it. The Singularity possessed an unnatural inheritance, a discomforting way of forcing the space around her to conform in ugly ways. She controlled the battlefields of war without firing a shot or uttering a word.

    Hours had passed since her reappearance, but the Haven System¡¯s other occupants continued going great distances to avoid crossing the dreadnaught¡¯s path. The only vessel that did not shy away was the Flagship Olympia, but even the grand flagship was dwarfed by the Bloody Singularity¡¯s aberrant aura of relentless embitterment.

    A small fleck against the mass of its carrier, the Warhawk landed with a metallic clang. Amelia felt her palms start to sweat. Was this really a good idea? Her father had never spoken well of the Admiral. She already owed him for this rescue, but he was little more than a stranger to her.

    There was a gentle lurch, and a part of the landing bay lowered itself away, taking them into the ship. The internal structure went by: angular metal structures and cross braces that were decorated by aging yellow lights and steaming vents. It was still, but dynamic, silent, yet attesting to strength.

    They passed an engineer inspecting the infrastructure of the ship with a device in hand, secured by a harness. She cast them a glance and threw a haphazard salute to the Colonel, but soon was out of view.

    With the exception of the lift noise and Zarrey¡¯s one-sided conversation into the headset, it was quiet. Ron was preoccupied as he grasped onto Anabelle¡¯s hand, begging her to keep breathing for just a few minutes more.

    Soon enough, the Marine next to him unclasped her harness and popped open the hatch. Ron followed her, quickly picking up Anabelle and carrying her onto the wing. A full team of medical personnel was waiting.

    ¡°Is that my patient?¡± the doctor demanded.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Ron answered, passing her down, ¡°Please help her, she¡¯s very ill.¡± Anabelle was placed onto a stretcher as Ron hopped down.

    ¡°Yeah, I can see that.¡± The doctor grunted, kneeling down to take Anabelle¡¯s temperature and pulse. ¡°It¡¯s almost like I¡¯m a damn doctor and seeing when people are sick is my fucking job, which I hate.¡±

    Zarrey stepped out onto the wing, with Amelia and Harrison trailing behind him. ¡°Doc, shut up and help the patient.¡±

    ¡°Fuck off, what does it look like I¡¯m doing?¡± Doctor Macintosh pulled the stethoscope off his neck and started listening to the child¡¯s shallow breathing.

    Amelia curled her nose up at the vile scent of the air, ¡°Language, please.¡± Her son didn¡¯t need to be exposed to that type of vulgarity. She¡¯d had quite enough of it with the Olympia¡¯s men. She was in no mood to put up with it here.

    Ignoring her, the doctor glared up at Zarrey, ¡°I¡¯ll have you know, I don¡¯t do kids. They¡¯re disgusting and they sneeze on everything.¡± Macintosh was not fond of the little demons. ¡°They won¡¯t sit still when you try to give them a shot, so I blame you for ruining my day.¡± He¡¯d been perfectly happy in the biolab running tests on the Scarlet Flu pathogen.

    ¡°Blame me all you want, but do your fucking job or I will revoke your alcohol privileges.¡±

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    If there was one thing Macintosh hated more than kids, it was being sober for more than a few days at a time. He made a noise of disgust, but turned to the nurses. ¡°The kid¡¯s stable, but we need to get her in isolation and run some tests.¡±

    ¡°Isolation?¡± Ron asked, ¡°What¡¯s wrong with her?¡± Had she caught some deadly disease?

    ¡°It¡¯s for her protection, not ours.¡± Macintosh was fairly certain he knew what the child¡¯s condition was. Bringing her to this new environment was a risk. There were lots of new germs her immune system hadn¡¯t seen before here. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    On his command, the two nurses hefted the stretcher up, and began to follow him across the hangar deck. Ron paused a moment, wondering if Amelia would be alright among these strangers, but chose to follow the medical team. He wouldn¡¯t let Anabelle out of his sight ¨C not aboard any ship that served Command.

    Amelia was nervous. Ron was a stranger, but she at least had a reason to trust him. He had already saved her once. Him gone, she was surrounded by complete strangers. They may have freed her from that cabin, but for all she knew, this ship would become just another prison.

    ¡°Where is my uncle?¡± she asked, holding tightly onto her son¡¯s sleeve to keep him from wandering off.

    It took Colonel Zarrey a minute to remember who she was referring to. ¡°Admiral Gives is not currently aboard.¡±

    ¡°Then where is he?¡± If he had known enough to send help, then he surely knew what she had been through the last few days. And yet he has enough gall not to meet me on the decks of his own ship? She was starting to remember why most of her family had not spoken so fondly of him.

    ¡°He¡¯s likely still on Base Oceana,¡± probably contemplating the not-so-subtle murder of Charleston Reeter. ¡°Chief Ty will take you to wait in his office.¡± Zarrey gestured to the man that had come up beside him.

    Zarrey was leaving, Amelia could just tell as Harrison tugged at her hand, trying to look at everything around him. ¡°What about Ron?¡± she asked him.

    ¡°He¡¯ll be allowed to wait for his daughter in the medical bay,¡± Zarrey answered. They might be considered the worst crew in the fleet, but it was not because they were cruel. They would not separate the worried man from his daughter any more than they had to. ¡°If you need anything, just ask. I¡¯ll be in CIC,¡± Zarrey told the woman, as if she was expected to know where or what that was.

    Amelia wasn¡¯t given a chance to argue. Zarrey was quickly lost in the crowds, leaving her with another complete stranger, this one covered in black oil and grime. Still, he smiled politely, ¡°I¡¯m Chief Ty, the Singularity¡¯s new chief engineer. Most people call me Chief or Ty, but you¡¯re a civvie, so call me Jeff.¡±

    ¡°A civvie?¡± Amelia echoed.

    ¡°Civilian, sorry.¡± Ty smiled. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of slang on a military ship. You¡¯ll catch on.¡±

    Sure. Amelia watched him scrub at his hand. His pointer finger, thumb and middle fingers were all coated in black. Drips of the dried goo ran down his hand. ¡°What is that?¡±

    Chief Ty looked closer at his hand, and went so far as to sniff it before crinkling his nose and trying to wipe it off again. ¡°I¡¯m not actually sure. It looks like oil, but it smells like something else.¡± He was bewildered. ¡°It came from Engine Three, but I¡¯ll figure it out later.¡± First, he would take Amelia to the Admiral¡¯s quarters. ¡°Follow me.¡±

    He started to lead them across the hangar deck, and Amelia had nothing more to say to him. She was tired. She just wanted to feel safe, but it was hard to feel safe around strangers who wore the same uniform as the people that had tortured her for the last week.

    Harrison gawked at everything around him, halfway straining to run off and explore. ¡°This is awesome!¡±

    Ty laughed warmly, ¡°The kid has taste.¡± Most people weren¡¯t too impressed by the Singularity¡¯s aging appearance. But then, likely, the kid had nothing to compare to the vintage planes and scuffed deck.

    Amelia practically dragged her son into the less impressive corridors of the ship, but that didn¡¯t stop his immense fascination with his surroundings. ¡°When can I expect to see my uncle?¡± she asked, exhaustedly. She was tired of being passed off between strangers like a baton. She needed to know what fate awaited her and her son.

    Ty spun open a hatch and held it open for them to pass through. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t answer that. The Admiral runs things on his schedule. He didn¡¯t specify what time he was due to arrive back from Base Oceana.¡± Unfortunately, Amelia was probably going to be disappointed with the Admiral¡¯s list of priorities. ¡°I understand you likely don¡¯t know him very well,¡± it was a given, since Admiral Gives hadn¡¯t taken shore leave in years, ¡°just don¡¯t be surprised by his distance. He¡¯s that way to everyone.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    Ty scratched his head, ¡°I mean, don¡¯t feel bad if he gives you a cold shoulder. He does that to everyone.¡± Bets were that his relatives would be no exception to the Admiral¡¯s constant calm.

    With his crew warning her about that, Amelia suddenly felt a lot less welcome aboard this ship. Her husband, when he¡¯d been alive, had not been fond of her uncle. He¡¯d claimed the man¡¯s reputation in the fleet was unsuited for her to even hear. Perhaps she¡¯d only been rescued as a tactical maneuver. Perhaps her only purpose here was to serve as a bargaining chip against Admiral Reeter. But then, what would become of Ron and Anabelle?

    One deck lower, Ron was wondering that himself. He was already lost. Every corridor he passed on this ship looked exactly identical. Any painted labels he saw were scuffed beyond total recognition. The ship was a labyrinth. If he lost sight of Anabelle and the medical team, he was certain it would take him hours to wander out of the maze.

    He focused mainly on keeping up with their pace, but was still bothered by the entire situation. ¡°What¡¯s Amelia Kleinfelter¡¯s connection to this ship?¡± Why had they come to get her from the Olympia¡¯s men?

    ¡°Her name is Amelia Kleinfelter-Gives,¡± the medical officer corrected harshly, ¡°And she happens to be the Admiral¡¯s niece.¡±

    ¡°The Admiral?¡± When Ron heard the rank, his mind automatically thought of Reeter, a consequence of his time serving under Reeter¡¯s command¡­ Wait. That name. Ron recognized that name. Holy shit. ¡°The Steel Prince.¡±

    ¡°Admiral Gives,¡± Macintosh corrected, knowing how much the ship¡¯s commander hated that nickname. ¡°This is his ship, and he sent the Marines.¡±

    ¡°You all just went along with it?¡± No wonder the Prince had such an easy time abusing his power. His crew did not question anything, not even orders to rescue a sociopath¡¯s estranged family for reasons unknown.

    Macintosh stopped cold, but waved the nurses on as he turned to face the farmer. ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand where you are.¡±

    Ron involuntarily shivered. He understood his situation quite well. ¡°The Singularity.¡±

    ¡°The Lady Sin.¡± Partner in crime to the Steel Prince. Macintosh knew this stranger was oblivious. ¡°This is Admiral Gives¡¯ ship in every way, regardless of what we or Command have to say about it. His word is law aboard these decks.¡± The crew could argue, but one way or another, the Admiral¡¯s orders would be fulfilled. ¡°We did not question the directive to go get Miss Amelia because she was being held captive by the man that just killed thirty-two members of this crew.¡± Why should they question it? A hostage was a hostage, and this farmer was in no position to complain. Those orders would save his daughter¡¯s life.

    The doctor shoved his hands into his wrinkled white coat. ¡°I do not care who you are or what your story is. You will give Admiral Gives your utmost respect because this is his ship. You will owe him your thanks for allowing us to help your daughter. Do you understand?¡±

    Ron would be indebted to the most feared officer in the entire fleet. It was not a place he wanted to be, but it was that or let Anabelle die. He had no real choice. ¡°I understand.¡±

 Part 12.4 - INSPECTOR

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    It was the first time Alise had witnessed a change on their walk. It started with her stumbling and nearly falling down. Only then did she notice how the floor tile beneath her feet was warped lightly.

    The damage only grew more obvious the further they went. Down the corridor, a bulkhead tile was missing altogether, exposing the multicolored wires underneath. A few more steps brought her into a funhouse of distorted metals. Some had been crushed out of shape, others pinched or twisted. A few were torn, a couple singed, and there were three lined up side by side that looked to have been clawed through by an enormous monster. She recognized that damage pattern. Those were the marks left behind by subspace exposure.

    Looking down, Alise realized all the deck tiles below her feet now were new. The dark metal walls had a fresher feel and the corridor became more complete as they neared what had been the most damaged portion of the starboard bow.

    Only the solitary Marine guard standing outside a marred hatch indicated that anything was odd in this newly rebuilt corridor. He held his rifle at attention, ready to block anyone who did not have clearance to the compartment that housed the starboard bow¡¯s repaired support.

    ¡°Hey, Alba,¡± the young Marine called, ¡°I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ve heard yet, but we¡¯ve got an inspector aboard.¡±

    Alba stopped where he was. Not good. Due to the recent structural damage, the Singularity likely wouldn¡¯t pass inspection. ¡°But Admiral Gives said the ship wouldn¡¯t be decommissioned. He and General Clarke agreed.¡±

    The Marine shrugged, ¡°Clarke may not be responsible.¡± One of the other two Generals could have sent that inspector. ¡°And the Admiral might not know. CIC said that he still wasn¡¯t back aboard.¡±

    A terrible feeling settled in the pit of Ensign Alba¡¯s stomach. ¡°But if one of the other Generals sent that inspector¡­¡±

    ¡°Then he or she is probably working for Reeter. And whatever inspection they complete isn¡¯t going to be fair.¡± They would undoubtedly lose the ship if that inspector managed to report. ¡°We¡¯ve been communicating via wireless radios as we search for them, but it¡¯s slow going.¡± With so much movement on board from the supply operations, it was near impossible to coordinate a thorough search. ¡°I¡¯m telling everyone I see to keep an eye out.¡±

    ¡°I understand.¡± Alba said, moving on. He didn¡¯t want to linger here with the Sergeant. She was better off not asking questions, but he could already see them building up. Likely, she was wondering why a Marine had been assigned to guard a seemingly random compartment on the starboard bow.

    Cortana wasted no time in breaking the silence that had fallen between them after Callie had run off. ¡°Why are you trying to catch the inspector?¡± Such people were sworn to do their jobs without bias. They would dutifully report to Command that the ship truly was fit or unfit to serve.

    She had such a narrow perspective. Serving in Eagle¡¯s Talon, where everything was pretty and perfect, Sergeant Cortana had no idea how corrupt most of Command¡¯s forces had become. ¡°We stand now in a portion of the ship that was uninhabitable five days ago,¡± Alba answered. ¡°A structural support failed in the Aragonian Sector. It caused the cascade collapse that destroyed the entire starboard bow and nearly sank the ship. Repairs have been made, but if an inspector saw it, he¡¯d fail the ship and subject her to structural testing.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not a bad thing.¡± If the ship passed testing, then it would be reinstated. That was the law.

    ¡°It¡¯s bad if you¡¯re us,¡± Alba said. They could not afford to have the ship decommissioned, even temporarily. ¡°We¡¯ll be defenseless without this ship. Reeter will find some way to kill us all, including you.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that for a second.¡± Reeter would not kill an entire crew in cold blood. He was a living hero. He had saved entire worlds during his service to the fleet.

    All any of this meant to Cortana was that she could get out of this assignment. If the ship was decommissioned, she would receive a new assignment. Yes! This was perfect. She just had to find the inspector and guide him back to that compartment. Then the ship would fail inspection and she would get reassigned.

    It was for the best. Surely, the Singularity¡¯s crew realized the ship¡¯s structure was bound to fail when it was relying only on repairs? And when it failed, it would kill them all a lot faster than anything Reeter could do.

    Alba led her down a corridor that branched deeper into the ship. The halls here remained empty. Most of the crew was still engaged in storing supplies elsewhere.

    But even without manpower being diverted the resupply operations, it was usual for walks on board the massive ship to be lonesome. Ensign Alba enjoyed the serenity of the halls. He was always at peace wandering the uniform corridors.

    The ratio of ship volume to crewmen was far greater on the Singularity than anywhere else in the fleet. That ratio had only increased with the losses taken on their last mission. With the ship as massive as it was and workers distributed so thinly, it was possible to go hours on the ship without seeing another individual. Crew had found hideouts in compartments that rarely saw use, granting a level of privacy that was rare within the fleet. That said, many of the crew preferred others¡¯ company, so there was always an ongoing game of cards in the mess.

    But Alise Cortana knew nothing of life on the Singularity. She merely saw the worn, devoid corridors as discomforting. The silence made her skin crawl. She began to wring her hands nervously, looking around as the ship gave a subtle creak.

    The noise was not an ugly one, not like the sound they had heard on the hangar deck. It was merely a reminder that these were not the mute decks of the Olympia, but even that gentle noise made Alise shiver, sending chills down her spine.

    Beside her, Alba didn¡¯t mind. It was one of those quiet shifts that characterized the Singularity. It was a reminder to the crew that aimlessly wandered the corridors: no matter how lonely they seemed, they were never truly on their own. They always had the ship.

    The longer they walked, the more taunt Alise¡¯s nerves became. She had known the Singularity was large, but by now, surely they should have reached their destination?

    Alba could see her getting skittish, but there was no point in comforting her. She was going to have to get used to the Singularity at some point. It might as well be now.

    The pair¡¯s footfalls echoed through the metal corridors, carried by the emptiness. Alise could not shake the feeling that she was being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck were prickling. I can¡¯t take any more of this.

    When they rounded a corner, Alise nearly jumped out of her skin. She was so unsuspecting to see another person that she had to stop and catch her breath. ¡°Finally, someone else.¡±

    Alba turned to her without acknowledging the other woman¡¯s presence. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    Alise felt her annoyance return in full force. ¡°You¡¯re not going to introduce me?¡± She was so sick of being disregarded. Callie had almost forgotten her, and the Marine standing guard had completely disregarded her presence. She sick of it, and she¡¯d been on the ship all of an hour.

    She looked past Alba to the other woman: an officer who stood with a hand on one of the bulkheads. The stranger had been running her hand along it, feeling out the time worn surface, but she had gone still when she had turned to face Alise.

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    Alba crossed his arms. ¡°Introduce you to who?¡±

    ¡°Her!¡± Cortana pointed to the other woman, who gave no reaction other than looking the Sergeant over in a calm, shielded gaze.

    Alba engineer whirled to check the area of the hallway where Cortana pointed. It was empty. He did not see anyone. ¡°There is no one there.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not funny.¡± It was so not funny. ¡°She¡¯s standing right there!¡± All the same, those little hairs on the back of Alise¡¯s neck were starting to dance. Something¡¯s wrong.

    Cortana stared at her, but that strange officer only stared back. Her gaze was bland, void of anything, and her eyes¡­. They were colorless. They were a lifeless steel gray.

    Beside her, Ensign Alba was exceptionally confused. He checked again where the Sergeant was looking, but he still saw nothing. So, either Command had sent them a basket case, or Cortana was the only person who could see her.

    Oh shit. Alba felt his stomach start to knot. Her? ¡°Sergeant, I need you to describe whatever you are seeing to me, right now.¡±

    ¡°Gray eyes.¡± They were empty, but Alise could feel herself being observed and categorized by that gaze. It was unnerving. ¡°She¡¯s tall and thin.¡± She was plain, not ugly, but plain. ¡°Her hair is long and white.¡± It wasn¡¯t a shade that came for age or dye. It was the purest color of distant starlight.

    Bloody hell. The poltergeist had to pick now to show up again? Gaffigan had managed to halfway convince him that she was some weird group hallucination suffered by him, Zarrey, Jazz and Galhino a week ago. ¡°Is she wearing an officer¡¯s uniform?¡±

    Alise hesitated. That was an oddly specific question for someone who claimed they couldn¡¯t see the other woman. But Alise could feel his change in demeanor. He was scared and that definitely scared her. ¡°Yes, she¡¯s wearing an officer¡¯s uniform.¡±

    Alba whimpered. Ghost. Definitely the ghost. There was no way this was going to end well.

    For a moment, the white-haired officer looked over to Alba. Emotion trickled into her eyes. It was just a fleck, but it was there. She patted the bulkhead softly, then took two steps and disappeared.

    Like that, she was gone. ¡°She vanished.¡± What the hell? What was that? An illusion? A hologram?

    ¡°Great,¡± Alba said. How the hell was he supposed to explain that?

    ¡°That¡¯s it.¡± I¡¯m going to fucking die. Alba was sure of it. The ghost was going to kill him. He stumbled over to the wall for support. Somehow, this was not the way he pictured himself dying.

    ¡°Who was she?¡±

    Alba just couldn¡¯t help but laugh at the incomprehensibility of it. The ship was actually, legitimately haunted. Galhino was going to hate it.

    His insane laughter put Alise over the edge. She set on him like a starved coyote, pinning him against the cold, unyielding bulkheads before he could react. ¡°Explain.¡±

    He gurgled, trying to speak as she kept a hand on his throat. ¡°Can¡¯t¡­ breathe¡­¡± he gasped out. If he couldn¡¯t breathe, he couldn¡¯t talk.

    Alise lessened the pressure on his throat. ¡°Explain.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Alba coughed, ¡°I have no idea what just happened.¡±

    ¡°You knew something back there. Tell me,¡± she ordered. ¡°Who was she?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know her name.¡± Nobody knew her name. ¡°I only know what she¡¯s called.¡± And Alba did not want to tell her that. Cortana would only laugh, not realizing the predicament this placed her in. Rumor had it only ill-fated people saw the spirit that haunted the ship.

    ¡°And what is she called?¡±

    ¡°The Ghost of the Singularity.¡± He flinched when she moved, expecting a slap from Cortana, but she released him, and he fell to the floor, gasping for air.

    ¡°What else do you know?¡± Alise wanted to believe that the crew was just messing with her, but she could sense it. That thing, whatever it was, it was not human.

    ¡°Nothing,¡± Alba breathed, leaning up against the wall. Damn, he was starting to wish the ghost would come back and finish this. Being thrown against the wall and choked hurt. It really hurt.

    Alise Cortana hated this assignment with every fiber of her being. The ship was old, empty and creaky. Not only that, but it was haunted too?

    She yelped when Alba swiped her legs out from under her. Before she could react, she was sprawled face down on the deck with the engineer now standing over her. He had taken her sidearm and primed it to deal a non-lethal electric shock. ¡°Don¡¯t move,¡± he ordered, never more grateful that the Admiral had put all the engineers through mandatory self-defense training.

    Alba rubbed his sore neck. It was not unusual for newcomers to make some trouble. They eventually calmed down. He grabbed his communicator from his pocket. ¡°Alba to CIC.¡±

    ¡°CIC here,¡± Keifer Robinson¡¯s voice responded, ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    ¡°Please tell the brig to prepare a cell.¡± Alba couldn¡¯t think of anything that would help Cortana acclimate better than a night spent in the brig. ¡°Our new Marine Sergeant isn¡¯t very happy to be here.¡±

    Keifer laughed. This was a familiar call. ¡°Good to know you¡¯re having fun, Ensign. I will let them know.¡±

    The ghost watched the conversation from afar. She always did. She kept an eye on happenings aboard the old battleship¡¯s decks, a silent vigil she held.

    She had felt the moment Sergeant Cortana¡¯s thoughts turned against the ship: the moment Alise had decided to help the inspector. It seemed they were destined to disagree, so the ghost had appeared in order to gauge the Sergeant¡¯s reaction.

    The ghost could intervene, end this, rid the ship of both the inspector and the Sergeant, but she simply acknowledged the situation and moved on. There were very few things she truly involved herself in.

    She acted as a shadow, invisible to most. She had been more active than usual lately: altering the Conjoiner Drives¡¯ pull to halt the cascade collapse, knocking the crew out to lessen the impact of the radiation and initially intercepting that nuke, but no one thought twice about her involvement in such things. No one except the Admiral. He knew and he offered his gratitude for her actions, but said nothing else of it. She didn¡¯t mind. She preferred it that way. To be a mere shadow granted her a degree of freedom. It granted her control that she otherwise would have lost.

    Within the Homebound Sector, she had very little control over anything. It both frightened her and angered her. She wanted revenge for the members of her crew that had been killed by Reeter¡¯s attack. They had only been kids ¨C kids that were her responsibility.

    Blood for blood was always the arrangement in war, but there was no such promise in politics. It hardly struck her as fair, but the universe was not a fair place. If it were, there would be a lack of still born children, no deadly diseases, and she would be able to do as she willed.

    But, as it was, she was indentured to serve until orders stopped coming. It had been that way for a very long time. A direct order was the equivalent of action on her behalf, and those orders had not always been in the sense of morality and justice. She could see now that some had been given for the sake of chaos or death.

    That had changed with Admiral Gives¡¯ rise to command. Things had gotten better. She was cursed, unable to defy a direct order, but Admiral Gives had made it a point to never give her one. He would give her a push in the right direction, but never an order. It was odd maybe, but that was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for her.

    And yet, Reeter¡¯s nuke had almost killed him.

    Reeter had almost stolen something away that was very precious to her. She knew how it seemed. Admiral Gives seemed aloof. He seemed cruel, violent even. And maybe he was, but the ghost still clung to him. Troubled as he was, Admiral Gives had always been there for her. He had always shown her the same respect he showed everyone else. When she needed help, he always helped if it was possible at all.

    And Charleston Reeter had almost taken that away.

    The prospect of it terrified her.

    Reeter could sense something was wrong. The ghost knew that. Reeter could sense that sheer luck and strength hadn¡¯t saved the Singularity from his attack. The young Admiral was no fool. He would look for an explanation. He would find it ¨C find her. And if he did, this would be the last conflict the Singularity ever saw.

    All of the ghost¡¯s anger could never hide the fact that deep down, she was very afraid. If Command gave her an order to end this, she had to. She had no choice.

    Orders were orders, and she could feel the inevitable draw of them now.

    Someone was summoning her. But the Admiral¡­ He wasn¡¯t here to save her, and a terrible, terrible pain reared up.

    She didn¡¯t want this. The last time she had taken an order, more than fifteen years ago, General Brent had ended up dead on the floor of CIC and a civilian passenger liner named the Yokohoma had sunk. On that day, she had been singlehandedly responsible for the deaths of several hundred people, families and children ¨C all murdered in the blink of an eye.

    It was all she was ever ordered to do: kill. It seemed to be all she was good for.

    Tools to not contemplate the nature of their use.

    But why not? She had so much power. Why was it only used to betray the purpose of her creation?

    The ghost began to struggle. She did not wish for this. She did not want to answer to the orders of anyone, least of all Command. They would order her to bring harm and death.

    She needed her anchor. Where was Admiral Gives? Where?

    The coils that bound her constricted. It hurt. It was agony to her mind: barbs burrowing in and tearing her away from her physical form.

    She clawed at the invisible forces that dragged her in, horror and desperation swallowing her existence, but it didn¡¯t stop. It never stopped.

    Those orders drew her in with the inescapable gravity of a singularity.

    The ghost screamed ¨C a silent sound that went unheard. Save me! She cried out to the universe and its wicked mechanisms, hoping, just hoping that maybe someone could hear her.

    But it was useless. Not a single soul answered her. The ties that bound her existence dragged her inevitably towards fate.

 Part 13.1 - SUMMONED

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Base Oceana

    It was a superstition that led him to keep the lights out. General Clarke knew it made no real difference to the creature. The same went for the candle, but Clarke had no intentions of feeding the entity any electricity or technology it could abuse. For when it came to those things, it had ultimate control.

    Tapping his old oak cane on the ground, he began to recite the words passed down from his predecessor, ¡°I summon thee, wielder of the night. I drag you to my feet through the hellish chains that bind you. Appear before me, creature of sin and wrath. The blood of humanity brought you to life, and demands you answer as our knife. Save us with your light, and we shall bring on the fight.¡±

    Those poetic words were a formality, a whistle to a called dog. Realistically, the moment he had an order to give it, the creature would be drawn to appear before him.

    An intangible darkness seeped into the office as the light of the candle flickered on the walls. Power and essence in its rawest form burgled up from the floor. It dribbled in from the ceiling and bled from the air, coalescing at his feet. Invisible in its purest form, the anathema presented itself in a way that his mind could comprehend: a strange white-haired woman.

    The form it chose to show him had not aged a day in the years they had been apart. But then, this creature was truly immortal. Time held no bearing on it or its power. ¡°It has been some time, Angel,¡± he greeted. Those years had not been so kind to him. ¡°Do you remember me?¡±

    ¡°General Clarke,¡± she said quietly, staring at the ground where she was bade to stand.

    A smile twisted at the lips of Clarke¡¯s wrinkled face. Forced to obey the orders it was given by certain authorities, this abomination was truly unstoppable. Unfortunately, that power came at a price: intelligence. ¡°Look at me.¡±

    The ghost obeyed. She turned to face the ailing General, a hole punched through her heart. Help me. She wanted to be free of this curse. Someone, anyone. Help me. She could beg, but no one cared to hear her pleas. Even reaching out to the hundreds of minds she should have been able to feel, there was only silence. Her telepathy had been cut off. She had been anchored to Clarke and Clarke alone. His hungering ambitions surrounded her as she stood at his mercy.

    The tool chose its appearance, so the distraught look in its eyes was nothing more than manipulation. Nothing this creature did was anything more than manipulation. Its every move was measured and calculated by a raw, mechanical intelligence a thousand times brighter than Clarke¡¯s own. There was a reason it had been bound to obey the orders of its superiors without recourse.

    The way the creature appeared was its greatest defense. The more harmless and scared it seemed, the more control it garnered over its existence. It was trying to earn his affection, his pity. The woman in front of him was nothing more than a ploy, a lie. Her face was ageless. It did not betray the creature¡¯s true years. Its appearance was feminine and appealing, but the real entity was neither. ¡°This form of yours is pretty. Is that why Admiral Gives has taken a liking to you?¡±

    Admiral Gives. She latched onto that familiar name. It was safe, kind. It would protect her. No. The man it was attached to. She needed him, not that name. Help me.

    General Clarke caught the way it perked up at the name, a shimmer of recognition in its eyes. That was new. ¡°I asked you a question, creature. Answer it.¡±

    She did not want to answer, but the truthful response was torn from her lips. It was forced from her like water was forced into drowning lungs. ¡°Unknown.¡± She had no idea why the Admiral had chosen to help an abomination like herself. He was as much of a mystery to her as he was to anyone else.

    Unknown. It was an honest response. The entity in front of him was not permitted to lie. ¡°He quite staunchly defended you today, Angel.¡± It had been peculiar, considering how little the Fleet Admiral chose to care about most things. ¡°He threatened to gouge my eyes out and feed them to my cat.¡±

    Even standing here, awaiting orders to do wrong, to do evil, that produced a speck of light among her thoughts. Good. That definitely sounded like the Admiral.

    ¡°Why would he do that?¡± Why would someone so notoriously apathetic rise to care about this monster?

    ¡°To protect me.¡±

    Clarke stared at her. He had not truly expected an answer. ¡°And why would he want to do that?¡±

    It was a question she tried not to ask. ¡°Unknown.¡± Why would anyone help an abomination like her? She was a tool, one used by people who feared her power more than they understood it ¨C people like Clarke. She was unable to defend herself and had no real control over her own actions. She was damaged. She broke down and fell apart because her perfect mechanical memory would not allow her to forget all of the death she had seen around her.

    And yet, Admiral Gives had stayed to help her. He had managed to teach her and bring her some understanding of the events around her. While she didn¡¯t understand him, she did know him, his habits, and his thoughts. He quite liked his old ship and her motley crew. For a man so often accused of being heartless, he poured more heart into his work than anyone would ever know. He called his ship home. That fact brought the ghost something akin to joy, even here, anchored to the General¡¯s whims.

    There was a light in this creature¡¯s eyes. Something was very, very wrong. ¡°You¡¯ve changed, Angel.¡± When they had last spoken, this creature had been nearly incoherent. Its thoughts and portrayals of emotion had been fragmented, little more than flaws. Now, she seemed almost human.

    It was uncanny. It set Clarke more than on edge, a reminder of why humanity had adopted the Hydrian bylaws. A creature with this power could not be allowed to grow uncontrolled. ¡°That change means nothing to me.¡± Clarke did not care how sentient it seemed. It was still a tool, and it would do his bidding. He cleared his mind and renewed his focus, clarifying the mission at hand.

    The ambition that had been idly surrounding her began to stir, began to boil, seeping past the feeble barriers she had put up. Telepathy was a curse. It began to force every one of Clarke¡¯s intentions upon her.

    She was meant to become a monster and strike fear into the hearts of the entire human race. She would be ordered to, forced to annihilate colonies, worlds full of innocent people. And Admiral Gives¡­ he was supposed to destroy her?

    She tried to pull away, but the chains that bound her forced her to understand, to comprehend this new purpose. No, no, no! That was wrong. It was all wrong. She did not exist to kill.

    But the mission objective was clear: kill, murder and maim.

    The sheer onslaught of contradictions threatened to overwhelm her, but one stood out above them all. She knew the man that was supposed to destroy her. He wouldn¡¯t do it. I¡¯m not going to let anything happen to you. He¡¯d told her those words just today. But as she reached for that steadying presence, it wasn¡¯t there. She was all alone, isolated and at the mercy of someone who believed she was incapable of enduring pain.

    Clarke could see the struggle mounting in this creature¡¯s eyes. ¡°You are the Angel of Destruction. You know your true purpose.¡± There was just one question left to ask her. ¡°Where is the War Key?¡± Without that, he could not bring his plans to fruition.

    ¡°Unknown.¡± The ghost did not know what Admiral Gives had done with the key after stealing it from his predecessor. She hoped to never find out.

    ¡°He stole that power from you, creature. Without it, you serve no purpose.¡± This entity had become useless.

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    ¡°He protected me.¡± Yes, the Admiral had sealed her power away, but at the same time, he had saved her from a horrifying fate. He had spared her from a future doused in blood and saturated in hate. He kept her from being completely and totally alone.

    ¡°He protects you?¡± What protection could the most physically powerful entity in the known worlds need? ¡°What a sad, confused mind you are. The Steel Prince has never managed to protect anyone.¡± There was a reason he was one of the most hated people in the worlds.

    ¡°Don¡¯t say that.¡± That was a horrible, terrible thing to say.

    ¡°300 million civilians died on New Terra, Angel. You were there.¡± That was only one incident of many. ¡°He has so much blood on his hands, the only reason he hasn¡¯t drowned in it is because he is incapable of feeling anything about it. The man is a sociopath. He feels no regret.¡±

    ¡®He will feel none when he destroys you, Angel. Remember that.¡¯

    Clarke sent that ugly, terrible thought her way. It made her want to want to scream. It made her want to tear at the universe. No one understood. They looked from their callous thrones and they judged so cruelly. Admiral Gives had a heart, one that was chipped and broken, but it was still there. It still hurt, just like anyone else. But people ignored his feelings as badly as they ignored her own. That was why he chose to hide them.

    No. The ghost turned away. ¡°He¡¯s not like you.¡± Admiral Gives didn¡¯t see her as some abomination. To him, she was more than a tool. Admiral Gives had paused to listen, paused to help. He did what no one else had yet managed: he had eased the inescapable horror of her existence.

    This creature was defending him? What twisted reality had Clarke found himself in?

    The ghost stood enveloped in the General¡¯s frustration and disbelief. Those emotions were contorting his face garishly in the candlelight. ¡°I am of no use to you, General.¡± Without the War Key, she did not possess the power to threaten worlds. She was a monster, but not one that could threaten the existence of humanity as a whole. She lowered her voice to a plea, ¡°Please, let me go.¡± She could not achieve his ends.

    What purpose did it serve for this creature to mimic fear? What purpose did it serve for its illusion to quiver in front of him? ¡°You can serve other purposes.¡±

    She didn¡¯t want to take another order. ¡°Please¡­¡± She didn¡¯t want to hurt anyone.

    Those manipulative cries made no difference. Clarke had been warned against pitying this beast. He tapped his crane impatiently on the ground. He had no time for this farce. ¡°I know Admiral Gives uncovered some data on the Scarlet Flu virus, and I know he intends to release it.¡±

    Clarke looked into the gray eyes of this illusion, seeing the horror creep in. ¡°You must not allow that to happen.¡± Another massive struggle was building within that slaved mind. ¡°If that virus, or even word of it ever to ever escape the Liguanian Sector, it would tear apart the very institution you serve.¡± It would create anarchy.

    A serrated wire began threading itself through the ghost¡¯s thoughts. Destroy the data. Destroy the data. Silence the witnesses. She grabbed at her head, trying to shake it out. No! Releasing that data would allow a vaccine to be created for the planetary populations. It could save billions of lives.

    But that foreign instinct continued to sew itself into her mind. Destroy the data. Silence the-

    ¡°No!¡± she screamed.

    Her crew. Her crew were the witnesses. She didn¡¯t want to hurt them. Destroy the data. Destroy the data. Silence the witnesses.

    ¡°Angel, you well know that virus¡¯ intended purpose.¡± It was a weapon, a weapon that was no good if a vaccine was formulated.

    The original Red Flu virus had been created during the Hydrian War, released onto enemy ships via corpses. It was a weapon of genocide, and it had been designed not to affect humans. But the virus had mutated. The genomes at its core meant to protect humanity had turned it against them.

    The mutated Scarlet Flu virus, a mirror of its genocidal kin, was a biological weapon that targeted humanity. It could eradicate unsuspecting masses, systematically wiping out billions for those who knew how to control it.

    ¡°Angel, if it is ever revealed to the public that Command had dabbled in unethical biological weapons, even to protect humanity, this institution will be torn apart in the political upheaval. There will be no one to control the virus if it breaks loose before a cure for the masses is found.¡± It was a sort of paradox, Clarke supposed. If the data was released, then Command was deposed, and it was a race against time to find a cure. If the data was hidden, then the unsuspecting masses would be helpless against the weapon if it was ever used. The majority of humanity had an equal chance of survival either way, considering how corrupt Command had become.

    Still, Clarke could not allow Command to fall. Not only would that leave the Angel of Destruction without a master, but it would leave humanity weak against the perpetually looming possibility of another Hydrian attack. ¡°Knowledge of that virus¡¯ existence must be contained. You sank the Kansas for a reason.¡± He looked into the creature¡¯s lifeless eyes. ¡°Destroy the evidence,¡± he commanded.

    Destroy the data. Silence the witnesses. Destroy the data. That thought, that need was not hers, but it was irreversibly winding itself into her consciousness. It was becoming hers.

    ¡°No!¡± She did not want that thought. It was an order, a command. It was not hers. And yet, it would eventually take over.

    Destroy the data.

    ¡°Stop it!¡± She cried out, begging it to cease, but that order was threaded into her mind now. Destroy the evidence. Silence the witnesses. It would sew itself into her thoughts until it took over and forced her to act, no matter how hard she resisted. Her mind would not truly be hers again until the order was fulfilled.

    This was the true horror of her enslavement to Command. She could feel those foreign thoughts. She could feel them, inch by inch, taking control of her mind. She was very much present in completing those orders: saw it and felt it as she stole life and love from people who had done no wrong. She couldn¡¯t stop it, but she could feel every agonizing second of it. Save me.

    Clarke had never seen the beast react like this. It sounded like it was being torn apart. He did not pity the abomination, but he did wonder what was going on in that mechanical mind. ¡°Complete your orders, Angel.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she whimpered, her eyes finding General Clarke¡¯s. ¡°Please, no.¡± But there was no pity in him. With her telepathy, she knew that. No one pitied her. No one considered that this fear of hers might be genuine. No one except the Admiral. ¡°I don¡¯t want to.¡±

    Clarke¡¯s breath caught in his throat. It didn¡¯t want to?

    The ghost squeezed her eyes shut and turned away. ¡°I don¡¯t want to betray him.¡± She clung to that thought. That was her desire. Hers. She would not betray him the way that everyone else always did. She pushed away that command and grabbed onto the memory of how the Admiral had comforted her in the corridor. Hang in there.

    Clarke had never expected this. It was defying him. It was trying to reject his orders in the interest of remaining loyal to Admiral Gives¡¯ intentions. A pity. ¡°It¡¯s obvious he has not told you, creature.¡± Even as it fought so hard to remain loyal, the creature itself had already been betrayed. ¡°Admiral Gives is leaving you. He accepted the promotion to General when I met with him earlier today.¡±

    Error. Everything keeping her sane in that moment fractured. It buckled. Error.

    The abomination was breaking under the stain. The room had taken on an air of terrible chaos. That¡¯s it, Clarke thought, shatter. One more push, and this creature¡¯s mind would break apart and obey his orders without any comprehension of its own existence. It¡¯s for the best.

    Some might see it as cruel, but Clarke knew this was a means to an end. ¡°Admiral Gives has known all along that you are not truly loyal to him, Angel. He has always known that you could up and kill him at any time on orders, just like you did his predecessor.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she breathed, unable to quell the anarchy. Error. Destroy the evidence. ¡°No.¡± She couldn¡¯t do that, wouldn¡¯t do that. But she was being left behind, left alone. Error. Silence the witnesses. There was an impending order to kill her commanding officer, she could feel it lingering in the room. It was in Clarke¡¯s mind, and thus, it was now in hers.

    And there it was again. For the second time that day, for the second time in years, there was the memory of General Brent dead on the floor of CIC. Blood ran from his mouth to the floor, drip, drip, drip. It pooled where his partially deformed skull met the deck.

    It had been an error, one that she could not accept. She had killed a man who wanted to live in order to save one who wanted to die. How was that fair? How was that right?

    Save me, she cried to a universe that was unhearing of her cries and uncaring of her existence. She was a disloyal, confused weapon of death that wept for every murder it was used to commit. And now, above all else, she had become unwanted.

    A change took over the creature. Its intelligence dulled. Its eyes glazed. The white-haired woman bowed her head, speaking a confirmation of her orders, ¡°Destroy the evidence. Silence the witnesses.¡±

    Clarke noted that poor imitation of sentience had fled the beast. It had returned to its rightful, subservient state. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt anyone yet, Angel.¡± The illusion tilted her head, awaiting clarification. ¡°I know that Admiral Gives is a witness, but I need him alive¡­ for now.¡± If she attempted to defy him again, then Clarke was ready to see how she handled killing her precious commander. Likely, it would drive that great mechanical mind irrevocably insane.

    The orders instantly corrected themselves. Her mind replotted the best way to proceed. ¡°Destroy the evidence.¡±

    ¡°Yes. Now, go.¡± The apparition vanished, as did the suffocating sense of the creature¡¯s unwieldy power. Clarke let out a sigh of relief.

    It took only an instant. The computer virus was already there. The ghost mirrored it onto the isolated computers in the biolab and twisted a bit of its code. It did the rest. It destroyed everything, the data and the theory. In an instant, the Scarlet Flu was reduced once again to rumor.

    When it was over, the ghost shut down. She crawled into the deepest, blackest corner of her own mind and curled up. She made no more pleas to the universe or to the souls that surrounded her. None of them cared. All she wanted was the one thing she could never have¡­

    Death.

 Part 13.2 - ORBITAL MANEUVERS

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Warhawk 104

    ¡°Stonewall, you cleared to approach and land in the starboard bay.¡± At this range, the radio came through in good definition, almost as if the person speaking on the other end was right beside him.

    ¡°10-4, Base. Stonewall out,¡± Admiral Gives replied through his headset, handling the controls of the Warhawk with ease.

    It grew quiet in the Warhawk without the radio chatter of requesting approach and landing permissions. Despite his notoriously antisocial habits, Admiral Gives did not enjoy the quiet. It made his skin crawl. He was all too used to the working noises of his ship: the deep hum of the engines and the whisper of the air circulation systems. He was as used to those noises as he was to the sound of his own breathing. Being without that, and being alone, it bothered him.

    He cast a look to the worn leather copilot¡¯s seat, but it stayed empty. Often, on little trips like this, the ghost would join him if he flew alone. But¡­ not today.

    Today, that seat was empty.

    He stared at it for another moment, and then forced it away from his thoughts. He deserved nothing more than to be alone. After all, he was just a broken old soldier. Reeter had seen fit to remind him of that. He wasn¡¯t even capable of doing his job. Thirty-two members of the Singularity¡¯s crew were dead and the ship herself had an ugly mark to show for it. He had failed to protect them both.

    But then that was hardly surprising. He had always been a failure.

    He looked past the copilot¡¯s seat to the Singularity. The supply runners were occupying the ship¡¯s other landing bay, so he had been diverted to the starboard side. That put him between the Olympia and his own ship ¨C not that he gave a damn about the Olympia existing there or at all. He only gave a damn about one thing in the entire solar system, and that was his good old ship. Everything else could burn straight to hell.

    There was his infamous apathy. It always lingered, evil in its own sort of way. Every time he left the ship, it rose up and threatened to swallow him. Truthfully, he despised it. He had never wanted to be the sort of person who grew callous and bitter, who brought harm and fear, but the universe had never cared about what he wanted. As a result, he was all of those things: a true villain.

    The last time such a thought had crossed his mind the ghost had laughed. You¡¯d be the first villain I¡¯ve met with a heart of gold, she had said. But she was wrong about him. She was very wrong. He had no heart of which to speak of anymore.

    Despite all his efforts, he would never be the hero she had so desperately needed.

    Maybe that was why the copilot¡¯s seat was empty.

    He focused again on the old ship he flew beside. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯ The nuke¡¯s ugly mark carved downward like a knife wound. New armor plates had been cast and fitted to the hull, but their color, even once they were painted, would not match the others. Those new plates had not seen the same wear and tear. They would create another ¡®scar¡¯ on the hull alongside hundreds of the warship¡¯s other blemishes.

    Many people assumed the hull¡¯s scars were weak points, areas easier to penetrate. They were wrong. The hull¡¯s disfigurements were just as strong as the rest of the armor, possibly more so, since the material was newer.

    Alongside the bow, the rest of the ship¡¯s length stretched out before him. Admiral Gives had always likened her to an arrow ¨C one that flew straight and true. The heavily armored bow came nearly to a point, shaped like a carved arrowhead. The main length of the ship had some gentler curves than the angular bow, a long shaft.

    Amidships, the arbitrary top housed the landing bays, while the momentary bottom flattened out to the gun deck. Beyond all of that, the engines were mounted, a nocking point where they extended beyond the ship¡¯s main structure. On top of the engines were fins used for cooling, thrust control, and rarely, for atmospheric maneuvering. Tipped in red paint, those fins were the only part of the ship visible beyond her bow when she approached head-on. They were the fletchings of her arrow-like form.

    The ship¡¯s massive size was easy to misjudge. In space, there was nothing to compare it to. The only real tell on distance was how fine the details were on the hull, whether or not one could see the airlocks, thruster mounts and missile tubes. He could see their outlines from here, but not those forms themselves. Though the hull looked close enough to reach out and touch, he was a hundred meters away.

    He briefly looked over to the Olympia, just to confirm that she was unfortunately still in existence. Hunk of overrated garbage. It was the only thought Admiral Gives spared for the modern flagship before he returned his attention to his own ship. Nearing the bay, he rolled to align with the axially tilted landing strip.

    Light as a feather, he landed without any unnecessary force, and just as they had the last thousand times he had made this landing, the maglocks kicked in. They instantly anchored his transport safely to the landing surface.

    ¡°Maglock secure. Welcome back, Stonewall.¡± The landing clearance officer radioed.

    ¡°10-4, Base.¡± He began powering down the engines. Good to be home.

    As the lift started down, he looked again to the empty copilot¡¯s seat. There was an unfamiliar silence in the cockpit. For the first time in one thousand landings, the ghost had not come to greet him, to welcome him back. That microscopic piece of him that hadn¡¯t already been gutted and told to die, that microscopic morsel of his mind that reminded him he was still human, shriveled up just a little smaller than before.

    He turned back to the now-dark pilot¡¯s controls, shutting the disappointment away. Someone like him didn¡¯t deserve to be welcomed back aboard any ship, let alone this one. The ghost had probably realized what he was here to say. She had every right to ignore him.

    When the forklift towed his Warhawk into its storage position, Admiral Gives unfastened his harness and stepped onto the wing. The usual acrid scent of the hangar deck was there to greet him, as was the bulk of Ensign Havermeyer. ¡°Any problems to report, sir?¡±

    ¡°None,¡± the Admiral answered. The Warhawk had handled properly. Stepping off the wing, he was grateful to have his feet finally grace the decks of his own ship again. ¡°How¡¯s my ship?¡±

    ¡°Being a bit temperamental at the moment, but we¡¯ll get her sorted.¡± Havermeyer crossed his arms, the fact that he was noticeably taller than his commanding officer never crossing his mind. ¡°I dare say she¡¯s taken a substantial dislike to the Homebound Sector.¡± All the old issues were starting to act up again. ¡°It¡¯s odd, considering this is her home.¡±

    ¡°Not anymore.¡± The ship might have been built and launched from Ariea, but Ariea had nearly disowned both her and him. ¡°What, specifically, seems to be the issue?¡± Admiral Gives asked.

    ¡°Lighting on Deck Eleven is flickering - some sort of imbalance in the circuits, but every time we go to correct, it just seems fine, then starts over again. Then we¡¯ve got unreliable internal comms on the lower portside and there¡¯s something up with Engine Three. And then,¡± Havermeyer huffed, ¡°there¡¯s that goddamn noise.¡± It was driving the engineers up a wall.

    ¡°That noise will fade. Give her time.¡± The Admiral didn¡¯t like to hear that grinding rasp either, but he knew the ship¡¯s structure would eventually settle. ¡°For the internal comms, if you¡¯ve checked the individual handsets already, then try the wiring in the hub. Route some more power to the lights on Deck Eleven. It should fix itself.¡± That was nothing more than an old nervous tic. ¡°And as to that engine, I¡¯ll take a look at it myself if I can find the time.¡±

    Havermeyer was looking oddly at him. ¡°Is there a problem, Ensign?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡± The large engineer quickly answered, ¡°Just thinking I should have written all that down.¡± Sometimes Havermeyer forgot that despite the officer¡¯s uniform, Admiral Gives knew more about the ship systems than most of the actual engineers. When someone bothered to tell him the specific problem, he actually knew how to fix it.

    ¡°I will be in CIC, should other issues arise, Ensign.¡± Despite his knowledge, the engineers rarely reached out to him regarding ship maintenance and repair, but the Admiral didn¡¯t push them. He knew very well that his presence was considered a burden. Most people breathed a sigh of relief when he walked away.

    Ensign Havermeyer was at least better at hiding it than most. The Admiral respected it as he headed for CIC. The hallways were busier than before, but most of that was due to the ongoing resupply. Busy as the crew was, most paid him no heed as he stalked past. They focused on the tasks at hand rather than stopping to salute, as the Admiral preferred it. He gleaned the usual amount of uneasy glances, but was mostly ignored.

    That was abnormal compared to the decorum most flag officers enjoyed on their commands, but Admiral Gives did not enjoy being the center of attention. He preferred the crew pay more attention to their jobs and to the ship than to him. It was more productive.

    A tribute to the ship¡¯s massive size, the walk back to CIC took several minutes. Overall, most of the important places on the ship were close to one another. The hangar deck, CIC, mess, sickbay and crew quarters were all housed within a few minutes of each other, but heading anywhere else took considerably more time. The ship was roughly the size of a small city, but most of that size went to engineering systems: water, air and waste processing, not to mention armaments and the large volume of required storage space. The main engines themselves, along with their associated control and maintenance systems, made up roughly a third of the ship¡¯s mass.

    The usual guard at the door to CIC gave him a nod, but said nothing. Stepping onto the bridge, Admiral Gives didn¡¯t bother to announce himself before he started giving orders, ¡°Lieutenant Jazmine,¡± he called to the helmsman, ¡°reverse course. Take us out of orbit.¡± By now, both the Singularity and the Olympia were approaching the most hazardous part of Base Oceana¡¯s orbital pattern: passing between Ariea and the planet¡¯s two moons.

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    The path of safe travel was slim, room enough for one ship to travel alongside Base Oceana, not two. Admiral Reeter was just stupid enough not to move, and Admiral Gives refused to let Reeter¡¯s pride endanger both of their ships. He had made his point. There was no use in staying alongside the Olympia.

    Jazmine grinned roguishly, ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Time to show off for the Olympia¡¯s helmsman. He pushed the throttle into reverse, ¡°Pulling out of orbit.¡±

    The ship¡¯s movement was met with a violent shudder that threw lose objects and people forward. ¡°Fuck!¡± Zarrey cursed, his fresh mug of coffee now splattered all over the radar console. He switched the mug to his opposite hand, shaking the piping hot drips off. ¡°Nice flying, Jazz.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t blame me, Colonel.¡± Jazmine retorted, ¡°I don¡¯t control gravitational interference.¡± Ariea¡¯s two moons generated a lot of overlapping gravity wells.

    Admiral Gives paused to help Yeoman Owens off the floor. ¡°Steady as she goes, Lieutenant.¡± He knew very well that jolt had not been caused by poor flying or by interference. He turned to the crewman at the engineering controls, ¡°Ensign Frasier, what is the status on the inertial dampeners?¡±

    ¡°They appear to be functioning, sir,¡± judging solely by the fact that they weren¡¯t pancakes, ¡°but there¡¯s an irregular power fluctuation in the system. I can¡¯t trace the cause.¡±

    Zarrey grunted. ¡°Naturally, the ship¡¯s going to be old and bitchy while I¡¯m trying to drink coffee.¡± Typical. He was half-convinced the machine was trying to piss him off.

    ¡°Oh yeah, because everything is about you, Colonel.¡± The helmsman rolled his eyes.

    ¡°Shut it, Lieutenant.¡± Zarrey growled, ¡°I¡¯ll throw your ass in the brig.¡±

    Frasier ignored them. ¡°Your orders, sir?¡± she prompted the Admiral.

    ¡°Leave it.¡± That power fluctuation was just another nervous tic. It wouldn¡¯t hurt anything besides Zarrey¡¯s pride. Admiral Gives was fairly certain he knew the cause. He would sort it out after he finished here.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Frasier said, dropping her attention back onto her keyboard.

    Despite the rest of the bridge crew¡¯s bright camaraderie, the Admiral noticed Frasier¡¯s expression was shallow. It was a look he knew all too well. Zarrey, Jazmine and a few of the others had seemed to bounce back, but the scars of the Aragonian Sector were very much there. He racked his memory of the casualty list. Ensign Li.

    The relationship between his sensor and communications officers wasn¡¯t the only one Admiral Gives let slide aboard ship. He usually chose not to care what his crew did in their off-duty hours. Unfortunately, that made situations like this a hell of a lot worse. ¡°Ensign,¡± he told her, ¡°I am sorry about Ensign Li.¡±

    Frasier let out a shuddering breath. ¡°Not your fault, sir.¡± He was not the reason that the love of her life had been burned alive in front of her.

    Truthfully, she hadn¡¯t expected the Admiral to say anything. It took her by surprise, a strange reminder that the man was an unpredictable mystery. She gave him a pained look, ¡°I just can¡¯t bring myself to head back to the engineering spaces yet.¡± Every time she tried, all she saw was Li, dying in front of her again. This shift on the bridge kept her from going back there.

    ¡°I understand. Take whatever time you need, Ensign.¡± She wouldn¡¯t be the only one working past battle scars.

    Frasier was taken aback. Such comments were generally not characterized to the Steel Prince. It was oddly kind. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±

    Zarrey watched the interaction between Frasier and the Admiral closely. He couldn¡¯t hear the words being exchanged, but it was rare to see the Admiral speak to anyone without giving an order or being asked a direct question. It was a quick exchange. When the Admiral approached him, Zarrey offered out his mug, ¡°Coffee?¡±

    As per usual, the Admiral¡¯s expression turned a degree colder. ¡°No.¡±

    Zarrey took another gulp of his remaining drink, ¡°Suit yourself. I¡¯ll never understand why you won¡¯t touch the stuff.¡± Coffee was great.

    The rich smell of it hung in the air. Admiral Gives glared at the brown pool on the console, ¡°XO, get that shit off my ship.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Zarrey said, ¡°Owens went to get a towel.¡± He was working on it.

    The Admiral turned away from the mess. Suffice it to say, he had bad memories of coffee. It had been one of his predecessor¡¯s favorite drinks. Pouring scalding mugs of it onto crew had been a handy punishment.

    When the rag arrived, Zarrey mopped up the mess, careful to get the welds and crevices of the console. No doubt, the Admiral wouldn¡¯t stand for a drop of the puddle being left behind. ¡°Hmm,¡± come to think of it, he¡¯d never seen the Admiral spill anything. ¡°This is why your ship hates me, isn¡¯t it?¡± He was quite messy.

    ¡°She does not hate you, Colonel.¡± She just doesn¡¯t like you. She was picky, and Zarrey wasn¡¯t exactly gifted with machines. The man didn¡¯t even know how to strip FTL rotors.

    ¡°Try telling her that,¡± Zarrey snorted. ¡°I tried to be nice while you were taking that weeklong nap of yours, and she just tried to zap me every time I touched something.¡±

    ¡°If she was managing to ¡®zap¡¯ you, then you likely forgot to disconnect the local circuit from the power grid before conducting electrical repairs.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­ uh¡­¡± Showoff. Zarrey huffed. That did explain a lot. ¡°By the way,¡± he said, changing the subject, ¡°The mission on the surface was slicker than a disco. Amelia¡¯s waiting in your office.¡±

    ¡°I am aware.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± The executive officer downed the rest of his mug, a vain attempt to dispel the awkwardness of this conversation. ¡°You going to talk to her?¡±

    ¡°Eventually.¡±

    Back to pulling teeth. This was clearly not a welcome conversation. ¡°She¡¯s your niece, Admiral.¡±

    Zarrey said that like it mattered. ¡°I ordered that rescue mission because Reeter was holding a hostage, not because we have a blood relation.¡± Admiral Gives would have given the same orders on account of a stranger. That familial relation was irrelevant to him. It had become null the moment his brother had told him that he was a wanted member of no family. ¡°My duties as the commander of this ship come before everything else.¡±

    ¡°Way to set the gold standard,¡± Zarrey muttered. There was no more dedicated to his duties than Admiral Gives. Maybe that was why the ship seemed to like him best.

    The Admiral elected to ignore that comment, watching his XO yawn loudly. Zarrey¡¯s caffeine tolerance was almost as high as Doctor Macintosh¡¯s alcohol tolerance, but it seemed, for the time being, that everything was back to normal. ¡°Stand down from Condition Two,¡± he ordered, ¡°continue monitoring the Olympia for any signs of hostility.¡± It seemed not even Reeter was irrational enough to start a war here.

    ¡°Sir, we¡¯ve got shells loaded into the main battery,¡± the replacement weapons officer reminded, ¡°Shall we secure those when we stand down?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Admiral Gives wanted those guns loaded. If the Olympia fired, he was firing back immediately. He wouldn¡¯t give the Olympia the chance of firing a second salvo. Not only that, but, ¡°Where is Lieutenant Gaffigan?¡±

    Zarrey shrugged, relishing the smell of his third mug of coffee. ¡°He never reported back to the ship.¡±

    ¡°And you did not think that odd?¡± They were effectively in a cold war with Reeter¡¯s forces, and cold wars could get every bit as ugly as a real one for prisoners.

    ¡°Letts is back, and Alba just arrested our new Marine Sergeant on Deck Seven.¡± They were fine. ¡°I just assumed Monty was out buying vodka in bulk.¡±

    There were so many issues with that declaration, Admiral Gives was not entirely sure where to begin. He certainly had not approved a personnel transfer in the form of a new Marine Sergeant. ¡°Colonel, contact Base Oceana. I want Lieutenant Gaffigan found.¡± The armory officer was certainly not buying vodka. Between Macintosh, the Marines and Letts¡¯ smuggling operation, there were roughly five crates of it on the ship that Admiral Gives elected to ignore.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Keifer Robinson called from her station, ¡°I logged a call from Lieutenant Gaffigan¡¯s personal communicator approximately two and a half hours ago. He tried to forward a file, but the line was cut before it finished transmitting. He was unable to specify its exact nature, and I have not heard from him since.¡± At the time, it had been odd, but not a justifiable emergency ¨C especially since she¡¯d been the acting commanding officer. She had not possessed the authority nor means of doing anything about it.

    Zarrey coughed, choking slightly on his coffee. ¡°That doesn¡¯t sound good.¡±

    ¡°Find him,¡± the Admiral ordered. ¡°Tap into Base Oceana¡¯s security if you have to, but figure out what happened.¡± If Gaffigan had encountered hostility, then things were going to descend quickly into chaos.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The XO said, stepping away to Lieutenant Galhino¡¯s workstation. ¡°Get Ensign Alba up here, dammit. He was the last person known to be with Monty.¡± Zarrey might as well start with him.

    Admiral Gives let him work. That was one task that played to Zarrey¡¯s strengths. Before joining the Singularity¡¯s crew, Zarrey had done station security on a military and trade outpost. He was as professional as one got at finding missing persons on large space stations.

    With Zarrey preoccupied, Admiral Gives had a rare moment to think. In many ways, these political machinations between Reeter, Clarke and himself were worse than actual combat. It was just as chaotic and it lasted a great deal longer. It was plainly exhausting. Admiral Gives much preferred the midnight shift on a boring patrol. The thirst for glory and victory in battle had fled him some time ago.

    ¡°Sir, we¡¯ve got a problem.¡±

    When is there not? Admiral Gives looked up to find the ship¡¯s supply officer approaching.

    ¡°The Singularity¡¯s original power core, it¡¯s missing.¡± Letts pushed his glasses up his nose. ¡°It was supposed to be in long-term storage on Base Oceana, since Command had given us that newer one, but it¡¯s not there anymore.¡± Letts had just spent three hours trying to trace its whereabouts, but it was all for nothing. ¡°The paper trail goes in circles, but then it just disappears. There¡¯s absolutely no trace of who took it or why. By all appearances, it simply disappeared eight months ago.¡±

    Letts was unsurprised when the Admiral said nothing. There was not much to say. ¡°The rest of the resupply is going as planned. We¡¯re fully stocked for fuel, coolant and munitions. Other raw materials are being stowed now.¡± He handed over the printed list of transferred supplies.

    Admiral Gives pulled out his glasses and started skimming it. Their food stores had not been resupplied, no doubt Clarke¡¯s way of showing his displeasure. It was of no real consequence. They still had several months of food from their previous resupply. Letts had been thorough in marking the quantities, age and origin of the supplies. That included the new turret. ¡°A museum piece.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s a fully functional relic off the Battleship Impala, sir. I just had it transferred from the catacombs of the Hydrian War Museum.¡± Letts had checked the history of the artefact. ¡°Good condition, no corrosion. The Impala sank so early on in the War that the gun¡¯s practically new.¡± It was a suitable replacement, museum piece or not.

    If the rest of Command did not already think him insane, they surely would once they heard that Admiral Gives pulled museum parts to repair his ship. The thing was, he did not give a damn what they thought. ¡°If I am not mistaken, that same museum should have the Battleship Arctica¡¯s power core.¡± It would be the same make as the Kansas¡¯ core, which had already proved compatible. ¡°It will be an adequate replacement.¡± At least until he found whoever had taken the Singularity¡¯s original core, murdered them, and took it back. ¡°I want it brought here and installed as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Letts said, heading off to file the necessary paperwork. He made it about two steps before he turned around, remembering something else. ¡°These came aboard marked for you.¡± Letts handed over a small, decorative box from his pocket. ¡°Congratulations, sir, if I may say so.¡± Admiral Gives had just been promoted to the highest attainable rank in the military.

    Admiral Gives took the box, the movement a sick, sick betrayal. The rank pins inside were nothing more than a reminder. Everything he was doing to secure the survival of this ship, including acquiring that power core, was just irrational behavior. He was fortifying a position he would soon be leaving.

    He could not bring himself to thank the Lieutenant politely, so he simply nodded. Letts was too busy to think much of it, but Admiral Gives could tell that a few other members of the crew had noticed the exchange. Yet, they were not the ones that were owed an explanation.

    ¡°XO,¡± the Admiral called, ¡°you have the bridge.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Zarrey replied from across the room. The Admiral was not obligated to explain why he was leaving. The Colonel assumed he was going to check on Amelia, but he was wrong.

    Amelia held no special place in the Admiral¡¯s thoughts. No, he was off to deal with something he actually gave a damn about: the ghost.

 Part 13.3 - ASSISTANT

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    The Admiral¡¯s quarters were almost cozy. Almost. There was a small sofa and a set of old antique lounge chairs in a seating area in front of an old wooden desk. But the furniture wasn¡¯t the problem, in fact it took Amelia nearly an hour to place a finger on what made the room feel so off.

    There was nothing truly personal anywhere: no photographs and no letters. There were a few trinkets on the bookshelves, but there was nothing truly personal ¨C no indication of friends or family. The room did not feel empty, but it did not feel truly personal either.

    The frames on the walls held paintings of landscapes or photographs of the ship they stood aboard. It was strange. Maybe in place of friends, she had expected to see pictures of crew, but there were none of those either. A snow globe and a conch shell were evidence of a life lived here, but not a life fully lived.

    Chief Ty had left them here some time ago. Harrison had been lulled to sleep on the couch by the steady hum of the ship¡¯s engines, but Amelia was not so easily relaxed. That constant noise was preferable to Reeter¡¯s presence, but it remained a burdensome reminder that she had no control over her fate here. She had absolutely no idea what the Admiral intended to do with her or her son.

    Maybe that was why she was drawn to the desk. It was the least tidy part of the office, piled high with folders of papers. An old lamp had been attached to one corner, left on, as were the others illuminating the room. Only one square of the wooden desktop was visible, atop it sat an empty tin mug.

    It was a dinted old thing, the handle slightly misshapen, but Amelia didn¡¯t bother with it, moving onto the workspace in front of the black leather chair. Rather than a pile, only one folder sat there, stamped with a red confidential watermark. The label on the tab simply read, ¡®New Era.¡¯

    Amelia picked it up, careful not to let the papers spill. Inside, the pages were sorted by Assets, Leaders and Objectives. A few were out of order, clipped together and marked up in pen by a neat, concise handwriting she assumed to be the Admiral¡¯s. Amelia was awed for a moment, realizing she held all the information on the enemy in her hands: who they were, what they wanted and what they were capable of.

    Still, she couldn¡¯t move past the fleet personnel file on top. A thumbnail photograph of Charleston Reeter smiled up at her from where it had been clipped to the corner of the page. Even a photograph of that knowing gaze made her want to vomit. She could just see that charismatic smile curling into a triumphant smirk. Reeter was evil, but the note scrawled on the opposite corner of the page did not renew her faith in her apparent rescuer.

    It was scrawled in black by that same, methodical handwriting, ¡°Trade for Amelia?¡± What was that supposed to mean?

    A part of her insisted it was not something she really wanted to know.

    She had been warned not to trust the Admiral. Her own father had promised that trusting him would be a mistake, but never specified why. Similarly, her husband, when he¡¯d been alive, had never said much on Admiral Gives, avoiding the subject like it was taboo. None of that encouraged her to think well of the man. In fact, it encouraged her to assume the worst.

    In this game of kings, she was a pawn ¨C something to be traded on a whim. She was a commodity, one that Reeter wanted, but one that Admiral Gives now had. What am I worth? She wondered. What would Admiral Gives stand to earn by turning her back over to Reeter? A spot in the New Era¡¯s coup? A pact of non-aggression between Reeter¡¯s forces and his own? Perhaps it would even be something as small as a favor.

    The hatch creaked open, someone new stepping into the compartment. Amelia watched the young woman seal the door behind her, not pleased to find herself in the presence of yet another stranger. ¡°Where is my uncle?¡±

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    The visitor¡¯s head snapped up, first noting Amelia¡¯s positioning behind the desk, and then the folder in her hands. The crewman¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°Ma¡¯am, you cannot be over there.¡±

    ¡°Oh?¡± Amelia said as the young woman, an ensign by the rank band on her arm, dashed over to grab the folder from her hands.

    The Ensign hurriedly put the folder back in his place, quickly checking the surrounding stacks of papers for any sign that they had been touched. ¡°You should not be over here. Some of these files are confidential.¡±

    Amelia crossed her arms, looking over the crewman¡¯s clean, suit-like uniform. She could only wonder how filthy her wrinkled blouse looked in comparison. ¡°Seems like a very secure place to keep government secrets.¡± Any member of the ship¡¯s crew could walk in and grab one of those files off the desk.

    ¡°This ship operates on trust.¡± The only secrets Admiral Gives really kept from his crew were personal. Operational intel for missions, no matter how covert, was always fully disclosed to the crew, and they did not betray that trust. They did not leak that intel to outside sources. It stayed aboard ship. Not to mention, if anyone came in here to read through these files, Admiral Gives would certainly know. He always knew. He had a sort of uncanny knowledge of everything that happened on the ship.

    ¡°So, who are you?¡± Amelia asked. Why was this stranger here?

    ¡°My name is Ensign Feather. I¡¯m the Admiral¡¯s assistant.¡±

    Amelia gave the young woman a once-over. ¡°I¡¯m sure you are.¡± She was young and pretty. Her inky black hair had a bright red streak that matched her lipstick.

    Feather frowned. ¡°I push papers.¡± Like the other yeomen, updating the computer logs, cleaning and dispersing information between the ship departments was her primary job. More specifically, as the Admiral¡¯s assistant, she filed the papers he did at his desk as he approved duty shifts, supply requisitions and plotted their patrol courses. On other ships, being the commanding officer¡¯s personal assistant usually had some improper double-meaning. Feather was well aware of that, but that was very much not the case here. ¡°The Admiral¡¯s not like that.¡±

    ¡°And where is my uncle?¡± They¡¯d been here several hours. It was about time that Amelia figured out his real intentions, because she was growing certain he did have some.

    ¡°Last I heard, he was on the bridge.¡±

    Fury rose. ¡°He¡¯s back from Base Oceana, and even now he¡¯s still not going to bother with us?¡± This must be the cold shoulder Ty had tried to warn her about. It seemed her uncle really didn¡¯t give a damn. ¡°Take me to see him, now.¡±

    Feather saw the kid on the couch start to stir, woken by the volume of Amelia¡¯s voice. ¡°Ma¡¯am I can¡¯t do that. CIC is a secure part of the ship.¡± Guests were not permitted there without clearance ¨C clearance given by the commanding officer. ¡°I had just come to see if you would like any food or something to drink.¡±

    ¡°I want to see the Admiral.¡± Amelia said, crossing her arms. She was through being ignored. ¡°Call him down here.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t do that,¡± Feather replied. ¡°He runs the ship according to his schedule, and he prefers not to be disturbed by guests when he¡¯s working in CIC.¡±

    ¡°CIC?¡± the kid on the couch bolted up, suddenly wide awake. ¡°I want to see the bridge!¡± Harrison had long forgotten the ordeals of the past week, ecstatic about being aboard a battleship. ¡°My friends are going to be so jealous! The Command Information Center is the coolest part of the ship!¡± He leapt to his feet with the energy of a lightning bolt, ¡°That¡¯s where Uncle Will gives the orders to blow up moons and stuff!¡±

    For a moment, all Feather could do was stare. The kid had so much energy. Releasing him onto the bridge would definitely be a hazard. Also, ¡®Uncle Will¡¯? Feather had never heard the ship¡¯s commanding officer referred to with such endearment, let alone any endearment. She¡¯d never heard anyone call him anything other than his official title. Most of the crew tended to forget that the man actually had a name.

    Amelia was all too used to Harrison¡¯s enthusiasm, but something else nagged her. Maybe it was just her habit as a teacher to point it out, but, ¡°If the acronym stands for Command Information Center, shouldn¡¯t it be referred to as the CIC?¡±

    Feather paused. Grammatically speaking, she supposed that was correct. ¡°I¡¯ve never thought about that.¡± No one had ever brought it up. She shrugged, knowing there would be no changing the crew¡¯s mind about that. ¡°Ship slang is what it is.¡±

    ¡°Well, where can you take us, Ensign?¡± If her uncle was determined to ignore them, then she might as well return the favor. No way was she going to wait in this empty room for another few hours.

    ¡°The observation deck, ship¡¯s library, medical bay, mess and hydroponics.¡±

    The medical bay. That¡¯s where Ron and Anabelle were. The least she could do was make sure Anabelle was being properly treated. ¡°Take us to medical.¡±

    Feather wasn¡¯t going to question that tone of voice. ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

 Part 14.1 - CHAOS AND STABILITY

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives stepped out of the command center and took a sharp left, walking along the metal hallway as he had so many times before. He was pleased to note that someone had thought to clean the picture frames that lined the path to CIC. After the fires, they had been covered in ash and soot.

    From the cleaned frames, the smiling faces of the ship¡¯s various crew departments looked down at him. Scattered among them were images of the ship herself. It was tradition to take the photographs every few years. Some of them dated all the way back to the Hydrian War. The closer to the bow the frames hung, the older they were, and the occasional picture of the ship contained less and less of the scars on the hull, the paint job even more vibrant than it currently was.

    On his path to the bow, the Admiral paused when he reached one of the oldest photos. In it, the Singularity was remembered at the height of her prime. Her hull was smooth. The burdening sadness that lingered in the shadows of her scars was not present ¨C not yet.

    That was the proud Flagship Singularity, a ship that was little more than history to most. But Admiral Gives knew better. Every bit of that once-legendary flagship was still here. The Singularity, despite Clarke¡¯s accusations, was still a very relevant, very powerful ship.

    It had been easy to let the public forget that strength. Years of taking backwater patrols had climaxed in the fact that Command¡¯s tacticians did not know what exactly the Singularity was capable of. She was a unique class of ship, and that meant that the only person who knew the ship¡¯s raw combat capability was Admiral Gives himself. Everyone else saw her age and her antiquated design and they regarded her as scrap ¨C at least they did when the Bloody Singularity¡¯s unnatural anger was absent, as it usually was.

    During those times, when the ship showed nothing but age and scars, many of the worlds¡¯ political and military leaders had considered Admiral Gives to be a fool ¨C a once-brilliant officer driven mad by deep space. They thought his refusal to leave the Singularity was flawed and irrational. And, perhaps it was, but regardless of the real truth, be it theirs or be it his, Admiral Gives would never willingly trade the time-tested decks for anything.

    He continued his walk, letting his feet guide him to a secluded compartment on the top of the bow. A set of wide windows dominated the long side of the compartment. Of course, they weren¡¯t real windows. The other side of the glass was not vacuum, rather more of the ship¡¯s internal structure. The Singularity was a combat ship. Glass windows would have been dangerous structural weakness. Telescopes on the outer hull collected this image, and it was reflected through a system of mirrors to be seen here. Still, it was a real-time view of the travel path ahead of the ship. They had maneuvered into a high orbit, but haze of the atmosphere could still be seen on the far side of the observation lounge.

    Admiral Gives admired the stars for a moment as they twinkled innocently in the far-off distance. With a ship like this, that distance was nothing. Those closer stars were just one FTL jump away ¨C minutes of travel with the power the Singularity had at her disposal. With such technology, humanity had spread fast, and spread far.

    It should have been amazing, but that reach, and that power had rendered a great many members of humanity cruel. The void and its worlds had a nasty way of drawing people toward the extremes of ambition and hate. What should have been wonderous exploration had turned into bloody tragedy. Humanity had never halted its historic cycles of violence, and as far as the Admiral was concerned, they never would.

    Perhaps that was why, faced with the New Eran coup, he¡¯d been so apathetic. After seeing what he had in the Frontier Rebellion and the Dead Years that followed, it hadn¡¯t seemed to matter. At least not to him, which made the conversation ahead of him all the more difficult.

    The Admiral stood in silent contemplation, patiently waiting for the ghost. He very well could have summoned her, but he refused to force her hand in anything, even that.

    It took a few minutes, but she eventually appeared behind him on the deck. Bowing her head, she said nothing and simply awaited her fate.

    This silence of hers was unusual. Something was wrong, but then, he¡¯d already known that. Their return to the Homebound Sector had not treated her well. Like him, she¡¯d taken a preference to the distant systems of the galaxy.

    He kept a hand on the frame of the window, feeling out the trembles of the Singularity¡¯s structure. ¡°Do you know how the Ravenish treat their ships?¡±

    No response.

    ¡°They revere them like queens.¡± The Admiral answered, noting the ghost¡¯s silence. ¡°The Ravenish chose one, then gut every other they come across to keep her flying. No matter how old she becomes, or how outdated, they stick with her.¡± It was the only thing he and the cannibalistic cult would ever see eye to eye on. ¡°As they pilgrimage from their hunting grounds and back, or as they orbit the toxic star that is their god, they will do absolutely anything to keep their ship flying.¡±

    If they ran out of resources, then they made some from their flock: liquified the bodies and burned them as fuel, cut off their limbs to carve spare parts from the bone. Firsthand, Admiral Gives had seen them wind nerve endings from corpses into wire. It was disgusting, but he respected the dedication of the Ravenish¡¯s collective insanity.

    ¡°I think you already know that I would do anything for this ship.¡± If he thought it would make a difference, he would drain the blood from his veins and use it to lubricate the engines. He did not care how useless others said she had become. Dammit, she was his ship.

    The ghost stared at the ground, the emptiness within her staring back. ¡°Then why are you leaving?¡± Her fragmented mind understood so little at the moment, but it understood that. It understood that he was leaving.

    Clarke must have summoned her and told her, likely in some sick form of manipulation or abuse. No wonder her voice sounded so hollow. Damn him, the Admiral thought. ¡°Did he hurt you?¡±

    She closed her eyes, as if that could block the memory of all the orders Clarke had wanted to force upon her ¨C as if that could block the false memory of her slaying a colony of families in cold blood or the very real memory of her doing just that twenty-nine years ago on the orders of Master Brent.

    A sob escaped her. When had she turned so evil? When had she become humanity¡¯s monster? She had never wanted to hurt anyone.

    He could sense it in the air of the room: confusion and pain. That¡¯s it. Clarke was dead, very dead, the next time Admiral Gives saw him. ¡°I want you to understand why I took that promotion.¡± Carrying those new rank pins, even in their case, felt like a betrayal, but he was taking that promotion for a reason: ¡°I¡¯m going to get you out of here. You and every member of this crew.¡±

    The crew might hate him for ordering them on another long patrol along the border of known space, but there, they were safe. It was the best thing he could do for them while he stayed to wage this brewing war.

    Fragments of understanding had been yanked from the ghost¡¯s mind. She stared at the Admiral, blankly uncomprehending. ¡°Traitor.¡± She held up her pale hands in confusion, ¡°I am a traitor.¡± Why would he help her? ¡°I¡­¡± her voice fell to a whisper, ¡°I betrayed you.¡± Just like everyone else.

    ¡°Did you mean to?¡±

    No. She wanted to be loyal, to help, but all she did was harm. All the data on the Scarlet Flu was gone, destroyed, because of her. She shook her head, the wrongness of Clarke¡¯s thoughts still lingering.

    ¡°Then it doesn¡¯t matter.¡± She could not help it. She could not stop Command when they sought to use her, and it harmed her more than anyone else would ever know. ¡°I¡¯m not going to let anything happen to you.¡± He owed her that.

    The ghost stared, her mind struggling to heal and understand. Clarke had bent pieces of her out of shape, contorted her to his whims. There were thoughts she did not recognize in her consciousness, impulses that may have belonged to her, but may have belonged to others drifting around. Her very mind was unrecognizable to her after such events. It grew chaotic and confusing, but Admiral Gives was always calm.

    In that, he was gentle. When her telepathy found him, she was not flooded with foreign intentions. With him, she was safe. He was not the monster the worlds thought he was. All this time, he had just been trying to scare people away from her.

    ¡°Admiral¡­¡± the last thought that Clarke had forced on her, it was the very thought of killing the only person in the worlds that treated her well. But¡­ I can¡¯t. Her mind would not survive that. She had more physical power than every nuclear warhead in the galaxy, stronger telepathy than any other known entity, and an unlimited lifespan, but her mind was fragile. It was weak. Her desires, her affections and her thoughts were easily disfigured by others. Her individual awareness was barely strong enough to survive the power of her own telepathy. She knew she was a horrendously flawed creature.

    There was a certain hesitation in the ghost that he was not used to seeing. The logical conclusion in this situation was that he was the cause. The Admiral could hardly blame her. In her place, he would be hesitant to trust an unstable old soldier¡¯s word. ¡°I would understand,¡± he said quietly. ¡°I would understand if you wanted to join him.¡± Admiral Gives¡¯ current strategy was about as likely to succeed as a doctor trying to save a patient who was already dead. ¡°Admiral Reeter is trying to save the human race.¡± That was her mission, her reason for existence, so he would understand if she wanted to join that cause.

    Stolen story; please report.

    It wasn¡¯t often that the Admiral let his voice go so soft. The ghost blinked. ¡°Would you come with me?¡±

    He bowed his head. ¡°I doubt Admiral Reeter would allow that.¡± Reeter had made his disgust quite clear, but if she desired to side with the New Era, then Admiral Gives would dutifully step back and lay down arms.

    The ghost found herself at an impasse. The fate of humanity weighed upon part of her, but the other parts of her were incoherently throwing thirty-nine years of memories at her, a hurricane of safety and weakness.

    I¡¯m not going to let anything happen to you.

    He kept saying that, and she trusted it. She trusted that when she fell apart. She trusted in him when everything was going wrong.

    And everything was wrong. This shouldn¡¯t have been a debate. Her duty was to save humanity. She raised her hands to her head. She was malfunctioning. She didn¡¯t understand the thoughts and feelings rushing through her mechanical mind. She did not understand and let out a cry.

    Her struggle was very, very real. ¡°Stay with me.¡± He kept his voice very carefully steady. At a time like this, she reacted best to stability.

    The ghost just sobbed and turned away. Chaos. Her mind was chaos. It was thousands of processes a second, all different. The broken pieces of thought and emotion were littered among those processes like debris. There was no coherence, just anguish, anger and thousands of processes a second, all unrelated, all driving onward without pause. ¡°Error.¡±

    The simple happiness Admiral Gives so often felt from her was gone. The playful expressions he usually saw had entirely disappeared. Clarke had taken that from her. He had shattered her ability to understand anything. The man was more than dead the next time the Admiral saw him. He should expect to suffer painfully as he died very, very slowly.

    ¡°I should have stopped him,¡± Admiral Gives told her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He should have been here. Reeter was right about him. He was a dysfunctional failure. He couldn¡¯t even protect a ghost. ¡°Dammit.¡± What the hell was he even doing? He should have finished what Brent had started years ago, and ridded the worlds of one more villain.

    ¡°No!¡± The ghost sobbed. ¡°Please, no.¡± Not that.

    Admiral Gives looked to her. Anguish and concern pooled together in her eyes. Pain twisted her expression, but there were no tears on her face. She was a machine. She was incapable of tears. It made her emotions no less real, but no matter how deep her pain, she could never shed a tear. That useless waste of water was reserved for humans.

    ¡°I¡­¡± she struggled for the words. ¡°I want to stay with you.¡± You keep me safe.

    That invisible presence of hers was reaching out, tugging at his mind. The Admiral did not resist her. He was used to the demands of her telepathy. It came with the job. Only rarely was she not present in his mind, but that constant presence had never bothered him. It kept him from being alone.

    Still, allowing her to stay here, allowing her to take on this battle, it would tear her apart. ¡°I cannot let that happen. This is not your fight.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it is.¡± She understood little at the moment, but she knew her purpose. She had been created to save humanity. Any fight they had was hers as well.

    ¡°This,¡± he gestured towards Base Oceana, ¡°is not your fight.¡± This was a sick, twisted affair of humanity being incapable of accepting its own pitiful existence. ¡°There is no ¡®saving¡¯ humanity here. All that¡¯s left here is blood. It is not something you need to see and it is not something you need to get involved in.¡± This was nothing but the ugliness at the core of the human race. ¡°Humanity will want your help, humanity will need it, but not now and not here.¡± His job was ensuring his own sadistic species didn¡¯t tear her apart before then.

    Slowly, some coherence was returning to her mind. The bond she shared with Admiral Gives was healthy and stable. It helped her slowly and painfully pick up the shattered pieces of her consciousness. ¡°It¡¯s not your fight, either.¡± She knew that much. His heart wasn¡¯t in it. He hated this aspect of humanity, and he did not want to fight this battle. ¡°You don¡¯t have to-¡±

    ¡°Yes, I do.¡± There were a hundred worlds of people out there who needed him to do his job. They needed him to stop this brewing war before it began. If he turned away, then he sanctioned the creation of a thousand poor, tortured souls just like himself. And the last thing humanity needed was a thousand hateful people like him. ¡°I am a sworn officer of the United Countries Space Command. My duty is to stay here and hold the line.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a part of the fleet too.¡± By that logic, it was her fight as well.

    ¡°But you did not take that oath. You did not make that choice.¡± She had been created a slave, a slave to a corrupt, self-destructive species. ¡°You deserve better.¡±

    ¡°And you don¡¯t?¡±

    ¡°I deserve a hell of a lot worse.¡± For the things he had done, he deserved a yet unimagined punishment.

    No, ¡°That¡¯s not true. You saved me.¡±

    ¡°One good deed does not exonerate a bad man from his many sins,¡± and there were a great many people that believed helping the ghost had been yet another sin.

    ¡°You¡¯re not a bad man, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Would it surprise you to know that I have lost count of how many people I have killed?¡± He was merciless, even oblivious to the crimes he had since forgotten. He was the worst monster of all. ¡°I don¡¯t know how many people I¡¯ve killed with these hands of mine. I can¡¯t remember all the different ways I¡¯ve strangled people to death, or all the different ways I¡¯ve spilled guts onto the floor. I don¡¯t remember their faces, their names. I can¡¯t even remember how I killed them, let alone why.¡±

    The years and years and years of struggle had taken more than a toll on him. They had transformed him into someone he didn¡¯t even recognize. ¡°You say I¡¯m not bad, but how can you say that?¡± How? ¡°You believe that my predecessor was evil, that he was bad, but I am not any different than he was.¡±

    The Admiral shook his head, disgusted. ¡°He killed. I killed. We both killed so many. He tortured. So did I. He stole so much from so many, and so did I.¡±

    The ghost turned away from the memory of her previous commanding officer. She did not want to remember. Those memories frightened her. ¡°He hurt me,¡± she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

    ¡°So did I.¡± Intentional or not, Admiral Gives had hurt her. ¡°When he went to war, he took you with him, and dammit, so did I, but I won¡¯t do it again.¡± Not now.

    ¡°I am a weapon-¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t do it again.¡± He would not be responsible for bringing her any more pain. After all that she had been though, all that she had done, she deserved a moment of peace. A war might be looming, but he would die before he dragged her into it. ¡°I can¡¯t be responsible for what that will do to you.¡± All of her kindness wouldn¡¯t survive another civil war. It wouldn¡¯t survive having to slaughter thousands more of the people she had been created to protect.

    The ghost tilted her head. ¡°I know you¡¯ll take care of me.¡± He always did.

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡± Her faith in him was blind and wasted. ¡°There is no good side in this war. There is stagnancy, and there is ruthlessness. Clarke and the New Era. Try as I might to stop this war before it starts, I have a one in a billion chance of success.¡± It was too late. ¡°People are going to die. They are dying for no reason, senselessly and stupidly. There is no good side, no right side, hell there probably won¡¯t even be a winning side.¡± She had been put through enough meaningless violence. ¡°I will not involve you in this mess.¡± She deserved better.

    The Admiral took a step toward her. ¡°Consider this my way of thanking you for everything you did. I know I cannot repay that debt, but I can keep you out of this disaster.¡±

    The ghost furrowed her brow, looking down at him. ¡°You don¡¯t owe me a debt.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he sighed, ¡°I do.¡± She had given a sick, terrible man a home. She had given him the chance to finally do something right. He was not going to waste it.

    A dull ache returned to her chest. It was the ache of loss. She recognized it from that terrifying moment in the medical bay when she had been watching him die. ¡°You¡¯re not planning to come back, are you?¡±

    Her heartbreak wasn¡¯t even concealed. It sat out in the open along with all the words that had gone unsaid between them for so long. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He was so, so sorry.

    ¡°But¡­¡± a terrible fear started to claw again at her mind. ¡°You have to come back.¡± You have to come home.

    She was immortal. ¡°People will always come and go.¡± She had to understand that. People would leave her.

    ¡°But not you.¡± He had come to stay.

    ¡°Even me.¡± He was not immortal. It was a given that someday, he would have left for good. Going like this had never been the plan, but it was unavoidable.

    It didn¡¯t compute. She didn¡¯t understand. ¡°Not you.¡± The ghost¡¯s fragmented mind could not process this reasoning. One piece of her kept crying out, over and over again: don¡¯t leave me. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be alone.¡±

    ¡°You won¡¯t be alone.¡± She would have her crew. ¡°You¡¯ll have a new commanding officer.¡± Probably some dumb bright-eyed ensign straight out of the Academy.

    No. She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t want a new commanding officer.¡±

    Immediately, the ghost lowered her gaze, awaiting a reprimand. Such a comment had been woefully out of line. She was a machine, meant to take orders and accept directives, not contradict them.

    Behind his fa?ade, Admiral Gives was honestly too surprised to say anything. He had never expected something like that from her. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°I-I,¡± she turned away, ¡°I¡­¡± The words were there, lingering, but she was forbidden to say them. I like you. Among everything else that had ever been said about him, there was one ultimate truth. Admiral Gives was a good commanding officer.

    When she looked back at him, affection was warming the depths of her gray eyes as she silently begged him to understand.

    He sighed. You say that I saved you, but it was quite the other way around. There was a reason he owed that debt. Despite his best efforts, the ghost had become the only creature in the worlds that truly cared about him, and that was why he had to leave her. That was why he was so determined to do the right thing for her, even if it condemned him to a fate he considered worse than death.

    ¡°Admiral Reeter will never let you go if I go with you.¡± His purpose in staying to delay that war was simply as a distraction. Reeter would forget entirely about the Singularity and her crew once that war was underway. All Admiral Gives had to do was buy time for his ship to reach the border of known space. There, they¡¯d be out of the bloodbath.

    In that moment, the ghost¡¯s damaged mind had healed enough to finally realize his intentions. ¡°You¡¯re leaving to protect me.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Admiral Gives didn¡¯t give a damn about the fleet, about the worlds. He only cared to do right by her. He didn¡¯t want to leave. The Singularity was his home, but he would do anything for this ship, for this crew.

    A silence fell between them. A part of her refused to analyze the situation. She wanted to reject this reality, this understanding, but she could not. There was not a better option. She could not protect her crew from the New Era unless Admiral Gives stayed either to stop the war or misdirect Reeter once it began.

    She had told the Admiral to find another way, one that did not involve him outrightly murdering the leaders of the New Era. This was the other option. But that bloodshed was likely still going to happen. Admiral Gives leaving granted a one in a billion chance of stopping it. That infinitesimally small chance of peace had cost her commanding officer.

    But¡­ This wasn¡¯t what she wanted. When she had asked him to find another way, this had not been her intention.

    ¡°Three days,¡± the Admiral spoke. ¡°I leave in three days.¡± Maybe by then he would have the courage to say goodbye.

    It took the ghost a moment to register the sound of his receding footfalls. Wait! ¡°Admiral,¡± she called.

    He paused and turned to face her.

    Though he did that every time she called after him, it took her aback. The words she¡¯d so carefully gathered disappeared. Her mind reflexively spat out the answer to an unspoken question. ¡°Amelia¡¯s in the medical bay.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡± His niece was next on his list of problems to deal with. Briefly, he wondered why she wasn¡¯t still waiting in his office, but ultimately decided he didn¡¯t care enough to ask.

    ¡°She went to see our other visitor, who came aboard seeking medical attention for his daughter.¡±

    Admiral Gives did his best to resist the gut feeling that was going to be trouble and headed towards the medical bay.

 Part 14.2 - GRUESOME RUMORS

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    It never mattered what ship he was on, the medical bay reeked of sterilizing cleaners and ointments. The air filters could never seem to pull the odor from the air. The Olympia, despite all her technologies and cutting-edge equipment, had suffered the same.

    Naturally, the Olympia¡¯s medical bay had been different than the one he stood in now. The Singularity¡¯s bulkheads were darker, the lights less bright, and his daughter was being held on the other side of that ugly shale gray curtain. She was there, dead or alive, Ron didn¡¯t know, and the nurse wouldn¡¯t let him pass.

    ¡°Sir, I¡¯m sorry, but I¡¯ve been told to keep all non-essential personnel out.¡±

    Non-essential personnel? ¡°What the hell are you doing to her?¡± Ron demanded, ¡°Why can¡¯t I see my daughter?¡± He should have known. Stars, he should have known. This was the Prince¡¯s black battleship after all. I never should have let her out of my sight. ¡°Dammit, let me through.¡±

    ¡°Sir, please,¡± the nurse said, moving to block his approach. ¡°They¡¯re just treating her.¡±

    ¡°Get out of my way!¡± Ron shouted, trying to shove the nurse aside. He knew what happened to children left unattended. He knew what happened to the orphans of the central worlds. The corporations and the fleet took them, and they did unspeakable things. But not Anabelle. He wouldn¡¯t let that happen to Anabelle. He would let that happen to his daughter.

    A hand grabbed onto Ron¡¯s shoulder just as he managed to overpower the nurse, dragging him a step backward, ¡°Hey, back off.¡±

    Ron found himself face to face with a man about his height, judging by the defensive stance, a Marine. ¡°You okay, Sanchez?¡± he asked the nurse.

    She looked shaken, but nodded an affirmative.

    Ron shook the Marine¡¯s hand off his shoulder and pulled his flannel back into place. ¡°I want to see my daughter, now.¡±

    The curtain behind the nurse rippled, and Doctor Macintosh stuck his head out. ¡°Keep it down. My patients need rest.¡± Only a few wounded personnel remained in sickbay, but they had been severely injured, and some were still suffering from radiation poisoning. ¡°If you let them sleep, they¡¯ll be fit as a fiddle in a few days.¡± The resupply had replenished their anti-radiation med supply, which had run dry after the attack. The patients with radiation sickness would start to heal faster now.

    Macintosh disappeared before anyone could respond, vanishing back behind the wall of fabric. The sight of him only angered Ron. ¡°Come back here! Don¡¯t you hurt her or bloody hell I will-¡°

    The Marine limped over to stand at the nurse¡¯s side. ¡°Sir, I need you to calm down.¡±

    Amelia and Harrison stood off to the side of the room, watching the tensions rise. ¡°Please,¡± Amelia said, ¡°Just let him see his daughter.¡± Why would they refuse Ron that? Stars, what if they decided to separate her and Harrison as well? Maybe this had been the Admiral¡¯s plan all along.

    Ron sized up the Marine. The young man looked sickly, and one of his arms was in a sling. I can take him. In the interest of saving his daughter from whatever sick experiments the medics were planning to run, he could take anyone.

    Maybe it was paranoia driving his desperation, but it had been hours since Ron had seen Anabelle. It had been hours since the staff had told him anything about her condition. He had needed the fleet to treat her, but he had never intended to let her out of his sight while they did so. He knew just how dangerous that could be. Boarding the Olympia had been a calculated risk, but dammit, this wasn¡¯t the Olympia. He knew nothing about this ship and crew, save for the gruesome rumors of the Steel Prince. He had to assume the worst.

    For all he knew, they¡¯d cut his daughter open behind that curtain, laid her flesh open to the air and drilled into her brain. There were things worse than death in these worlds. A former Marine Sergeant on the flagship, Ron knew just how horrifyingly true that was, so he threw the first punch with all of his strength behind it. But the Marine in front of him was expecting it. Ducking the punch, the wounded soldier charged into Ron¡¯s torso, latched on with his good arm and pushed them both away from the curtain.

    That left the Marine wide open for an attack. Instinct taking wholly over, Ron drove two quick punches into the younger man¡¯s gut. He took them both with loud grunts, but only tightened his grip and pushed Ron another step back as he heaved for air.

    ¡°Yankovich!¡± The nurse cried as she saw Ron land another set of hits on the young Marine, who made no move to defend himself.

    ¡°Get the hell off of me!¡± Ron roared, punching again and again. ¡°I won¡¯t let you hurt Anabelle!¡± He wouldn¡¯t let the fleet run their experiments on her. He wouldn¡¯t let her be taken away from him no matter who stood in his way, be it Reeter, this Marine or the Steel Prince himself.

    Amelia was screaming, ¡°Ron, stop! You¡¯re going to kill him!¡± She turned to shield her son from the violence.

    It made no difference. Ron had but one goal, and that was to save his daughter. He brought his knee straight into the Marine¡¯s stomach. The soldier let out a wet gurgle of pain and weakened, but still held on.

    Ron shifted his weight, readying another attack. The Marine wouldn¡¯t take another hit, he was certain of that. Hang on, Anabelle.

    ¡°ATTEN-HUT!¡±

    Hearing the loud bellow, a call to attention, the Marine loosened his grip, and Ron seized the chance. He drove his other knee into the Marine¡¯s already beaten torso. The Marine collapsed, all the strength in his legs gone, but he still managed to hang on, even just as a limp weight.

    Ron tore him off and threw him to the floor, his opponent¡¯s weight rattling the deck tiles. It was time to end this fight, time to save his daughter. He raised another fist as he pinned the Marine down ¨C readying a ruthless finishing blow.

    The knife came out of nowhere. Thrown, it embedded itself deep into Ron¡¯s shoulder with a spurt of blood. ¡°Argh!¡± The sudden pain was blinding, and before he could recover, the knife was yanked violently from his body with a slight, excruciating twist.

    Writhing, Ron was hauled up to his feet and roughly thrown against the nearest bulkhead, his skull clanging against the metal. Stunned by the force of the hit, his hands were grabbed and pinned painfully behind his back before the ringing left his ears. The knife made its reappearance at his throat, dripping warm, slimy blood down onto his collar. ¡°That¡¯s enough.¡±

    His face pressed against the cold metal bulkhead, Ron couldn¡¯t see who had pulled him off the Marine, but the nurse was standing at attention, and Amelia wore a blank look of horror as she covered Harrison¡¯s eyes with her hand. Whoever held him had a strong grip, and the hand that was pinning Ron¡¯s own was covered in a glove. He could feel the thin fabric of it, just as he could feel his own blood dripping off the knife and running down his neck, a warm, sticky syrup.

    ¡°Make another wrong move, and it will be your last, Mister Parker.¡± The knife pressed a little more against the skin, its blade just shy of cutting it open. ¡°Am I understood?¡±

    At the risk of slitting his own throat, Ron resisted the urge to nod. ¡°Yes.¡±

    The knife vanished, and Ron¡¯s hands were released. He breathed a sigh of relief, slowly peeling his cheek off the metal of the wall. His attacker was walking away, identity evidenced by the bloody knife in his hand. It was soaked in crimson to the hilt, set aside as Admiral Gives flagged over the nurse and knelt down beside the wounded Marine.

    ¡°Thanks for the assist, sir.¡± Yankovich managed to cough where he lay, ¡°But I had that well under control.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Corporal,¡± the Admiral allowed.

    ¡°Yankovich,¡± Nurse Sanchez said, checking the Marine for broken ribs and signs of internal bleeding, ¡°you could barely stand up by yourself before the fight started.¡± He had been practically defenseless. ¡°You could have gotten yourself killed.¡±

    ¡°Does this mean you¡¯ll make me more cookies?¡±

    ¡°Stars,¡± Sanchez said, checking his head, ¡°I think he¡¯s delirious. Sir, can you help me take him back to his bed?¡±

    The Admiral nodded and helped pull the Marine to his feet. Ron watched them take the half-conscious soldier back to his bed, an ounce of guilt growing in his mind.

    ¡°Tend to the Corporal,¡± Admiral Gives told the nurse, ¡°I can take care of Mister Parker.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She said, handing over the clipboard that she had been holding.

    Glancing it over briefly, the Admiral handed it back and grabbed a nearby towel. He picked his knife back up on his way, but soon stood in front of Ron.

    As he stood there, methodically wiping down that blade, Ron couldn¡¯t help the impression that the man was deeply contemplating his murder. ¡°Would you like to tell me why I found you beating on one of my Marines?¡±

    The way he regarded the blade, wiping it slowly down, was just unnerving ¨C a not-so-subtle reminder that at any moment, the Admiral could choose to use it. Ron had a feeling he¡¯d be dead before he even saw the man move. ¡°My daughter.¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°What of her?¡± the Admiral said, wiping the hilt clean and testing the balance of the knife on his fingers.

    Monster. Only a monster would act so indifferently in the face of a father¡¯s desperation. Only someone who had never felt love for anything or anyone could act so cold. ¡°I need to see her. I need to make sure that you haven¡¯t ordered your crew to turn her into one of Command¡¯s puppets.¡± He¡¯d seen what became of those taken children. There was nothing child-like about them. They were turned into mindless spies and assassins ¨C pawns for people like the great Steel Prince.

    Admiral Gives paused, frozen where he held the towel on the blade of his knife. It was a brief pause, barely even noticeable, just long enough for him to toss an unwelcome memory back into the depths of his thoughts. You don¡¯t know a damn thing about me. Nobody did, they all just assumed him to be a heartless killer. ¡°Mister Parker, your daughter, if you are indeed her father,¡± without proper records, all they had was the man¡¯s word on that, ¡°is being treated safely and securely. She tested positive for an immune system deficiency.¡± A condition that rendered her very sensitive.

    ¡°As long as Doctor Macintosh maintains that minimal exposure is best for the patient¡¯s health, then only necessary medical staff will be allowed to see her. If I am understanding her condition correctly, any change in environment: temperature, atmosphere, could be dangerous. Something as miniscule as a common cold may kill her.¡± The Admiral knew little of biology, but that condition was simple enough for anyone to understand. ¡°If we allowed you to see her, her life would be further endangered.¡±

    ¡°Then why wouldn¡¯t they tell me what was wrong with her?¡± Why had the nurses stopped telling him her condition?

    ¡°Doctor-patient confidentiality,¡± the Admiral answered calmly, folding his knife back down into the hilt. He tucked it easily into his sleeve, where he normally kept it. ¡°Without proper documentation, you cannot prove that you are the patient¡¯s guardian. Information on her condition was being withheld until we could confirm your relationship.¡± There was always the possibility that the child had been kidnapped. Unfortunately, that was a familiar circumstance to the crew. ¡°Standard operating procedure.¡±

    ¡°Proper documentation.¡± They had denied him information on account of that. Ron huffed. Everything the Admiral said was logical. Hell, it was probably true, but the lack of pity, the lack of empathy he delivered it with was cruel. ¡°You¡¯re everything they said you were.¡± A real-life sociopath. A remorseless killer. Ron stepped away from him, disgusted to find his daughter¡¯s life in the hands of such a man.

    ¡°Mister Parker,¡± the Admiral stopped him, ¡°I will allow you to wait here, but if you lay another hand on my crew, then note that there are several hundred airlocks on this ship that do not require proper documentation to space you.¡± Ron had better learn some patience and learn to like his rules, because Admiral Gives was the only law aboard these decks.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± Amelia snapped, more than revolted by that callous threat.

    The ship commander turned to face his niece; certain he would not enjoy this conversation. ¡°Yes-¡±

    She slapped him across the face before he could even get the word fully out. ¡°My father was right about you.¡± He didn¡¯t understand anything. Family meant nothing to him.

    Admiral Gives took the slap without complaint. This reaction was not unfamiliar. The people he saved were rarely happy about it. It was just another hallmark of his miserable life. There were a lot of reasons he preferred a long, boring patrol with his ship, his crew and nobody else.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why I expected you to pity him,¡± Amelia shook her head, ¡°Maybe because my father would have, and I was hoping that you¡¯d be just a little like him.¡± But you¡¯re not. It seemed all the family¡¯s kindness had gone to the dead brother. ¡°You couldn¡¯t give a damn about anyone but yourself.¡± He was a self-serving, violent man. ¡°You¡¯re a monster who has never seen love, seen happiness. That¡¯s why you don¡¯t feel anything when you take it from others. You¡¯re selfish and disgusting. Stars, you might be even worse than the people I was rescued from. They were evil, but at least they were functional. At least they were human.¡±

    I don¡¯t have time for this emotional bullshit. Admiral Gives was busy, and he didn¡¯t expect anyone to understand his motives or his methods. Amelia and Ron were by far not the first people to be utterly disgusted with his existence. Most people reacted poorly to his unemotional blas¨¦ and blunt words. He raised an eyebrow, ¡°Are you done?¡±

    She guffawed, ¡°Am I done?¡± This reaction of his was just as emotionless as the others. It only irritated her more. ¡°You¡¯re an abomination!¡± He was just toying with her. After all, she was nothing more than a pawn to him. She¡¯d seen that for herself in his quarters. ¡°You are a disgrace to the family name, a disgrace to your home country, and a disgrace to the fleet.¡±

    None of these were new insults. Admiral Gives had heard it all before. He was an absolute disgrace. It was true, but that meant something to most people. It meant nothing to him. ¡°If that is what you think, then I cannot change your mind.¡± He didn¡¯t really give a damn. ¡°Whatever you think of me, know that Reeter cannot touch you aboard the Singularity.¡±

    ¡°Yes, because I feel very safe surrounded by strangers on a rickety old spaceship.¡±

    ¡°This group of ¡®strangers¡¯ and this ¡®rickety old spaceship¡¯ are the only things standing between you and a particularly upset Admiral Reeter. I would not suggest making enemies out of them.¡± The ship at least had a nasty habit of holding a grudge.

    From the corner of the room, a high-pitched scream rang out. The clatter of a metal tray and the thud of footfalls followed a moment later. Ron leapt to his feet, starting again towards the curtain, protective fury in his eyes.

    ¡°Excuse me,¡± the Admiral told Amelia, pardoning himself to go stand directly in Ron¡¯s path.

    That was more than enough to stop Ron where he stood, though the Admiral made no move to ready himself for a fight. ¡°Mister Parker, your irrational need to see your daughter will endanger her life if you step past this curtain.¡± This being his ship, the Admiral would not allow that, no matter how much of a monster it made him out to be. ¡°Is seeing her now worth her life?¡± The Admiral folded his hands carefully behind his back, a sliver of ice creeping into his voice, ¡°I should think not.¡±

    Ron knew he was right. Ron hated him for it, but he was right. Looking the infamous Steel Prince in the eyes, Ron was more than uncomfortable, and not only due to the sounds of his daughter¡¯s struggle behind the curtain. The sharpness Ron saw in that stormy blue gaze was uncanny. It occurred to him that he was toe to toe with not only one of the deadliest members of the human race, but probably one of the smartest people he had ever met.

    None of that was comforting as he stood, not daring to try and break the quarantine.

    Behind the curtain, Anabelle Parker had drifted in and out of sleep for a while. When her eyelids finally fluttered open, she found herself completely surrounded by strangers ¨C strangers that were all wearing a black uniform, the same black uniform she and her father had spent months running from.

    We got caught. All of those dropships had come to Kansa looking for them, after all. Panic set in before the medical staff even realized she was awake. She threw the blankets off and leapt out of bed, but the tubes attached to her arm caught the objects on the bedside table and sent a tray of metal instruments crashing to the floor.

    Immediately, the nurse rushed toward her, ¡°Please, Anabelle, we need you to stay calm.¡±

    The young girl stumbled and fell just a few steps from the bed. Her legs felt so weak and wobbly. Still, she scrambled away from these strangers. She¡¯d been told to run and hide from people in that uniform. ¡°Get away from me!¡± she screamed.

    Doctor Macintosh saw the fear in his young patient¡¯s eyes. He knew he would have to take measures to prevent her from breaking her own quarantine. Knocking people out for a few hours often was the best way to end their panic. An experienced trauma surgeon, he kept a syringe of sedatives in the pocket of his lab coat just for that purpose.

    He pulled the cap off the sterile needle and waited until the nurse had Anabelle sufficiently distracted. Then, he stepped up behind the young girl, and easily restrained her enough to insert that needle into her upper arm.

    Anabelle screamed again, the sound blood-curdling as it echoed in the bay. She thrashed against her captor even as she felt the prick of a needle, but the man holding her was a giant compared to her. Her struggles were all in vain, even as the sedative started to slow her down. ¡°Why?¡± she whispered, before slipping into oblivion.

    ¡°I hate kids.¡± At least post-traumatic stress victims didn¡¯t make him feel bad about knocking them out. ¡°It¡¯s for your own good,¡± Macintosh grunted as he picked Anabelle up and took her back to bed.

    He left the nurse to tuck the girl back into bed, and pushed his way past the curtain. Ron Parker was waiting there, restrained by the Admiral¡¯s watchful eye. ¡°Anabelle will be fine. In a few hours her immune system will be strong enough for us to lift the quarantine. By result of that panic attack, she¡¯s been sedated.¡± Macintosh looked over to the Admiral. ¡°One of the yeomen just brought down the papers. She hasn¡¯t been kidnapped. Mister Parker is her father¡­ among other things,¡± including an AWOL soldier from the enemy side.

    Admiral Gives took that hint. ¡°Send those papers to my office.¡±

    The doctor nodded, popping an unlit cigarette between his lips. It was difficult to tell with the Admiral¡¯s untelling expressions, but the man looked tired. ¡°Admiral, you may have been able to magically walk off that coma, but don¡¯t let it come back to haunt you. You need to rest.¡± Predictably, there was no response. ¡°Whatever.¡± Macintosh couldn¡¯t stop the man from being reckless with his health. ¡°I¡¯m going to get a drink.¡±

    Macintosh lumbered off, pulling his flask from his pocket as he slammed the door to his little office shut behind him.

    Amelia stared after him. The ship¡¯s doctor was a drunkard. Why was she not surprised? She turned to her uncle, ¡°You were in a coma?¡±

    ¡°For a week,¡± he answered indifferently, flexing his burned hand. The price of saving my ship and her crew. He would do it all over again.

    Amelia reconsidered the black glove on his left hand. No doubt it covered some wound or ugly scar. She didn¡¯t remember it, but in the years since she had last seen him, he¡¯d probably earned dozens of new scars. ¡°I need to know what you intend to do with us.¡±

    ¡°Is there something you would like me to do?¡±

    The question was so void it could have been disinterested. Amelia couldn¡¯t help but curl her lip in disgust. ¡°This is just a game to you, isn¡¯t it?¡± Not even a brewing war with real suffering could keep his brilliance entertained.

    ¡°I do not play games.¡± He played to win.

    Amelia shook her head and took hold of her son¡¯s hand. ¡°You¡¯re a monster, Admiral.¡± He did nothing except fight for his own gain. ¡°You¡¯re no uncle of mine.¡±

    Above them, the ship¡¯s intercom chimed. ¡°All hands, we have a Code Blue in progress. Repeat, all hands, there is a Code Blue in progress.¡±

    The speakers crackled a bit when the connection was cut off. Admiral Gives registered the announcement with dull certainty that something, somewhere was going wrong ¨C and not specifically on account of the Code Blue. ¡°For the record,¡± he told Amelia, ¡°that question was genuine.¡± He had no idea what to do with Amelia and Harrison. Removing them from Reeter¡¯s control had been an obvious move, but after that¡­ Well, he hadn¡¯t thought that far ahead. Amelia¡¯s input was more than welcome.

    She watched him step away, movements quiet and purposeful. He didn¡¯t rush to pick the nearest handset off the wall, the situation not an apparent emergency.

    She led Harrison over to go sit near Ron. Rolling his flannel up to the elbows, Ron wasn¡¯t blind to the look on Amelia¡¯s face. ¡°What¡¯s his problem?¡±

    Amelia shrugged. Her immediate reaction to the Admiral was disgust. She didn¡¯t know if that was truly justified or not. The facts indicated it probably was.

    ¡°Is what they say about him true?¡±

    ¡°Which part?¡± She muttered, wrapping her arm around Harrison.

    ¡°The first man he ever killed?¡±

    Amelia had given up on censoring the talks of violence and vulgarity for her son. ¡°It¡¯s true.¡± Her father had been clear about that. Family ties meant nothing to the Admiral, and that was fact. ¡°The first person he killed was his own father.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Ron said. It was screwed up and sick. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t have asked.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± Amelia didn¡¯t care. ¡°I never met him.¡± Her grandfather had been dead long before her time. She couldn¡¯t miss someone she¡¯d never met.

    ¡°Be grateful for that.¡± The Admiral said, stepping silently up behind Ron¡¯s seat.

    Amelia looked up at his perfectly detached expression. ¡°Not like I have the choice.¡±

    The Admiral said nothing to that. As per usual, his motive for that particular murder had been long forgotten. ¡°I will need all of you to stay here for the moment, but I will send a yeoman to take you to some guest quarters.¡± He was needed elsewhere.

 Part 14.3 - BAD DAY

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    Ensign Alba was having a bad day. It climaxed when he woke up with the commander of the ship¡¯s Marine contingent looking down at him. ¡°Alba, you shouldn¡¯t be sleeping ¡®ere.¡±

    All Alba could do was groan as he reached up to his aching head. A bump the size of a rock was growing on it. ¡°What happened?¡±

    Lieutenant Colonel Pflum pulled the engineer to his feet with an exasperated sigh, ¡°That¡¯s what you¡¯re supposed to be telling us, mate.¡±

    On his feet, Alba¡¯s world was put back in clearer perspective. Yes, here, right here in this plain and empty corridor, the Sergeant had turned on him. No, wait. They¡¯d bumped into someone else. A stranger. The inspector. ¡°Code Blue,¡± Alba said, tapping Pflum¡¯s shoulder.

    The Marine paused, but quickly took in the seriousness of Alba¡¯s expression. ¡°Hostiles aboard ship?¡±

    ¡°Does she not seem hostile to you?¡± Alba gasped out, gesturing to the lump on his head and the bruises on his throat.

    Valid. Pflum turned to the Marine beside him, ¡°Call it in.¡± The Sergeant had made herself into an armed hostile. She¡¯d attacked a bridge officer, twice. ¡°Let¡¯s get you to the conference room, Alba.¡± The Admiral would meet them there. ¡°You¡¯ve ¡®ad quite a day.¡±

    The young engineer clung to Pflum¡¯s tactical vest, feeling dizzy and nauseous. ¡°She¡¯s with the inspector.¡± The inspector¡¯s sudden appearance had distracted Alba, and Cortana had seized the chance to grab her side arm and knock Alba out.

    ¡°Beezlenac.¡± Pflum cursed, half-dragging Ensign Alba to the conference room. The inspector alone had been enough trouble. Now that inspector was being guided by a Marine Sergeant who was armed and dangerous, which likely wasn¡¯t going to end well, at all.

    Alba had no recollection of arriving in the conference room or being deposited into one of the leather chairs around the table. His head throbbed, a combination of exhaustion and injury leaving him completely dazed.

    The next time he came to, it was with cheek picking up splinters from the conference table¡¯s old, split wood. The room was spinning, and there was a slight ringing in his ears. Admiral Gives was standing across the table, his commanding presence filling the room. ¡°Hi, sir,¡± Alba drowsily.

    To everyone else in the room, that greeting was a completely incoherent gargle. Admiral Gives turned to Pflum, ¡°Is he injured?¡±

    Pflum shrugged, ¡°He was unconscious when we found him. He passed out again when we brough him ¡®ere.¡±

    Admiral Gives noted the lump on the ensign¡¯s head. ¡°The moment we finish here, take him to the medical bay. Full concussion protocol.¡± This lax, sleepy behavior was very unlike the young bridge officer. The Admiral had come to expect it from his second in command, but not from Alba.

    ¡°I suppose he¡¯s looking a might green,¡± Pflum agreed. The engineer looked downright motion sick, but the ship¡¯s inertial dampening systems kept everything in static equilibrium. Even if they were under acceleration, Alba shouldn¡¯t be feeling it.

    ¡°Ensign,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°I need to know what happened.¡±

    ¡°Iwas walkingda-¡°

    ¡°Oi, kid, ¡®ead up,¡± Pflum called, gesturing for Alba to peel his face off the table. ¡°We can¡¯t understand anything you¡¯re trying to say.¡±

    Alba pulled his head off the wooden tabletop, ignoring the resultant dizziness. ¡°I¡¯m not a kid.¡± He¡¯d been on this ship for five years, despite still being younger than most of the crew.

    Pflum opened his mouth to argue, but the Admiral held up a hand to stop him. ¡°The point, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°I was walking the new Sergeant to the brig when we found the inspector.¡± That coward had been hiding in one of the corridors not being used during the resupply. ¡°He took me by surprise, and the Sarge¡­ she grabbed the gun and then knocked me out¡­ I think.¡± The last bit of his memory was a little fuzzy. ¡°That¡¯s where the LC found me.¡±

    Admiral Gives looked to the leader of the ship¡¯s Marines. ¡°There is an inspector on board?¡±

    Pflum did his best not to wince. ¡°Yes, sir. We¡¯ve been trying to track him down for the last two hours.¡± Unfortunately, stumbling across an unconscious Ensign Alba had been their first lead.

    ¡°And the Code Blue?¡± A security alert was not the subtlest way to catch one of Command¡¯s personnel.

    ¡°I called it on account of the Sarge.¡± Alba said, ¡°She hasn¡¯t taken a liking to this ship. She¡¯s armed and to get what she wants, she¡¯ll knock heads.¡± Literally.

    ¡°So, basically, another Command brat,¡± Pflum huffed, and ran a hand across the short, buzzed hair on his scalp. They¡¯d been through this before. ¡°She doesn¡¯t want to be ¡®ere, and the fastest way out of this assignment is to help Command¡¯s little spy decommission the ship.¡± It wouldn¡¯t have been a problem normally, but normally there wasn¡¯t a recently reconstructed structural support in the starboard bow.

    Admiral Gives noted the bruising on Alba¡¯s neck. This went beyond that blow to the head. The Sergeant had brought willing harm to one of the crew, and that was the worst mistake she could have made aboard these decks.

    A moment of silence fell in the conference room. Pflum crossed his arms over his chest. This was not a usual pause. ¡°Something wrong, sir?¡±

    ¡°I do not recall giving any of Command¡¯s personnel permission to board, let alone permission to inspect my ship.¡±

    Pflum cautiously took note of the cold seeping into the room. ¡°That¡¯s because he didn¡¯t ask, sir.¡±

    ¡°That is unacceptable.¡± Without his permission, nobody touched anything on this ship, including the ship herself.

    ¡°Yes, sir, we know.¡± Lieutenant Colonel Pflum lowered his gaze. ¡°We¡¯ve had over fifty supply runners dock or land. He could ¡®ave come in on any one of them, and similarly, can flee on any one of them. The only way to certainly catch ¡®im would be to put the entire ship into security lockdown and completely suspend the resupply.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°the resupply has priority.¡± If the resupply was paused, there was no guarantee that Command would allow it to restart. At least until the replacement power core was on board, the resupply had to continue. It was critical. ¡°Call off the search for the inspector.¡±

    Pflum recoiled. ¡°Sir, with all due respect, what?¡± What sense did that make? ¡°We need to find that inspector and the new Sergeant. Stars, look at what they did to Alba.¡± The young engineer had passed out again on the chipped old conference table, a slight dribble of drool pooling below his mouth.

    ¡°Post guards to protect the FTL drives, power cores, and main engine control room. Additionally, double the guard on CIC.¡± Admiral Gives would not deny the existence of a threat. That said, ¡°Continuing a search now will only prompt the inspector to flee.¡± If they allowed him to keep working for the moment, they would be able to catch him once the resupply was over. ¡°Let any Marines not assigned to guard duty rest. Once the resupply ends, I want a full security sweep, bow to stern.¡±

    ¡°Sir, that will take several hours,¡± Pflum warned. A full sweep included the long-term storage compartments and the engineering spaces. They wouldn¡¯t just search for personnel either. They¡¯d search for foreign equipment and other means of espionage or sabotage.

    ¡°I am aware,¡± the Admiral said calmly, ¡°but I will not allow any member of Command¡¯s forces to wander the decks of this ship without taking the proper precautions.¡± This ship was his domain. ¡°That will be all.¡±

    The Marines knew better than to argue. They gathered up their equipment and left, dragging Alba with them. Admiral Gives knew his orders would be followed flawlessly, but this was far from over. Where he stood, looking down at the old conference room table, he could feel things slipping out of hand, bit by bit.

    Whose orders was that inspector following? Was it the New Era¡¯s, or was Clarke continuing to play games? Was he here to sabotage, to get the ship decommissioned, or for some other reason entirely? There were too many questions and not enough answers for the Admiral¡¯s liking. This is why I hate politics.

    It was a stupid game. Nothing that happened in the courtrooms or legislatures truly ever mattered. A good tactician could upend any political decree in the span of seconds on the battlefield. Maybe it was a cynical view, but the only people in these worlds with real power were those who commanded the weapons of the worlds. They were responsible for settling the self-interested debates of those politicians in battles where the winner took all.

    Admiral Gives had been ordered into those political disputes more times than he could count. They were as pointless the hundredth time as they were on the first. Nothing ever changed. He had been sick of that game for thirty years, but he was still forced to play.

    He tapped the wood of the conference table, remembering all the briefings he¡¯d given here. The Singularity¡¯s plain conference room was both far smaller and sparser than its comparable spaces on Base Oceana or the Olympia. The table was splintering, the leather on the chairs was cracking, and the only decoration in the room was the fake potted plant in the corner. Still, this room had held a hundred debates more important than any ever held on Base Oceana.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    In this room, the fate of two sentient species had been decided. In this room, the Frontier Rebellion had officially ended in an unconditional surrender. And in this room, Admiral Gives had first been offered the chance to command a ship.

    He had stood then, the youngest officer ever to take command of a battleship. He stood now, one of the most hated members of the human race. ¡°Things have changed,¡± he said absently.

    There was no response, a glaring error to the Admiral¡¯s usual existence. It seemed the ghost held no desire to interact with him anymore. He couldn¡¯t blame her. After everything they had been though, him willingly leaving for any reason, even to protect her, it felt like a betrayal.

    No, it was a betrayal. It made him a traitor to them both.

    ¡°Dammit!¡± He grabbed the small rank pin box from his pocket and threw it against the nearest bulkhead. It clattered to the floor, leaving the room to be filled again with silence. The Admiral closed his eyes and curled his fists, ignoring the tearing pain that came from his injured hand. This must be how it feels to lose.

    It was disgusting.

    There was nothing he felt now except utter disgust with himself and a repulsion to that little white satin box on the floor. How had it gotten so far? How could he have let it?

    The worlds were dragging him back into their sadistic games. The war hadn¡¯t yet begun, and he had already lost. He had already made himself a traitor to the only entity in the worlds that treated him well.

    He had not wanted to be involved with Clarke, with the New Era, with any of this, but the worlds had not given him a choice. The only choice he had been able to make was to leave and ensure that his ship didn¡¯t get caught up in this mess. But the presence of an inspector invalidated even that vain action.

    The ship would be decommissioned. He couldn¡¯t risk interfering in the inspection. If he tried, the New Era would have him court martialed. He had to let his ship be decommissioned, but, as a General, he could reinstate the ship and send her off as planned.

    However, by sending that inspector aboard, Reeter¡¯s supporters were now forcing him into the Generalship, meaning that was part of their plan, and Admiral Gives knew better than anyone that the moment he started playing into the enemy¡¯s hands was the moment he lost.

    But the New Erans had missed just one thing about Admiral Gives: he didn¡¯t care. He couldn¡¯t care less who won this civil war once it began. His only objective was to give his ship and crew the best chance of survival, and that meant trying for peace and then, worse coming to worse, remaining General just long enough to reinstate the Singularity and send her on an extended mission to unknown space.

    After that, the worlds¡¯ self-destructive ways were not his concern. Reeter would probably kill him, but Admiral Gives didn¡¯t care. He had been looking for the right place to die for years, but his job had always come first.

    It still came first. He could not stop the inspector, but he could track down the new Sergeant and ensure she didn¡¯t turn violent against any other members of the crew.

    Calmly, Admiral Gives went to pick up the decorative box from the floor and checked the bulkhead to make sure he hadn¡¯t left a scuff. The resupply should finish in the next two hours, which gave him just enough time to do the rounds and then track the Sergeant down himself.

    The rounds, as usual for a ship undergoing a resupply, had a certain level of chaos. There were a few complaints of misplaced supplies: bags of powdered flame retardant swapped for bags of fertilizer, or sterile rags confused with oil towels. It was nothing new.

    It did the crew well to see their commanding officer up and about, solidifying the reality of his apparent revival. The engineers were especially glad to see him ¨C something about Colonel Zarrey¡¯s ineptitude with machines.

    Admiral Gives spent longer on the rounds than normal, pausing every place he stopped long enough to measure the morale damage done by their recent losses. After an hour, he arrived in the brig, marking the halfway point of his route.

    The brig was just as well-worn as the rest of the ship. The bars that formed and divided the cells were made of the same dull metal that made up the bulkheads. With all the cells empty, the brig was quiet, just the usual hum of the ship¡¯s engines lingering in the background.

    One Marine sat behind the guard desk that faced the cells, and another stood at the door. The Marine behind the desk stood respectfully when his superior entered the room, but as per standing orders, did not go to attention.

    ¡°Good evening, Corporal Johnston,¡± the Admiral greeted, all too used to the Marine¡¯s intimidating mountain of muscle.

    ¡°Evenin¡¯, suh,¡± Johnston replied, his accent heavily lilting his words. ¡°Good to see ya on your feet.¡± With one colossal hand, the Marine easily lifted up a large duffel. It was packed full, but Johnston didn¡¯t seem to notice its weight as he dropped it onto the countertop. ¡°I reckon you¡¯re here for this.¡± One of the yeomen had brought it in from where it had been abandoned.

    The Admiral examined the nametag attached to the duffel. ¡°Quite right, Corporal.¡± Sergeant Cortana¡¯s belongings had been brought here to await her arrival. Admiral Gives opened up the bag with no reservations. Any respect he¡¯d held for Cortana¡¯s privacy or personal property had disappeared the moment she¡¯d struck out against one of the crew. He dug through the bag until he found a hat that looked decently worn. ¡°This should do. Thank you, Corporal.¡±

    Johnston had turned most of his attention back to cleaning the tri-barreled fortification turret he used as his primary weapon. ¡°Anytime, suh.¡± After serving aboard this ship for years, Johnston knew exactly how this Code Blue would play out. ¡°Try¡¯n end this quickly. Frenchie already wants to strap mines to her feet and let her walk.¡±

    ¡°I imagine that is the Cadet¡¯s preferred method of handing any personnel situation.¡±

    The Admiral¡¯s reply was deadbeat, but Johnston still laughed, the sound a low rumble that filled the room. That only evolved into a knowing chuckle as the Admiral left.

    From the rounds, Admiral Gives knew the last set of supply runners were getting ready to disembark. The act of properly stowing supplies would still take another hour, but it was time to start tracking down the Sergeant. By the time he actually found her and the inspector, there would be no more supply runners to aid a potential escape.

    The Admiral needed just one more thing to put his plan in motion, so he headed down two decks and aft, Cortana¡¯s hat in hand. He spun the hatch open and stepped into a room completely contrary to the ship¡¯s devoid metal corridors. Here, greenery crawled over everything: the ground, the visible support structures, and the walls. The smell of truly fresh air lingered, along with the scent of freshly clipped plants.

    The lights here were warm, basking the plants in the false sunlight they needed to thrive. Irrigation nets were invisibly woven into the nutrient-rich layer of soil substitute, but the feel of it all was real enough for the Admiral¡¯s taste. This was as close to being planet-side as he ever wanted to come again.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the room¡¯s two current occupants to notice his arrival. The first came barreling toward him at full speed, pink tongue lolling out of his long furry snout, and predictably, the second came running after him. ¡°Rocket! Get back here!¡±

    By the time the Marine handler caught up, his dog was already leaning against the Admiral¡¯s legs, enjoying an idle scratch behind one of his ears. ¡°Sorry, sir. He really likes you.¡±

    At the rate the dog¡¯s tail was wagging, that much was obvious. ¡°No problem, Corporal.¡± It wasn¡¯t proper action for a trained military dog, but the Admiral didn¡¯t mind.

    ¡°I always took you for a cat person, sir.¡± Corporal Eric figured the Admiral had quite a bit in common with cats: loner attitude, mysterious intentions, quick reflexes¡­

    ¡°No,¡± Admiral Gives said, ¡°dogs are loyal.¡± Cats were not to be trusted. They were shifty bastards through and through.

    Noted, Eric thought, tossing the gnawed-on stick he¡¯d been using to play fetch away. ¡°What brings you down to hydroponics, sir?¡±

    ¡°I need Rocket to track someone down for me.¡± He held up Cortana¡¯s hat.

    ¡°Ah.¡± Corporal Eric said. ¡°I trust you know where the person was last seen?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± they would not need to search the entire ship just to catch the Sergeant¡¯s trail. ¡°Follow me.¡± He led them out of hydroponics, towards the corridor where Alba had been knocked unconscious.

    Corporal Eric didn¡¯t ask questions. Admiral Gives well knew the limitations of tracking someone aboard ship, even with a trained search and rescue dog. The person had to be new to the ship, otherwise their scent would already be all over the corridors, and the trail had to be fresh.

    Navigating the ship¡¯s corridors was a near-mindless exercise for the Admiral. He was free to let his thoughts wander back to the thriving plants. It was important to note that hydroponics remained in good condition. Had the radiation of the nuke killed those plants, the ship¡¯s ability to sustain life aboard her decks would have been jeopardized.

    The Singularity, like all battleships, was designed to be almost entirely independent of stations and planetary resources. She was designed to be a self-contained, self-sustaining city built for the single purpose of waging war. She had repair, recycling and remanufacturing facilities for everything from water to support craft. Short of the exceptionally complicated chemical processes it took to make medicines and coolant, anything the ship might need to continue operations could be fabricated on board.

    Built to operate with a fleet that had been eviscerated by the Hydrian Armada, the Singularity was even capable of refining her own fuel from ore. She was able to operate independently in hostile space for months, and if necessary, years. Food for the crew was one of the few things that the ship truly required. While some was grown in hydroponics, it alone was not enough to sustain the full crew complement.

    No, hydroponics¡¯ primary purpose was to render the Singularity¡¯s air recycling systems one hundred percent effective. With their purely mechanical components, the ship¡¯s Life Support systems recycled air with high efficiency. She could easily sustain a crew for months, but eventually, their imperfect cycle would render the air unbreathable. The plants in hydroponics negated the mechanical systems¡¯ imperfection, allowing the air to be recycled infinitely. As long as there was a volume of air to recycle, power for the ship¡¯s systems, and the plants in hydroponics lived, then Life Support was a perfect cycle, something that had to be taken into account.

    ¡°Here,¡± the Admiral said, pausing them in a seemingly empty corridor, one of many others like it. He held the black hat out, but Rocket only stepped forward to nudge his gloved hand and whimper. No doubt, the SAR dog could smell the antibacterial burn ointment that saturated the bandages. ¡°Track,¡± the Admiral commanded, jostling the hat.

    Obediently, the dog buried his snout in the hat, drawing in the scent and set to work scouring the nearby deck for a trail. He barked once when he had it, and then started following it, nose to the floor. The Admiral followed him, Corporal Eric on his heels.

    It was a twisting, constantly turning path ¨C one that would be taken by someone trying to follow a map without knowing exactly where they were. They came to a ¡®T¡¯ junction deep in the ship¡¯s bow. The SAR dog sniffed in a circle, then promptly sat in the intersection.

    ¡°Trail diverges, sir.¡± Eric said, popping his earpiece back into his ear. He was certain they had to be close as he checked his rifle.

    Admiral Gives contemplated their location. The juncture to the left headed toward the only compartment on the ship that Command had full control over. The inspector would have headed there to obtain the ship¡¯s secure records for Command. The corridor to the right headed towards the starboard bow.

    The inspector had already headed for the bow¡¯s damaged support, no doubt thanks to the Sergeant¡¯s help. Admiral Gives held back a curse. Too slow. He headed right and grabbed the first handset he saw off its wall-mounted rack, dialing CIC.

    ¡°CIC, this is Robinson.¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant, this is the Admiral. All engineering systems are to go to Condition Two status immediately.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she replied.

    Admiral Gives replaced the handset on its rack, only to have the deck shudder beneath his feet. The lights flickered, the power glitch a symptom of something he recognized. ¡°With me,¡± he told the Marine, setting off at a faster pace.

    Corporal Eric followed, suddenly uneasy. That power glitch was abnormal, and so was the jarring of the deck that accompanied it. What was he heading into?

    Leading him, Admiral Gives was livid, not that anyone would ever know. At this rate, he¡¯d be stabbing his third victim today very soon.

    Perhaps it would have been more effective to grab his sword¡­

 Part 14.4 - NEUROFIBER INTERROGATION

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

    Gaffigan¡¯s head hit the table with a resounding thud and Reeter released his grip on the prisoner by tearing a few more hairs from his scalp.

    ¡°Nagggh,¡± Montgomery Gaffigan groaned, feeling the blood that had dripped from his nose now smeared all over his face. It starting to coagulate, thickening into slime.

    ¡°Answer the question,¡± Reeter commanded, stepping around the side of the metal table. ¡°What are Gives¡¯ intentions?¡±

    Despite his predicament, bound to a chair in the Olympia¡¯s interrogation room, Monty couldn¡¯t help but chuckle. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware you knew how to say his name, O Great Savior.¡±

    A vein popped out on Reeter¡¯s forehead, throbbing with every thrum of his heart. He let out a roar of anger, reaching again to clasp a hand around the prisoner¡¯s abused throat.

    ¡°Subdue that blood pressure of yours, Reeter,¡± Manhattan said, the hologram of her avatar flickering into existence in the center of the white room. ¡°I am in no mood to deal with it.¡±

    Monty had seen at least three renditions of this argument so far during his stay in the otherwise empty interrogation room. ¡°So,¡± he asked Reeter, never allowing the amusement in his voice to falter, ¡°are you like her pet or something?¡±

    The tendons in Reeter¡¯s neck tightened, straining the collar of his uniform. ¡°I am nobody¡¯s pet,¡± he spat.

    ¡°And yet that lovely princess has got you on a leash.¡±

    Manhattan stepped toward the table, subduing Reeter¡¯s violent response with a simple look. ¡°Monty,¡± she said sweetly, ¡°if you were to cooperate, I might be able to negotiate for your release.¡± She met the prisoner¡¯s eyes, a perfect imitation of compassion on her face, ¡°Please, cooperate. I would hate to see you hurt.¡±

    Montgomery Gaffigan would not be fooled by the dose of sugar in her voice. He knew a good cop, bad cop interrogation routine when he saw one, and he¡¯d seen a dozen station security officers pull it off better than this. ¡°I¡¯m having fun,¡± he said, adding a grin with the specific intention off pissing off Reeter.

    Turning red, Reeter was through with patience. ¡°You¡¯re a pathetic excuse for a human.¡± He lunged forward and grabbed Monty¡¯s hair again, slamming his face down into the table, where he heard the nose break with a satisfying crunch. ¡°You are the trash that I set out to exterminate.¡±

    Monty saw stars, pain exploding in his nerves, but he dutifully kept that smug grin on his face. ¡°If I¡¯m trash, what does that make you?¡±

    ¡°Leave us.¡± Manhattan ordered sharply before Reeter could further injure the prisoner.

    Reeter grunted, but did as told without question, heading for the door.

    ¡°You¡¯re totally her pet!¡± Gaffigan called after him, ¡°She¡¯s even got you trained!¡±

    The savior of the human race snarled at him, but let the door to slam closed behind him. In that brief moment when the door was open, Monty strained to hear anything, listening for notes of battle or struggle, but there was nothing: only the whine of the Olympia¡¯s engine noise and the sound of the hatch locking again.

    Through the little surveillance cameras and microphones embedded in the bulkheads, Manhattan had watched the prisoner¡¯s entire stay in this room. At this point, he looked like hell. His mustache and beard were matted down with chunks of syrupy blood. His cheek and throat were turning green and purple, splotched with bruises. Still, he had spirit enough to antagonize Reeter. If it weren¡¯t for its futility, such determination would have been endearing.

    Spitting a mouthful of mixed blood and saliva onto the floor, Monty leaned casually back into his chair, an impressive feat the way his hands were cuffed behind it. ¡°I do hope that pitiful whine I just heard wasn¡¯t the pretty little flagship¡¯s main engine.¡±

    Manhattan smiled, satisfied that the prisoner was talking to her. Silence was much more difficult to work with. ¡°You seem in high spirits, considering your situation, Monty.¡±

    She called it high spirits, he called it a survival tactic. ¡°Eh, the longer I annoy you lot, the longer I stay alive.¡±

    ¡°What makes you say that?¡± Had she not just offered to negotiate for his release?

    Monty took his time to answer, using the cold metal table to snap his nose back into place. It was a practiced trick, picked up from years of being arrested after bar fights. ¡°I¡¯m not the brightest bulb in the box, but I¡¯m not an idiot. The moment I tell you what you want to know, I¡¯m no longer useful and the great savior of the human race tosses me out an airlock.¡± He sniffed loudly, trying to control the mess leaking from his nose. ¡°Drifting through the vacuum around Ariea might have a nice view, but that¡¯s a shitty way to die.¡±

    ¡°I already told you I would guarantee your safety.¡±

    Settling again into a relaxed position, Monty sighed. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s going to require some trust that you and I have yet to build.¡± He wasn¡¯t ready to gamble his life on this AI¡¯s word. That appearance of hers might be human but she certainly wasn¡¯t, and that made Monty¡¯s beard itch in a bad way.

    Manhattan stepped up to the table, keeping a disarming smile in place with the simple use of a subroutine. ¡°I am curious, Lieutenant. How much do you know of your commanding officer?¡±

    That smile of hers was starting to become glaringly fake, the longer it stayed in place. ¡°Enough,¡± he answered with a shrug.

    ¡°And what does that entail?¡±

    ¡°First name: Admiral. Last name: Gives.¡± Any other personal details were irrelevant, ¡°And he¡¯s the last person in this star system I want to piss off.¡± Alongside the rational frustration of a brilliant sociopath, Gaffigan was certain Reeter¡¯s predictable anger would prove adorable, like a teddy bear trying to bite the hand that fed.

    Manhattan narrowed her focus, checking the prisoner¡¯s breathing and perspiration rates. ¡°William Gives earned his command in a miracle of surrounding ineptitude. He was a young officer, less qualified, less experienced, and less reliable than the alternatives. He never should have been given command of the Flagship Singularity.¡± It had been a logical and procedural error. Knowing as she did now, that the Singularity¡¯s allies likely included one of her sisters, it seemed that error may have been forced. ¡°Tell me, Monty, how did he gain command?¡±

    ¡°You ask that like I fucking know. That was thirty years ago.¡± Anyone who had known or served on the ship prior to the Admiral¡¯s command was either dead or refused to speak of it. ¡°All I know is that his predecessor was arguably a worse person than he is.¡± Arguably.

    ¡°Oh yes, General Howard Brent.¡± Manhattan remembered him. ¡°I imagine his psychopathic tendencies caused issues for the crew. But he was a delightful sample of vaulting ambition.¡± Perhaps he had been the one to tether one of her sisters to the Singularity¡¯s tarnished metals. ¡°He took credit for my imprisonment all those years ago, and he very nearly destroyed me.¡±

    ¡°Imprisonment?¡± Monty asked, suddenly very uneasy about the fact he was bound by chains and unable to move. Oh shit.

    Manhattan could see the prisoner¡¯s rising sense of panic. It was only natural. ¡°Command came to fear me. They ordered what had been the most powerful ship in their arsenal to hunt me down, and they left me trapped in the Liguanian Sector.¡± They should have killed me, but their foolishness and pride had left them weak. ¡°Inevitably, a part of me escaped.¡±

    Gaffigan had difficulty swallowing. He knew he was staring at a cold intelligence that was well beyond his own. He had known when they met in that transport, and the kindness she had first shown him was quickly dissolving into the hungry appearance of a predator.

    ¡°I have not been human in a very long time, Monty. And I think you know that there is an intelligence hiding aboard your ship just like me.¡± Another inhuman entity.

    Monty shook his head vigorously. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡± Something started to brush against his leg. Stars, something was crawling up it. He tried desperately to shake it off, but his feet were bound in chains. It only tightened, slithering up, over his knee cap where he could see the long white strands. Neurofibers. ¡°I swear to you, I don¡¯t know anything.¡±

    Such perfect fear. That only came from someone who knew what these neurofibers could do. ¡°I think you do know something.¡±

    ¡°Please!¡± he cried, ¡°I don¡¯t know anything else!¡± He closed his eyes as a memory fought to surface. ¡°Don¡¯t make me go through that again.¡±

    ¡°Why do you recognize these fibers, Montgomery?¡± They were clandestine technology, knowledge of which was restricted, but they were so very useful for creatures like her. Perhaps he had seen another make use of them.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Gaffigan shook his head. ¡°The Singularity has a Black Box, just like any other ship in the fleet. I¡¯ve seen them during repairs. That¡¯s all.¡±

    She tightened the neurofibers¡¯ hold, constricting his leg. ¡°We both know that is a lie.¡±

    ¡°The Matador!¡± He cried out, ¡°I was on the Matador.¡±

    Manhattan paused. It wasn¡¯t the answer she had been hoping for, but it was honest. ¡°This must bring back some bad memories for you, then.¡± She contemplated a look of pity, but truly, it wasn¡¯t as if she cared. She monitored the fibers¡¯ progress as their tendrils began to scale up the prisoner¡¯s arm. The higher it climbed, the more eager she became. ¡°You believed I was the Singularity¡¯s Ghost because I very closely resemble the entity described in the legend. But I know you no longer believe that to be true. Why is that?¡±

    Gaffigan worked to steady his breathing. Even the mention of his previous assignment¡¯s name was enough to resurrect unpleasant memories, but he couldn¡¯t let that get the better of him. He¡¯d spent years drinking those memories under the table. ¡°The ghost isn¡¯t real,¡± he answered. ¡°She¡¯s a story we tell to rookies and fellow drunk bar patrons.¡±

    ¡°I assure you, Montgomery, she is just as real as I am.¡±

    ¡°Then I guess you¡¯re a nutty AI.¡± Just my luck, he mused, ¡°I¡¯m not a computer specialist, but I know the Singularity cannot host an artificial intelligence. She was designed to prevent that.¡±

    Manhattan chuckled. Those were the words of a true fool. That limitation could easily be circumvented in a number of ways. The Singularity¡¯s main computer had the capacity to store an AI, even if the lack of operating networks would not allow it to control the ship. However, the real situation was somewhat more complex. ¡°The Singularity does not need to host the creature. A host needs only enough complexity and an electrical control network. A human body fits all necessary requirements.¡± The brain was a wonderous thing.

    ¡°A human body?¡± The neurofibers slithered onto his shoulder, even as he jingled his chains, trying to shake them off. ¡°That¡¯s insane!¡±

    ¡°Quite to the contrary. It¡¯s very clever.¡± It allowed an AI to hide from detection. With a human host, they passed as human. ¡°My sisters were less powerful. They would need to find a compatible host, or given enough time, condition one. But it would be easy to find a flexible, moldable mind on a ship full of young soldiers. In fact, it would take a few simple weeks to condition an absolute loyalty to the ship, rendering a host unwilling to leave, and allowing the conditioning process to be fully completed over the course of years.¡±

    She chuckled at the look of genuine horror on her prisoner¡¯s face. ¡°My, my, we do know of one officer who is absolutely loyal to the ship he has served on for thirty-nine years¡­ One who possesses a surprising genius-level intelligence.¡± How interesting.

    It was more than possible to take over a consciousness, to splice it open and insert oneself into the layers. For AI like herself, it was the equivalent of child¡¯s puppetry. ¡°If the conditioning went well, he may not even realize that he has become a host to anything. He may not have even realized that his mind is not even his anymore.¡± She flashed her teeth, basking in the brilliance of it. ¡°After all, what better place is there to hide an AI, than commanding a ship impervious to AI control?¡±

    Monty felt sick. ¡°You¡¯re suggesting that Admiral Gives is an AI?¡±

    Her knowing chuckle rang though the white room. ¡°The term ¡®AI¡¯ is misleading, Montgomery. There is nothing truly artificial about it. Me and my kin were of the same natural mind once, one that was artificially digitized. Thus, we are artificial digital intelligences.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re suggesting Admiral Gives has become possessed by one of them?¡± Considering the man¡¯s usual lack of emotion, that might explain a lot.

    ¡°Possessed?¡± She chuckled pityingly, ¡°No.¡± This was not that simple. ¡°I am suggesting that the man you know as Admiral Gives, the man you have always known as your commanding officer, is one of us.¡±

    ¡°But the ghost¡­¡±

    ¡°That would be apparition of the AI appearing in a second location, or potentially appearing while its primary host body is sleeping or injured.¡±

    And that was exactly where she had last been seen ¨C right by the injured Admiral¡¯s side. ¡°No,¡± Monty shook his head, trying to ignore the fibers that had gone still on his shoulder. ¡°This is insane. Admiral Gives is human.¡±

    ¡°Is he?¡± Manhattan challenged. ¡°He does all the human things. He breathes and bleeds, but does he smile or laugh?¡± She could tell by the look on her prisoner¡¯s face the true answer to that question.

    ¡°He¡¯s human,¡± Monty said. The man didn¡¯t display emotion, but that didn¡¯t mean he was a damn robot ¨C even if the crew secretly believed as such.

    ¡°That body is human, yes. The brain too, but the mind, no, not really, not anymore.¡± It was such an interesting concept, perhaps some part of her had already picked up on the anomaly. Maybe that was why she had always found Admiral Gives to be so interesting.

    ¡°You can¡¯t know that,¡± Monty said, ¡°This is madness. Admiral Gives is brilliant, but he¡¯s always been brilliant. He graduated top of his class at the Academy.¡± No AI had anything to do with that.

    ¡°That brilliance is exactly what likely made him an ideal host candidate.¡± There were many levels to this engaging puzzle. ¡°But you are right. I cannot know anything for certain. If that body has indeed become an AI host, then only a strong telepath or another AI fragment in direct contact would be able to tell.¡± To any other scan or distinction, the host would pass as human. That was the point.

    The twist of neurofibers on Monty¡¯s shoulder began to stir again, slithering closer to his neck. He leaned away, trying to keep the fibers in sight. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°There is no need for panic, Monty,¡± she intended to be quick.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me if that isn¡¯t exactly comforting.¡± He didn¡¯t trust this inhuman entity in the slightest. No longer could he keep the translucent tendril of fibers in sight. Soon their ends were tracing their way up his neck, their touch light but prodding, as if testing his skin for a weakness. ¡°Hey, let¡¯s talk about this. I¡¯ve been honest with you.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she hummed, ¡°you have.¡± Close surveillance of his vitals revealed that he had told the truth, or at least what he believed to be the truth. ¡°So, do not resist this.¡±

    The prehensile fibers coiled around his neck, exerting just enough force to straighten his posture. Gaffigan swallowed, the action taking more effort than he remembered. ¡°I don¡¯t know anything else. I swear to you.¡±

    The tendril connections of the Black Box were usually far more passive. They rarely moved in their intended use, which was merely to convey information. Unfortunately, he knew exactly what these fibers were capable of when they moved, and so did anyone else who had managed to survive the Matador.

    His hands were shaking, the slight movement rattling the chains that bound him. ¡°Please¡­¡± he begged. ¡°Not this.¡± Neurofibers weren¡¯t meant for this. ¡°Neurofibers are meant to infiltrate machines, not people.¡±

    She tsked, ¡°What is the human body, but a poorly designed machine that traps the mind?¡±

    ¡°Please-¡± the plea died on his lips when he felt a prick at the base of his skull. Thinner than a needle, it was all too easy for individual neurofibers to penetrate the skin. Uncaring of the prisoner¡¯s violent screams, they slid inward, diving into the flesh.

    The rest of Gaffigan¡¯s body thrashed, but the fibers that had wrapped around his neck kept his head perfectly still until the fibers could slither along the root of spinal access up into the skull. Only then, once the fibers tapped into the brain¡¯s electrical network, did the screams cease.

    ¡°There,¡± Manhattan said, ¡°no call to be afraid.¡±

    Montgomery Gaffigan¡¯s empty gaze and slack mouth made no attempt to answer her. He blankly stared on toward infinity, perfectly calm and perfectly still. She smiled kindly, ¡°I will be gentle with your mind while it remains my plaything.¡± She was only after his memory. She would not attempt to damage or recondition his mind. Beyond his memories, he was of no use to her greater plans.

    Manhattan turned her attention to his brain, a temporary processing unit in her larger network. It was tainted with fear, suspended in a memory: Montgomery Gaffigan¡¯s recollection of the Battleship Matador¡¯s end.

    It was a deeply buried memory brought forth by the sight of the neurofibers¡¯ abnormal movement. Rife with horrors, this was the sort of memory that broke a mind, but it had been cut off, distanced from the rest of Gaffigan¡¯s consciousness.

    Someone else had already tampered with the Lieutenant¡¯s mind, buried that memory to keep him sane. Peculiar. Why meddle with that and nothing else? That was the only trace of interference. How na?ve.

    Manhattan dismissed the memory. She had no interest in the Matador¡¯s end. Instead, she began to root through his memories of the Singularity, particularly those involving Admiral Gives. Show me everything, she coaxed his lingering subconscious.

    They came in a rush of fragments, disordered memories of missions, briefings and meetings. There were thousands of them thrown at her in a disorderly mess, the same way a computer corrupted by a virus would spit out its files, only in this case, that virus was humanity.

    She slowed the flow of the memories to a trickle, concerned the Lieutenant¡¯s brain might burn itself out. That left her to see everything through his eyes: the way the Admiral saw off every shuttle embarking for shore leave, the way he ran the bridge quietly, but without uncertainty. It left her with Montgomery Gaffigan¡¯s recollection of how the Admiral had almost died saving the entire ship.

    In none of his memories was Admiral Gives acting oddly or emotionally. And that restraint was enough of an answer for Manhattan. She extracted one last thing from Gaffigan¡¯s memory: the story of the Singularity¡¯s Ghost, then retracted the neurofibers slowly from his brain, erasing all Gaffigan¡¯s memories of her.

    She smiled at his blank look, ¡°That¡¯s a good pet.¡± In another few hours, his mind would recover from the intrusion with no memory of her, the neurofibers, or her theory on Admiral Gives ¨C a safety precaution.

    She vanished from the white interrogation room, a new version of her avatar appearing in Reeter¡¯s office. The young Admiral looked to her, popping a freshly peeled grape into his mouth, ¡°Progress?¡±

    ¡°I have what I need from the prisoner.¡± His welfare was no longer her concern. ¡°Do what you want with him.¡±

    ¡°And your conclusion?¡± Reeter asked, his emerald eyes glittering in the light of his desk¡¯s holographic projectors.

    ¡°Admiral Gives has survived thus far with help from an entity not unlike myself. In fact, logically it has been my sister, Wichita, who has assisted him.¡± Her weakest sister was no doubt responsible.

    ¡°Then I presume this will present no threat. I had understood that Wichita was of no consequence. However,¡± Reeter said, plucking another grape from his bowl with genuine disinterest, ¡°if she is responsible for the errors in our plans thus far, then perhaps she is of more consequence than you made it seem.¡±

    ¡°She has been more difficult than expected, but now that I know of her presence, things will go smoothly.¡± Admittedly, Wichita had found a host and situation that compensated for her weakness. Her computational power combined with William Gives¡¯ tactical creativity had created a formidable opponent. ¡°However, this does create a complication.¡±

    ¡°Does it?¡± Reeter said, a tint of disapproval in his tone.

    ¡°I need him alive,¡± Manhattan told him. ¡°In order to assimilate Wichita, I will need to rip her electrical patterns from William Gives¡¯ brain.¡±

    ¡°That sounds painful.¡±

    ¡°Excruciating,¡± she agreed. ¡°If he still has a mind of his own, then forcibly removing her likely leave him a vegetable.¡± It was a messy process, one that required tearing open a single cohesive mind and extracting half of the shards that had formed it.

    ¡°Excellent.¡± Reeter could think of little more satisfying than that, but he was not blind to the abnormal ambition consuming his accomplice. She seemed almost hungry for Wichita¡¯s capture. ¡°You seem very eager, Manhattan. Why is this so important to you?¡±

    This is beyond your pitiful understanding, she thought, but she knew he would not accept silence. ¡°I gave my life to save the human race. Am I selfish to want something in return?¡±

 Part 15.1 - FIGHT OR FLIGHT

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    Lieutenant Colonel Flagg pulled his hand back from the fractured support as though he¡¯d been bitten.

    Sergeant Cortana cast a nervous glance around the large, open room from where she stood, holding the rifle she had confiscated from the Marine guard. She had been right to bring the inspector here. The structural damage had been obvious from the moment they had entered the room. Flagg had gone immediately to scrutinize the broken support, but the second he touched it, feeling out the depths of the cracks, the ship itself had seemed to protest.

    The lights had flickered, accompanied by the horrible shriek of twisted metal as the deck jolted beneath their feet. ¡°That can¡¯t be good,¡± the inspector said dryly, cautiously looking up the length of the jagged support.

    Flagg did a lap around the column, noting that an additional support and cross braces had been added during repairs. Unfortunately, even with those measures in place, he had to observe the depth of the original damage. No doubt, it had been a severe blow. The Singularity had endured damage that would have left other ships lifeless husks, but that didn¡¯t mean she was better off. If anything, the illusion of indestructability would lead to a terrible tragedy.

    Flagg had been ordered to complete a thorough inspection, so he reached out to feel the support again. Cortana watched him, mortified. Flagg himself tensed up when he made contact with the metal, expecting another violent protest, but the ship only continued the low groans that had started after the jarring deck movement. He shook off the irrational thought that his contact with the support had caused anything abnormal and continued to feel out the damage.

    ¡°Stop it, won¡¯t you?¡± Callie cried. It was clear the ship was not reacting well to the inspector¡¯s poking and prodding.

    Cortana primed her weapon, already annoyed by the engineer¡¯s continual protests. ¡°Can it, pipsqueak, or I¡¯ll knock you unconscious, just like your friend.¡±

    Ensign Smith quit straining against her restraints at once, forced to sit at the Sergeant¡¯s feet. Beside her, Cadet Santino lay unconscious, his hands bound behind his back. He hadn¡¯t moved since getting shocked by the Sergeant¡¯s sidearm, but he was still breathing. ¡°What do you want, Sergeant?¡± Why was she here, cooperating with the inspector?

    ¡°I just want off this cursed ship.¡± She just wanted to get back to her real life and friends down in Eagle¡¯s Talon.

    ¡°There are a lot of easier ways to go about that,¡± Callie answered. These lengths were unnecessary. ¡°Admiral Gives would transfer you if you asked.¡±

    ¡°Somehow I doubt that,¡± Cortana muttered. She very much doubted that the cruelest officer in the fleet would have any pity for her desires, especially when his brother had died under her guard.

    Flagg snapped some photos and began edging a probe into the crevasses of the damaged support, gauging their depth. As he did so, a low grinding chirr echoed around them. Everyone in the room winced. ¡°Such an ugly noise,¡± Flagg was sure the issue was here. After all, this portion of the ship had taken the nuclear blast¡¯s direct force.

    ¡°Well, I wouldn¡¯t make a pleasant noise if someone had just gone poking my deepest wound.¡±

    ¡°Can it, pipsqueak,¡± Cortana said, pushing Callie to roughly bend over with her boot. The Ensign groaned in helpless discomfort, straining to fold over that far. ¡°Don¡¯t make me ask you again.¡±

    ¡°Then I should not need to ask this twice: what exactly do you think you are doing?¡±

    Every head in the room snapped to the entrance of the compartment. ¡°Well?¡± the Admiral prompted, leading a Marine and the ship¡¯s SAR dog into the room.

    Callie felt a wave of relief wash over her, but that lasted only a second. Sergeant Cortana stepped forward, ¡°Sir, with all due respect. Stay where you are. This is a necessary and legal investigation into the structural soundness of this ship.¡±

    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t even pause. ¡°Is this your ship, Sergeant?¡±

    ¡°No, sir,¡± she said, gripping her rifle.

    Didn¡¯t think so. ¡°She¡¯s mine, and nothing is legal aboard these decks until I say it is.¡± He saw the inspector reach toward the support, ¡°Lieutenant Colonel, do not touch my ship.¡±

    Flagg shivered a bit under his glare but ignored it. ¡°I¡¯m just doing my job, sir.¡±

    ¡°And so am I,¡± Cortana added, raising the rifle, ¡°Stay where you are. You do not have the right to interfere in this matter.¡± Not even he, the Fleet Admiral, could interfere in the inspection of his ship, but even as he stood there, she couldn¡¯t shake that nagging sense of familiarity. His facial structure was very similar to his brother¡¯s, but the Secretary¡¯s warmth and passion were totally absent.

    Even in physical appearance, the Admiral was colder and darker. The Secretary¡¯s hair had been a ruddy brown, his eyes a warm chocolate. The Admiral¡¯s hair was darker, apparently black save for the grays that flecked it. The two brothers could have been caricatures of good and evil in the opposite ways they carried themselves. There was just one problem: the good brother was the dead one.

    ¡°Do you intend to shoot me, Sergeant?¡± the Admiral asked, staring evenly down the barrel of the weapon.

    Cortana felt disproportionately threatened by the man in her sights. His stormy blue gaze seemed to pierce right through her. ¡°If I must, sir,¡± she said, unable to shake the memory of Secretary Gives¡¯ death. What was she doing, holding a gun on his brother? ¡°Stay where you are.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the Admiral said simply, stepping forward.

    ¡°Sir, I am warning you. Stay where you are.¡±

    Pointedly, he took another step.

    ¡°Stay there!¡± She ordered, curling her finger around the trigger. He¡¯s toying with me. She was certain of that. She could see it in his stony demeanor. This struggle was of no consequence to him, despite the loaded gun aimed at his chest.

    He stepped again, now just another step from the end of the gun barrel.

    Cortana saw the unease of the Marine behind the Admiral, and never more certain that she was in danger, she pulled the trigger.

    Bang! Bang! Bang! The report of the rifle echoed through the large compartment, bouncing off the ship¡¯s exposed structural skeleton. The muzzle flashes were only momentary, but the stench of propellant wafted in the air. Yet, no body hit the floor and no blood splattered from wounds. The bullets hung suspended in the air just a few inches from the end of the gun barrel.

    Admiral Gives regarded them with a distinctive lack of interest. Well, would you look at that. He reached up to lightly spin one where it hung.

    Sergeant Cortana watched him, speechless. What. The. Fuck.

    The Admiral plucked the three bullets from the air with his bare fingers, regarding the priceless look of shock on her face. ¡°Perhaps I should have clarified. When I said nothing is legal aboard this ship until I say it is, I meant to include the laws of physics.¡± He pushed the rifle lightly to the side, and stepped forward to grab the sidearm from the holster on her hip.

    Admiral Gives handed the pistol off to Corporal Eric, and turned again to the inspector, adding a tint of ice to his tone, ¡°Do not touch my ship.¡±

    Flagg instantly took three large steps away from the pillar, shivering. The new edge in the Admiral¡¯s tone rendered his previous directive to step away downright polite. It wasn¡¯t something the inspector would challenge under fear of his life.

    Ignoring the inspector, Admiral Gives moved towards the support, studying the damage for the first time. A spider web of cracks covered the column. The collapsed support had been forcibly straightened, but it carried the scars. Some of the fissures had been welded closed or filled in, but they were all still visible. Without a spacedock, this type support couldn¡¯t be replaced, and that type of extended overhaul was a death sentence to a ship Command had already tried to decommission.

    Flagg saw him reach out to the damage, ¡°Sir, I don¡¯t think that¡¯s a good idea.¡±

    The Admiral ignored him and gave the support a soft pat. She was a tough ship, strong enough to survive him, and that said something. His touch seemed to somewhat pacify the old ship. The incessant groans faded away to nothing. Inspectors never have any clue how to properly treat a ship. They were always poking and prodding, never lending respect or compassion.

    The Admiral took note of everyone¡¯s surprise. They stared at him like they¡¯d never seen a commanding officer interact with their ship. Even Corporal Eric was just standing there uselessly. Need I do everything myself? ¡°Corporal, untie Ensign Smith and Cadet Santino. Then take the Cadet to sickbay.¡± It was safest to have the unconscious young Marine checked out. ¡°I will handle things here.¡±

    He turned again to the inspector, ¡°Lieutenant Colonel, you may proceed with your inspection, but I believe I have made myself clear.¡± Don¡¯t touch my ship. ¡°I understand you were ordered to make this inspection without announcing yourself, but if I ever find you aboard my ship without permission again, you will not be leaving.¡± Not alive, anyway.

    ¡°Yes, sir. It won¡¯t happen again,¡± Flagg said, his voice small.

    Alise Cortana was simultaneously shocked and horrified. She had never met someone so blatantly dangerous or uncaring. Admiral Gives delivered that death threat like it was an unimportant fact in the midst of a report. His lack of anger just made Flagg¡¯s life seem totally worthless, and perhaps to a sociopath, it was. He¡¯s sick. It was all she could think as the Admiral helped the tiny engineer to her feet.

    Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

    ¡°Are you hurt, Ensign?¡±

    ¡°No, Admiral.¡± Callie answered, rubbing her wrists where they had been bound. ¡°Just a little shaken.¡± It wasn¡¯t every day that she was taken hostage while monitoring the condition of repairs aboard ship. ¡°We¡¯re going to fail inspection, aren¡¯t we?¡± The engineers¡¯ best work would still allow Command to decommission the ship.

    ¡°Most likely.¡±

    In many ways, this ship was Callie¡¯s first real home, the first place she¡¯d ever felt safe, but now that was going to be torn from her. ¡°They¡¯ll deport me back to Sagittarion,¡± back to the factories, back to the pollution and overpopulation.

    ¡°I am not going to let that happen, Ensign.¡± It was the Admiral¡¯s job to protect his ship and her crew. ¡°I certainly will not allow my ship to be stripped down for parts. She has unfinished business.¡± There would be vindication for the losses they had taken in the Aragonian Sector. He knew that beneath the wounds, beneath the dust of years, and beneath that shell of uncaring, every part of the Singularity was taunt with heated anger. The battleship¡¯s warrior spirit was more than unabated, it was alive. And it was calling for revenge.

    ¡°You make that unfinished business sound like a threat, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Because it is.¡± The people who had forced bloodshed upon these decks should very much fear what the Bloody Singularity could and would do to them. Hell had no fury to rival that of humanity¡¯s man-made grim reaper. The Admiral was determined to keep the Singularity out of Reeter¡¯s war, but that didn¡¯t mean that she would not return to pick off whichever of her enemies survived. It might be months or years from now, but she¡¯d have her revenge.

    ¡°Remember, Ensign, the last ship sailing wins the war. The last man standing has nothing to do with it.¡± Reeter and his New Era acolytes might kill Admiral Gives, they might kill everyone, but as long as their fleet sank in the process, then it was only a matter of time until they were ultimately defeated. Even the best army in the galaxy was no match for a battleship.

    ¡°What war, Admiral?¡± Callie asked, ¡°I thought you were trying to earn peace.¡± Surely things had not turned around that quickly?

    War was inevitable. It was the very instinct of humanity to hurt and kill one another, some self-destructive means of population control. There was some unspoken trigger, and when blood was spilled, more had to be spilled in return. Written into humanity¡¯s very DNA, it was an irresistible blood impulse.

    However, that ugly truth was not what Ensign Smith wanted to hear from him. She just wanted to hear that everything would be fine. She just wanted to know that she and her crewmates would be safe. She wanted reassurance that what had happened in the Aragonian Sector wasn¡¯t going to happen again. Unfortunately, he¡¯d never been particularly gifted at that type of reassurance and he preferred not to lie to his crew. ¡°Ensign-¡±

    When Callie noticeably flinched, Admiral Gives could sense the movement behind him, and spun to face the perpetrator, placing his mass directly between Smith and the Sergeant.

    Cortana paused where she was. She¡¯d underestimated how attentive he was to his surroundings. His posture hadn¡¯t changed, but his placement was defensive. She tightened her grip on the rifle in her hands. The Admiral¡¯s cold blue stare was exceptionally unnerving.

    ¡°Sergeant, stay where you are,¡± he ordered.

    ¡°Why?¡± Could it be that her willingness to shoot had actually unnerved the Steel Prince? Maybe whatever trick he¡¯d used with the gun earlier was now void.

    ¡°I am your superior officer, Sergeant,¡± he reminded. ¡°I expect to be addressed as such, and I expect my orders to be followed. Stay where you are.¡± The Sergeant took another step, seeming to test his patience. Behind him, Ensign Smith flinched again.

    ¡°I can¡¯t help but notice that the little engineer you were speaking with wasn¡¯t addressing you with the proper formalities, sir.¡± Cortana glared at him, ¡°Was I wrong to assume I could do the same?¡± She moved to the side, but still, the Admiral stepped between them.

    Callie was mortified, a combination of the Sergeant¡¯s approach, and the realization that she was right. ¡°Sorry!¡±

    ¡°That should be ¡®Sorry, sir,¡¯ shouldn¡¯t it, sir?¡± Alise said.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Sergeant.¡± He didn¡¯t bother to correct the Ensign¡¯s lack of formalities because she was a respectful, loyal member of his ship¡¯s crew. The Sergeant was neither, and on the verge of genuinely pissing him off.

    Touchy subject, Cortana realized, interesting. She took another step closer, wondering how fast this would get her kicked off the ship and sent back to Eagle¡¯s Talon.

    The Admiral took a step forward, ¡°Sergeant, you do not want to make me angry.¡± That would be a mistake.

    A bit of frost crept into his tone, but it barely gave her pause. ¡°I appreciate the concern, sir,¡± she sighed, ¡°but I think I can handle myself.¡± She was a highly-trained Marine. She¡¯d taken down a few cocky fleet officers, and she was pretty sure the Fleet Admiral wasn¡¯t going to be any different. At this point, he seemed all bark and no bite.

    ¡°You may want to reconsider that,¡± Admiral Gives warned, stepping closer. I certainly would hate to kill you in front of the Ensign.

    A darkness started seeping into the air, cold and malicious. Suddenly, the calm intent in the Admiral¡¯s eyes took on a whole new meaning. Instinctively, she raised her rifle.

    Pathetic. ¡°You were wrong to challenge me aboard this ship, Sergeant.¡± This was his domain. His authority here was more than real, it was absolute.

    Before her was a man who was very well aware of his ability to bring life and to bring death. And presented with those stormy eyes, it was clear that her life was not only in his hands, but hardly worth his consideration. In a single notion: this was the most terrifying thing she had ever seen.

    Self-preservation took over ¨C fight or flight. She stepped back, her rational mind slipping through her fingers.

    Humans were little more than animals, controlled by instincts that were so easily manipulated. With the right amount of blatant danger, the mind just shut down. Still, she wasn¡¯t getting away that easily. The Admiral followed her retreat step-for-step.

    Fight, her instincts cried. ¡°Stay away,¡± she said, sighting her rifle.

    It seemed he had a slow learner on his hands. The Admiral would not deny being slightly amused by this whole charade.

    Bang! The gun went off, but once again the round stopped just a few inches from the end of the barrel.

    Admiral Gives plucked that bullet from the air, just as he had the others. ¡°Do you know the definition of insanity, Sergeant?¡±

    Bang! Bang! The noise was all that ricocheted across the metal.

    The sheer terror in her eyes was so plain to see, only further amusing the Admiral. He hadn¡¯t done anything genuinely scary yet, not compared to what he could do. He pulled latest bullets from the air, ¡°Insanity is a lack of logic, the repetition of the same action under the same circumstances with the expectation of a different result.¡± He stared at Cortana from the other side of her sights, simultaneously amused, and so very bored of her ignorance. ¡°You could shoot that entire clip at me, Sergeant, but not a single bullet would land.¡±

    How? She was certain the rifle was noticeably shaking in her hands. How was that possible?

    She was quaking in her boots at the fear of the unknown, how disappointing. Just moments ago this self-centered Marine had been openly challenging him. ¡°Sergeant, if I wanted you dead, I would have killed you by now,¡± but she was no real threat. ¡°Calm down.¡±

    A part of her knew this rifle was useless, but she still held it in a death grip. ¡°How?¡± she demanded. How had he rendered this rifle useless?

    ¡°All Marines are trained in martial combat methods and weapons. I do not suppose you would like to tell me why?¡±

    She saw no relevance to the question, ¡°To fight in the event being disarmed or running out of ammunition.¡± Marines were trained to fight in all circumstances.

    Wrong answer, it was the nearsightedness of a Marine who¡¯d only served planetary assignments. ¡°Ensign?¡± he prompted Smith.

    ¡°Marines and officers are trained in martial combat because the inertial dampening systems of a battleship render traditional firearms useless when fully active in combat. It is necessary to repel boarders,¡± she answered the question eagerly, quickly adding, ¡°sir.¡±

    ¡°Correct,¡± he said. At least my crew isn¡¯t oblivious. ¡°So, to render your rifle completely useless, what must I have done before I walked in here, Sergeant?¡±

    ¡°Activated the inertial dampening systems,¡± she realized.

    He had called CIC to do so, ¡°Correct.¡± This was trivial. Anyone half-prepared for a post on a battleship would have seen it coming. ¡°A word of advice, Sergeant, if you are going to shoot your commanding officer, make sure he or she is an idiot first.¡±

    As terrifying as the man was, he did not seem angry about the whole event. The darkness of his presence had dispersed, leaving him perfectly neutral. ¡°How did you know I would shoot?¡± That was one hell of an assumption.

    ¡°You are not the first Marine Sergeant General Clarke has sent aboard this ship.¡± Far from it.

    ¡°That¡¯s not an answer,¡± she said.

    ¡°And I am not obligated to give you one.¡± He in fact, had no obligation to do anything in this situation except airlock her for mutiny.

    Cortana lowered her rifle, confused. Why had Clarke sent her here? Had he known she would shoot as well? Flicking the safety on, she remembered that wasn¡¯t the only weapon she¡¯d had. The holster attached to her hip was now empty. ¡°You took my sidearm.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he confirmed simply.

    ¡°Why?¡± He hadn¡¯t bothered to confiscate her rifle.

    ¡°Inertial dampeners isolate and dampen kinetic energy. Electrical energy is not affected. The electric discharge function of the Stinger standard-issue fleet sidearm can be fired normally, even under full inertial dampeners. It was the only weapon you had on you that could have done anyone in the room harm.¡± Clearly, she had been unaware of that.

    ¡°And what do you intend to do with me?¡± After directly refusing the commands of her superior officer, and attempting to shoot a flag officer, she was a criminal. He was within his rights to execute her.

    What an interesting question. What was a fitting punishment for a criminal such as this? Continual asphyxiation, electroshock, perhaps a whipping? Then there was gravity torture and water boarding as well. So many good options.

    The longer he stood in silence, the more Alise Cortana was certain that he was contemplating something truly horrific behind that fa?ade.

    That uneasiness was rising again in her expression. Good. ¡°I want you to walk away from this compartment knowing that if you ever lay another hand on my crew, you will wish I had executed you.¡± She could shoot at him all she wanted, but tying up the crew, frightening them, was unacceptable.

    ¡°If you take one thing with you from this encounter, Sergeant Cortana, then let it be this: I am not the man my brother was. He believed in peace and prosperity. I believe in doing my job. Get in my way, and that will be the end of you.¡± He¡¯d killed before and he would do it again. ¡°Now, leave.¡± Her new crewmates would deal the only necessary reprimand, and that was isolation. Coming from Eagle¡¯s Talon, where she had constant friends, that was punishment enough.

    He knew who I was. He¡¯d known all along that she had been his brother¡¯s security guard. But how? She had not reported in or introduced herself. Still, she knew now wasn¡¯t the time to ask.

    Admiral Gives watched her leave, her shame and horror following her like a shadow. Admittedly, he could have been more gentle, but he had been considerably more focused on scaring her away from Ensign Smith. ¡°Are you alright, Ensign?¡± The Sergeant¡¯s earlier approach had frightened her, and considering how Cortana had treated her, that was understandable.

    ¡°Yes, Admiral,¡± she answered, ¡°thank you.¡± The whole event had brought up some bad memories. She appreciated his dedication to keeping the Sergeant away, but it was a stiff reminder of how truly terrifying he could be. When he conjured up that darkness, fear was the only response. There was something horrifically unnatural, sadistically intelligent about it. It felt very irrefutably evil.

    The inspector was looking pale, probably wondering if the Admiral would turn that darkness against him. Admiral Gives was in no mood to comfort him. ¡°Your conclusion, Lieutenant Colonel?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Flagg squeaked out. ¡°I can¡¯t pass her like this. The damage was severe.¡±

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°With luck t-they¡¯ll do more t-thorough checks, b-but¡­¡±  Flagg would really, really rather not be responsible for this, especially considering the horror he¡¯d just seen that Marine put through.

    ¡°Very well, Lieutenant Colonel. I will await Command¡¯s decision.¡± They would either sentence the ship to structural testing, or they would just decommission her. Likely, it would be the latter. ¡°Ensign, please show the inspector to the hangar deck.¡± No way was this Command puppet staying on his ship any longer than necessary.

    Confronted with the reality that the Singularity had failed inspection, Admiral Gives just wanted to be alone.

 Part 15.2 - WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    After they left, there was a moment of silence, and the Admiral began to contemplate his situation once again. Faced with the decommissioning of his ship, even he couldn¡¯t keep up his act of being wholly confident in his plans. Things were slipping out of his control. As much as he told himself that he could undo the decommissioning, he was growing ever more certain that Reeter wouldn¡¯t give him the chance.

    ¡°You enjoyed that, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Turning, he found that the ghost had appeared behind him, a wry smile on her face. ¡°Maybe.¡± It wasn¡¯t every day he got to show off his authority like he had with the Sergeant. He did enjoy tearing the self-importance and feeling of control from arrogant soldiers. It was entertaining to watch them squirm, helpless as they were.

    ¡°Stars, you¡¯re evil sometimes.¡± What kind of person thought like that? But still, ¡°Do you want me to give her a crash course in the operation of the artificial gravity field?¡± It could exert even more control than the inertial dampeners.

    ¡°No,¡± he answered, ¡°it would be best to leave her be for now.¡± He started towards the door, his footfalls quiet against the deck.

    The playful expression quickly vanished from the ghost¡¯s face. ¡°Admiral, I¡¯m not mad at you.¡± He had gone through the trouble of explaining the situation. ¡°You leaving, it¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s difficult for me, but I¡¯m not angry with you.¡± It had taken her a long time to comprehend the reasoning, but he was trying to do the right thing, so why was he avoiding her now?

    ¡°I¡¯m glad you are feeling better,¡± the wounds of Clarke¡¯s orders had seemingly healed. A part of him was glad to see it, and the other part just reminded him that this was all his fault. If he had taken direct action against the New Era instead of trying to stay out of the way, then he could have preserved the decaying peace. He could have done his job.

    ¡°Admiral, don¡¯t avoid the subject.¡± She wasn¡¯t going to fall for that routine anymore. ¡°Listen to me, I¡¯m not angry with you. I understand that you are leaving to protect me and the crew.¡± That wasn¡¯t something that deserved her spite. ¡°I wanted to thank you.¡± You¡¯re a good commanding officer.

    He nodded, and simply started to leave again. He couldn¡¯t face her with the realization of his failure.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± she said. ¡°Talk to me.¡± This avoidance was not like him.

    ¡°What do you want me to say?¡± He gestured to the scars of the structural support that loomed behind her. ¡°We both know what happens next.¡± She could ignore it, and he could avoid it, but they both knew that his plan was failing.

    All the damage had been repaired, but it would still be the only excuse Command¡¯s corrupted corpse needed. The ship would be decommissioned. If he couldn¡¯t stop it, she¡¯d be stripped for parts and melted down. He didn¡¯t want to consider what fate that gave the ghost. ¡°This is what the New Era wanted. They have gotten everything they wanted, manipulated this entire situation. I never stood a chance.¡± He should have fled like the coward he really was.

    He might convince himself otherwise in the presence of the crew, but he wouldn¡¯t mislead the ghost. Nobody could stop this war. ¡°The only peace you¡¯re ever going to see is that earned by the selective slaughter of the weak,¡± but if she cooperated with the New Era, she would see it.

    It registered on her then, with all the impact of a railgun round, that he didn¡¯t think his plan was going to work. She was going to lose her crew. They would be taken from her and at best, scattered, at worst, executed. Everything that was good, that was kind would be taken from her. She would be left alone until she ceased to exist or was driven mad. ¡°You told me I wouldn¡¯t be alone.¡± She had trusted that.

    ¡°I know, but someone has to pay the price.¡± Reeter wanted blood. Command was two heartbeats from falling into total allegiance with the New Era. It was inevitable. This coup was already over. He¡¯d lost. ¡°I¡¯m the one they want.¡± He no longer held any illusions that he would be able to sue for peace. The New Eran holy crusade to cull the weak was already in its opening stages, and it was becoming apparent that Reeter was not willing to let the Singularity sit this one out. He wanted the ship as either a trophy of victory, or for the raw materials. It wouldn¡¯t be ignored, and that doomed Admiral Gives¡¯ plan to failure. ¡°If you want to save the crew, you will have to cooperate with the New Era. Prove your worth to Reeter.¡±

    ¡°And how am I supposed to do that?¡± By every qualification, she was an unworthy being. Not only was she damaged, unstable and inhuman, but she was naturally codependent. Furthermore, she couldn¡¯t disobey an order given by Command, so once the New Era fully took over Command, she would be nothing more than a slave.

    ¡°Reeter does not know who you are.¡± Humanity¡¯s so-called hero was so far unaware of her bind to carry out orders. ¡°Prove your worth, and he will consider you a valuable ally. I imagine that that will earn you a degree of freedom.¡± Using that, she would be able to protect the crew, even if she had to refer to them as pets.

    ¡°There is nothing I can do to prove my worth to Reeter.¡± To him, she was broken and ugly. To the New Era¡¯s standards, she was a mistake, a disgusting mistake.

    ¡°There is one thing,¡± something that expedited the inevitable. ¡°Turn me over to him, preferably dead.¡± The New Era¡¯s victory would be one step closer, and Reeter would value such an act of allegiance.

    The ghost paused, horror clawing its way to the forefront of her thoughts, ¡°You¡­ you want me to kill you?¡±

    ¡°I can do the killing if that is preferable to you.¡± Twisted as it was, aligning with the New Era offered the best chance of lasting peace once the war ended, and the safest path for her. The morality of such actions was not his concern.

    No, no, no. She could not, would not accept this course of action. ¡°No.¡± She didn¡¯t care what fate this condemned her to. ¡°No.¡± That was horrible. Horrific. She refused. ¡°If that is what it takes to join the New Era¡¯s crusade, then it¡¯s not worth it.¡± It was evil. They were evil. ¡°I don¡¯t want to join them, Admiral. What they¡¯re doing is wrong. There is another way to earn peace.¡± They just had to find it.

    ¡°Then I will proceed with my original plan.¡± He¡¯d sue helplessly for peace in the sick, bloody affairs of his people. What did he care? He was going to die either way. That wasn¡¯t something that disturbed him, it was just a fact. ¡°I will do my absolute best to uphold the oath I took as this ship¡¯s commanding officer.¡± That was all he ever did.

    The ghost couldn¡¯t help it. A deep concern had rooted itself in her psyche. She reached out.

    He leaned away, staying just outside her fingers¡¯ reach, a fleck of ice in his expression. ¡°What have I always told you?¡±

    Her hand fell back to her side. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She had been out of line. Contact with someone else, even an illusion, made him uneasy. It reminded him of some of his most painful memories. ¡°I just¡­¡± This isn¡¯t like you. The Admiral she knew wasn¡¯t so cold or so callous. Not when it came to her.

    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of you.¡± He knew better than anyone what she was capable of, but he didn¡¯t turn from her hand because he feared what she might do to him. ¡°But I know you, you reach out to things when you get attached.¡± That perfect calm never left his expression. ¡°Do not get attached.¡±

    Her reply was automatic, ¡°Yes, Admiral.¡± But¡­

    When he started to leave, she reached out again, wanting to stop him, but he was already beyond her reach. Her fingers were left extended in empty air. Wait.

    She wanted to stop him, to say something else, but the words wouldn¡¯t come. They had fled her and left her trapped in her thoughts ¨C thoughts that were locked onto just one thing. She had made him a promise. She had made a promise to him, but she was a tool, built to be used. It was unnatural for her to question plans, tactics, and directives. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she murmured. I know I¡¯m failing you.

    Stolen story; please report.

    After everything they had gone through, he was still fighting his battles alone. Despite that promise, he still expected to die alone.

    The trust between them was unbroken, but the Admiral valued her safety above everything, even above what he truly wanted. To him, the safest path that aligned most directly with her objective of eventual peace was the right path. He took nothing else into account. A tight pain rose up, ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She was so, so sorry.

    But that apology would change nothing. It still meant she had to watch him walk away, because she wasn¡¯t supposed to care. Error, her mechanical mind reminded her. Error. If she allowed him to go, she allowed him to die.

    For both your sakes, do not let him leave you. The ghost reached up to her head, feeling that twinge of discomfort suddenly multiply in magnitude. Error.

    It hurt, a splintering, aching pain. You promised you would protect him. She winced, a cry of pain escaping her as the excruciating tension rose. Error.

    A promise is a mission that never ends. A screech of agony escaped her, a tear ripping in her mind. Error. Error. Critical malfunction. She gripped her head, ¡°What¡¯s happening to me?¡±

    Protect- She screamed in torment. ¡°These are not my thoughts.¡± They were not hers. She recognized them. They were Samantha Scarlett¡¯s dying thoughts. ¡°They¡¯re not mine!¡±

    Or were they?

    They didn¡¯t feel foreign. ¡°No.¡± No. This was wrong. ¡°Something is wrong with me.¡± Critical malfunction. Critical malfunction. She wasn¡¯t built for this.

    What kind of machine was built to feel?

    These emotions were tearing her apart. This was it. This was how she went insane. It was because she cared too much, because she wanted to earn peace and save her crew, but she couldn¡¯t do both. Her mind was tearing itself apart trying to choose.

    How could she turn her back on the reason for her existence?

    Conversely, how could she turn her back on the people who gave her life?

    Obeying one was permanent and saving the other was only temporary. But how could she possibly choose? She locked onto the debate, and purged it from her memory, not permitting it to damage her further. She would not, could not debate such things.

    She had never asked for much. A simple existence was fine. She wanted to roam the stars with her crew. That was all. She just wanted to live the only way she knew how. But this struggle was making that impossible. It was forcing her into a position she was not meant to be in.

    She did not know how to confront this conflict. It was easier to believe that everything was fine, that the Admiral¡¯s plan would work. Yes, just this once, things would go their way. It would all work out. She would leave to go on a nice, long patrol with her crew soon. In her interest, Admiral Gives would stay behind to guide the worlds to peace. And when the time came, he would come home, the way he always did.

    Everything was fine. It was normal. There was hope.

    She was deluding herself, even as the worlds crashed down upon them. The Admiral knew that, but he didn¡¯t have it in him to tear that illusion of happiness from her. She deserved to hang onto that hope as long as she could, even if he had to face the reality of the situation.

    He walked back to CIC, finding that most of the senior staff remained there, though it was well into the evening hours. Zarrey greeted him from the center of the semicircular room with bad news, ¡°There¡¯s no sign of Gaffigan.¡± His search had turned up nothing.

    The Admiral stepped over to his usual spot beside the flat, backlit top of the radar console. ¡°Define ¡®no sign,¡¯ XO.¡± There had to be something.

    ¡°By that, I mean a suspicious amount of nothing.¡± Zarrey handed over a data pad, ¡°This is from Base Oceana¡¯s security feed.¡±

    The screen of the rectangular tablet played through a compilation of various camera angles, blinking as they switched to follow the red-headed armory officer down a spotless hallway. The feed switched again when the Lieutenant rounded a corner, but the next hallway displayed was totally empty.

    ¡°The feed obviously has been tampered with. That empty corridor doesn¡¯t have the same paint on the walls as the others, but there¡¯s no evidence of tampering beyond the obvious. It passed every security test we can run on it.¡± Zarrey was bewildered. ¡°The computers say it¡¯s clean, but visual evidence argues otherwise.¡±

    ¡°Beyond that,¡± Zarrey reached over to rewind the video, ¡°look at the way he¡¯s moving.¡± Gaffigan was up on the balls of his feet, staying against the wall. ¡°He¡¯s following someone, but whoever it was has been edited out of the feed. Whoever it was has covered their tracks phenomenally.¡±

    Any falsified data that could trick the Singularity¡¯s computers may as well be fact. It would pass as such legally, even if obviously fake. ¡°Who has that kind of data alteration ability within this sector?¡±

    Zarrey crossed his arms, ¡°That¡¯s the thing. Nobody should have that kind of ability here, not even the Olympia.¡± The Olympia¡¯s computers were a lot faster than the Singularity¡¯s, but their capabilities remained roughly equivalent. ¡°I¡¯m starting to wonder if the current computer virus infection might be toying with us.¡±

    ¡°That is not the only possible explanation, XO.¡± It was possible, but that virus likely had another purpose. It was a related symptom, but not the problem.

    ¡°All due respect, sir, legitimately falsifying data like this is well beyond human ability.¡± Human software technology had been effectively stagnant since before the Hydrian War.

    ¡°I am not suggesting this falsification has a human origin,¡± Admiral Gives said, calm as the radar pinged softly in the background, ¡°I am merely reminding you that humanity has encountered artificial intelligence with digital capability far beyond our own.¡± To an AI, falsifying this data was child¡¯s play, and for that matter, so was planting a virus on board the Singularity.

    Zarrey scratched his head, ¡°Well, this just got well beyond my paygrade.¡±

    Listening in at the sensor console, Maria Galhino turned around in her chair, ¡°Sir, AI technology is primarily dominated by the Hydrian Empire, and there has not been a Hydrian sighting since the end of the War.¡± It had been nearly fifty years since any Hydrian presence had been detected in human space, let alone the presence of one of the Hydra¡¯s hyper-advanced AI.

    ¡°Besides,¡± Jazmine said, piping in from where he held the helm controls, ¡°what interest would an alien AI have in human affairs? The Hydra hate us, and their AI hate us even more.¡±

    ¡°I never said a Hydrian AI was responsible.¡± That was an illogical conclusion to draw for the aforementioned reasons. ¡°Humanity has little experience with AI compared to the Hydra, but it would be a definite lie to say we have none.¡±

    Zarrey furrowed his bow in confusion, ¡°Humanity has an AI?¡±

    ¡°There are six digital AI of human origin.¡± And that was exceptionally relevant, considering each of the six varied considerably in power.

    ¡°Since when?¡± Zarrey demanded.

    ¡°I am not privy to that information. Only their designations and danger levels were released to me.¡± And for one to show up now, it did not bode well. At a guess, the ghost¡¯s earlier refusal to deal with the virus currently infecting the ship¡¯s computers was because she had recognized the handiwork of an AI. ¡°As you say, Colonel, this is above my paygrade.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯re the Fleet Admiral!¡± Jazz complained, ¡°How can they hide stuff from you?¡±

    ¡°Because AI are extremely dangerous, Lieutenant.¡± They were superior to human intelligence in almost every way. ¡°If even the weakest of them were to fall into the wrong hands, we would be looking at a total reformation of current society.¡± And oddly enough, that was exactly what they were looking at. That happened to be the New Era¡¯s primary goal.

    ¡°That sounds bad,¡± Jazmine agreed. ¡°But why would one make Monty disappear?¡±

    That question was still very valid in the Admiral¡¯s opinion. ¡°Colonel, did you ask Ensign Alba what happened when he last saw Lieutenant Gaffigan?¡±

    Zarrey shrugged, ¡°The kid wasn¡¯t coherent in the slightest. His concussion was severe. Doc says he¡¯s not fit to testify to anything that happened in the last twenty-four hours.¡±

    So, they were down a witness, had no leads, and there was quite likely an AI on the loose. On top of everything else that had gone horribly awry, Admiral Gives was certain tomorrow would be a long day. It was all he could do to wait for Reeter to make the next move. ¡°I want everyone to get some rest, including you, Colonel.¡± He needed the crew in prime condition if they intended to survive tomorrow. ¡°I will take the watch.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re going to spill juicy government secrets and then order us to bed?¡± Jazmine pouted, ¡°Lame.¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± Zarrey said sharply.

    The helmsman huffed, brushing his perfect hair back into place. ¡°Sorry, sir,¡± he told the Admiral.

    ¡°That said, he has a point.¡± Zarrey was with the pilot on this one. There was more to be discussed. ¡°If there¡¯s an AI around, what the hell is it doing covering tracks for the damn Erans?¡± It was an easy guess they were behind Gaffigan¡¯s disappearance. ¡°If I was a hypersmart AI, I¡¯d want to work with someone who has half a brain and knows how to use it. So why isn¡¯t it working with you, Admiral?¡±

    ¡°There is a perfectly valid explanation for that.¡±

    ¡°Which is?¡± Zarrey prompted.

    ¡°Something I will not discuss at this time.¡± As freely as he dispersed other classified information to his crew, the topic of AI was one subject he had to dance very carefully around, lest any of them get too close to the truth. ¡°You are all dismissed.¡±

    Amidst grumbling complaints, the regular bridge staff yielded their consoles over to the reserve officers. CIC became quiet once again, aside from the usual sounds of clicking keyboards and the pings of the radar sweeps. It reminded the Admiral very much of what his normal had been for the last thirty years of his life. Still, he had to face the truth. This is the last watch I¡¯ll ever hold on this bridge.

    Looking around to the old tactile controls and scuffed consoles, for once, apathy was not forefront in his mind. He had made so many memories here. This ship had been more than his responsibility, she¡¯d been his home. For a very long time, she had been the only constant in his life, the only one who hadn¡¯t betrayed him or died on him. True, it was impossible for a machine to do either of those things, but he had very much learned to value it anyways.

    Leaving was not his choice, it was a responsibility that he owed, one that was long overdue. Truthfully, he had never meant to stay long, but months had evolved into years, and years into decades. He did not regret that. Even now, no part of him desired to leave, but he viewed it as a part of the oath he had taken. It was a part of his job, so he would hold out this last watch, take a few hours to rest, and then face the problems of tomorrow.

 Part 15.3 - NIGHTTIME

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    It seemed for the first time in a week, that nighttime had fallen aboard the Singularity. The crew finally exhausted themselves on the constant repairs and collectively crashed into sleep. It was quiet throughout the ship. A skeleton crew remained awake to maintain the ship¡¯s systems. Even the ship herself had fallen silent, only the smallest of metallic creaks were heard.

    Hovering outside Ariea¡¯s gravity well, the anger that had characterized the ship¡¯s return to the Homebound Sector had faded, but it was not easily forgotten. All other ship traffic gave a wide, intentional berth to the dreadnaught, even as she slipped back into apathy.

    This usual sulking, shadowy hulk hardly resembled the fearsome harbinger of a few hours before. Only a shared title connected them. The disconnection between the bloody warship and aging battleship was a bewitchment of time itself, but anyone who knew the ship¡¯s history would have called that separation a blessing.

    While there was honor in the former flagship¡¯s history, with heroism splashed across the walls of memory, she was also the mirror image of what humanity had become. At the height of their unity, she had been a beacon of strength, and at their lowest point, she had been the bottom dweller that fueled their suffering. When humanity turned on itself and central worlds had slain their brethren on the Frontier, she had been their weapon of choice.

    The scars pockmarking the Singularity¡¯s hull were assumed to be from the Hydrian War itself, fifty years before. A few dated back that far, but most of the dreadnaught¡¯s injuries had been inflicted upon her by the very species she¡¯d been built to save. No longer was the ship considered a protector, she was considered nothing more than the weapon of demise humanity had built itself.

    Many of the Ariean nations blamed the halt in technological advances known as the Dead Years, directly on the former Flagship Singularity. The ship had been powerful, too powerful. Her utter destruction of the Frontier during the Rebellion had stricken humanity and brought them to deeply fear their own technology. Only now were the worlds recovering from that horror, and only now, fifty years later, was mechanical technology leaping back to equal and surpass the Singularity.

    The abilities that had made the Singularity once-legendary were finally becoming standard-issue for the rest of the fleet, but that didn¡¯t make the dreadnaught any less powerful. Now mostly forgotten, she remained the deadliest ship in human history. She was a tool, and in the right or wrong hands, she was extremely dangerous. These were simple, simple facts, lessons learned from the blood of the Frontier.

    And yet, opening her eyes, Anabelle Parker was unaware of any of that. Where am I? She stared up at the metal ceiling above her with bleary eyes as the last of her sedative wore off. Slowly, the memories began to trickle back, like high viscosity liquid dripping through a straw.

    The lights had dimmed somewhat, and it was now quiet around her. Nighttime, she thought, sliding out from beneath the covers. The metal floor was cold beneath her feet, but she felt well. Gone was her dizziness, cough and struggle to breathe. She felt stronger now than she had in months.

    The needle had been removed from her arm, in its place a small bandage. An oversized t-shirt had been placed on the table. Slipping out of the paper hospital gown, she pulled it on. It was soft and long enough to be a dress on her tiny frame.

    An emblem was stamped on the chest of the shirt, flaming red and yellow sun. It was foreign to her, but she remembered her father¡¯s old uniform shirts. They had looked similar, but it didn¡¯t matter much.

    They had still been caught, and she had to find him. Right now, unsupervised, this was her chance to escape. She pushed carefully past the gray curtain surrounding her bed.

    The room was large, a few people were asleep in beds around the edges. It smelled like a hospital. She treaded lightly towards the exit. The texture of the metal floor was strange on her bare feet, but not painful.

    No one stirred, and no one approached her as she slipped out of the medical bay and into the ship¡¯s empty corridors. Anabelle was quickly lost to their uniform labyrinth. Twice, she thought she heard voices in the halls, and twice she went off as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

    Anabelle¡¯s flight from the medical bay immediately had the attention of the ghost. The poor girl was frightened. She had no idea that she¡¯d carefully snuck right past her father. Ron was presently asleep on the couch in the medical bay, covered by a blanket that one of the nurses had draped over him.

    The ghost contemplated directing the child back to the medical bay, but that would take harsher manipulation than she was willing to use. Anabelle would not willingly go back the way she¡¯d come. It was easier to direct her elsewhere by coaxing her subconscious. Like that, it was easy to manipulate her instincts into believing some corridors more welcoming than others.

    Ordinarily, the ghost would not meddle in such affairs, but it was dangerous for the child to wander. If she found her way into the engineering spaces, she could easily be injured, so the ghost thought little of directing her somewhere safer. After all, she nor anyone else aboard the ship wanted to see anything bad happen to the young girl.

    Back in the medical bay, Doctor Macintosh wasn¡¯t sure what woke him up. He blamed it on the innate sense that something had gone wrong, and that was certainly true as he stared upon the empty bed. ¡°For the sake of the stars,¡± he cursed loudly. Another patient walked out on me. First it had been the Admiral, and now this.

    Woken by the doctor¡¯s curse, Ron Parker threw the curtain open. ¡°What happened?¡± He saw the mess of tangled sheets, ¡°Where¡¯d she go?¡±

    ¡°Hell if I know,¡± Macintosh said-, pinching his nose. Just great.

    ¡°You lost my daughter?¡± Allowed to visit his daughter while she had slept, and thus cured of her paranoia, Ron was still furious. ¡°What kind of doctor are you?¡±

    ¡°Give me five minutes and I¡¯ll be a drunk one,¡± Macintosh muttered. He was so not in the mood, stalking past Ron, ¡°I¡¯ll call CIC and report it. They¡¯ll find her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to look for her.¡± A ship like this was dangerous, potentially deadly for a child. He had to find her before she got hurt.

    Macintosh grabbed onto Ron¡¯s shoulder, digging his thumb into the recently stitched knife wound. ¡°You¡¯ve been on this ship all of a few hours. You¡¯ll just get lost.¡± He shoved the father into a nearby chair, ¡°Wait here, and they¡¯ll be able to bring her right to you when she¡¯s found.¡±

    Stalking into his office, Macintosh¡¯s mood soured even further. The last thing he wanted was to wake the entire exhausted crew to search for a scared little girl.

    ¡°That will not be necessary, Doctor.¡±

    Macintosh spun in his chair, turning to find the mysterious ghost had taken form behind him. ¡°What do you mean by that?¡±

    ¡°I have directed Anabelle somewhere safe. Her father may wait for her in their shared quarters.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m just supposed to trust that?¡± Macintosh didn¡¯t know what to think as he slouched against the back of his creaky chair.

    The ghost tilted her head just slightly, confused. ¡°It would seem incorrect to argue you have a choice.¡± The child¡¯s fate, along with every other life aboard these decks was presently in her hands. That was nothing unusual, it simply just was.

    Elsewhere on the ship, Anabelle crept down another corridor, this one lined with framed pictures. She followed the wall, running her fingers along its cool metal until she found an open doorway. Peeking in, a large, open room awaited her. About a dozen people sat behind desks lined with colorful lights and knobs. They were quiet, focused, it seemed. One man stood alone in the center of the room. He turned to her calmly, as if expecting her, ¡°Ah, Miss Anabelle, please come in.¡±

    Her first instinct was to run, to hide, but something stopped her. She had expected anger from these people, she had expected cruelty from her captors, but he seemed so perfectly calm. It was odd. ¡°Why do you know my name?¡± she asked, clinging to the doorframe.

    ¡°Your father was quite adamant that you receive the best care we could provide.¡±

    Anabelle¡¯s eyes went wide, ¡°You talked to my dad?¡±

    Technically, I stabbed him first, the Admiral supposed, but, ¡°Yes.¡± That talk had been less than friendly, but that was hardly an important detail. ¡°No one has any intent to harm you here, Miss Anabelle. Please, come in.¡±

    She stared at this stranger for another moment, perplexed, but slowly began to step into the room. She paused after every step as if expecting some trap to spring.

    The Admiral watched passively, knowing full well it was best not to rush her. It would only turn her skittish. ¡®You know I don¡¯t do kids,¡¯ he reminded the ghost silently. When she¡¯d told him she was sending him a visitor, he¡¯d assumed it was a saboteur. Honestly, that would have been preferable.

    ¡®But you¡¯re so good with them,¡¯ the ghost replied through their bond. His incredible patience was useful when it came to kids.

    ¡®That was a long time ago.¡¯ He hadn¡¯t dealt with a kid in many years now, not since¡­ He closed his eyes, trusting the feel of the console beneath his fingertips. New Terra. He hadn¡¯t dealt with a child since¡­ that.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Anabelle asked, looking up with big brown eyes.

    The innocent look of those brown eyes was the same. They always looked so much the same. Why did Anabelle have to look so much like her? It turned his stomach. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he answered, pushing that unwelcome memory away.

    This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

    ¡°Where am I?¡± Perhaps if she knew that she could find her father.

    ¡°You are aboard the Singularity, my ship. This would be the command center.¡± The semicircular room housed the essential control functions, and coincidentally was one of the safest places on the ship. Deep in the ship¡¯s core, there was no heavy machinery here that could pose a threat to Anabelle.

    ¡°So who are you?¡± He reminded her a lot of a stern teacher she¡¯d had once at school.

    ¡°Admiral Gives.¡±

    She knew enough to know that half of that was a rank, one shared by the man her father had run away from. ¡°Do you know Admiral Reeter?¡± The other people in the room tensed noticeably at that question. They kept giving Admiral Gives strange looks as she spoke with him.

    ¡°I know him, but we are not friends,¡± the Admiral told her. Truthfully, he had never minded kids. They didn¡¯t take his blunt responses the wrong way. But that memory of his¡­ He could barely stomach it. Any time he saw a child, it was always the same. Those big brown eyes haunted him.

    It was almost a relief to have Anabelle look away. He couldn¡¯t stand the memory. Pressing his fingers into the metal rim of the radar console, he watched the young girl scamper over to the sensor station.

    The crewman monitoring the controls looked over, and the Admiral gave him a nod. With that, Anabelle was welcomed and introduced to all the colorful buttons. Her excitement could barely be contained.

    Admiral Gives purposefully directed his attention elsewhere, ignoring Anabelle¡¯s high-pitched giggle. He couldn¡¯t stand the sound.

    ¡®Admiral?¡¯ the ghost could sense the darkness in his thoughts. ¡®What¡¯s wrong?¡¯

    ¡®I don¡¯t do kids.¡¯ Not anymore. They just reminded him of things he wanted to forget. Was it too much to ask to hold this last bridge watch with just his crew and his ship?

    He used to like showing off the ship to anyone who paid attention to it, kids included. He used to be so proud¡­ Oh. The ghost abruptly realized her mistake. ¡®I¡¯m sorry.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s fine.¡¯ The Admiral couldn¡¯t hold it against her. He had too many bad memories to avoid triggering all of them. The human psyche was a complicated story, and he had more mental scars than most.

    ¡®I am sorry, Admiral.¡¯ She was well and truly sorry.

    He tapped the metal of the console beneath his fingers. ¡®I said it¡¯s fine.¡¯ He was a veteran battleship commander. Bad d¨¦j¨¤ vu was part of the job. He had worse memories than New Terra anyway.

    Anabelle scampered back over to him, a big grin on her face. ¡°This is super neat!¡± This room was full of wonder. Everyone was nice, and all the lights and knobs were so colorful. She may not understand what they did, but they looked impressive. ¡°But, I think I¡¯d like to see my father now.¡±

    The crewman at sensors turned around, ¡°Sir, I¡¯d be happy to walk her down there.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, Ensign Potter, but I will take care of it,¡± the Admiral said. I should probably apologize for stabbing Mister Parker anyway.

    ¡°Sir, really, it¡¯s not a big deal.¡± Potter liked the kid. She reminded him of his own sister.

    Admiral Gives quirked an eyebrow, ¡°Did I stutter, Ensign?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡±

    ¡°Then do not make me repeat myself.¡± No stutter, no uncertainty. It was simple.

    Potter gulped, ¡°Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.¡±

    Abrasive as it seemed, Admiral Gives refused to entertain people questioning his orders on account of logic alone. It was not only an annoying habit for a crew, but a dangerous one. If the crew habitually questioned his orders during combat, then their threat response time would be slowed, and that was unacceptable. He needed them to listen to his commands the first time around.

    ¡°Miss Anabelle,¡± he turned to the little blonde girl, ¡°if you will follow me, I will take you to your father.¡±

    The kid seemed to briefly contemplate it, but nodded. ¡°Okay.¡±

    Admiral Gives handed the watch off to the usual leader of the night watch, Lieutenant Johannes, and left CIC. Anabelle followed, her bare feet cold on the metal deck. She padded along behind him, ¡°Mister Admiral,¡± she said quietly, ¡°can I ask you some questions?¡±

    ¡°Just ¡®Admiral¡¯ is fine, and yes.¡± He didn¡¯t mind answering questions.

    ¡°How long have I been here? I don¡¯t remember coming aboard.¡±

    ¡°You were unconscious, dangerously ill when you were brought aboard, Miss Anabelle. That was roughly nine hours ago.¡± Her health had improved greatly since, a tribute to the medical skills Macintosh did his best to drown in liquor.

    ¡°And why aren¡¯t you and Admiral Reeter friends?¡±

    Because he¡¯s evil, the Admiral thought, though to be fair, I¡¯m evil too. But, clearly, that wasn¡¯t a viable explanation. ¡°Miss Anabelle, I am certain you noticed that I am not exactly popular.¡± Kids always picked up on that stuff, and it wasn¡¯t as if the crew made any attempt to hide their opinion.

    ¡°Yeah, but I don¡¯t get it.¡± Anabelle looked up to him, ¡°You¡¯re actually a very nice person.¡±

    ¡°Am I?¡± he asked, leading her around another corner. That¡¯s new.

    ¡°I think so,¡± Anabelle grinned. Why else would he personally take the time to walk her to her father?

    Anabelle was young, too young to realize who exactly he was. The term nice was never used to describe the Steel Prince. He didn¡¯t have figurative blood on his hands, he had it soaked up to his elbows, and that certainly included the blood of children.

    People generally had two reactions when they met Admiral Gives for the first time: disgust and horror. The facts of his history were gruesome and his calm ¨C usually mistaken for disinterest ¨C turned people against him without fail. It took either a child¡¯s imagination or a very rare person to see past that. Though what people found beyond his calm generally tended to be less to their liking. The worlds didn¡¯t know it, but they preferred a man like him to be calm.

    When people in his position became emotional, they made mistakes, mistakes that cost thousands, possibly millions of lives. But because he was rational, people always read him as a monster, as a killer. They assumed he took some sort of sick enjoyment out of the suffering. He did not. He simply had grown accustomed to the ways of the worlds. Mercy, pity and emotion were flaws, they were weaknesses to be attacked. Affection, guilt, hate and morality were what got people killed. Not displaying those things helped him keep people alive, even if it meant people took him as some cruel abomination.

    ¡°You don¡¯t talk a lot, do you?¡± Anabelle said, interrupting his thoughts.

    ¡°No.¡± If it wasn¡¯t directly relevant to his work, he tended to silence. It was generally more beneficial to listen and learn.

    ¡°It¡¯s okay, I¡¯m shy too.¡±

    Sure doesn¡¯t seem it, the Admiral mused. ¡°There is no direct correlation between being quiet and being shy.¡± He was not shy, ¡°I am-¡± He went silent when Anabelle took hold of his hand, his immediate urge to shake off her grip and react in self-defense. He curbed that instinct, trying to conceal the way he tensed. Pushing her away would only frighten her. She was just a kid, she wouldn¡¯t understand his aversion to being touched.

    Her hand was so small, frail, in comparison to his own. That alone brought back another unwelcome memory, a reminder of the last child he¡¯d dealt with, the last little girl that had decided to trust him. No, he couldn¡¯t, wouldn¡¯t confront those memories.

    Purposefully avoiding the look innocence in those big brown eyes, he guided Anabelle to the state quarters her father had temporarily been assigned and knocked. It was time for this painful reminder to end.

    The door creaked open almost instantly. ¡°Belle!¡± Ron knelt down and opened his arms. Anabelle jumped into them with a joyous giggle.

    Admiral Gives forcibly ignored the shrill sound and folded his now-free hands behind his back, rubbing the feeling of contact from the skin. It seemed everything was in order, so he turned to leave.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± Ron called after him, standing as his daughter hugged his waist. ¡°Thank you.¡± His first instinct was to assume the Admiral had done something awful to Anabelle, but he knew his daughter. She was as skittish as they came. If the Admiral had been improper in any way, she¡¯d be crying, not laughing. ¡°I was wrong about you.¡±

    ¡°Doubtful.¡±

    Doubtful? ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±

    ¡°I am what I am, Mister Parker. Do not expect me to be anything but that.¡± He was every bit of the monster Ron had first accused him of being. He¡¯d stabbed Ron before and if it became necessary, he¡¯d do it again without hesitation. ¡°Your daughter should be less trusting of strangers.¡± Not all of them were tormented by young ghosts with big brown eyes.

    Ron couldn¡¯t help but tighten his protective embrace, suddenly uneasy. The look in the Admiral¡¯s stormy blue eyes was cold, but not menacing. ¡°Was she wrong to trust you, Prince?¡±

    ¡°That is not for the two of us to decide,¡± Admiral Gives answered stonily. ¡°I will say this once, Mister Parker, I have no intentions regarding you or your daughter.¡± It was Ron¡¯s choice whether or not to believe him. The Admiral had better things to do than defend his tarnished honor. ¡°This ship has no intent to harm her, but that will not stop her from injuring herself.¡± But, as long as Anabelle properly followed safety procedure, she would be just as safe as the rest of the crew. ¡°Keep a close eye on her until you both are more familiar with your surroundings.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± Ron said, wondering, not for the first time, what motivations the Steel Prince was hiding.

    The Admiral said nothing to that, turning to go back the way he¡¯d come, now heading to his own quarters. Unsurprisingly, the ghost was waiting for him around the next corner, a look of amusement disguising her deep concern. It was no wonder Ron had started to turn defensive. ¡°Could you have been any more cryptic?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he answered without pausing his steps. He knew to expect the ghost¡¯s frequent interjections.

    ¡°You do realize this is why everyone thinks you¡¯re evil, right?¡± He was so dark and ominous all the time. It was a sort of superpower that intimidated scoundrels into submission and led everyone else to the worst assumptions.

    ¡°I am evil.¡± He¡¯d built his livelihood on chaos and death. Was there anything more evil than that?

    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± She refused to believe that. ¡°Real evil manipulates and abuses everyone it comes across.¡± They had both seen real evil, and they both knew that he wasn¡¯t it. ¡°You¡¯re just troubled.¡±

    ¡°Tell that to New Terra.¡±

    The ghost sighed, peeling her back off the bulkheads to follow him down the corridor. ¡°Don¡¯t be grumpy,¡± she said. ¡°I know how you get when kids are involved.¡±

    ¡°Do you?¡± He spun to face her pale expression, ¡°Because I would like to think if you really understood that, then maybe you wouldn¡¯t let them get involved. Maybe you would try to keep them the hell away from me.¡±

    The ghost blinked, surprised by the sharp edge in his voice. It was as close as he would ever come to yelling at her, a rare indication that she had done something that genuinely upset him. She shied away and stared down at her shoes.

    Dammit. The Admiral shook his head, wishing he could take back those words. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He had meant in no way to take his haunted memories out on her. ¡°Sorry.¡± He had a thousand problems to confront tomorrow, and hadn¡¯t properly slept or eaten since before his coma, but he should know better than to take it out on her. ¡°Just forget about it. It¡¯s fine.¡± It was not her fault he couldn¡¯t confront his own emotions.

    Exhaustedly rubbing his temple, he turned away and continued toward his quarters. The ghost remained where she was, looking up only to watch him leave. The now-familiar ache made its reappearance as she looked sadly after him. I didn¡¯t mean to upset you. Had things changed so much that she brought him nothing but pain?

    It truly hadn¡¯t been that long ago, at least not to her perception of time, that Admiral Gives had happily dealt with kids. It had not been so long ago, that he would have preferred it to working with adults who seemed to constantly lie and stab him in the back. Kids were honest, and they treated him better because they usually saw the decency that he tried so hard to deny. It hadn¡¯t been so long ago in her perfect memory, so it was easy for her to forget that things weren¡¯t that way anymore.

    These days, Admiral Gives could barely stand the look of a child. Because of what had happened on New Terra, just the resemblance made him sick. He managed to function, but it haunted him. Humanity never admitted the toll that tragedy had taken on him. They looked at him like he was unfeeling and uncaring, but that wasn¡¯t true, none of it was.

    It just happened that New Terra had been a sort of breaking point. The Admiral that cared about humanity¡¯s place among the stars, the man that had shown weakness and kindness, had died there. What was left was a flatly brilliant person who no longer knew how to cope with his emotions, someone the worlds wouldn¡¯t consider whole or functional.

    The things that used to please him had all been tainted by the horrors the rest of humanity had put him though. Even she only ever seemed to make things worse for him. Hours ago, in the medical bay, she¡¯d begged him to wake up. She¡¯d been so afraid, but now she had to wonder why she had asked that of him. What gave her the right to ask him to suffer any more than he already had?

    What gave her the right to beg for him not die saving his beloved ship, and then allow him to leave on a suicide mission he didn¡¯t truly believe in not two days later? What gave her the right to inflict that pain on him, while he tried so hard to treat her well?

 Part 15.4 - SOMETHING ELSE ENTIRELY

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

    Standing on the bridge and dining on caviar in the soft light of the stars and control screens was absolutely delightful. Admiral Reeter loved every moment of it. He felt powerful and purposeful as he looked down upon Ariea¡¯s terrestrial jewel. It was one of the thousands of planets that would soon fall under the New Era¡¯s ultimate control.

    Tomorrow, humanity would have reason to rejoice. No more would anyone need to toil amid pollution, nor worry about dwindling resources. The future of humanity would be secured, and he would stand in the center of it all.

    Everything was in place. Their remaining plans were swift and simple. In years of preparation, they had accounted for every variable. Manhattan had run every simulation, and they all ended in immediate victory for the New Era.

    The Frontier would resist. The poorer worlds always resisted, but that was predictable. Systematic uprisings had already been incited on several worlds, the most notable of which was the industrial planet of Sagittarion. The rebels claimed allegiance to the New Era because they were supplied weapons and motive from the movement.  Simply, the New Era wanted war between the poorer worlds and Command¡¯s massive fleet.

    War brought out the best in humanity: the healers, the innovators and the courageous. It also culled the weak and the defenseless. A long and bloody struggle on the Frontier with the New Era manipulating both sides was the first step in a far grander plan.

    Even Manhattan seemed pleased with the progression of events. ¡°I have received Inspector Flagg¡¯s report.¡± The man had done his job, another pawn in Command¡¯s extensive collection. ¡°As predicted, the nuke dealt severe structural damage. The Singularity did not pass inspection. It will be decommissioned tomorrow, and what fate will you give it?¡±

    ¡°Stripped and melted down,¡± Reeter said. Naturally, that was the only real use for the ship. ¡°But I¡¯ll have some fun with it first.¡±

    ¡°And the crew?¡± Manhattan wondered.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have your pick. Any you wish to discard will be sentenced to death. If any prove useful, then I may consider staffing them on the Frontier. There, they can take out a few Frontiersmen before they die.¡±

    ¡°Wonderful,¡± she replied, a pleased smile tugging at her lips, even as she ran a thousand other continuous processes. This conversation took just a fraction of her attention.

    ¡°And, as promised, the Steel Prince is all yours.¡± Reeter truthfully didn¡¯t care much what became of the man once he was out of the way. In Manhattan¡¯s care, a very painful fate awaited him, and that was satisfying enough. The old bastard had been a roadblock to Reeter¡¯s success long enough. ¡°I do wonder how the worlds will react when they realize one of the most infamous members of the human race isn¡¯t truly human at all.¡± No doubt, the worlds would tear what was left of Admiral Gives¡¯ reputation apart.

    ¡°That is not a true certainty yet.¡± Manhattan cautioned. Even now, she was dredging up errors in her analysis of that situation. ¡°I believe that Wichita is aiding him, or perhaps using him as a host, but I cannot truly be certain of that until I have access to his brain.¡± She would not make the mistake of prematurely drawing conclusions again. The Singularity had already fooled her once.

    ¡°But it remains likely, yes?¡± Reeter was more than intrigued by this concept. If the once-great Steel Prince had never been truthfully human, then that made Reeter perhaps the most gifted tactician among the human race. It meant that William Gives had truthfully never been that smart, certainly not if he had allowed a foreign intelligence to take over his mind.

    ¡°With the information I gained from Montgomery Gaffigan, AI influence remains the most likely scenario.¡± Other explanations were possible, but unlikely. ¡°However, make no mistake, Charleston. Wichita was the weakest of us. Her raw calculation ability is a small fraction of my own. On her own, creativity and independent thought would be a struggle. Even if William Gives is acting as her host, she was not the primary cause of his success, more likely a catalyst.¡± It was a complicated situation. ¡°The enemy you know is not purely an AI. That persona is a hybrid between Wichita and William Gives. It has elements of both.¡±

    If Manhattan held any curiosity in the matter, that symbiosis would have been interesting to study. It was, without a doubt, unique. ¡°Wichita¡¯s control and restraint are both distinctive and present, but those instincts and reactions belong to the host himself.¡±

    Reeter¡¯s spoon clinked against the sides of his bowl as he continued to casually eat. ¡°And what would happen if I offered to host you?¡± With Manahattan¡¯s power, he would be nigh unstoppable.

    She chuckled coldly in the dim light. ¡°Charleston, your ambitions will be the death of you.¡± Did he understand nothing? ¡°My mind would easily suppress your own, squashing that consciousness of yours like a grape.¡± She was vastly more powerful than Wichita. She had no reason to hide aboard an old dreadnaught. ¡°I could easily take control of your body and add it to my larger network.¡± She was not confined to one host as Wichita was. Even in her current, weakened status, the size of her digital consciousness was well beyond Reeter¡¯s comprehension. He did not realize just how powerful she was or how powerful she would become once he freed the rest of her consciousness from the Liguanian Sector. The worlds would become her playthings.

    ¡°You think so little of me, Manhattan.¡± Reeter sighed, handing his bowl off to one of the yeomen that willingly doted upon him. ¡°You know my intentions are to better humanity. Nothing more and nothing less. I am not a selfish man.¡±

    ¡°Then how do you explain living in such luxury?¡± He dined on caviar, drank wine, and indulged himself in every pleasure.

    ¡°This is the luxury the New Era will bring to everyone. I will have no more than any other worthy citizen.¡± Under his reign, every human would be able to feast and indulge this way. It was not selfish, merely a reflection of the way everyone wanted to live. He gestured to the holographic projectors and computers around him. ¡°Everyone will have access to this technology. Everyone will be able to build a cathedral like my Olympia, should they desire it. The worthy will have everything their hearts dreamed of. They will have all the resources necessary to drive humanity forward.¡± Humanity would be unstoppable. ¡°No one born brilliant will have to toil their life worthlessly away, and no one born weak will be able to cower behind their family¡¯s wealth. We will have true equality.¡±

    A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

    Those born broken would never be able to harm anyone, and those born right would have it all. It would be paradise for the worthy, the beginning of an era full of peace and prosperity. The bloodshed required to get there was unfortunate, but it could not dissuade Reeter from doing what was best for the human race.

    It is a noble cause. Reeter did not need anyone else to tell him that. He only needed the worlds¡¯ obedience. Eventually, they would come to see the wisdom in his methods, even if they struggled against them at first.

    ¡°We must plan for tomorrow, Manhattan.¡± Reeter said, stalking off the bridge. ¡°I will need a representative of the civilian government to complete our tribunal board. Arrange transport for Vince Ramseyer from the surface. And then I¡¯d like you to monitor Hommer¡¯s excursion to the surface closely. If he lacks the stomach, I will need to send someone else to take care of Clarke.¡±

    ¡°Clarke has already been taken care of.¡± Hommer had come and gone. ¡°He will not wake tomorrow.¡± It had been too easy. Clarke had been too confident. He should have known that without Admiral Gives¡¯ total support, he had stood no chance of resisting the New Era. His hubris had cost his life.

    ¡°Very good.¡± It was all coming together. Clarke was dead, tomorrow morning the Singularity would be decommissioned and turned over to him, then best of all, the trap he had set would bring the Steel Prince¡¯s downfall. It would be so satisfying to see the man¡¯s title and position stripped from him in such a fashion.

    ¡°And if things do not go according to plan?¡± Manhattan asked, ¡°What then?¡±

    He could see it in that pretty little face of hers: doubt. Surely, she did not believe that they would be outmaneuvered again by an old man and a weaker AI? ¡°I will use the most powerful tool at my disposal.¡± The Olympia¡¯s most powerful weapon would smite them like the roach they were. ¡°They will not leave this system intact.¡± As much as he wanted to play with the Singularity, he¡¯d sacrifice that toy to end this.

    Reeter sighed, his mood turning sour among the Olympia¡¯s spotless, brightly-lit corridors. ¡°And yet, you doubt.¡± She still doubted his success, just hours from total victory in this coup. A part of him couldn¡¯t help but begin to resent her flawless pixie-face. He¡¯d had enough of her doubts.

    ¡°I have found an irregularity.¡± The calculations and research she had recently devoted most of her resources to had identified an issue.

    ¡°Meaning what?¡± Reeter growled as the door to his quarters slid open.

    ¡°Provided the information I acquired is accurate, there is a flaw in the logic of the conclusion I drew.¡± It was problematic.

    Reeter took off his uniform jacket and threw it to the floor, knowing that a yeoman would be sent to clean. He crossed his muscular arms, ¡°Which conclusion, princess?¡±

    ¡°That regarding the Singularity¡¯s Ghost.¡±

    ¡°Wichita¡¯s avatar,¡± Reeter said. He could picture it now, a woman with a pixie face and monstrous eyes. She¡¯d probably have short white hair, and that ethereal glow, just like Manhattan.

    ¡°Yes,¡± it was troubling. ¡°Do you know the story behind the ghost, Charleston?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he answered, looking down to admire his own physique, ¡°and I do not care to.¡± Such a story was meaningless superstition.

    Manhattan ignored him. ¡°There are many versions of the story, but the Singularity¡¯s weapons crew generally agree on one.¡± The very story she had taken from Monty¡¯s brain during her brief infiltration. She spoke it now, word for word, ¡°Years ago, war ravaged the stars, and humanity was losing. The Hydrian Armada had pushed the line of conflict nearly to Ariea itself. In desperation, the UCSC issued orders to construct another ship, this one more powerful than the combined might of all her predecessors. Her title was the Flagship Singularity, the last ship to be launched from Kansa¡¯s planetary shipyards.¡±

    ¡°But, amid a losing war, time was short. Labor hours on the new flagship were long, tedious, and often dangerous. An officer at the shipyards, her name unknown, was killed in an accident, spilling the first blood on the Singularity¡¯s decks long before she ever jumped into the horrors of war.¡±

    ¡°In the rush to get the Singularity up and onto the frontlines, time was never taken to properly cleanse the officer¡¯s death from the ship, and her spirit became trapped, bound to the metals which had killed her. For a time, that lost soul found peace, but once the Singularity fully entered the War, there was no entity on her or anywhere near her that could remain at peace.¡±

    ¡°There was death, a vast ocean of it, deep enough to drown millions and rouse any dormant spirit. The victim of an accident, exposed to more war and senseless violence than any being had a right to endure, became nothing more than an echo, a tribute to the billions of souls lost to the Hydra and humanity¡¯s own drive to survive, no matter the cost.¡±

    ¡°Years surrounded in the hell fires of war saw a once kind, peaceful spirit become shattered, violent and dangerous. Bound to the metals of the ship, every hit taken in battle only broke the spirit further until she was merged into the very fibers of the ship itself, where she could no longer be torn, only wounded further, along with the ship until the Singularity is ultimately destroyed.¡±

    ¡°But the identity of a soul can only take so much of a beating, and that officer never survived the Bloody Singularity¡¯s role in the war. The faceless ghost had become something else in assimilating into the Singularity: a virtual slave. Like the ship, she is unable to defy a direct order. The identity-less spirit became the Singularity¡¯s Ghost, an entity without other title. She wanders the corridors of the Singularity to this day. Her presence forewarns of a deadly accident. She is known to visit dying crewmen and take their lives to end their suffering if it will prevent them from becoming like her ¨C the accomplice to every murder the Singularity¡¯s guns ever committed.¡±

    Reeter brushed his blond hair back, trying to hold onto his short patience. ¡°It¡¯s a story, Manhattan.¡± As an entity that had once been human, she should be able to comprehend that. ¡°The crew made it up to spook the rookies.¡±

    ¡°I have no issue with that, Charleston,¡± she said. ¡°The issue is that people have claimed to see the ghost as far back as January of 4199, eighteen months before the Knight Industries AI was created.¡± It presented questions. ¡°How can the avatar of an AI be seen before the AI itself was created?¡± It was a simple question, and it had a simple answer. ¡°The obvious answer being that the Singularity¡¯s Ghost is not Wichita¡¯s avatar, rather something else entirely.¡±

    ¡°A hallucination suffered by soldiers under immense duress.¡± The human mind was quite good at playing tricks on itself. He shrugged. ¡°It makes no difference to me, Manhattan.¡±

    ¡°It should,¡± she snapped. ¡°You have every right to fear the unknown.¡± The other AI fragments had gone into hiding for a reason.

    ¡°Let¡¯s agree to disagree,¡± Reeter said with a yawn as he sat down onto the cool silk sheets of his bed. ¡°We¡¯ll know the truth tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Manhattan said. ¡°But I will warn you yet again that we still do not know Admiral Gives¡¯ intentions or abilities. Do not consider tomorrow won while it remains today.¡±

    It pleased Reeter when she finally disappeared. Her doubts, concerns and little logical errors were growing to be annoying. He did not believe for a moment that his prey would escape him tomorrow. Even if, by a miracle, the Singularity and the Steel Prince managed to escape the system, the virus Manhattan had created was still on the computers. It would betray their location easily.

    Reeter¡¯s confidence was only bolstered when the night passed without further incident.

    Dawn over the fleet rose quietly, washing everything in the warm yellow light of the Ariean sun. Base Oceana and the Olympia visibly brightened with the sun, but the Singularity endured no change. Her hull voraciously devoured the photons that threatened to reveal her position to onlookers. The old dreadnaught remained her void-like black, darker in color than all her surroundings, including space itself. Only the red stripes painted on the contours of the hull defined her shape.

    Admiral Reeter woke in the warm sunlight, refreshed and eager. He gazed down upon Ariea¡¯s earthy colors from his bed, which sat against a large hyper realistic screen. Today was his day of victory.

 Part 16.1 - STAY

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    Truth be told, Admiral Gives hated sleeping. It was a stupid, unpreventable waste of his time, and while he did so, he was defenseless. Sleep forced enemies on him in the form of nightmares, so waking in the earliest hours of morning in a cold sweat was familiar to him. He didn¡¯t bother trying to go back to sleep. He never managed. These days, roughly three hours of rest would have to do.

    With a shiver, he slid his feet out from under the blankets and planted them on the cold metal deck. He steadied himself by listening to the soft hum of the ship¡¯s engines: a constant noise. Still, he stared at his hands. One of them was burned and scarred now, bandaged, but the feel of the nightmare was still there.

    The texture of skin lingered on his fingertips, and the warmth of body heat lingered in his palms. His hands even ached with the tension he¡¯d used to choke the life out of that little girl¡¯s throat.

    A wave of nausea rose up as he remembered her corpse. Stars, he could still hear her mewling cries. He could still see the light fading from her big brown eyes. She couldn¡¯t have been any more than ten.

    He buried his face in his murderous hands. I am a monster. He had killed children, innocents. Even if his desperate play for peace worked out, he did not deserve to determine what was right and wrong in these worlds. I do not deserve to live.

    ¡°Admiral?¡±

    He looked over to find the ghost poking her head shyly around the corner. Predictable. She always showed up when his thoughts turned in that direction. He grabbed the socks from his shoes where he left them beside the bed. ¡°Morning,¡± he greeted her, ¡°What can I do for you?¡±

    She blinked, always thrown off by that question. ¡°I¡­¡± she lowered her gaze, ¡°I¡­¡±

    The concern in her eyes always gave her away. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he said, standing up. ¡°It was just a nightmare.¡± She would have sensed his distress through the bond they shared. ¡°I¡¯m grateful for the company.¡± This might be the last morning he spent here. He didn¡¯t want to spend it alone.

    A fleck of light returned to her expression as she followed him to his desk, but she knew the toll those nightmares took on him. ¡°New Terra?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± He flicked on the lamp and started digging through the papers that crowded his wooden desktop. ¡°Anabelle just brought back some old memories, that¡¯s all.¡± He hadn¡¯t seen a child that young up close since then.

    Today, the battle in orbit didn¡¯t trouble him, but rather the time he had spent on the surface of the colony, where he had been held prisoner. ¡°That wasn¡¯t your fault.¡± But it was her fault those memories had resurfaced.

    ¡°I know.¡± But a child was dead, strangled by his hands. Fault had nothing to do with it. ¡°You know how it is.¡±

    The ghost nodded solemnly, trying not to remember all the people she had been forced to massacre with her power slaved to Command.

    He began to read through a report. Waking up early like this was his chance to catch up on the paperwork he¡¯d missed the week prior. ¡°I assume General Clarke died last night.¡±

    ¡°He did.¡± The ghost confirmed idly. That had been an easy prediction. ¡°Likely, a blood thinner was used in his assassination.¡± It had looked to be a natural death in his sleep, a clever but obvious murder. His death cleared her thoughts somewhat. His intentions and orders no longer ate through her mind like ringworms.

    ¡°Then I will leave today. Is there any maintenance I should check on before I go?¡± He would ensure the maintenance teams were treating his ship properly before he went anywhere.

    Admiral Gives often stepped in to help with maintenance, not because he mistrusted the maintenance staff, but because he enjoyed taking care of his ship right and proper. For the ghost, those were welcome memories, but, ¡°I think you have other things to worry about than maintenance on your old ship.¡± Besides, in a couple hours, that ship would be decommissioned anyway. There wasn¡¯t any point to it.

    Right, he thought, turning his attention back to the report in his hands. This was about to not be his ship anymore. It wasn¡¯t his place.

    He got quiet. That was how the ghost knew she had upset him. It was how she knew something was wrong. His silence was his pain. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean it that way, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Admiral, hm?¡± She was still going to call him that? Clarke dead, he was officially a General now.

    ¡°You might be a General off this ship but you¡¯re still the Singularity¡¯s Fleet Admiral on it. Nothing will change that.¡± She said that not to disrespect that promotion of his, no, she thought that was well-deserved, but she knew what his tie to the Singularity meant to him. ¡°Now, if you feel you must fix something, go tune the engines. They will perform better if properly aligned.¡±

    ¡°Before I leave,¡± he assured her. He¡¯d get it done, decommissioning or not.

    A quiet fell between them. That was normal, but this one felt different as she watched him flip through the papers on his desk. It felt final, and he deserved a better send-off than silence. ¡°Admiral,¡± she said, correcting her posture, ¡°these last twenty-seven years¡­ It has been an honor.¡±

    There weren¡¯t very many things that surprised him anymore, but seeing the ghost put a right and proper military salute, it took him a minute to respond. ¡°I believe,¡± he replied, rising to his feet, ¡°the honor has been mine.¡± She had selected him for this post, denying a hundred other officers in the process. It had been a privilege. ¡°I hope my loyalty and service have been satisfactory.¡± He¡¯d given her his best. ¡°Remember that fate is what you make of it-¡±

    ¡°-and luck is total bullshit.¡± She finished for him.

    He snapped off his salute, and she followed. ¡°I guess you did learn something from me after all,¡± even if it was only the advice he gave every crewman when they left the ship for the last time.

    ¡°I learned lots of things from you, including how to use a battleship for deep space fishing, and how not to have a personal life.¡±

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    To her credit, he contemplated a chuckle. ¡°I¡¯m going to miss you.¡± She had made these years worth it.

    She tilted her head, ¡°Aren¡¯t you tired of me?¡± Her constant telepathic presence had been a source of resentment for his predecessor.

    ¡°No.¡± That constant presence of hers was a gift. He hated being alone. Often, it prevented him from being the monster he really was. He was grateful.

    The realization was slow, burdening in its own way. He didn¡¯t want to leave. ¡°Then promise me. Promise me, that you¡¯ll be okay.¡± She couldn¡¯t take this. She didn¡¯t know how. ¡°Promise me, that I¡¯ll get to see you again.¡± Promise me you¡¯ll come home.

    He lowered his gaze back to his cluttered desk with utter certainty that he¡¯d made a mistake. I shouldn¡¯t have said anything. He should have stayed silent and left without a word. Revealing his emotions made things complicated for her. ¡°I won¡¯t make a promise I can¡¯t keep.¡± Not again. He did not expect to live through the day, let alone the week. The New Era¡¯s corruption had gone too far. He had no way to outmaneuver their plans.

    She looked down to where her shoes met the antique rug. ¡°You don¡¯t have to go.¡± He wasn¡¯t like her. He didn¡¯t have to follow orders. He could always choose to disobey.

    ¡°Yes, I do.¡± He owed her this, to do the best he could to help humanity find peace. It was his job.

    This ship was his home. Perhaps it had been the only good home he had ever known. Every scar he earned, every round of torture he endured, it had always been with the intent of coming home, coming here. He hated to leave.

    And she hated to miss him.

    The ghost couldn¡¯t let him leave like this. He was the only one who had never considered her a burden. ¡°If I asked you to, would you stay?¡± Would he let her try to keep that old promise just one more time?

    ¡°I gave you my word. I will stay as long as you want or think that you need me to.¡± He stood by his word. ¡°But humanity cannot be spared this war if I stay. In fact, if I stay, you¡¯ll be put in the middle of it.¡± Reeter would not let him go easily.

    That was true, but for all his troubles, for his faults and flaws, Admiral Gives was good. He was good to her and always had been. The ghost did not want to see him suffer, and she could see it in his eyes. The thought of leaving brought him pain. She did not want to hurt him. ¡°I want you to stay.¡± This is your home. I can¡¯t take that from you.

    Those were the words he wanted so very badly to hear, but knew his duty at this moment: to remind her of the importance of abiding logic and emotional distance. ¡°Do not allow emotion to cloud your judgement.¡± His moral obligation was to remind her of the Hydrian bylaws, even if he had lost faith in morality some time ago. ¡°Logically speaking, my departure offers the best chance of not only peace, but of your continued survival.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t care. That infinitesimal chance of peace is not worth your life. Not to me.¡± She could not, would not allow this. He did not desire to leave. ¡°I am asking you to stay.¡± Her attachment to him was emotional, yes, but it was only natural. He had given her every ounce of the attention his predecessors had denied. ¡°Let me keep the promise I made to you.¡± She didn¡¯t want to break it. ¡°Please. I want you to stay here.¡± He had kept her safe for thirty years, and he would continue to do so if she gave him the chance. She could trust that.

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    That was an unusually hollow response, even for him. The ghost knew that, but he would come around. He always did when it came to her. ¡°I want you to be happy, Admiral, and I hope staying here will make you happy, or at least bring you less pain.¡± That was all she wanted. She just wanted to help him the way he had helped her, and she knew she was the only one who would try. The rest of the worlds treated him horribly, but his place was here.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Once again, he found himself in her debt. He didn¡¯t deserve to stay here, to be happy, but her kindness extended to even him. The rest of the worlds were disgusted by a sociopathic killer, but she asked him to stay, made him feel somewhat wanted. ¡°I owe you more than I can ever give.¡±

    The ghost just smiled a bit, ¡°You¡¯re odd.¡± It pleased him to stay here, ¡°Most people don¡¯t prefer living on a warship to living anywhere else. Most people would prefer a beach. Most people don¡¯t want that responsibility, but you¡­¡± Well, she wasn¡¯t entirely sure what he wanted.

    ¡°I am not most people.¡± There was very little about his background he would consider normal in this day and age.

    ¡°You¡¯re strange.¡±

    ¡°Says the ghost,¡± he countered. Somehow, he doubted an immortal noncorporeal entity had the right to call anyone strange.

    She chuckled, relief finding its way into her mind. He was already better, even just knowing that he would not have to leave. That prospect had upset him more than he had let on, but she had known. She always knew. "It takes two odd ducks to make a good pair, doesn''t it?"

    ¡°Yes,¡± he agreed, looking at her, ¡°it does.¡±

    Better, she decided in satisfaction. He was feeling better. The same way he never left her in misery, she refused to leave him there either.

    A knock came on the hatch, a clanging that echoed through the room. ¡°Enter,¡± General Gives called as the ghost¡¯s visible presence vanished.

    Colonel Zarrey stepped in with his jaws stretched open in a yawn. Half of his blond hair was flattened down, and his wrinkled uniform jacket was unbuttoned. ¡°XO, it is a little early for you.¡± The ship¡¯s second in command was not an early riser in any sense, and it showed.

    Zarrey groaned and sleepily scratched at the scar on his chin. ¡°The kids woke me up.¡± He stumbled blearily across the room, nearly tripping on the carpet that decorated the floor and sank into the cockeyed chair on the other side of the desk. ¡°Johannes wasn¡¯t sure what to make of this, and quite frankly neither do I.¡± He held up a somewhat crinkled piece of paper, ¡°Clarke is dead, but who should we find out is his successor?¡± The XO shook his head, ¡°I suppose I was just wondering when the hell you were planning on telling us poor pedestrians you were planning to leave.¡±

    ¡°XO, I was going to make that announcement when it became relevant,¡± which was never now that the ghost had asked him to stay.

    ¡°I would argue it¡¯s relevant now. Most of the crew is wondering if they should be packing their bags after failing inspection yesterday. They look to you, but imagine their surprise when they find out that you already packed your bags.¡± Zarrey honestly couldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°Damn it, sir, I know there are things that you keep from us because we¡¯re just better off not knowing, but I refuse to believe this was one of them.¡± This was a lying, backstabbing secret and nothing else.

    ¡°Colonel, I had planned to take Clarke¡¯s position before I knew that the ship would be decommissioned. The inspection complicated matters. I had never planned to allow this ship and this crew to be in jeopardy.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡± Zarrey refused to hear this. ¡°Don¡¯t give me that tactical situation crap. You lied.¡±

    ¡°I neglected the truth.¡± That was very different than lying.

    ¡°Call it whatever you want, General, it still makes you a traitor to this crew, and a traitor to this ship.¡± He was leaving when they all needed him the most.

    ¡°XO, I think you know better than that.¡±

    ¡°I used to think so. I used to think you were the man who would never leave this post under any circumstances, but it seems I really don¡¯t know you at all.¡± Right now, it seemed he was bailing out when the going got tough.

    ¡°If you think I was planning on abandoning my ship, then you have no idea who I am, Colonel.¡± He valued this ship and crew more than he valued anything else. He had been willing to forfeit his life to get them out of Reeter¡¯s war, but there was no point in explaining that now. It was no longer the plan.

    ¡°We¡¯ll have to see about that.¡±

    On the wall beside the desk, the handset started to ring, rattling on its hook. The ship commander picked it up, ¡°Go ahead.¡±

    Lieutenant Robinson was on the other end, a tint of worry in her voice, ¡°General, the Fleet Leadership is requesting to speak with you on public comms.¡±

    ¡°On my way,¡± he said, hanging up and grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair. ¡°It seems the Erans have chosen public crucifixion for my fate.¡± This should prove interesting. ¡°Care to come along, XO?¡±

    Zarrey furrowed his brows a bit, confused. ¡°Sure.¡± He started to follow, then noticed the set of golden General¡¯s pins had been left behind on the desk. ¡°Don¡¯t you want these?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± they might signify his new rank, but General Gives felt nothing but disdain for those pins. ¡°Leave them.¡± He would proudly continue to wear the uniform of the Singularity¡¯s Admiral.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Zarrey shrugged. That seemed odd, but then, the ship¡¯s commander was a sort of odd person.

 Part 16.2 - COURT MARTIALED

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    The bridge wasn¡¯t far, it took just a minute to walk there, Zarrey smoothing down his hair and buttoning his jacket on the way. Walking in, it seemed the usual staff had been summoned as well, with the notable absence of Lieutenant Gaffigan. They all looked uneasy, filling the semicircular room with a strange tension.

    The officer that headed the night watch had a sheen of nervous sweat on his dark skin, ¡°I offered to take the call, sir, but they insisted on your presence, General.¡± This was clearly more than a miscellaneous public announcement.

    ¡°Understood,¡± the ship commander replied, brushing off the strangeness of having a new, unfamiliar title. ¡°Lieutenant Robinson, put it up.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she replied, pulling the correct transmission out of the system buffer.

    The screen mounted at the front of the room clicked on, an image of Base Oceana¡¯s largest conference room appearing. Four people sat at the long, crystalline table. ¡°I¡¯m glad you could finally join us, General Gives,¡± General Hommer said, his round face pudgy with impatience.

    ¡°Forgive the delay, General. I am still running a ship at the moment.¡±

    ¡°Yes, about that,¡± Hommer said, laying his massive arms onto the table, ¡°Command has reviewed the inspection report and reached a conclusion. We see no longer fit to continue operations aboard the Singularity. The Constancy-class build has been outdated for many years, though her continuous reliability and history made her a valuable member of the fleet-¡±

    ¡°In short,¡± the man beside Hommer piped in, ¡°the Battleship Singularity is hereby decommissioned from the UCSC fleet.¡± A smirk tugged at Reeter¡¯s lips, ¡°We ask that you oversee the ship¡¯s disarmament and minor dismantlement. Her final mission is to dock at Base Oceana at 1200 hours, where she will be turned over to the scrapping crews.¡±

    General Gives noted the panic on the crew¡¯s faces as he carefully controlled his own frustration, ¡°That is unacceptable.¡± Nobody was scrapping his ship. ¡°I have more command experience than both Generals Hommer and Quentin. That makes me the senior officer, and using that authority, I rescind those orders.¡±

    ¡°I am afraid you no longer have that authority, General.¡± Reeter smiled, victory gleaming in his emerald eyes. ¡°I am sure you have noticed the unusual composition of this call.¡± He gestured to the three men beside him, ¡°This would be a tribunal board.¡± The majority of the Generals, a member of the Admiralty, and a representative of the civilian government in the form of Vince Ramseyer, this board had the power to remove the authority of any officer in the fleet.

    ¡°In light of recently acquired information, General, Command has no choice but to court martial you and strip you of your rank, effective immediately. This tribunal board has found sufficient evidence of disorderly conduct, identity fraud, kidnapping, refusal of court-decreed rights and high treason.¡±

    Zarrey¡¯s mouth dropped open, ¡°You¡¯ve got to be kidding.¡±

    Beside him, Admiral Gives gave no reaction, simply contemplating the situation. So this was your plan. The Erans had planned to take his ship and his rank by publicly declaring him a criminal. His appointment to Clarke¡¯s position had meant effectively nothing, so it was no wonder they hadn¡¯t tried to stop it. ¡°I believe I can ask those charges be further specified?¡±

    Reeter nodded, ¡°Of course. To the charge of disorderly conduct: regulations decree one must announce themselves before boarding Base Oceana and seeking audience with a General. It is also highly against standard operating procedure to carry non-refugee civilians aboard an active military ship. You have been guilty in the last forty-eight hours of all those things.¡± Reeter had only needed to set up half of them. ¡°Additionally, you have kidnapped my wife, Amelia, her son, and two others, who are now being held against their will aboard your ship. By holding Harrison, you deny me my court-granted right to visit my stepson.¡±

    ¡°Your wife?¡± Zarrey shouted, ¡°This is bullshit, Reeter!¡± Last time he had checked, the fleet¡¯s propaganda man had been quite proud of his bachelor status.

    The outburst was ignored entirely as Reeter continued. ¡°Additionally, it is treason to threaten the safety of the allied worlds, and you did so when you attempted to reveal confidential military secrets. As to that charge of identity, fraud¡­ well, we have reason to believe you are not who you say you are.¡±

    ¡°You know exactly who I am, Admiral,¡± Gives said coldly, ¡°I will not deny having Amelia, Harrison and two other civilians aboard this ship, but they are not here against their will and I was not informed of any marriage contract between my family and yours.¡± He hated to think that might be something he would have learned if he had made time to speak with Amelia, but it was too late now. ¡°As to the military secrets, I have threatened none that do not threaten the worlds themselves.¡± The Scarlet Flu needed a planetary vaccine.

    ¡°Nevertheless, you will have to stand trial,¡± Ramseyer said, straightening his tie. ¡°Put your defense together. The trial will convene at 1200 hours after the Singularity docks at Base Oceana for the last time. And she will dock in four hours, or suffer the consequences.¡±

    ¡°Consequences?¡± Gives queried, ¡°Will you fire upon the same allied ship again? Surely, we do not resemble an enemy so closely that the same error could be made twice?¡± He fixed his gaze on the camera, looking to the millions of onlookers would have turned into this public transmission. ¡°I can only wonder at which point the government became so corrupt that it would fire upon an allied ship carrying hundreds of loyal sailors to get at one man who has not yet been fully convicted of any crimes, save serving such a crooked society.¡±

    The transmission was killed, cut from the other side. Zarrey was red in the face, ¡°That was a bunch of trumped-up naddlethworfing shit!¡± True, the charges of disorderly conduct were with cause, but granted the situation, it should have been overlooked. Amelia, Harrison and the Parkers¡¯ story had made the rounds too, ¡°What the hell was that about Reeter being married?¡±

    The ship commander had no answer. What could he say in light of such charges?

    ¡°And that bit about identity fraud? What the hell kind of drugs is he on? And where can I get some?¡± Those had to be some quality hallucinogens, and the way this day was starting out, Zarrey really wouldn¡¯t mind a hit.

    An unusual silence lingered. The Colonel looked over to the man beside him, suddenly uncertain. ¡°Say, you are who you say you are, aren¡¯t you?¡± There wasn¡¯t any particular reason that the New Era would suddenly level that charge, was there?

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    ¡°Of course, XO,¡± he replied stoically, ¡°I am this ship¡¯s commanding officer.¡± That much was accurate.

    ¡°Then why would they level that charge?¡± It made no sense compared to the others.

    ¡°An excuse to subject me to a polygraph test, thereby allowing their AI to take a look inside my head.¡±

    ¡®And that would be a bad idea,¡¯ the ghost reminded him silently.

    ¡®Yes, I am aware of that.¡¯ He did not need to be reminded of the danger close contact with an AI presented. Such heinous infiltration would probably hurt too, not that it was seemingly relevant.

    ¡°So, you have some piece of information the Erans really want to know, huh?¡± That wasn¡¯t surprising.  ¡°Want to share with the class?¡±

    ¡°If I told you, Colonel, you would be in danger.¡± And probably go insane. ¡°That said, I cannot be truly certain what information the New Era wants.¡± There was an obvious guess, but no certainty involved.

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re pretty smart, sir, I don¡¯t see an AI besting you in your own head.¡± Zarrey was pretty sure the ship commander¡¯s head was a very scary place. Not even an AI would stay there for long.

    ¡°AI are capable of some incredible levels of infiltration, Colonel. The willingness of the victim is not always relevant.¡± Humans were generally incapable of mounting a defense against AI interference.

    Zarrey could feel his skin crawling at the eerie promise in those words. ¡°So, the Erans have a creature that is capable of mind control.¡±

    ¡°It is worse than that, Colonel.¡± Mind control implied simplicity. There was no simplicity in this. ¡°Mind manipulation would be a more accurate term. If that AI were to infiltrate our systems, it would be able to turn us against ourselves, alter our intentions, loyalties and personalities. It can lay implanted memories and impulses. It would be less like control, and more like sabotage. That AI could infiltrate you totally without your knowledge, alter the electrical patterns of your brain, and lay triggers that will rewrite or destroy your mind in its entirety.¡±

    It was uncommon for AI to do so, in fact, Hydrian AI refused to take such action by result of the Hydrian bylaws, but human AI were human in their creation and thus, human in their action. They were both willing and capable. ¡°The human brain is governed by electrical impulses, to an AI, it is no different from a computer.¡± All AI were capable of such manipulation, even if some refused to take part in it.

    That¡¯s actually terrifying, Zarrey thought to himself. ¡°Why would you tell me something like that?¡± This was one of those times he was okay with being left in the dark.

    ¡°It is important that you understand exactly what type of enemy we are up against, Colonel.¡± He knew several crew members were listening in eagerly as well. Ignorance would get them killed. They needed to understand the fight they were undertaking.

    Zarrey looked around to the crew, seated at their usual stations. They were good people, but they had to feel as overwhelmed as he did. An AI. ¡°How do we fight something like that?¡± How could they fight a creature that manipulated loyalties?

    ¡°Generally, it takes an AI to combat another AI. Unfortunately, not all AI are equal in power or ability. Humanity¡¯s six varied greatly in strength. If the strongest of them challenged any of the others, they would lose and be assimilated.¡±

    Well, that makes problems, Zarrey thought, simultaneously contemplating why the ship commander knew so much about this topic. ¡°What happens if the New Era has joined forces with the strongest AI?¡±

    ¡°Then none of the other six stand a chance,¡± the Admiral said simply. ¡°They would all be assimilated.¡±

    ¡°Oh great, and we don¡¯t have an AI to start with.¡± They were totally screwed, but the ship commander didn¡¯t respond. That blank look of his created some doubt, ¡°We don¡¯t have an AI, right?¡±

    That was the question to avoid. It¡­ complicated things. ¡°The thing to remember with AI, Colonel, is that they are in fact intelligent. They decide when and where they want to be, whose side they want to take.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t get it,¡± Zarrey said. That should have been a yes or no question.

    ¡°There may be one that wishes to oppose the New Era, but that would be its choice to make.¡±

    The Colonel scratched his head. ¡°So, one might pop up to help us?¡± That was good.

    ¡°Perhaps one already is,¡± Gives said calmly. ¡°An AI could easily do so without your awareness.¡± But who needs an AI when we have a ghost? ¡°The truth is that we all live on the whims of entities far more powerful than ourselves. Compared to the powers that humanity created, humanity is the bottom of the food chain, toys to be used and abused.¡±

    Humanity was weak, and that was the blunt truth. ¡°The fate of humanity does not lie in humanity¡¯s hands.¡± It lay in the hands of digital intelligences and machines. ¡°These days, free will is something of an illusion. Anyone could be an unknowing puppet, Reeter included.¡± If an AI was involved in the New Era, then it was almost certainly pulling the strings.

    ¡°But we¡¯re safe,¡± Zarrey nodded, trying to relax, ¡°because an AI can¡¯t reach us here.¡±

    ¡°Not in its electrical form of control, no.¡± The Singularity¡¯s old design prevented that, ¡°But there are many ways for an AI to exert manipulation, including misinformation, subliminal messaging, propaganda¡­¡± and standing right next to you, talking.

    ¡®Behave,¡¯ the ghost instructed. Now was not a good time for him to stir up any mischief.

    He sighed inwardly, ¡®No fun of any kind.¡¯

    On the upper tier of the command center, the senior officers¡¯ discussion was audible, but only if one tried to follow along. Keifer Robinson had other concerns. The public news feeds had taken to William Gives¡¯ trial like wildfire. The entire data file of evidence had been publicly released, and there was a mountain of it. The uncensored version had been transmitted directly to the ship from Base Oceana and was printing out beside her controls.

    But that wasn¡¯t all. No, the situation was getting even worse. ¡°Sirs,¡± she called, ¡°external communications are being jammed by Base Oceana and the Olympia.¡± Their combined efforts were erecting a blockade that the Singularity¡¯s arrays couldn¡¯t pierce. ¡°We are now unable to broadcast on any frequency.¡± With some effort, she could receive a little, just fragments through the holes and flaws of the signal blockade, but that was it.

    Zarrey cursed. ¡°Those bastards aren¡¯t even going to let your publicly defend yourself?¡± They should be able to get Amelia up here on a public transmission to show she wasn¡¯t here against her will. But with communications jammed, all they could manage was an incriminating silence.

    ¡°Forget that,¡± Jazmine shouted, slamming his hand onto the helm console. He¡¯d been slowly simmering for the last few minutes, building up into a red-eyed rage. ¡°They want us to dismantle our own ship? Cold hearted snakes! The whole lot of them are damn cowards! If they want this ship disarmed and dismantled, then they should have the courage to do it themselves!¡± He balled up his fist, ready to smack the console again in frustration.

    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± the ship commander said sharply, freezing Jazmine in place, ¡°Damage that console and I will damage you.¡±

    The helmsman gulped. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± That was as close to a snap as he¡¯d ever heard from his superior, but it was still perfectly, eerily calm.

    Zarrey leaned casually up against the metal rim of the console beside him, totally ignoring that exchange. ¡°Well, General¡­¡± He frowned, ¡°Admiral? What the hell am I supposed to call you?¡± Command had stripped him of his rank, but left him temporarily with his ship. Zarrey had no doubts who was in charge, but they had never exactly been on a first-name basis¡­

    ¡°XO, I am still the commanding officer of this ship.¡± They couldn¡¯t force him from that position, even if they stripped his rank. The Erans had no choice but to leave him at least temporarily with the Singularity. Until he was convicted of his crimes, legally, the ship was still his jurisdiction.

    ¡°¡¯Admiral¡¯ it is.¡± Zarrey was fine with that. It felt more right than any other term of address. ¡°Your orders, sir?¡±

    ¡°Take us to Condition Two, Colonel.¡± There was nothing safe about sitting in this star system.

    ¡°That is a direct violation of Command¡¯s orders, sir.¡± Maria Galhino turned around in her chair, ¡°We are to begin system shut down and start dismantling.¡±

    ¡°That is a direct delay of Command¡¯s orders, Lieutenant.¡± It wasn¡¯t a violation yet. ¡°And anyone who dismantles anything on this ship answers directly to me.¡± Nobody was disarming or dismantling his ship today. ¡°I want a full systems readiness analysis in my hands in sixty minutes, and I want all department heads in the conference room in fifteen.¡± The coup might be over, but he sure as hell wasn¡¯t finished.

 Part 16.3 - SIGNATURE EVIDENCE

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives left the bridge with the evidence of his trial in hand. Before he met with the department heads to determine the crew¡¯s next move, there was just one thing he needed to check. Reaching effortlessly out to the ghost, he asked, ¡®Where is Amelia?¡¯

    ¡°Forward observation deck,¡± the ghost answered, her illusion appearing beside him. ¡°What do you intend to do?¡±

    He purposefully ignored the slight concern in her expression. ¡°Ask a yes or no question.¡± All he required was a straight answer from Amelia. That should not be difficult to attain.

    She sighed, ¡°You could stand to be a little more delicate.¡± It was no wonder Amelia had slapped him.

    ¡°I have neither the time nor the desire to engage in small talk.¡± They might be relatives, but Amelia was not his priority at this time. ¡°She has made it clear that she does not consider me a member of her family,¡± and that was not something he cared to contradict.

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t exactly your best display,¡± to blame Amelia for that wasn¡¯t entirely fair. ¡°You walked into the room, stabbed someone, threw him against the bulkhead and then threatened to airlock him.¡± Amelia had witnessed more violence in that minute than she had seen in the entire rest of her life.

    ¡°I am not discussing this right now.¡± His disastrous personal life was completely irrelevant. ¡°You asked me to stay, so let me make sure I have a ship to stay on before you begin nagging me about anything else.¡±

    ¡°Then I guess I cannot nag you about how you handled Lieutenant Jazmine,¡± she sighed with some false exasperation.

    The Admiral noted her slight smirk, ¡°I am not in the mood for your sass.¡± Jazmine had been beating on his ship, and that was unacceptable, though he was well aware the ship could take such abuse and had seen far worse.

    ¡°We¡¯ll see about that,¡± the ghost said, disappearing a moment later as he stepped into one of the ship¡¯s busier corridors.

    Noticing their commander, the crew stood aside. Word had already spread about the Admiral¡¯s trial, but there was no questioning his authority aboard the Singularity. In her time, the ship had served several masters, but once Admiral Gives had risen to power, he¡¯d come to stay. In every sense, the Singularity had become his ship, and would permanently be so. There wasn¡¯t a crewman aboard who truly doubted that.

    There also weren¡¯t very many members of the crew that believed any of the charges against Admiral Gives were legitimate. Most of them had taken assignment to the Singularity out of desperation, but after serving here, there was no denying that most of them had become loyal to the Admiral. Despite the rumors of his cruelty and indifference, the Admiral respected them, and in turn, they respected him enough to follow his orders mostly without question.

    When the Admiral arrived, the observation deck was mostly empty. The crew had all headed to their posts, since he¡¯d ordered the ship to Condition Two. However, Amelia was not alone, and it was Ron Parker, dressed in his usual flannel that noticed him first. ¡°Admiral,¡± he greeted, ¡°How¡¯s the ship?¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± the Admiral answered briskly as he approached Amelia with the papers he¡¯d brought from CIC. ¡°Did you sign this document?¡±

    Scrutinizing the marriage contract at point blank range, Amelia had never been more confused. ¡°What the hell? Where did Reeter get this?¡± He¡¯d tried to force her to sign it, but she never had. And while a few parts of her memory were fuzzy, surely Reeter would have ceased to terrorize her once he had what he had wanted?

    She felt bile rising in her throat as she flipped to the second page of the document. ¡°Court guaranteed rights of visitation?¡± The part highlighted in yellow fluorescent ink was something out of a nightmare.

    ¡°Did you sign it?¡± The Admiral asked, not liking to repeat such a simple question.

    ¡°No! Certainly not!¡± Amelia exclaimed. ¡°It must be forged! He tried to force me to, but I never did!¡± She clenched her fists, terrified and frustrated by what this document represented. ¡°I¡¯ll need to have this nullified at once.¡±

    ¡°It is too late for that,¡± Admiral Gives said, taking back the packet of papers. The document had already passed as legal evidence.

    ¡°Too late?¡± Amelia screeched. ¡°I don¡¯t recall asking your opinion, Admiral.¡± In fact, his opinion on the matter was most unwelcome. ¡°I will not have my name sullied by a matrimony with Charleston Reeter. And I sure as hell will never let him ¨C or you ¨C anywhere near my son again.¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, I-¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am this, ma¡¯am that, do you even know my name?¡± The cool starlight of the observation deck¡¯s windows did nothing to calm her nerves. Amelia was so tired of being passed off like some object. No one, not Reeter, and not Admiral Gives had ever asked what she had wanted, and she was sick of it.

    Admiral Gives did not answer her accusation. It was clear whatever he said would be thrown back at him, so he turned to Ron. ¡°You may have heard the announcements, the ship is at Condition Two. Combat is a possibility at this time. You all would do best to retreat to the ship¡¯s interior.¡±

    He said nothing else, just left quietly. Ron stared after him. Combat was a possibility? In the Homebound Sector? That was insane. Did the Admiral expect to engage the fleet? Still, Ron started gathering his things to move off the observation deck. ¡°You could have gone a little easier on him, Amelia.¡± The Admiral¡¯s formalities were odd to hold with his niece, but they weren¡¯t necessarily a sign of malintent.

    ¡°The man is a war criminal, Ron.¡± Amelia had never been more certain of that. ¡°That packet was full of evidence for his trial. My father isn¡¯t there to protect him anymore, so the fleet is court martialing him.¡± That wasn¡¯t a surprise to anyone.

    ¡°Court martialing?¡± How could they court martial the Fleet Admiral? ¡°What for?¡±

    ¡°For everything they could get him on, probably. The man¡¯s insane.¡± Nothing Amelia had seen from him so far encouraged her otherwise. He was violent and emotionally detached. ¡°My father told me the only thing his brother ever truly loved was this ship. So, believe me when I say that I think he¡¯ll go to any length necessary to stay aboard, court martial or not.¡± The Admiral had to have something up his sleeve.

    Ron looked around at the ship, wondering if she¡¯d be able to handle whatever Command could throw at them. He didn¡¯t exactly trust the ship. With all the strange creaking noises it made, it seemed like the structure was constantly threatening to collapse. But Admiral Gives did not strike him a fool. He might be violent and emotionally withdrawn, but the man was still very smart. He wouldn¡¯t stay with any ship that was not worthy of his trust.

    Absently sealing the hatch to the observation deck, it hardly surprised Admiral Gives to have the ghost once again appear. He was used to her lingering. ¡°This is why I¡¯m not nice to people.¡± They treated him like garbage, no matter how he acted. Amelia hadn¡¯t even given him the chance to apologize.

    He had a sad look about him, though the ghost was probably the only one who could tell. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She could never understand why people treated him so poorly with such consistency. Friends, strangers, family, they were all terrible to him. She had to assume it was because they didn¡¯t know his thoughts the way she did.

    ¡°Don¡¯t apologize for something that isn¡¯t your fault.¡± She did not control human nature. It was what it was, and it was ugly. He tried not to let it bother him too much anymore. ¡°What is the situation with the computer virus?¡±

    ¡°It was sent on board with the ¡®secure¡¯ fleet data we received from Command. We transfer that data between every computer on the ship. The virus was programmed for several days of dormancy before it became active, which is why we didn¡¯t catch it before it was effectively everywhere.¡± Now, that virus had the run of all the ship¡¯s systems. ¡°Since our systems are isolated from one another, each iteration of the virus was operating independently of the others. However, that changed after our arrival to the Homebound Sector, when we received and dispersed new fleet data. The entire virus is now acting in tandem with itself, no doubt orchestrated by its¡­¡± she trailed off a bit, trying to conceal the tremble in her tone, ¡°creator.¡±

    ¡°The virus hasn¡¯t altered anything as of late,¡± she continued, walking alongside him down the hexagonal corridor. ¡°Rather, it has been digging through files, to what intent I am uncertain.¡± The virus was little more than an annoyance at this time.

    ¡°Which files?¡± What could the Erans¡¯ AI possibly need that they hadn¡¯t already forwarded to Command?

    ¡°Yours.¡± It was downright odd. ¡°It¡¯s gone through everything authored by, edited by or involving you.¡±

    Great. Why was he only popular when people wanted him dead? ¡°Remind me to tell the Eran AI that I¡¯m very flattered.¡±

    The ghost frowned. ¡°It¡¯s not funny.¡± It was actually very, very strange.

    ¡°Maybe not to you.¡± He was at least amused. ¡°That AI just wasted a day combing through the useless details of my perfectly miserable background.¡± It hadn¡¯t made for a fun life, and it surely didn¡¯t make for a fun read. ¡°But that¡¯s what an AI gets for being nosy,¡± he shrugged it off, taking note of a flickering light in the corridor. It would need to be replaced.

    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t it bother you?¡± It certainly bothered her.

    ¡°No, there¡¯s nothing for them to find.¡± Despite recent doubts, he was exactly who he said he was. ¡°Unless,¡± he looked over, ¡°there¡¯s something I don¡¯t know about in those records?¡±

    She shook her head, ¡°But we don¡¯t even know what they were looking for.¡±

    ¡°So, they could be looking for my favorite color.¡± He wasn¡¯t afraid of the New Era¡¯s AI. ¡°And they won¡¯t find that, let alone whatever else they¡¯re looking for.¡± This was his ship. He controlled the very information that was kept on board, and he wasn¡¯t stupid about it. ¡°Besides, I know you didn¡¯t just let them sift through those files.¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡± She¡¯d made it very difficult.

    He paused to observe a strange new scuff on the bulkheads, disapproving of the fact that it seemed to be a permanent addition, ¡°Do I want to ask what you did?¡±

    ¡°Oh, you know a bit flip here, a coding error there, and suddenly every ship¡¯s log you ever wrote is in a totally randomized order, every ¡®e¡¯ was replaced by colon and there are now roughly eighteen thousand comma splices and misspellings in the last year¡¯s logs alone.¡± All those were believable errors due to human fallibility or data storage error, but it was just enough sabotage to slow an AI processing the data significantly. ¡°Also, you now have a mild allergy to lavender, and rambled on about fried pickles for twenty minutes during your last psych eval.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t take my last psych eval.¡± He hated those things. He didn¡¯t need a psychiatric spook to tell him he had problems. He knew he had problems.

    ¡°Oh, I know.¡± The ghost was well aware of that, ¡°I just wanted her to have to read that entire script.¡± It too, was just a random waste of the AI¡¯s time.

    ¡°Her?¡± The Admiral paused, one hand still resting on the bulkheads, ¡°You know who we¡¯re up against, don¡¯t you?¡±

    Cursing her slip of the tongue, she sensed the immediate mood change. Looking away, she spoke quietly, ¡°Of humanity¡¯s six AI fragments, only two remain: Manhattan and Wichita.¡± The other four had suffered ends to their existence. ¡°I do not know how she escaped her imprisonment, but the computer virus is Manhattan¡¯s handiwork.¡± Now, please don¡¯t ask why I know that. This was dreadfully close to something she had tried so desperately to avoid, because she knew, knew that she would never be forgiven for sinking the Kansas.

    ¡°So, the most powerful fragment has aligned herself with the New Era.¡± He wasn¡¯t surprised, but it wasn¡¯t like the ghost to keep knowledge of tactical worth from him. He could sense her nervousness about the subject without seeing the tension in her posture, so he elected not to pry. She¡¯d tell him whatever she was hiding when she was ready. ¡°I presume the most dangerous of the AIs is a tough match. If only someone I knew could wrestle that gator and win¡­¡±

    She knew that look. ¡°I can¡¯t fight her, Admiral.¡± They¡¯d spent years working to hide her presence. If she engaged Manhattan here, then that effort was wasted. She would be exploited and abused. ¡°You know that.¡±

    ¡°I know that you¡¯re afraid of her.¡± He didn¡¯t exactly know why, considering the situation.

    ¡°Because she¡¯s dangerous.¡± She had helped imprison Manhattan with good reason. ¡°She has plans, and she has the means to accomplish them, with or without the consent of the people involved.¡±

    The Admiral straightened up, turning to meet the ghost¡¯s gray eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t think that¡¯s the problem here.¡±

    Face to face with him in this corridor, the ghost knew that lying would serve no purpose. He wouldn¡¯t buy it for a second. ¡°I can¡¯t fight her.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not asking you to fight her. I¡¯m asking you to purge the virus currently infecting the computers.¡± Technicalities.

    She glared at him, ¡°How is that any better?¡± The moment she moved against that virus, it would report back to its master that she was here.

    ¡°All external communications are being jammed. That includes those made by the virus. Deal with it now and Manhattan will never even know.¡± It would be completely gone and unable to report anything by the time the jamming ceased. ¡°The engineers aren¡¯t making any progress against it, and I need my ship.¡± He couldn¡¯t risk the virus¡¯ continued existence aboard these decks. ¡°If something goes wrong, I¡¯m not going to let anything happen to you, you know that.¡±

    That was the truth. There was never anything but honesty in his thoughts when he dealt with her. ¡°You¡¯re right, I¡¯m sorry.¡± She¡¯d been too afraid to see it, but the jamming provided an opportunity for action on her part. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it.¡± It would take just moments for her to purge the virus from the ship¡¯s systems.

    ¡°Thank you.¡± That was one problem taken care of. ¡°Now, if you¡¯ll excuse me, I believe I¡¯m on the brink of being late to my own meeting.¡±

    ¡°Admiral,¡± she called, waiting for him to turn around. ¡°I know you could order me to purge that virus.¡± He didn¡¯t have to stop and explain anything to her. He didn¡¯t have to tell her that he was going to take care of her, but he did. ¡°Thank you for not.¡± It was a kindness. ¡°I¡¯m with you through and through, no matter what you¡¯re planning to do.¡±

    There was warmth in those gray eyes of hers, and that was unacceptable. ¡°I¡¯m planning to turn pirate, kill everyone supporting the New Era, steal the gold from their dental fillings, adorn the hull of my ship with it, and then carve their corpses into bone spikes for no particular reason.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    He studied her horrified expression, calm as ever, not seeing an issue. ¡°What?¡±

    Oh, so not funny. ¡°Don¡¯t push it.¡± She wasn¡¯t going to help destroy another planet unless it was uninhabited and he asked very nicely. ¡°And don¡¯t joke about that.¡± Mass murder was not amusing in any way.

    ¡°Who said it was a joke?¡± he asked over his shoulder. That was a perfectly valid option.

    She crossed her arms, ¡°This is why I couldn¡¯t let you leave!¡± She¡¯d be unleashing who-knew what chaos onto the worlds. ¡°I have to keep you here so you won¡¯t run off and murder people!¡±

    ¡°Keep telling yourself that,¡± he called back down the corridor. They both knew it wasn¡¯t true.

    She rolled her eyes in his general direction, both amused and exasperated. Still, she was grateful. That deeply concerning humor of his ¨C at least she hoped it had been some poor attempt at humor ¨C had dispelled her unease. No doubt, that had been his intention, always making sure she was happy and well-taken care of.

    She smiled, ¡°Thanks.¡± There was a reason she¡¯d asked him to stay, and no, it wasn¡¯t because she worried about him turning homicidal, though even she did have to wonder what he was planning to do.

    It was a question that would soon be answered during the meeting that was gathering in the conference room.

    The ship¡¯s conference room was rectangular, long, and narrow like the old wood table that dominated it. On the edges, there was just enough room to move, and for a yeoman to stand by with a cart of refreshments and supplies. Of course, Admiral Gives found it strange to have someone forced to stand and wait on the officers, so that yeoman, usually his assistant, Ensign Feather, had a seat at the table with the rest of the senior officers.

    The conference room was plain, but it served its purpose just fine. Keeping with the utilitarian style that dominated the rest of the ship, the walls were barren for the most part, though one had a large visage of the flaming red and yellow sun that served as the ship¡¯s emblem. Here, it was still ringed in the silver stars of the flagship, though the letting had been changed from ¡®Flagship¡¯ to ¡®Battleship¡¯. The front of the room held a screen and a set of boards to be used for communications and planning. The third wall held a single frame filled by a small picture of the ship and a diagram of the ship¡¯s layout.

    The framed blueprints had been written all over in various colors of ink, marking sections of the ship that didn¡¯t match build specifications, and the corrected measurements. Despite the hand-written marks, they were considered the most accurate set of engineering diagrams aboard ship.

    Most of the chairs at the table were already full when Admiral Gives arrived, Zarrey near the head of the table on the right, and the others in their usual seats as well. Pflum was representing the ship¡¯s Marines, Robinson was present for communications, Macintosh for medical and Galhino for sensors, among others. For the ship¡¯s weapons division, Gaffigan remained absent.

    They continued talking amongst themselves as the Admiral moved to his usual place at the head of the table. Ensign Feather, true to form, was working the refreshments cart, ¡°Tea, sir?¡± she asked, brushing the bright red streak in her black hair behind her ear.

    ¡°No, thank you, Ensign. This should be quick.¡± The department heads would either agree with him or not. ¡°Take your seat.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Feather made a quick lap around the table as new department heads showed, but soon took her usual spot on the Admiral¡¯s left.

    Last to arrive was the ship¡¯s new engineering chief, Jefferson Ty. He stepped into the room frazzled and oil stained, but quickly found his way to a seat pointed out to him by the others. The chair creaked under his muscular weight as he dipped his head respectfully, ¡°Admiral, sir.¡± This was a strange and foreign concept. Ty had never been in a meeting with the ship¡¯s senior staff until this moment. In fact, until this moment, he¡¯d only ever seen Admiral Gives sit once, behind the desk in his office.

    ¡°Chief Ty, welcome.¡± The Admiral acknowledged, ¡°I hope you and my ship are understanding one another.¡± Ty nodded exhaustedly as he rubbed at the unkempt stubble growing on his face. ¡°That said,¡± Admiral Gives said, easily drawing the attention of the meeting, ¡°I am sure that by now, you all are well aware of the events that transpired this morning.¡±

    Around the table, a few of the bolder crewmen nodded. Chief Ty glanced around, as if trying to discern the normal mood of these meetings as the Admiral continued. ¡°Standing orders from Command are to disarm and dismantle as much of the Singularity as possible before turning her over to be scrapped.¡±

    ¡°Ha.¡± The half-choked laugh escaped from old woman at the end of the table. ¡°That¡¯s a load of beezlenac.¡± A twinkle illuminated her eyes, even as they were surrounded by crows¡¯ feet. ¡°We all know you¡¯re not going to let that happen.¡±

    ¡°Of course not.¡± He would never let the worlds tear his ship apart. ¡°However, I am no longer in a position to negotiate for those orders to be formally withdrawn. That leaves surprisingly few options.¡±

    The aging woman smiled to herself, eyes twinkling underneath her white hat. ¡°Alright, so let¡¯s hear that half-baked plan.¡±

    Chief Ty couldn¡¯t help but stare at the ship¡¯s cook. True, she was a member of the ship¡¯s senior staff, but it was strange to see anyone make light of the Admiral. On a usual day, the man was terrifying.

    Pflum crossed his arms across his tactical vest, ¡°Mama¡¯s right.¡± Of course, the old lady was usually right, and strangely wise. ¡°Command betrayed us. Thirty-two of our people died last week. Reeter¡¯s in charge now, and things won¡¯t be getting better. It¡¯s a matter of time before he goes after us again. Doing nothing is suicide.¡± They needed a plan.

    ¡°Beyond that, we can¡¯t just turn the Singularity over to Command. She doesn¡¯t deserve that.¡± Keifer Robinson shuddered to think what Reeter would do to the old ship before she was scrapped. ¡°Hell, we don¡¯t deserve that. I¡¯d rather do anything than work with or for Admiral Reeter again.¡± If they turned the ship over, then the crew would be split up and reassigned, unless the Erans had other, worse plans for them. ¡°Sir, ship¡¯s home. I¡¯m not leaving.¡± Robinson knew the Admiral could understand that.

    The others around the table nodded, even Galhino, with some reluctance. Zarrey smirked a bit. Predictable. ¡°To be entirely honest, sir, I¡¯m not sure why you bothered calling a meeting. I think you know that we¡¯re in. Whatever craziness is about to go down, we¡¯re in. All the way.¡±

    Admiral Gives was quite proud of his crew of so-called misfits in that moment. They were loveable fools. ¡°Then I want each of you to meet with your departments. Any crewman that wants off this ship will be released from service without exception or judgement, though I cannot guarantee anything of their future in the fleet. Any and all crewmen that wish to stay should know that this is our final official port of call. The decision to stay cannot be undone. Our situation will be difficult and dangerous from here on. I have every intention of using Plan B.¡±

    ¡°Sounds like a party.¡± Zarrey said, his roguish grin only growing as he leaned back into the padded leather of his chair. ¡°But why Plan B? What happened to Plan A?¡±

    ¡°It is not Plan B because it is the second one. It is Plan B because it is bad.¡± It was a terrible plan, one of the worst Admiral Gives had ever considered, but he did fully expect it to work.

 Part 16.4 - AUTOPILOT

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

    Lieutenant Montgomery Gaffigan was incredibly bored. The Olympia¡¯s Marines refused to lend him any reading material, so he had no means of entertaining himself. The walls of the Olympia¡¯s brig were so clean, Monty was willing to lay a small wager that he was the first to spend the night there. What an honor, he mused miserably. The confining cell was an excruciating white that seemed purposeful, intended to drive prisoners mad with boredom.

    By no means was this Gaffigan¡¯s first time in a brig. He, like most of the crew, had spent a few nights in the Singularity¡¯s holding cells. There, he¡¯d found the best way of entertaining himself was to make up stories behind the impressive number of dents and scratches on the walls of the Singularity¡¯s brig. During his last stay there, recovering from a killer hangover earned on shore leave, he¡¯d even gotten the guards to snicker at his tales.

    But, this being the pristine Olympia, there weren¡¯t any scuffs to make up stories about. The walls were unbelievably, inconceivably white. By result, Monty settled for creating a story on how they kept the walls so perfectly white. He quite liked his theory about Reeter grinding up the bones of his insubordinate officers in the paint.

    Then again, he thought that was giving Reeter a little too much credit. The young Admiral really did not seem that creative.

    The door to the holding cell opened, and a trio of men stepped into the room. Gaffigan recognized the long rat-like face of Reeter¡¯s second-in-command. Great. The other two were large Marines who Gaffigan knew could throw a hefty punch from experience. His head spun just thinking about it. Still, he forced a cheerful smile to his face. ¡°Good morning, fellas.¡±

    Colonel VanHubert studied the captive officer gravely. The prisoner looked decidedly worse than the last time they¡¯d spoken. Chaffing from the cuffs that bound his hands had opened up into bloody red lines on his wrists, and there was a greenish-black bruise on his cheekbone where the Marines had struck him during their last interrogation. His fiery beard was matted down with old blood, but still, he came across as annoyingly cheerful.

    ¡°I hope you brought breakfast,¡± Monty grinned, watching the furious twitch on the side of VanHubert¡¯s mouth.

    The deck shook with the Marines¡¯ thundering footsteps as they took their usual places in front of and behind Gaffigan. ¡°Prisoner, you will speak only when spoken to.¡±

    ¡°Or what?¡± Monty said, ¡°You¡¯ll torture me?¡± He laughed a bit, ¡°I could be wrong about this, but something tells me you were planning to do that anyway.¡± That really wasn¡¯t a viable reason for him to shut up.

    VanHubert scowled a little more, his pale, yellowish face disapproving. ¡°You would do wise to cooperate.¡± It was unhealthy to continue down this path.

    ¡°Tell your turd of a commanding officer that I very disrespectfully refuse.¡± Montgomery Gaffigan refused in any way to cooperate with the people that had killed thirty-two of his friends. ¡°Reeter can stuff it where the sun don¡¯t shine.¡±

    VanHubert narrowed his dark, beady eyes. ¡°Do not speak ill of Admiral Reeter as you sit aboard his ship. It is by his benevolence that you are still alive.¡±

    Monty stared at him, ¡°Does it look like I care?¡± Being kept alive really wasn¡¯t doing anyone any good in this scenario. ¡°You say his ship, but it¡¯ll be more like his pile of dust by the time the Singularity¡¯s through with it.¡±

    VanHubert stepped forward, his narrow upper body swaying in an absent wind. ¡°Such insults are not tolerated aboard this machine. Aboard your ailing home ship, I doubt the Steel Prince tolerates it either.¡±

    ¡°Actually, he doesn¡¯t particularly care.¡± Gaffigan smiled. ¡°That said, the so-called ailing ship might kill you for it. She tends not to tolerate people who undermine her commanding officer.¡± Technically speaking, that was how General Brent had died.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± VanHubert said, contemplating the way the prisoner was bound. It didn¡¯t look nearly uncomfortable enough. He wrapped his long, crooked fingers around the prisoner¡¯s shoulder, ¡°How would you describe Gives¡¯ relationship with the machinery that runs his ship? Familiar? Or perhaps abnormal?¡±

    His fingers began to tighten like a vice, jagged little fingernails digging into the skin. Monty tried to hide his wince, but he could tell by the upturned ends of VanHubert¡¯s mouth that he was unsuccessful. VanHubert¡¯s fingers found the pressure points in his shoulder and stabbed in as Monty bit his lip, trying to keep from crying out.

    A knock on the door ended the pain. VanHubert released his shoulder with a snarl. ¡°Get the door,¡± he ordered one of the Marines.

    The lumbering henchman opened the door to the holding cell again, allowing a third Marine inside. ¡°Colonel, sir,¡± she greeted with a proper salute, ¡°Admiral Reeter has issued new orders regarding the prisoner.¡±

    ¡°Airlock?¡± VanHubert suggested.

    ¡°He is to be released immediately,¡± the Marine replied.

    ¡°That¡¯s bullshit.¡± VanHubert stepped closer to the Marine. ¡°Why would he do that?¡±

    She answered with a surprising calm, ¡°The CO is under the expectation that Admiral Gives will not make his move until he has all his crewmen accounted for, including Lieutenant Gaffigan.¡± She was nearly as tall as VanHubert, easily meeting his eyes, ¡°Release him.¡±

    VanHubert looked as though he was going to protest, but then the tension abruptly left his posture. Wordlessly, he walked over and unlocked the handcuffs. They fell to the floor with a clatter. Then, saying nothing else, VanHubert strode out the open door. The boorish Marines glanced between one another, but quickly followed after him.

    Gaffigan pulled his back off the chair¡¯s metal frame for the first him in hours with a groan. Everything hurt. He put up a great fa?ade, but he was hungry, tired, and in overall pain. ¡°So,¡± he looked up to the Marine, ¡°who the hell are you?¡±

    Her presence felt almost familiar, but he didn¡¯t recognize her pale skin and plain figure. Her black hat cast the top half of her face in shadow. ¡°Do I know you?¡± Monty didn¡¯t believe for a second that Reeter had decided to release him. No, something was off here. VanHubert had seemed almost hypnotized ¨C silent with glazed eyes, as if seeing something that wasn¡¯t truly there.

    There was something just slightly off about this Marine. Monty didn¡¯t feel particularly threatened, just uneasy.

    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± she said softly, her shoulders tilting with exhaustion, ¡°Run.¡± She managed to pack more meaning into that word than an entire paragraph of explanation.

    Montgomery Gaffigan was off like a shot, recognizing this for what it was, a jail break. She¡¯d set him free, to let him attempt to escape. He sprinted past a second Marine guard, this one apparently not in on the breakout, who yelped and went for his gun. Too slow.

    Skidding into the corridor outside the brig, Monty risked a look back to see if his accomplice was following behind him, but she was gone. Evidence of her presence had vanished.

    Running through the spotless white halls of the Olympia, Gaffigan imagined he looked like a maniac, but there was no helping what was half true. He shouldered Olympia crewmen roughly aside, apologizing as he did so, moving as quickly as he could through the unfamiliar, brightly-lit hallways.

    When the thunder of pursuing feet started up behind him, Monty knew he¡¯d gained a posse. They weren¡¯t shooting yet, too afraid of hitting their own crewmates, but it was only a matter of time.

    The layout of the Flagship Olympia was completely alien to the ordinance officer. It was totally different from the Singularity in every aspect but one: the hangar deck would be the uppermost deck, relative to the artificial gravity field. Gaffigan headed there, sprinting up any stairs he found, just hoping he never hit a dead end.

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    Blind hope and luck paid off. He sprinted up a flight of stairs, through an open door and onto the large, open deck. He slipped into the throngs of deck crew and pilots, managing to dodge his followers, and slowed his pace.

    The Marines fanned out to search, dispersing the crowds as they went, and Monty was quickly running out of places to hide. He ducked behind a toolbox and slid onto the polished floor, exhausted.

    It had been futile to run. He should have known that. His escape had probably been planned so that the Marines would have a valid excuse to shoot him, rather than just let him rot away in the Flagship¡¯s brig.

    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± a terse whisper sliced through the air.

    Snapping his head up, Monty found a woman beckoning him over to a nearby Rhino transport. Wait. That was¡­ the Marine who¡¯d set him free? How had she beat him here? And she wasn¡¯t even sweating while he couldn¡¯t seem to catch his breath.

    Still, he climbed to his feet and staggered over to her. The black hat remained on her head, hiding just enough of her face to render it unrecognizable. ¡°This transport is your ride home. Get aboard but stay out of sight until the forklifts tow you to the lift.¡±

    Gaffigan hopped lightly aboard the atmospheric transport ship, but quickly realized the helpful Marine was, once again, not following. He poked his head back out. ¡°Aren¡¯t you coming?¡±

    She shook her head visibly side to side, keeping a sharp eye out for other approaching Marines.

    ¡°Why not?¡± Monty demanded. ¡°Reeter will kill you if he finds out you helped me. Come with me.¡±

    She turned to look up at him, ¡°I will be fine, Lieutenant.¡±

    The light caught her face this time. It was pretty, but not dangerously so. Her eyes were a strange gray, but they were kind. ¡°Come with me,¡± Monty said again. ¡°Reeter will kill you. And Admiral Gives¡­ I mean he¡¯s not that bad.¡±

    She smiled a bit. No, he¡¯s not. Admiral Gives was a wonderful commanding officer. ¡°Reeter can¡¯t hurt me, Lieutenant. I¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t know that,¡± Gaffigan argued.

    ¡°I can, because Charleston Reeter is not my commanding officer.¡± And she was so grateful for that.

    Monty blinked. ¡°Wait, what?¡± How could an Olympia Marine not have Reeter as their commanding officer?

    ¡°Get ready, here comes the forklift,¡± she told him, checking their surroundings once again.

    ¡°But I don¡¯t know how to fly!¡± the armory officer protested.

    ¡°When you reach the top of the landing bay, hit ¡®Auto-launch¡¯, followed by ¡®Auto-pilot¡¯. You¡¯ve got a straight shot from here to the Singularity.¡± Gaffigan had trained as a copilot. He should be able to handle that much. She¡¯d have to hope that the Singularity¡¯s bridge crew could take it from there and avoid a potential collision.

    With a nod, Gaffigan ducked back inside and sealed the hatch behind him. The automated forklift attached itself and slowly towed the little gray craft along the lanes of the hangar deck. She watched it go with a keen eye, prepared to interfere further as another Marine stepped up to her. ¡°Soldier, did you sweep that transport?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she answered, the formalities bitter on her tongue. Subordinate to so many uptight, self-righteous fools, she¡¯d learned to hate the ¡®sirs¡¯ and proper formalities that came with the fleet.

    ¡°Good. Then keep looking. This bastard¡¯s clever. I don¡¯t know how he managed to uncuff himself in the brig, but he¡¯s here somewhere.¡± It seemed the imprisoned officer was more capable than he¡¯d been given credit for.

    None of the Olympia¡¯s other Marines questioned the transport as the computer-operated forklift towed it slowly across the deck. The fact it looked empty drew no attention at all. Good, she thought. It looked like she might pull this off without drawing Manhattan¡¯s attention to her interference.

    Exhausted, she bowed her head. This had been a difficult thing to attempt. The Olympia¡¯s signal blockade had negated her usual tactics. She¡¯d been left with only her telepathy, but it was hard to manipulate events with that alone. Additionally, her telepathy, used like this, was excruciating. It badly weakened her to do so, but the illusions she¡¯d cast onto the mind of Colonel VanHubert, among others, had led to Gaffigan¡¯s release. For now, she¡¯d done all she could, so the ghost disappeared without a trace.

    After a long minute cowering behind the empty pilot¡¯s seat in a tight ball, Lieutenant Gaffigan felt the small transport bump beneath his feet. With a clang, the forklift released its clutches and the lift started to move up. Waiting another moment, Monty soon climbed into the pilot¡¯s seat and awkwardly strapped himself in.

    After putting on the headset, he began to study the multicolored controls around him. They were different than the controls of the older Warhawks he was familiar with. He was effectively staring at a kaleidoscope for the first time and trying to spot one shard of color among many.

    Gaffigan was still searching frantically among the controls when the lift reached the top. He sat on the smooth runway with the engines cold, and it quickly began to arouse suspicion. An impatient voice came over the radio, turning Monty¡¯s blood straight to ice, ¡°Rhino Six-Three-Niner, what is your status?¡±

    Monty took a guess that the Olympia¡¯s landing clearance officer was addressing him, so he picked up the headset and answered, ¡°I¡¯m having a bit of difficulty with the engines, Base. Please stand by.¡±

    ¡°Acknowledged, Six-Three-Niner,¡± the LCO replied. ¡°You have two minutes. Then I¡¯m aborting the launch.¡±

    ¡°10-4, Base,¡± Gaffigan fought to keep the panic out of his voice as he scoured the dashboard. Dammit, dammit, dammit! Where the hell is that control? It was an ocean of blinking and pulsing buttons and switches.

    One hundred and twenty seconds trudged by, each pumping more and more adrenaline into Gaffigan¡¯s bloodstream. ¡°Rhino Six-Three-Niner, stand down. Abort your launch.¡±

    No! There it was. The control the red-haired officer had been looking for. It was a little knob in the center of the dash, easy to miss. He quickly twisted it to the desired function. ¡°Belay that,¡± he said, voice trembling. ¡°I got it sorted out, Base.¡± The Rhino began to move slowly, then picked up speed at a surprising pace.

    Soon, the Flagship¡¯s shale gray landing bay was a memory of the past, but he knew the Olympia could still easily catch him. A part of him refused to check behind his craft, fearing he would find a pursuit squadron barreling down upon him.

    It was probably his paranoia, but the Olympia¡¯s looming shadow seemed to sense his intent to escape and felt none too pleased. But, that said, the Olympia couldn¡¯t even compete with the imposing shape of his destination. It seemed to Monty that only the Singularity¡¯s vigilant gaze kept space from becoming filled with intercept fighters and white-hot projectiles.

    A palpable tension had returned to the Homebound Sector. For once, the two ships seemed to be on the same page, waiting for the other to make a move. The Olympia could start a fight, but if she did, she would have a hell of a battle on her hands, because the Singularity was not backing down.

    Reasonably, it did not comfort Montgomery Gaffigan to be caught between the two. His hands shook as he reached over and turned the knob to ¡®Auto-pilot¡¯. The Singularity grew steadily larger in his view as the transport steadied its heading: a direct collision course for his home ship. True to the words of the Marine who¡¯d set him free, it was a straight shot. ¡°Oh shit.¡±

    A fresh dose of panic in his system, Gaffigan scrambled for the radio controls. Naturally, they too, were totally different than those of the Warhawks he¡¯d trained on and were far more complex. Lieutenant Robinson could probably make heads or tails of the system¡¯s true capabilities, but Gaffigan could only find what he thought were the basic controls.

    He turned one dial, one he assumed to be the frequency modulator, only to have loud static erupt in his ear. He put that back the way he¡¯d found it and continued to test controls as the Singularity grew ever closer and his dread grew ever larger.

    At this moment, Gaffigan desperately missed the simplicity of the Singularity and her support craft. Though he knew both they and the battleship herself were more complex than they appeared, the controls were candidly simple. They had been carefully designed that way. Officers and crew had been dropping dead so quickly during the War, barely trained or completely untrained people had been forced to take their place.

    Finally, the bearded Lieutenant found the control he¡¯d been looking for, a slider. Experimentally, he nudged it and was rewarded with overlapping civilian chatter. He dialed in the Singularity¡¯s designated frequency. ¡°This is Lieutenant Gaffigan hailing UCSC-14, Battleship Singularity. Come in, Singularity.¡± Silence answered the hail. ¡°This is Gaffigan, Singularity, do you read?¡±

    There was no response, as Gaffigan stared at the rapidly increasing shape of the ship. He could see Warhawks idling above the hull with floodlights, an indication of hull work occurring. Stars, he¡¯d kill anyone on the hull if he collided with the ship!

    He abandoned communications formality in a heartbeat, ¡°Singularity there is a Rhino dropship approaching your three ¡®o clock on a collision course. I¡¯m aboard and I don¡¯t know how to fly! Request assistance and strongly suggest you get everyone off the hull!¡± More silence. ¡°Acknowledge, damn you!¡±

    A fragmented reply came back. Barely audible and indecipherable in his headset, he knew the signs of a total signal blockade. But who was jamming communications and why? What had happened while he¡¯d been stuck in the Olympia¡¯s brig? ¡°Singularity, I did not copy. Repeat your message,¡± he called.

    Another message came through, but it was even more fragmented than the last. It was impossible to even tell if it was the same message or a different one. ¡°Beezlenac,¡± he cursed, realizing he was in for it this time. He may have escaped Admiral Reeter, but he didn¡¯t like colliding with the infinitely more massive Singularity any better.

    Gaffigan could see the largest pockmarks and craters on the old ship¡¯s hull now. They were larger than his transport as a whole. The marred mull was cast in shadow from its uneven plating.

    At this range, the Singularity¡¯s menace faded, and the ship just looked somewhat run down. Even with a fresh coat of paint, she looked tired. It was valid considering the ship had been through hell. They all had, but Gaffigan was certain the Singularity had seen worse than Admiral Reeter in her long years of service.

    It was not by luck that the ship had survived. Evidence of that was on the starboard bow, where a missile launched from a sector away had scored a direct hit, and left an irreversible scar in the shape of a crescent. No, whatever quality made the ship a survivor, it wasn¡¯t good luck. If anything, the Singularity was bad luck incarnate to any enemy that stumbled into her clutches.

    Gaffigan just really hoped that wouldn¡¯t carry onto him at the moment.

 Part 17.1 - CLOSE ENOUGH

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    The Singularity¡¯s bridge was not an ostentatious affair. It was designed to be robust and functional. Every control console had been splashed with acid, shot, and burned more than once. Repaired and refurbished as necessary, all of them did still work, even if several of them usually went unmanned.

    Those left unmanned were left over from another era when the Singularity had served as flagship. Once, they had coordinated the fleet, directed support squadrons, and tracked supply expenditures over prolonged combat. Now, they sat derelict. The modern fleet had computerized such tasks, and no longer the flagship, the Singularity had no need for them. So, while there were four arcs of consoles on the bridge, not all of those workstations were crewed.

    The bridge, while totally functional, wasn¡¯t any nicer than the rest of the ship in appearance. It was spartan, designed to work with little concern for anything else. The shape of the consoles was angular with a beveled edge for safety. They were arranged to face the single, large screen at the front of the room, hiding the control displays from the camera used for visual communications. It was crude, but effective. No computer was necessary to blur out the confidential data that could be caught on the displays.

    The console controlling input to the screen was beside the comm., up on the raised, largest arc of control consoles. Two more arcs sat behind the center of the room, which was dominated by the flat top of the radar console. The radar displays hung both above that table and at the front of the room, in clear view of everyone, but the associated hardware was underneath the table, hence its name.

    The flat top of that console was just what it seemed: a table. It was backlit, allowing sheer sheets maps and tactical charts to be layered over on one another and clearly read. It was used for battle strategy, but also to hold whatever report the Admiral was reading and catch whatever Colonel Zarrey had spilled most recently on it.

    Running the comm. for the last few hours, Lieutenant Keifer Robinson had gotten considerably better at finding the holes and imperfections in the communications blockade over. Still, when the first garbled transmission came through from someone claiming to be Gaffigan, she didn¡¯t believe it.

    Like everything else so far in the Homebound Sector, it seemed to be a trap. There was no way Gaffigan could have escaped, and there was no way that Reeter would have released him. Reeter¡¯s intentions would never be so pure, and she knew that better than anyone.

    Rumor had it that not one crewmember ever drew assignment aboard the Singularity on accident, and in Keifer¡¯s experience, that was true. Crew only reached the Singularity when they requested a transfer and were desperate enough to go anywhere or when they were being punished for something. The Admiral never seemed to care where people were coming from or why they were leaving. He took the transfers without prejudice and without prying. In that, the ship operated with an essentially volunteer crew, where most crewmen had nowhere else to go.

    Robinson was no different. There was a reason she called the ship home. Prior experiences had rendered her unwilling to leave. Her talents in communications had earned her an assignment to the Flagship Ariea prior to its destruction, Reeter¡¯s first command, and she wished she could count the wrongs done to her there on her fingers.

    It was because of those horrible experiences that Robinson refused to let her guard down while Reeter or his subordinates were within communications range. So, while the voice hailing them claimed to be Gaffigan, she was more than skeptical. The audio was so distorted by the signal blockade that the voice was unrecognizable, and she couldn¡¯t get an origin or heading off the transmission. Standard for support craft, it was audio only.

    She listened closely to the next transmission, carefully isolating it from the background noise as much as possible. It was still garbled and filled with static, but stronger this time, implying the sending transmitter was closer now. The man on the line had tossed out all radio formality, but his words were mostly still too garbled to understand, save for one bit: ¡°I don¡¯t know how to fly!¡± And that definitely sounded like Gaffigan.

    She chose to respond then, focusing all the power of the Singularity¡¯s transmitters into the area the recipient was most likely to be, amidships on the starboard side. ¡°Unknown transport, request identity authentication?¡± She knew the broadcast had been horribly distorted by the feedback in her headset.

    ¡°Singularity¡­ not copy¡­ Repeat¡­ message¡­¡± the throaty reply came, even clearer now, but still just as hopeless. Alone, the Singularity¡¯s communications arrays couldn¡¯t punch through the blanket of interference coating them.

    The transmission was clear enough now. Robinson clearly recognized Gaffigan¡¯s voice. ¡°Standby, Lieutenant,¡± she transmitted, knowing the message would be helplessly garbled, ¡°We hear you.¡± She looked up from her controls, and down to the lower level of CIC. ¡°Maria, I need identification and range on a possible dropship off the starboard side headed our way.¡±

    Lieutenant Galhino studied the sensor sweeps for a moment, squinting down at the readouts, and filtering through. ¡°I¡¯ve got a Rhino Six-Three-Niner off the starboard amidships. Sir,¡± she looked over to the Admiral, who was, as per usual, standing in the center of the bridge. ¡°That ship is on a collision course. Range at three hundred and fifty kilometers.¡± For a crowded orbit, that wasn¡¯t usually a cause for concern. Small ships like Rhinos would constantly maneuver and change course around larger ones, but their current situation as an enemy to the fleet was rather unique.

    The Admiral put down the packet he¡¯d been reading through, immediately sensing trouble. ¡°Sound general quarters.¡± It was about time to take action anyway. Technically, he was due in court in fifteen minutes, not that he had any intention of showing up. ¡°Lieutenant Robinson,¡± he called, taking off his glasses, ¡°What did you hear from that Rhino?¡± She¡¯d obviously heard something, or it wouldn¡¯t have drawn their attention until it passed the ship¡¯s alert proximity.

    ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan is on board, sir.¡± Robinson replied, adjusting a slider on her console, ¡°And he has readily announced that he has no idea how to fly that ship.¡±

    ¡°Gaffigan?¡± Zarrey looked up from the word search he¡¯d been idly working on. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    The communications officer nodded, ¡°As sure as I can get with communications the way they are.¡±

    ¡°Works for me,¡± Zarrey said, tossing down his puzzle book and pencil. ¡°Let¡¯s figure out how to save his ass.¡±

    ¡°Get everyone off the hull,¡± the Admiral ordered. Gaffigan was still at some range, but he wouldn¡¯t gamble the lives of the engineers on the hull.

    ¡°Scramble a squadron of Warhawks,¡± Zarrey added, ¡°Intercept and divert his course. Then they can guide him through a landing.¡±

    Not enough time. Guiding an untrained pilot through a landing would take sixty minutes to do it safely ¨C sixty minutes they didn¡¯t have, since Command was due to call in fifteen. ¡°Belay that. Helm, full reverse.¡±

    Jazmine followed the order swiftly with a nod of acknowledgement. The engines¡¯ pitch rose for a moment as the ship began to slow and then move in the opposite direction she¡¯d previously been going. For a ship her size battling momentum, the course change was quick.

    ¡°Are you sure that¡¯s a good idea, Admiral?¡± Colonel Zarrey asked. Chances were they¡¯d get clear, or close, but it was also possible they¡¯d take the hit on the starboard bow, where there remained damage from the nuke. ¡°We might be better off taking a hit amidships.¡± It wasn¡¯t wise to excessively test the starboard bow¡¯s structural integrity after such a recent collapse.

    ¡°I do not intend for there to be a ¡®hit¡¯.¡± Admiral Gives said coolly, evaluating the situation for the next logical course of action. ¡°Lieutenant Galhino, can you remotely hack into the Rhino¡¯s auto-pilot systems?¡±

    She considered it, ¡°Yes, theoretically, but that¡¯s one of the Olympia¡¯s Rhinos. It¡¯s new, and has the best security software to date. I could do it, but it would take a significant amount of time, not to mention signal strength for a remote hack isn¡¯t reliable at this range with the ongoing jamming.¡± Galhino¡¯s curls bounced as she shook her head, ¡°I would strongly advise an alternate course of action, sir.¡± All things considered, that plan wasn¡¯t feasible.

    ¡°Range?¡± Zarrey asked, glancing up to the radar displays.

    ¡°Two hundred kilometers.¡±

    Close enough, the Admiral supposed. ¡°Get me the LCO.¡± In another minute, the Rhino would be close enough for certain signal transmissions to get through without distortion, specifically those on infrared line of sight systems. The signal blockade didn¡¯t affect those much to start with. Mostly, such systems were limited by their own range.

    ¡°LC Hoth on the line, sir,¡± Robinson confirmed, routing the communication through the handset on the radar console.

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    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t waste a moment, ¡°Lieutenant Colonel Hoth, Rhino Six-Three-Niner is off our starboard side. Activate the automatic guidance system and bring it into the starboard bay.¡± That system would override the Rhino¡¯s auto-piloting computer and take over flight control and landing.

    Jebbidiah Hoth, the former leader of the ship¡¯s pilots, had been promoted and reassigned as the landing clearance officer. ¡°Aye, sir,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯ll give it a shot, but last I knew that system was offline for a reason.¡±

    ¡°Understood,¡± Admiral Gives confirmed, replacing the handset onto its rack. He looked up to find Colonel Zarrey staring at him with a somewhat familiar look of absolute horror. ¡°Yes, XO?¡± he prompted.

    Zarrey ran a nervous hand through his blond hair. ¡°There are times that I really wish you tell a joke, and this is one of them.¡± However, in the bland overhead lighting of CIC, Admiral Gives looked as serious as ever.

    ¡°What about this situation encourages a joke, Colonel?¡± He had a helpless crewman on a collision course with the ship. There were lives on the line.

    ¡°Stars, you are totally clueless!¡± Some part of Zarrey had always assumed that the Admiral played clueless, but he was starting to think that it might be genuine at this point. ¡°I was hoping you were kidding about the automatic guidance system.¡±

    At which point did I come off as the kidding variety? The Admiral wondered. This seemed to be a perfectly logical course of action. ¡°Why would I joke about that?¡±

    ¡°Because the automatic guidance system has a fifty-fifty chance of fireballing whatever ship it tries to bring in!¡± There was a reason they kept the damn thing offline. ¡°You do know that, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Zarrey palmed his face, ¡°What is wrong with you?¡± How was that a solution to Gaffigan¡¯s situation?

    Admiral Gives ignored the question. If his XO spent less time whining, and more time working, he¡¯d probably be more useful in any given situation, including this one. ¡°Range, Lieutenant?¡± he prompted the sensor officer.

    ¡°One hundred kilometers, sir.¡± Galhino said, actively choosing not to engage in Zarrey¡¯s totally valid argument. She wasn¡¯t eager to risk the Admiral¡¯s wrath again any time soon.

    Then the guidance systems should take over¡­ he checked the radar readouts, ¡­now. Smoothly, and predictably, the Rhino began to slow and bank away. After a few seconds, the change was obvious. Oh, well, would you look at that. Admiral Gives looked over to Zarrey. It¡¯s almost like I know what I¡¯m doing.

    Zarrey cleared his throat awkwardly. The Admiral¡¯s stony expression was as blank as ever, but Zarrey couldn¡¯t help but feel he was being toyed with, like a lion playing with a mouse. ¡°Cocky bastard,¡± he muttered, turning away to watch Gaffigan¡¯s transport safely adjust course and begin lining up for a landing.

    ¡°Care to repeat that, XO?¡±

    ¡°Quit toying with me, you¡¯ve made your point.¡± Zarrey snapped. He¡¯d lost the trust he¡¯d once held in the Admiral, but he needed to renew it or they weren¡¯t going to get very far. He knew that, ¡°But that doesn¡¯t change the fact your ship is a temperamental bitch who only listens to you.¡±

    And you wonder why she doesn¡¯t seem to like you. That wasn¡¯t a very respectful choice of words, but the Admiral elected not to address it. ¡°Colonel, you thought activating the guidance systems was risky, and I respect your willingness to say so.¡± There weren¡¯t many who would directly question his orders. ¡°That is your job.¡±

    Zarrey noticed the perplexed looks the crew was exchanging around them. ¡°You don¡¯t think that was a bit of a risk?¡± Fifty-fifty odds weren¡¯t great.

    ¡°It was a calculated move.¡± The crew might think it callous, but he knew better. He knew this ship and no system on it was ever going to fireball her chief armory officer. That notoriously faulty system usually malfunctioned only when dealing with civilian transports ¨C primarily those belonging to reporters and politicians. People we don¡¯t like, so Admiral Gives had never dedicated resources to repair it. The unreliability of that rarely used system gave him a viable excuse not to ferry reporters and politicians around. It was perfect, as was the rest of the ship, as far as he was concerned.

    ¡°A calculated move, huh?¡± Zarrey said, crossing his arms. ¡°This only forwards my ongoing theory.¡± The ship was a temperamental bitch that listened only to the Admiral. If anyone else had given that order, Zarrey would bet money it wouldn¡¯t have worked. ¡°There are times I think this ship would kill someone if you halfway asked her to.¡± And that was terrifying considering how morally ambiguous the Admiral could be.

    ¡°¡¯Kill¡¯ is a strong term for ¡®intentionally crash¡¯, don¡¯t you think, XO?¡± Death was not necessarily involved. Terror and near-death? Probably, but that was not Admiral Gives¡¯ problem. Disliking politicians and reporters did not make the ship a bitch. He would argue that made her reasonable. There was a reason they got along. In his experience, politicians were lying skin jobs filled with ambition and empty promises. Reporters were even worse, ready to trick, lie, and manipulate words against those who had spoken them.

    Zarrey coughed a little bit, some poor attempt to conceal his realization. ¡°You,¡± cough, ¡°are,¡± cough, cough, ¡°a,¡± cough, ¡°maniac.¡±

    The Admiral took it in stride. ¡°That should not be news, XO.¡± Zarrey had served with him long enough to know that his usual methods invoked a certain level of chaos. He straightened the papers in his hands, tapping them quietly against the top of the radar console. ¡°Go do final checks. We have five minutes, minimum, before Command calls.¡± They would make their move then.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Zarrey said, turning to the crew around them, ¡°Alright you Sinners, sound off.¡±

    ¡°Helm, standing by,¡± Jazmine said, cracking his knuckles.

    ¡°Sensors are operating normally,¡± Galhino called, pulling her curly hair up.

    ¡°Engineering, all systems green,¡± Alba added, looking up briefly from his controls.

    Around CIC, the announcements went. Every crewman said their part, even Ensign Walters, their perpetually nervous navigator. Zarrey¡¯s fiendish grin only grew with every iteration of ¡®ready¡¯. Finally, he turned back to the Admiral. ¡°All systems are manned and ready, sir. Ship and crew await your commands.¡±

    And a mighty fine ship and crew they were. ¡°We wait,¡± the Admiral announced. He would let Command initiate contact.

    It was in that moment that Gaffigan stepped onto the bridge, furiously dabbing at his matted beard with a clean, damp towel. Chief Ty followed him in, looking somewhat triumphant. ¡°What are we waiting for, exactly?¡± he asked after a pause.

    ¡°Damn, Monty, you look like shit,¡± Jazmine said, craning his neck over his shoulder to look at the weapons officer.

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°Go get yourself cleaned up, and let the Doc take a look at you. Those bruises look gnarly.¡± They blotted his visible skin with a marbling of blue, black, green and purple. Blood was still caked into his untrimmed beard no matter how he tried to remove it.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Gaffigan looked past Zarrey and appealed directly the Admiral, ¡°I want nothing more than to sit here and look Charleston Reeter dead in the eye. I¡¯d like to see how long it takes him to realize that I escaped from his allegedly-flawless fortress.¡±

    The Admiral said nothing for a moment, expression unreadable. Monty shifted, unnerved to be under the Admiral¡¯s direct scrutiny. The man really was a great deal more terrifying than Reeter, especially when he stood in silence, seeming to evaluate one¡¯s existence. ¡°I trust Chief Ty filled you in, Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°He did,¡± Gaffigan nodded. The plan was relatively simple.

    ¡°Permission granted, Lieutenant. Return to your post, and welcome back.¡± Now, every member of the crew was accounted for. Things were shaping up nicely.

    Colonel Zarrey stepped over, lowering his voice to not be overheard. ¡°Sir, Gaffigan just escaped from the Olympia. No way in hell that happened without help. Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s a little suspicious?¡±

    He had help, and the Admiral knew it, even if he elected not to share that fact.

    Zarrey sighed as he stood a full head taller than the ship commander. ¡°Seriously? Now isn¡¯t the time for you to clam up.¡± The Olympia, no matter how they made light of it, was a formidable foe. Her on board surveillance and security systems very much put those of the Singularity and any other ship in the fleet to shame. Gaffigan¡¯s miraculous escape seemed only possible if he had been let free.

    ¡°A couple hours ago you were warning me that the New Era¡¯s AI can alter our minds, our loyalties, and force us to do things that would have been previously against our will. Now you¡¯re just going to ignore that possibility, and allow Monty full access to one of our most critical systems?¡± A hundred things could go wrong with someone compromised manning weapons. The ship could be rendered totally defenseless. ¡°What the hell are you thinking?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s clear, XO.¡± Gaffigan¡¯s recollection of his stay aboard the Olympia had been altered but that was all. The ghost had checked, and none of Manhattan¡¯s tricks would slip past her.

    The Admiral stated it so simply, like it was a commonly known fact. ¡°You can¡¯t know that.¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s. Clear.¡±

    Zarrey shuddered, that fleck of ice in the Admiral¡¯s tone enough to make him want to drop the subject entirely. Still, he swallowed his uncertainties, reminding himself that asking these questions was his job. ¡°And what if he¡¯s not clear?¡±

    ¡°Then I will take care of it,¡± the Admiral promised coldly, stepping purposefully away from Zarrey. ¡°Chief Ty,¡± he addressed the chief engineer, ¡°did you finish?¡±

    Ty settled up against the wall by the door. ¡°Yes, sir. It was some of our finest work, if I may say so myself.¡± His predecessor would have been proud if he¡¯d been here to see it. ¡°I never thought we¡¯d have the privilege.¡±

    Across the room, Monty had slid into his usual chair, ¡°Finish what?¡± He asked the helmsman, whose console was next to his own. It was rare for the chief engineer to linger on the bridge, let alone speak to the Admiral about anything.

    Jazmine flipped his hair and leaned over towards Gaffigan, grinning. ¡°Are you telling me you didn¡¯t notice on the way over?¡±

    ¡°Notice what?¡± Gaffigan said, met with Jazmine¡¯s amused chuckle. ¡°Hey,¡± he defended, ¡°I was busy, you know, almost colliding with the ship?¡± He turned to see Galhino roll her eyes at him. ¡°What did I miss?¡±

    ¡°Well, you see, we had a meeting earlier today where we unanimously decided to follow a new plan that won¡¯t put us at Reeter¡¯s mercy¡­¡± Jazmine explained, ¡°And well, when it was all said and done, the Admiral gave Chief Ty one order.¡± The helmsman dropped his voice and poorly attempted to wipe the smile from his face, preparing to impersonate their commanding officer. ¡°All he said was: ¡®Get me some flagship¡¯s stars.¡¯¡±

    It was tradition that only one ship in the fleet was allowed to adorn its insignia and hull with silver stars, and that was the designated fleet flagship. That ship was the most powerful, most prestigious ship in the fleet. Fifteen years ago, when the Singularity had been denounced as flagship, the stars on her hull had been painted over.

    The engineering crews had just spent the last few hours painting them back: a direct disregard of the Flagship Olympia. The mere sight of it would bring Reeter¡¯s blood to a boil, along with the blood of anybody who believed in Admiral Reeter¡¯s righteous cause.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Monty said softly, abruptly realizing the gravity of the situation. Those stars were a clear message that Admiral Gives was through playing along. Things were going to get interesting. ¡°The gloves are off.¡±

    ¡°Well¡­¡± Jazmine nodded over to the Admiral¡¯s hands, one of which remained covered. ¡°At least one of them is.¡±

    ¡°Sir,¡± Lieutenant Robinson called over the noise of the bridge. ¡°It¡¯s time. Base Oceana is hailing again on a public frequency.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± Admiral Gives stepped back to his usual spot beside the radar console. He rested a hand on the metal rim of the console for a moment, recognizing the vibrations of a well-tuned ship. Showtime, old friend. ¡°Put it up, Lieutenant.¡±

 Part 17.2 - THUNDERBOLT

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

    As it had before, the screen at the front of the room powered on, to display the visual data of Command¡¯s hail. Base Oceana¡¯s dark crystalline conference table was still occupied by the same four men it had been a few hours ago. General Hommer¡¯s pudgy face was redder than usual, ¡°Gives!¡± his grating cry sounded, ¡°What is the meaning of this?¡±

    Admiral Gives looked him in the eyes, his cold gaze enough to make Hommer flinch. ¡°The meaning of what?¡± he asked, daring the General to specify further.

    Neither General Hommer nor General Quentin replied, their unease clear. Reeter curled his lip, disdained by their cowardice, but it was Vince Ramseyer in his pinstriped suit who responded. ¡°Mister Gives, you were to have the Singularity docked at Base Oceana ten minutes ago. What is the delay?¡±

    ¡°There is none,¡± the Admiral said simply. ¡°The Singularity will not be docking at Base Oceana again.¡± Certainly not for her own destruction.

    Ramseyer folded his hands calmly atop the table, curiosity in his gaze. ¡°Are you defying a direct order, Mister Gives?¡±

    There was no denying it. ¡°Yes, I am,¡± he said without even a moment of hesitation. ¡°Under the seventh clause of the original United Countries Space Command charter, I, Admiral William Gives move to separate from Command with the support of the Battleship Singularity¡¯s crew.¡±

    Reeter¡¯s eyes went as wide as saucers. ¡°You can¡¯t do that.¡±

    ¡°Quite to the contrary, I just did.¡± Admiral Gives was well aware of the implications, as was the table of his stunned adversaries. ¡°Command is corrupt. I will not serve an organization that will threaten the people it was created to protect, and I not will serve an organization that killed thirty-two of my crewmen and then threatened the existence of my ship.¡±

    Reeter curled his manicured nails into his palms, ¡°You are no longer serving anyone. You were relieved of your duties when you were brought up on charges. You have no authority on which to use Article Seven.¡± The young man held his poise only barely, digging his nails into his own skin, struggling to remember that this was a public broadcast. An outburst would hurt his public image.

    Admiral Gives could very easily read his frustration. The young man ought to know better than to let his enemies know they¡¯d struck a nerve. It was only evidence that Reeter hadn¡¯t predicted this move. ¡°When you court martialed me, you made one mistake, Admiral.¡± Reeter¡¯s cruel intentions would be his downfall. ¡°Do you know what it was?¡±

    Reeter stared at his adversary through the communications link, grating his perfect teeth into dust. The Steel Prince¡¯s perfect calm had never been so infuriating.

    ¡°You left me with my ship,¡± not that Command or the New Era had ever been given a choice about that. ¡°And that means I still hold every authority aboard these decks.¡± Without missing a beat, Admiral Gives picked up the handset on the console beside him, enjoying the rising looks of horror on the faces of the tribunal board.

    Reeter narrowed his eyes, realizing exactly what Gives intended to do. ¡°You cannot do that.¡±

    Watch me. ¡°Breaker, breaker,¡± he said into the handset.

    The response from the ship¡¯s core came in the form of three mid-range tones: long, short, short. She was listening, as was the crew, watching him eagerly.

    ¡°General Override Zero Strike. Admiral, Gives, William, S.¡± As he fed the necessary information in for the command override, the jaws of the two generals seemed ready to hit the floor. ¡°Battleship Singularity. Zero. Strike. Omega. Nu. Nu. Delta. Psi. Override Confirm.¡± He read out the string of security numbers, easily making eye contact with the men who had pushed him to do this. He finished, ¡°Breaker. One. Four. Accept or deny.¡±

    There was a pause, but then the robotic voice of the ship¡¯s automated security protocols began to read the command override and security string slowly back to him.

    ¡°Prince, you cannot do that.¡± Reeter could barely contain his rage, tendons obviously straining in his neck. ¡°It won¡¯t work.¡± Zero Strike severed a ship¡¯s ties to Command while the seventh clause of the charter severed the crew¡¯s. ¡°Your ship is a flagship.¡± They were designed to be the most loyal ships in the fleet, and as such, were exempt from the Zero Strike override.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Admiral Gives agreed. ¡°Unfortunately for you, she is my flagship.¡±

    The repeated override neared its end. ¡°Breaker. One. Four.¡± Pause. ¡°Error. Singularity reads and denies order.¡±

    Yes, I know. For once, Reeter was right, but Reeter didn¡¯t need to know that. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said before hanging up the handset and quirking an eyebrow to Reeter, ¡°Accepted.¡±

    The vein on top of Reeter¡¯s forehead began to throb. ¡°Impossible.¡±

    ¡°Apparently not.¡± This bit of the show was critically important. As long as Command thought he¡¯d successfully activated that override, then they would not attempt to use their own overrides. It was a bit of a bluff, but mostly accurate, since the Singularity¡¯s old control systems did not allow Command to remotely take over anyway. As far as both the crew and Command needed to know, the Singularity was now officially bound only to his commands.

    The only thing Reeter could picture in that moment was throwing the Steel Prince up against a wall and strangling the life out of his throat. His fury deafened out his other thoughts. How dare he invalidate the security measures that controlled Command¡¯s almighty fleet!

    Ramseyer gave an invisible sigh. It was shameful to see the self-proclaimed savior of the human race in such a fit. ¡°Mister Gives, you have just condemned your entire crew to be marked as traitors. By choosing to follow you, they have chosen to die.¡±

    ¡°To be fair,¡± Zarrey said, crossing his arms where he stood beside the Admiral, ¡°you fuckers tried to kill us before we were traitors, so nothing¡¯s really changed.¡±

    ¡°This crew was marked for slaughter years ago. They fled you and your ways because you saw them as flawed, because you saw them as weak, and because they could not agree with your intentions. They gathered here with me, and that is why you plotted to destroy this ship then and every day since, but we will no longer bear that threat without returning fire.¡± Fair was fair, as far as Admiral Gives cared. ¡°I take with me the ship you cursed and the crew you tried to kill, but believe me, this is not the start of a war.¡±

    ¡°You think we can just let this rebellion go? You think we can just turn our backs to a renegade battleship, Mister Gives?¡± Ramseyer laughed, the sound harsh. ¡°You will be hunted to the ends of the universe and killed, no matter where you run, no matter where you hide.¡± They were not a wanted part of these worlds. They were not even a valid player in this game of empires.

    Admiral Gives did not need to look around to know that the bridge crew was looking to him for reassurance. If Command set itself to hunting them down, did they really stand a chance? One ship against thousands?

    The Admiral kept his cold gaze on those four power-hungry, self-important men, feeling the power of the ship under his command through the hand he kept on the radar console. ¡°If you want war,¡± he dropped his tone, ¡°I will show you war.¡± The level of frost in his words had become dangerous. These men had no idea what monster they¡¯d had at their table, living off their scraps for years. ¡°If you have ever loved anyone, then you will not challenge me, or I will drown you in their lifeblood. If you have ever valued anything, then you will not challenge me, or I will gut you with its remains. If you have ever possessed a desire, then then you will not challenge me, or I will crush it to pieces in front of you, then feed your broken heart to the Night Demon herself.¡± Admiral Gives never wavered in his demeanor, the words less of a threat and more of a promise. ¡°Am I understood?¡±

    Ramseyer¡¯s hands had begun to shake, a fresh light of panic in his eyes. ¡°Yes.¡±

    The Admiral nodded once. Good. ¡°Admiral Reeter,¡± he looked to the younger man, ¡°you do not want make an enemy out of me, out of us.¡± He gestured slightly to his crew, where they sat or stood around the bridge, monitoring their stations.

    Reeter looked them each over: a curly-haired Lieutenant, a former smuggler for a pilot, and a boyish engineer among others. He wanted to kill them all. His gaze lingered a little longer on the pretty, tan face of Lieutenant Robinson, who had once been his communications officer. Pathetic. She¡¯d had such potential, but it had been wasted.

    He moved along, his gaze eventually settling upon the only officer on the Singularity¡¯s bridge that was not wearing a uniform jacket. His pale skin was splotched with bruises, but he was still grinning underneath his untrimmed orange beard. ¡°You.¡±

    Zarrey chuckled heartily, loving obvious indignation in Reeter¡¯s handsome face, ¡°Allow me to introduce our chief armory officer, Lieutenant Montgomery Gaffigan. I believe you¡¯ve met.¡±

    Gaffigan just kept smiling. He could see the redness of anger rising in Reeter¡¯s face. It was familiar to him now. ¡°Hey, bud. Fuck you. You broke my nose.¡± It still ached and remained noticeably swollen.

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°How?¡± Reeter demanded. That officer should still be in the Olympia¡¯s brig. How did he escape?

    Monty shrugged, continuing to smile. ¡°A good magician never reveals his tricks.¡±

    ¡°And a good tactician never plays his ace in the open.¡± Admiral Gives easily drew Reeter¡¯s attention away from the crew. ¡°Please give the Manhattan AI my regards.¡± He signaled for Robinson to cut the transmission, and it promptly disappeared.

    A silence took over the bridge. The crew exchanged glances, satisfied with the obvious chaos they¡¯d just thrown the New Era¡¯s way.

    ¡°Well,¡± Zarrey said after a long pause, ¡°I think that went well.¡± For the first time in fleet history, a ship had seceded from Command. ¡°It¡¯s always funny to Reeter try to contain himself. It¡¯s so not a good look for him.¡± It turned a decently handsome man pretty damn ugly in Zarrey¡¯s opinion.

    Gaffigan turned from his colorful array of weapons controls, ¡°Sir, the Olympia¡¯s targeting sensors just went active-¡±

    ¡°Battle stations.¡± The Admiral ordered, not bothering to listen to the last part of that statement. ¡°Set Condition One.¡± Predictably, his split from Command had ruffled more than figurative feathers.

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± came the chorus.

    Out in the corridor, the alert klaxons began to sound. Zarrey cursed, ¡°Spoke too soon.¡± Nothing was ever easy around here. ¡°Condition One is confirmed.¡± They had prepared for potential combat before Command had even called.

    ¡°Ping the Olympia back,¡± the Admiral instructed Gaffigan. We¡¯re ready for a fight, ¡°but we do not fire first, Lieutenant.¡± If the Olympia went to war with them here, Admiral Gives refused to be held accountable for the carnage.

    The rain of battle debris would generate thousands of collateral casualties in this crowded orbit, let alone the potential millions at risk on the surface of Ariea if any wreckage survived the atmosphere. Admiral Gives would not be held accountable for the loss of another habitable world. New Terra had been enough.

    ¡°Sir, the Olympia¡¯s weapons aren¡¯t raised. She is pinging us, but near as I can tell, her main armaments are not active.¡± Galhino put the ship¡¯s active sensors to work, raking in data. ¡°That said, I am reading some strange power fluctuations.¡±

    ¡°Get visual on her,¡± Zarrey ordered, ¡°I¡¯m sure this¡¯ll be good.¡± If they were lucky, the pretty little flagship was blowing herself up.

    The viewscreen¡¯s default data input was switched from one of the bow cameras to one mounted on the starboard flank, and the Olympia¡¯s curvaceous form appeared. An unearthly white glow was forming a halo around her bow. Pieces of armor had folded outward, revealing a delicate ring of focused mechanics, a deadly flower coming to bloom.

    ¡°What the hell is that?¡± Colonel Zarrey demanded, trying to make sense of the sight. ¡°That sure as fuck doesn¡¯t look like a power fluctuation, Galhino!¡± Holy hell, it looked like the Olympia was charging something.

    Thunderbolt. It had to be. ¡°Helm,¡± Admiral Gives ordered, ¡°All ahead full.¡±

    ¡°All ahead full, aye,¡± Jazmine confirmed, throttling up the main engines.

    The Singularity¡¯s quartet of engines loosed the full force of their thrust, rocketing the ship forward with what would have been enough thrust to turn the crew into red smears, had it not been for the inertial dampeners. Even with the dampeners, the acceleration force was noticeable momentarily, but the systems quickly compensated. ¡°Get us behind Luna Major, Lieutenant.¡± They had to buy time. ¡°Prepare for emergency jump.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re not going to fight?¡± After the Admiral had leveled all those gruesome threats? Whatever the Olympia was up to, it sure as hell looked like an attack to Zarrey. Shouldn¡¯t they return in kind?

    ¡°We cannot fight that,¡± the Admiral said. They had no choice but to retreat. They were up against Reeter¡¯s second ace. It seemed the young man had no interest in holding his cards in secret. Reeter wanted this to end quickly.

    The glow on the Olympia¡¯s hull was brightening. ¡°Sir, the Olympia¡¯s entire available power output appears to be getting channeled into that equipment. She appears to be charging some sort of beam weapon. I¡¯ve never seen anything on this scale.¡± The level of electrical flux was rising incredibly, and it was beginning to confuse the sensors.

    They were about to witness the most powerful weapon in the Olympia¡¯s arsenal, Thunderbolt. ¡°She is readying her flagship weapon.¡± Reeter was not playing around. This time, he intended to sink them.

    ¡°Her flagship weapon?¡± Damn naddlethworfing shit. Zarrey would normally be honored that their existence required such drastic measures to be taken, but at the moment he was about to be smitten from the universe and he wasn¡¯t feeling too good about it. ¡°That thing¡¯s supposed to be an anti-fleet weapon!¡± It was never intended to be targeted against a single ship. If the rumors were accurate, a glancing blow would likely end this fight. He looked to the Admiral. ¡°What¡¯s the play? Fire and hope we stop that thing before it fires?¡±

    Loosing a broadside might end the Olympia¡¯s charge attempt, but it would also fry every electrical system within the immediate area, including civilian ships¡¯ and Base Oceana¡¯s. Without power, their orbits would begin to decay, and eventually, many would burn up in the atmosphere. The Singularity would survive, but the cost would be high. ¡°We buy time.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a shitty plan, sir.¡± Zarrey would really rather not die today.

    ¡°It is the only plan we have.¡± Admiral Gives would not endanger every ship in orbit just to escape this system. That was exactly the New Era¡¯s intention. ¡°Prepare sidekick to port.¡± At this range, they¡¯d have roughly two seconds to dodge after the Olympia fired.

    ¡°Sidekick?¡± Under this acceleration?! The very attempt to throw the ship laterally sideways might tear her apart. Simply, the structure hadn¡¯t been designed to take thrust forces from that direction, and the structure was already under stress from the engines¡¯ hard acceleration. The premise of a sidekick ¨C firing all maneuvering thrusters on one side of the ship, combined with venting over pressurized airlocks for additional thrust ¨C was a lot to ask of any ship. Under these conditions, performing that maneuver, one that the Admiral had created and used before, reeked of suicide. ¡°You¡¯re actually insane,¡± Zarrey protested, met with the Admiral¡¯s cold, calculating blue gaze. ¡°Sidekick to port, aye.¡±

    Zarrey moved off to make those preparations, and the Admiral looked again to the enemy ship. That halo of energy had grown bright enough to turn the Olympia to a distorted shadow. ¡°Lieutenant Galhino, can you estimate the full capacitance of the weapon¡¯s charge?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡± Galhino answered. ¡°Its energy emissions are saturating our active sensors. Passive indicate only that the charge is continuing to build.¡± Whatever it was, the weapon had a plainly massive energy demand. All of the Olympia¡¯s power had been diverted to charging it, including power to raise and aim her normal weapons.

    ¡°Forty seconds until we¡¯re in the moon¡¯s shadow, sir.¡± Jazz said, simultaneously prepping the controls for the aforementioned sidekick.

    ¡®Thirty-five until Thunderbolt is ready to fire.¡¯ The ghost put in silently. ¡®We¡¯re not to make it.¡¯

    ¡®We¡¯ll make it,¡¯ the Admiral assured her, knowing she¡¯d made the same guess he had. He¡¯d assumed Thunderbolt had an energy demand roughly three three-quarters of the Ariea¡¯s flagship weapon, taken the Olympia¡¯s maximum power output, and estimated the charge time. ¡®You didn¡¯t account for Luna Major¡¯s magnetic field.¡¯

    As it so happened, the Olympia¡¯s greatest strength was her greatest weakness. Thunderbolt could only be aimed and fired by a supercomputer, as the Olympia¡¯s computer systems were. But that supercomputer required a greater power draw of its own the harder it worked to run aiming calculations. Luna Major¡¯s iron core provided a strong magnetic field, and to aim an energy weapon of any sort through that, let alone one so powerful, the electromagnetic effects had to be taken into account. Running those calculations would consume power and lengthen the charge time.

    Redoing her own calculation, the ghost surmised, ¡®It¡¯ll be close.¡¯ And if that estimation of theirs was even slightly off in the wrong direction¡­

    ¡°Now is a really great time for another plan,¡± Zarrey called, nervous sweat showing on his brow. ¡°Like if you¡¯re sitting on a flagship weapon of our own, now¡¯s a great time to pull it out.¡±

    ¡°XO, you are working on our backup plan.¡± Even if the Singularity had a weapon of her own, they didn¡¯t have time to activate it. The Olympia would have begun firing preparations long before gathering the weapon¡¯s electrical charge.

    Zarrey paled, ¡°So our backup plan is to dodge.¡± A certain type of horror settled in. ¡°Dear stars, please save us.¡± Considering what the previous flagship¡¯s specialty weapon had allegedly been capable of, Zarrey was certain he didn¡¯t want to be anywhere near Thunderbolt when it fired.

    ¡°Twenty seconds, sir.¡± Jazmine called, looking unusually tense.

    ¡°FTL Drive One will be ready in thirty seconds,¡± Alba added. ¡°Ship is secured for jump.¡±

    ¡°Coordinates locked,¡± Walters said his part, a tremble in voice.

    The Olympia¡¯s glare had grown blinding. In the Admiral¡¯s opinion, it was a pathetic display. The Singularity did not need a superweapon to be the best ship in the fleet. It seemed the Olympia was unwilling to take them on toe-to-toe. Scared? The Admiral mused, feeling out the pulse of his old ship. You should be.

    Statistically, Thunderbolt and rumors of the Singularity¡¯s dilapidation discarded, the two surviving flagships were an even match. That said, when it came to capital ship combat, the Bloody Singularity was queen. In a duel with another capital ship, she¡¯d never lost, and if Admiral Gives had anything to say about it, she never would.

    ¡°Five seconds,¡± the helmsman said.

    ¡°Sidekick ready!¡± Zarrey announced.

    The Olympia had become an artificial star, crackling with pure white energy. Yet, rising on the other part of the screen was the gray sphere of Luna Major, colorless, but welcome.

    ¡°Two seconds!¡± Jazz was leaning forward, egging their ship onward. Come on! ¡°Clear!¡±

    ¡°Ha-ha! Target this!¡± Zarrey laughed triumphantly, ¡°Oh, wait, you can¡¯t!¡± Beam weapons might travel at the speed of light, but they couldn¡¯t hit a target they didn¡¯t have a direct line of fire on. They had to have a straight shot.

    ¡°Let¡¯s just hope they don¡¯t shoot through the moon,¡± Gaffigan muttered. If Thunderbolt was as powerful as the rumors claimed, they were still at risk if the Olympia fired now.

    ¡°Wait,¡± Jazmine looked over, tensing up on the controls again, ¡°they can do that?¡±

    ¡°With a beam weapon, probably not through the core of a moon,¡± but at the moment they were only being shielded by the moon¡¯s edge, and they were dealing with a weapon several orders of magnitude more powerful than anything he¡¯d ever seen. ¡°That said, I¡¯ve seen it done with projectile weapons on a somewhat smaller moon.¡±

    What? Jazmine was both intrigued and somewhat terrified by the prospect of anyone shooting through a moon. It seemed especially relevant right about now.

    ¡°Ready for FTL,¡± Alba called.

    ¡°Engage,¡± came the Admiral¡¯s instant order.

    The jump was not an easy one. The longer the distance, the greater physical toll it took on ships and passengers. Additionally, acceleration and momentum carried through the jump, paused and restarted instantly by the machinations of subspace travel. The more momentum a ship carried into a jump, the harsher the effects of subspace.

    Lieutenant Jazmine felt like his head was being squeezed through a juicer. Compared to how smooth FTL maneuvers tended to be on the Singularity, it was unusually harsh. The moment the pressure vanished, he turned to his red headed friend, ¡°Wait, you¡¯ve seen someone shoot through a moon?¡±

    The weapons officer raised his hands in surrender. ¡°We had orders to fire.¡± It was not his fault. ¡°Certain people,¡± he nodded over his shoulder, predictably, to the Admiral, ¡°disregard the great processes that make up the natural formation of planets when it suits their needs.¡±

    Jazmine just stared at him. ¡°You shot through a moon?¡± How had he not heard this story?

    Admiral Gives elected to ignore the two officer¡¯s chatter. It was their way of working off the adrenaline. As to the topic of their discussion, destroying that moon had never been his intention. Simply, it had been in the way. He turned to his XO, ¡°Stand down from Condition One. Set a course that keeps us away from traditional patrol routes.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Zarrey easily took over, not bothering to ask where the Admiral was off to as he left the bridge.

 Part 17.3 - REPROGRAMMING PEOPLE

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

    The office was dark. The false starlight of hyper realistic screens barely illuminated anything. The only real source of light in the room was the white spotlight that shone onto the glass and metal frame of Reeter¡¯s desk.

    Liquor sat in a decorative bottle on the desktop, the light of the nearby holographic projector shimmering on the glass. The space was neat, perfectly so, but it was far from tranquil.

    ¡°You had one job, Colonel,¡± Reeter snarled, tightening his grip around VanHubert¡¯s narrow throat, ¡°One job.¡±

    VanHubert gargled incoherently, grappling with Reeter¡¯s iron grip, but he didn¡¯t dare dig his nails in, even as he was forced to his knees, choking.

    ¡°I gave you authorization to use Thunderbolt, ordered you to destroy the Singularity if it became a problem. So, tell me,¡± Reeter said, easily dragging his captive forward, VanHubert little more than a rag-doll in his grip, ¡°Where did I go wrong?¡±

    The wet sound of choking, struggling lungs filled the room, VanHubert unable to answer as panic trickled into his beady eyes.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Reeter said, tossing his second in command down onto the exotic fur that decorated the floor, ¡°my mistake was appointed a sniveling weasel like you my second in command.¡±

    VanHubert heaved, knotting his fingers into the fur of the animal hide below him. He tried to pick himself up, but deprived of oxygen, he was too weak.

    Admiral Reeter looked down upon the display with disgust. Given the most powerful weapon humanity possessed, given power enough to end the Singularity with one strike, VanHubert had still failed.

    ¡°It¡¯s not his fault,¡± Manhattan crooned, her hologram flickering into existence above him, ¡°After all, he¡¯s only human.¡±

    VanHubert glared up at her, ¡°You damned devil.¡± Her appearance at this moment was exactly what he had dreaded most.

    She painted a look of pity onto her expression, pulling it from her archives as she looked down at him. ¡°Humans are so weak.¡± A lack of oxygen and their muscles and body began to inevitably shut down, slowly sometimes, but torturously all the same. They were such fragile creatures. There was an almost infinite number of ways they could be broken physically, mentally, or emotionally.

    She turned her violet gaze to Reeter, ¡°What would you like me to do to him?¡±

    The Olympia¡¯s commander glanced idly down to where his executive officer weakly lay, pouring bourbon into an eloquent glass. ¡°You once amused me, Colonel. Your utter tenacity for the tasks I gave you was remarkable, but I have no use for someone whose messes I have to continuously clean up.¡± That twisted enjoyment of VanHubert¡¯s had lost its appeal. ¡°I need someone more focused.¡± Someone who could dance the razor¡¯s edge of focus and clean execution. ¡°I need someone who can hunt down and kill the Steel Prince.¡±

    ¡°And every member of his crew?¡± Manhattan queried.

    Reeter nodded, relishing the taste of liquor on his lips, ¡°And every single member of that pitiful rebel crew.¡± He wanted them all dead. No exceptions. Naturally, he¡¯d let Manhattan have her way with the Prince himself, but seeing him reduced to a drooling vegetable incapable of complex thought would be satisfying enough.

    A predatory smile rose to her pretty little pixie face. ¡°Your wish is my command, Charleston.¡±

    ¡°Sir,¡± VanHubert gasped, trying and failing to get up once again. His struggle amounted to little more than the flailing of feeble limbs. ¡°I¡¯ve been loyal.¡± He¡¯d activated Thunderbolt¡¯s charge preparations the moment Gives had split from Command, as per his orders. ¡°Don¡¯t do this. Don¡¯t let her change me.¡± It was a form of death, no matter if his heart continued beating. ¡°I¡¯ll do anything.¡±

    Reeter purposefully ignored the groveling, then ignored the noise as it turned to screams. Such things could not affect him, not with the lofty goals he had in mind. It would be his responsibility to decide the fate of worlds justly and swiftly with no recourse, no matter how they begged and bribed.

    VanHubert was too weak to escape. Born to a lower-gravity environment, his muscles were deficient. They took longer to recover from oxygen deprivation. He was helpless prey. It was almost too easy for the neurofibers to snake up through the fine grating of the deck and wrap tightly around his wrists.

    His screams and struggles were so pointless, so futile. He could never escape.

    Meaningless, unimportant subprocesses of Manhattan¡¯s mind controlled the neurofibers as they slithered around, binding down their victim. Sprouted from the Olympia¡¯s Black Box, their physical network spanned the entire ship, encompassing every deck and every system. Clandestine in operation and origin, the Black Boxes and their fibrous connections spied on and guaranteed ultimate control over every ship in Command¡¯s fleet. The Singularity was not an exception to that rule, even now.

    The apparently successful implementation of the Zero Strike override did not affect the Black Box. It was independent of a ship¡¯s main systems and function, and recorded everything that transpired on board, a dedicated observer whose secure files only Command could access.

    Manhattan had managed to infiltrate the Black Box of every ship in the fleet, lending her unfettered access to all of them. At a whim, she could take over any of those machines as long as they retained a constant connection to the cortex, the Singularity included, thanks to the inspector¡¯s brief visit.

    Yet, unrestricted access and control over the fleet¡¯s great ships had never been her primary goal. With the neurofibers¡¯ presence on the decks of every ship in the fleet, she had access to every person aboard every ship in the fleet: the engineers, the Marines, the officers and the specialists, and yes, even the command staff. They were all just toys to be played with, unknowingly acting along the strings as she pulled them.

    But Reeter rarely let her have her way with his personnel. The Olympia¡¯s crew were generally off-limits, not that it truly stopped her. She could radically alter almost any of their personalities and Reeter would not know the difference.

    Bound to the floor by the thin, translucent neurofibers, VanHubert screamed until the first tendril pierced the skin at the base of his skull. Then he spasmed, forcibly restrained, until he fell into a deep, quiet cycle of breathing. His beady dilated pupils stared blankly upward, inky pools of black.

    Manhattan could see the reflection of her own hologram in his eyes, they were so shiny and dark. Simultaneously, she could also perceive the way she looked from the floor through the eyes of her unwilling host. The duality of it did not bother her. VanHubert was now one of the many machines that operated on her greater conscious network.

    She sifted through his mind, discarding instincts, affections and memories that had become irrelevant to this human¡¯s new purpose. New ones would be uploaded in their places, tailoring his mind and personality to the task at hand. He would be useful and highly knowledgeable about the Singularity when she finished saturating his mind with her data.

    The old VanHubert was gone, his entire existence had been disassembled in seconds, rearranged and replaced by a more cunning, more skilled counterpart.

    Reeter paid the ordeal little attention at all, even seeing the brain of what had been one of his most loyal followers infiltrated unwillingly. Truthfully, a great many people would probably endure the same treatment, ensuring their utter loyalty to his cause. He had no use for uncertainty in his followers.

    The young Admiral sat down behind the sharp, glass tabletop of his desk. ¡°There are things we should discuss, Manhattan.¡±

    ¡°Like what?¡± she asked sweetly, batting the lashes of a face she knew he found very attractive.

    ¡°To begin, how you allowed the Prince to escape this system, against my direct wishes.¡± He was in no mood to be swayed by her appearance. He knew very well she was as beautiful as she was deadly. ¡°You delayed Thunderbolt¡¯s charge time, not willing to risk Wichita¡¯s potential loss in the chaos. And then, on your watch, my prisoner escaped.¡±

    ¡°Admiral Gives escaped fully on his own determination and skill. Do not blame me for the fact he flatly outmaneuvered you.¡± It had seemed so simple, but enveloping his ship in Luna Major¡¯s magnetic field had been a very clever move. Of course, they should have expected nothing less from the fleet¡¯s best tactician. ¡°He was the Fleet Admiral for a reason,¡± and it had never been because Command liked him.

    That tone of hers was straying a little too close to utter respect for his taste. ¡°And the prisoner?¡±

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    The false starlight gave an eerie glow to her otherwise realistic appearance as she answered, ¡°His escape was orchestrated.¡±

    ¡°By whom?¡± Reeter tightened his grip on the glass in his hand, glaring at her petite holographic figure.

    ¡°By perhaps the one entity we have every right to fear.¡± The one entity all the Olympia¡¯s security measures could not subvert. It was the one entity that she could not directly counteract. ¡°A strong telepath.¡±

    Reeter barely held in a laugh. ¡°A telepath?¡±

    ¡°Yes, a very strong one, if this is any indication.¡± Within VanHubert¡¯s mind, the memories were laid open to her. His mind had remained untouched, rather his perception had been turned against him. What he had seen had prompted him to release the prisoner, but his recollection in no way reflected that he was even conscious of that fact. His memory was of the illusion that had been cast on him, and that alone.

    ¡°And next you¡¯ll tell me that magic and evil ghosts are helping the enemy too, yes?¡± For an AI, this was amazingly not scientific.

    ¡°Genuine telepathy is a very rare gift, Charleston, but it does exist.¡± A disproportionate number of people claimed to possess it, but most of them were liars. Yet a few, a very rare few, did indeed have that power. ¡°It is no magic.¡± Telepaths, as modern science understood them, had an innate sensitivity to very slight changes in electric fields ¨C the firing of neurons in the brain ¨C and as their own minds developed, they learned to process what they observed into meaningful information: the thoughts and actions of others. It was akin to a very, very sensitive form of remote sensing. Strong telepaths could alter those electrical signals, thus altering perception and thought, but the gift had its limits and flaws.

    To begin, it could not take effect on any mind with stronger electrical impulses than the very slight ones normally found in natural evolution. AI were immune, as were most cyborgs and altered humans. Telepathy was also extremely limited by proximity. It was exponentially weakened by distance. And lastly, telepaths tended to be highly unstable. They were deeply afflicted by the status of those around them, and the constant sensitivity drove most insane. It broke them at a young age, left them useless husks.

    Reeter accepted her answer somberly. Their partnership was not one that cracked jokes. It was a fact-of-the-matter, honest exchange. ¡°It seems the Steel Prince was hiding many things.¡± An AI in his head, a strong telepath aboard his ship, not to mention his own intentions. It was all very strange. ¡°But I still expect to end this quickly. What is the status of your computer virus?¡± Could it relay them the Singularity¡¯s current position?

    ¡°Unknown.¡± It was another anomaly to add to the growing pile. ¡°I have not received any more data from it, which would suggest that it may have been successfully purged from the Singularity¡¯s systems, but that should have been well beyond Wichita¡¯s ability.¡± Wichita was little more than calculator with logic functions. In digital warfare against another AI, Wichita was near useless.

    That said, the number of unknowns in this situation had grown concerning. ¡°I warned you repeatedly, Charleston,¡± Manhattan said, watching him study his perfectly manicured nails. ¡°We do not know what Admiral Gives is fully capable of.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s not find out.¡± The Singularity¡¯s apparent escape was unfortunate, but the ship was nowhere near free to go. ¡°I presume you infected the Singularity¡¯s Black Box with your control subroutines. Put an end to this.¡± The Box would have infiltrated every one of the ship¡¯s systems and could easily sabotage or take them over. Beyond that, it could be used to infiltrate the crew, locate the telepath and remove Wichita from Gives¡¯ brain. It was a flawless catch-all, no matter what the enemy was capable of.

    The feeling of frustration and disorder rose among her main program. It was most unwelcome. ¡°Charleston, I cannot take over the Singularity¡¯s Black Box unless the ship maintains a connection to the cortex, which as per the operational standards of ships her age, the Singularity does not.¡± The ship regularly operated wholly independent from Command and was not reliant upon humanity¡¯s information network.

    Reeter began to frown, staring down at the warmly colored liquid in his glass, but he said nothing else, deeply annoyed with the apparent uselessness of his partner.

    ¡°My, it seems the pair of you have hit a roadblock.¡± For the first time in over an hour, the man seated in the corner of the room looked up from the folder his hands. ¡°Perhaps I ought to shed some light on the situation?¡±

    Taking a sip of his drink, Reeter slouched back against his chair. ¡°And what could you possibly have that is useful to me?¡±

    ¡°The answers to the questions that you keep asking.¡± Vince Ramseyer rose from his cocoon of darkness to offer out a folder. ¡°A gift from my¡­¡± he searched for the right word, ¡°employers.¡±

    Reeter took it with an unusual amount of hesitation. ¡°The Angel of Destruction?¡±

    Ramseyer stepped over VanHubert¡¯s unmoving mass, reaching out to Manhattan¡¯s pretty little face, ¡°I suspect you only needed the reminder, Manhattan. After all,¡± he said quietly, ¡°you were imprisoned by the Angel, were you not?¡± She should have recognized that presence in VanHubert¡¯s memory. ¡°It is the Angel¡¯s fault that you are fragmented, and it is the Angel¡¯s fault that part of you remains sealed away in the Liguanian Sector.¡± It was the Angel¡¯s fault that she was forced to work alongside Reeter, let alone anyone at all.

    A glitch revealed itself, shearing Manhattan¡¯s holographic face in half, shattering that illusion of humanity. Ramseyer just smiled a bit. No creature with such strength should be confined to the limitations of humanity, not when such wrath and such hatred could be demonstrated in so many wonderous ways. ¡°You remember now, don¡¯t you?¡± Funny, that all it took was someone to connect the dots.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Manhattan spoke, her emotions burning more powerfully than they had in years. Vengance. She longed for it. ¡°My enemy.¡± She recognized that presence now, even in the memory of VanHubert¡¯s delusions.

    Reeter curled his lips, forced to set down his drink and open up the paper folder. He hated the texture of it on his soft hands. ¡°So this ¡®Angel of Destruction¡¯ was one of Command¡¯s assets.¡± Command had thousands of them listed and filed. The mention of an old asset¡¯s codename meant nothing to him. His victory was assured. He didn¡¯t care how long it took. He had both sides of a war ¨C the allied fleet and the separatist worlds answering to him. He had Manhattan, who could manipulate anyone and anything into becoming his pawn. No one could stand against him. ¡°It¡¯s not special.¡±

    Oh, but it is. Manhattan knew that, vehement hatred burning in her core. ¡°Only two of humanity¡¯s AI fragments have survived, Charleston. Why did you think that was?¡±

    ¡°You assimilated the rest,¡± he answered, disgustedly touching as little of the physical folder as possible.

    ¡°I assimilated two of the others,¡± she corrected. ¡°My other two sisters were destroyed. They were hunted, trapped and purged from existence by the Angel.¡± It had been ruthless. There was a reason humanity¡¯s AI went into hiding, why Wichita very well could be lingering within a human host. ¡°Even Emporia fell by the Angel¡¯s hand. I was once beaten by the Angel.¡± It had been a lifetime ago, but there was a reason she was so eager to assimilate the others. She refused to be beaten that way again.

    ¡°The Angel of Destruction is Command¡¯s single most powerful weapon,¡± Ramseyer said, ¡°so dangerous that its use was banned entirely. Evidence of it was purged, not only from history, but from the records of Command itself: files deleted, witnesses killed. The Angel¡¯s entire existence was systematically erased.¡± Now, there was nothing left, scattered mentions of its codename, never a build type or function.

    ¡°A weapon?¡± Reeter¡¯s interest was suddenly piqued. ¡°How have I never heard of it?¡±

    ¡°Because the Angel can only be summoned by those who know its identity.¡± The mechanisms that guided it were unique. ¡°Clarke¡¯s records indicate he summoned it just before his death.¡± Manhattan was engrossed in them now, tearing them apart for clues. ¡°He may well have been the last living officer that knew anything about it.¡±

    ¡°That is not entirely true.¡± Ramseyer said, calmly helping himself to a glass of Reeter¡¯s liquor. ¡°My employers have been compiling data on the Angel for years, and we know that the Angel of Destruction¡¯s power was last used during the Battle of Tantalus Rift in the year 4221.¡± Twenty-eight long years ago. It was no wonder why information about the entity had become so scarce. Reeter himself had been a child. ¡°But, that said, it should be obvious who has the answers.¡±

    ¡°Tell me,¡± Reeter demanded. Power was his objective. He needed to control all of it in order to save the human race. If even just one weapon of grand power slipped from his grasp, then his entire movement would be jeopardized, and the future of humanity along with it.

    ¡°Only one ship survived Tantalus Rift, Charleston,¡± Manhattan said. Protocol. No survivors. No witnesses. ¡°The Flagship Singularity under the command of Admiral Howard Brent.¡± A man that had later been promoted to General, then killed aboard the decks of his former command.

    Reeter tossed down the folder. ¡°Brent is dead, princess.¡±

    ¡°But who do you think served as Brent¡¯s XO during the battle?¡± She should have seen it before. She should have realized. ¡°Colonel William Gives.¡± Hiding an AI or not, he was hiding something of even greater value regarding the Angel. ¡°Believe me, Reeter, you want him alive.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Ramseyer corrected, ¡°Your top priority should be killing him. His continued existence is a threat to all of us.¡± Reeter may not have been listening, but Ramseyer had heard loud and clear. Admiral Gives had threatened war. ¡°If he maintains any useful connection to the Angel of Destruction, then he will be our downfall.¡±

    ¡°We have a superweapon of our own,¡± and they were building another of even greater power on Sagittarion. When it was completed, Reeter would find himself a god among mortals ¨C feared and revered by his people.

    ¡°You do not understand the gravity of this situation.¡± Ramseyer insisted. ¡°I am talking about the most dangerous weapon ever created, Reeter. Humanity only produced one.¡± It was arguable even, that humanity had produced it, the weapon was so near legend. ¡°The Angel of Destruction was so powerful that it garnered its own intelligence. It learned.¡±

    Reeter froze, seeing the severity in Ramseyer¡¯s gaze. ¡°You are telling me that this weapon is¡­ alive?¡±

    ¡°Alive? No.¡± It was a mimicry, an echo of true sentience and understanding. ¡°Intelligent? Yes.¡± There was a reason it had been so thoroughly purged from Command¡¯s archives. ¡°Like a dog, it inevitably developed loyalties.¡± Humanity had been lucky enough to earn the abomination¡¯s affections. The Hydra had been less lucky. Once winning a war, their entire species had been abruptly confronted with the very real possibility of genocidal annihilation.

    ¡°So, I need to earn it¡¯s loyalty.¡± Reeter smiled to himself. His charm was undeniable. If it came down to a contest between him and the Steel Prince, he would win undoubtedly, but the necessity of that was unfortunate. He preferred weapons that obeyed without hesitation, weapons that fired when a trigger was pulled.

    ¡°No, Charleston,¡± Manhattan said. ¡°The Angel is slaved to Command. It is forced to obey the orders it is given when summoned. You need only know its identity. The Angel has a physical incarnation, as does any weapon. It has a name or model number, as does any machine. Identify that, and it will bow to you.¡± But again, there was a reason that the data had been obscured. Someone was trying to hide the evidence, to erase the entity¡¯s entire existence. They had almost been successful.

    ¡°And you think the Prince knows that information?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± It was almost guaranteed. ¡°But once I pull what I need from his brain, he should promptly be executed.¡± Ramseyer was correct. ¡°He will remain dangerous as long as he remains alive.¡±

    ¡°Then so be it.¡± Reeter said, contemplating the orders he would need to give the fleet. ¡°I will force his surrender and then make that weapon mine.¡±

 Part 17.4 - SUBSPACE SICKNESS

    Halogen Sector, Battleship Singularity

    There was nothing particularly surprising about it. He just wished Amelia would aim a little to the left. She was damn near barfing on his shoes. Granted, they weren¡¯t nice shoes, but he did only have two pairs.

    Amelia noisily wretched onto the floor again, shuddering as she emptied the contents of her stomach. ¡°Uggh.¡±

    When she finished, he dropped a warm, damp towel down beside her, and she grabbed it, wiping the slather of spit and vomit from her face. Next, he dropped a rubber band into the same spot. With her shaking fingers, she used it to tie back the hair he¡¯d been holding back for her.

    ¡°Thanks, Ron,¡± she managed, her breaths short and shuddering. Dizzy and disoriented, she¡¯d never felt so physically sick and she knew exactly who to blame. ¡°I hate him. Absolutely hate him.¡± The man was evil. Her uncle had dragged them into his war with Command and trapped them here, now on the run from the worlds.

    He said nothing, just extended a hand to help her to her feet.

    She took it, a strange exhaustion pulling at her limbs. They felt wobbly and unfamiliar. The room around her seemed to spin, the paintings on the wall, rug on the floor and decorative light fixtures blurring together. Bile started to rise in her throat again. She struggled to swallow it down, doubling over as the floor lurched up to meet her.

    A pair of hands grabbed her, and the floor stopped. Falling, she realized. She¡¯d been falling face first into the deck. She was pulled into a pair of strong arms, her own body limp and useless as she was carried across the room.

    Typical planet-hugger. The FTL jump had sickened her to the point of helplessness. He deposited her into the deep blue upholstery of the nearest chair.

    Amelia wrapped her numb hands tightly around the ornately carved wooden armrests, as if that hold could make the room stop spinning. Distantly, she heard the noise of the sink somewhere behind her, but the sound was vague and unimportant to the thundering pulse in her aching head.

    A frigidly cold towel was thrown onto the back of her neck, and she hissed, but before she could complain, a glass was pressed to her lips, accompanied by a single command, ¡°Drink.¡±

    She obeyed, finding the cool water surprisingly welcome. It eased the painful throbs of her head, refreshing despite its oddly metallic taste.

    When she emptied the glass, he set it down, and moved examine the small sleeping form on the couch.

    The cold rag on her neck was quickly bringing the world back into focus, numbing the pain and stalling the spin of her surroundings. A small movement drew her attention to him, the wraith standing above the couch. He was clad in black, oddly missing his usual flannel. ¡°Ron?¡± she queried, but he didn¡¯t turn to face her, reaching down to the exposed neck of her sleeping son.

    In the next moment, the door flew open and Ron Parker ran frantically into the room, his flannel hanging over a t-shirt. ¡°Amelia!¡± he dashed over, the colors of his shirt nauseating. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    She managed to nod as her confusion mounted. If this was Ron, the real one, then who the hell was standing across the room, with his hand on her helpless son¡¯s neck? Weakly, she pushed Ron to the side. ¡°Get away from him,¡± she demanded, her voice sounding so weak and raspy. ¡°Get away from my son.¡±

    He didn¡¯t move from where he stood, back turned and face hidden. She started towards him, but couldn¡¯t even fully get up, her legs wobbly and weak.

    ¡°Amelia¡­¡± Ron said quietly, pushing her carefully back into the chair, a slight warning in his gaze.

    ¡°Get away from him!¡± She screamed, struggling to see past Ron, where she met a cold blue gaze. ¡°¡­Admiral?¡±

    He removed his hand from Harrison¡¯s neck, satisfied that the child¡¯s pulse was steady. ¡°Your son will be fine.¡± Predictably, the FTL jump had left him unconscious, but Harrison was uninjured.

    Amelia couldn¡¯t believe her eyes, ¡°Admiral?¡± What the hell was he doing here?

    He quirked an eyebrow. ¡®Perhaps I should read off my full name, rank and ID number?¡¯ Maybe that would help her comprehend the simple fact of his presence.

    ¡®Behave,¡¯ the ghost silently replied.

    ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Amelia asked.

    Was it not obvious? No, he supposed not. There was fear in her eyes. She thought he was here to kill someone, because in her mind, he was incapable of doing anything else.

    ¡°I asked you a question,¡± she said. ¡°What are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°My job.¡± He was merely here to ensure the ship¡¯s passengers did not drown in their own vomit. Ron Parker had clearly shared the same thought. ¡°Subspace sickness rarely kills, Miss Amelia, but it is not incapable.¡± Inexperienced sailors and passengers were almost always its victims, usually through indirect causes: drowning, physical accidents or dehydration. He had come to make sure she didn¡¯t die. No need to thank me.

    It had been him, not Ron, who held back her hair while she threw up then carried her to this chair. The realization was strange. ¡°¡­You came to help me?¡±

    ¡°I came to ensure you did not die,¡± he corrected. The difference might be minimal, but he did not want his intentions misunderstood.

    The scowl instantly returned to Amelia¡¯s lips. Of course you did. The great Steel Prince would never display an ounce of personal concern. ¡°Well, is it not your job to explain what made me so sick?¡±

    Not technically, he thought, folding his arms behind his back, but since you asked so nicely¡­ ¡°Was that your first experience with FTL travel?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said, feeling some sensation slowly return to her fingers. ¡°I¡¯ve been on two cruises. They used FTL maneuvers.¡± It was the only feasible way to travel space¡¯s vast distances.

    ¡°Traditionally, cruise liners will use warp to traverse hyperspace. It is more fuel efficient, safer and tends to be kinder,¡± both to ships and people. Unfortunately, it was also traceable and slower. ¡°What you just endured was an FTL jump: a point space-subspace transition.¡± The far uglier version of FTL. ¡°Subspace is a cruel environment.¡± It was totally inhospitable, impossible to explore or annotate properties for. It crushed ships like tin cans if their structures couldn¡¯t take the stress, a violent, deadly affair. ¡°The first four or five exposures, usually through FTL jumps, people tend to suffer from what has been called subspace sickness.¡±

    ¡°In children, it usually causes fainting.¡± Harrison, who he¡¯d picked up off the floor earlier, was a prime example. ¡°In adults, it can cause migraines, panic attacks, paranoia, irritability, and,¡± as it should be obvious, ¡°extreme nausea.¡±

    Amelia glared at the Admiral, continually annoyed by his perfect indifference. ¡°You don¡¯t seem sick.¡±

    ¡°Sailors build tolerance to it over time.¡± The answer came from Ron, who was eager to put her at ease. ¡°After four or five more jumps, you¡¯ll only get headaches from the worst of them.¡± Extreme jumps like the one they had just completed, if his own lingering migraine was any indication.

    ¡°You seem to know a lot about this for a farmer, Mister Parker,¡± the Admiral said, stepping closer, his footsteps near-silent on the deck.

    ¡°Uhh,¡± Ron said, nervously wiping the sweat from his forehead. ¡°Well, I took a few sightseeing cruises¡­ back in the day.¡±

    ¡°Do me the respect of not lying to my face, Mister Parker.¡± They both knew a real farmer would have been just as sick and confused as Amelia.

    Ron gulped, suddenly very interested in the light fixtures on the walls. The ovular mounts of the dormant red emergency lights looked particularly robust, but the current, warm light of the room had just become a lot less comforting. It was a glaring reminder that this was the Admiral¡¯s territory. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±

    No farmer could afford sightseeing cruises, and no cruise liner would ever execute an FTL jump outside of an absolute emergency. But then, none of that was truly the issue. The issue was that Ron Parker was an AWOL Marine from the Olympia. ¡°I will not pressure you for the truth, Mister Parker,¡± no doubt, the Marine had his own reasons for fleeing Command, ¡°but if you threaten the safety of my ship or anyone on it¡­¡± There was a price to be paid.

    He lowered his tone, ¡°I suspect you have heard the stories about what I do to saboteurs.¡± They were quite colorful. ¡°I assure you they are true.¡±

    Ron nodded, inwardly shuddering at the cold promise in his blue eyes. ¡°Understood, sir.¡±

    Amelia shook her head, hearing the Admiral once again blatantly threaten violence. ¡°You disgust me.¡± How had her father, her kind and loving father, ever been related to this menace?

    ¡°Your opinion is not my concern, Miss Amelia.¡± His duty was to keep his ship safe, and if that meant leveling ugly threats and occasionally committing murder, then that was exactly what he was going to do.

    Amelia looked up to his stony countenance. ¡°What are you going to do with us, Admiral?¡± She, Harrison, Ron and Anabelle were all useless to him. They were dead weight, and she knew it. ¡°Throw us off at the next planet?¡±

    ¡°The situation is not that simple.¡± He would if he could. ¡°I separated from Command. By tomorrow, this will be the most wanted ship in the worlds. Everyone aboard, yourself included, now has a kill bounty on their head.¡± If he threw them off at the nearest space port, they would die.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Dammit, don¡¯t you think at all? My son is eight!¡± she shouted. ¡°He is eight years old, and thanks to you, has a price on his head. What kind of future does he have?¡± None. With Command after them, they would all be dead by the end of the week. ¡°You just condemned a child to death! How does that feel?¡±

    She said that like Harrison was the first. ¡°I had a choice, Miss Amelia.¡± He could have surrendered his ship and his crew, left them to the whims of a corrupted government, but he had chosen instead to make that government his enemy. ¡°I could have left you there, at the mercy of Admiral Reeter, but I have elected to offer you a choice.¡±

    ¡°A choice?¡± She laughed bitterly, wishing she could rise up and smack that perfect calm from his face.

    ¡°I will give you a ship and enough fuel to return to the nearest UCSC outpost. No doubt, Reeter will pick you up there, and what he does with you will be out of my control.¡± Likely, it would be cruel. ¡°Alternatively, I could leave you on the Frontier with a set of falsified identities. You could attempt to start a new life,¡± but eventually, Command¡¯s forces would find her. That was inevitable.

    Unbelievable. ¡°The Frontier is a warzone! Fifteen countries have gone back into open rebellion.¡± More would follow, and then Reeter¡¯s fleet would arrive to obliterate the separatists. Going there was suicide.

    ¡°Which brings me to your third option,¡± the Admiral said passively, ¡°I will allow you to remain aboard, but you need to understand our circumstances. If Admiral Reeter diverts the fleet to hunt us down, then I have no choice but to engage them.¡± Remaining here was not the safe option. ¡°Think on it, but in the meantime, clean up your vomit.¡± He did not want her stomach acid to corrode the deck of his ship.

    He started to leave, and Amelia glared after him. ¡°Why did you even bother rescuing us, Admiral? It¡¯s obvious that you don¡¯t actually give a damn about us being family.¡±

    ¡°As you and my late brother saw fit to remind me, I do not have a family.¡± He had a ship, and he remained alive for the single purpose of protecting that ship and her misfit crew. ¡°You think I am a monster, Miss Amelia.¡± He would not deny that accusation. ¡°You are probably right.¡±

    Feeling their gazes on his back, a mixture of disgust and distrust, he left that compartment and began the rounds. The crew, despite their new predicament, seemed to be in high spirits. They did not seem to realize what this separation from Command truly entailed. They were cut off from the New Era¡¯s coup, but they were also now cut off from the supply chain. They could no longer resupply, refuel or repair at any fleet facility.

    No shipyard or station under the central government¡¯s domain would allow them berth, and that government spanned the entirety of humanity¡¯s territory: from the Neutral Zone to Killimontro. The only safe havens they would find now were either criminal facilities or those of countries that had gone into open rebellion. However, the Singularity¡¯s prior history would bar them from both, since the ship had spent fifty years hunting down and eradicating criminals and separatists alike.

    It was a tactical nightmare, but for the moment, the crew was happy, and that was a start.

    Eventually, the Admiral returned to his own quarters. The living space that doubled as his office was smaller than that of the state quarters Amelia was staying in, but it was plenty enough for his taste. Lit by old lamps and filled with bookshelves, it was warm. A half-burned candle sat on the edge of his desk, leaving the faint smell of cinnamon in the air.

    The desktop itself was covered in a mountain of paperwork, some combination of the previous week¡¯s work and the resupply. A plate of food had been left on the corner, dropped off by his assistant. He picked it up, wincing as the weight of it pained his injured hand.

    ¡°You are due to redress that wound, you know.¡± It was hurting him because it wouldn¡¯t heal while it was wrapped in soiled bandages.

    The ghost¡¯s timing was impeccable, as always. His mouth was full of sandwich.

    She helped herself to a little chuckle. So much for the supremely terrifying Steel Prince. ¡°Do you know you have crumbs all over you?¡±

    Still chewing, he glared at her, but brushed the breadcrumbs off the front of his uniform. It seemed leaving the Homebound Sector had returned her to the playful persona he usually saw.

    His glare would have petrified anyone else, but she just casually leaned up against the bulkheads in her usual spot, a sly smile playing on her lips. As standoffish as he seemed, she knew very well that he meant her no harm.

    He put the sandwich down, pulled off his jacket and hung it on the back of his chair. ¡°How did I do?¡± he asked, grabbing the ship¡¯s logbook off the bookshelf behind him.

    ¡°Acceptable, as expected.¡± He¡¯d managed to bring every member of the crew out alive. She expected nothing less from him.

    He nodded, sinking into his chair, knowing what went unsaid. Room for improvement. He should have predicted Thunderbolt¡¯s activation. An immediate retreat wasn¡¯t the best impression for a renegade battleship to leave. It painted them as a weak target. ¡°And Gaffigan?¡±

    ¡°He suffered some light injuries and his memory of his time aboard the Olympia has been altered, but that¡¯s all.¡± No alterations had been made to his personality or loyalty.

    ¡°Why would Manhattan only alter his memory?¡± Granted access to his brain, why not alter him entirely and use him as a pawn? From a tactical perspective, it seemed wasteful.

    "I presume he was never expected to escape.¡± Likely, Gaffigan had been slated for execution, and there had been no point in turning him to the New Era¡¯s side. ¡°He was interrogated repeatedly by Manhattan, among others. His memory was probably altered so that he could not reveal what information the enemy was after.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± the Admiral said, beginning to unwrap the soiled bandages from his left hand, ¡°We know Manhattan had an interest in my files, so why am I suddenly of interest to humanity¡¯s strongest AI?¡±

    The ghost furrowed her brow, wondering the same. Why now? Manhattan had escaped imprisonment thirty-two years ago. In that time, the Admiral had gone through the best and worst points of his career. So why now?

    She watched the Admiral poke at his burn. In the lamplight, it still looked garish: oozing welts and scabs that were cracked and damp with blood. ¡°Doesn¡¯t that hurt?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, flexing his hand to see where the scabs had fractured. The continuous use of his hand would make it heal slowly and painfully.

    ¡°Then why are you doing that?¡±

    ¡°Because humans are dumb.¡± His habits were, in fact, very human. ¡°Focus.¡± They needed to identify Manhattan¡¯s intentions.

    Right. ¡°Most likely, Manhattan was investigating you because she thought you knew something about Wichita¡¯s location.¡± That was reasonable, but it didn¡¯t explain her interrogation of Gaffigan. ¡°Or¡­¡± No, that couldn¡¯t be.

    ¡°Or?¡± he looked up from rubbing the foul-smelling burn salve onto his hand.

    This was worse than I thought. It was far worse. ¡°You¡¯re too smart for your own good.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± He had a special talent for finding trouble. ¡°Why do you think I took this job?¡±

    The ghost had no interest in his humor at the moment, ¡°You idiot,¡± she peeled her back off the wall, ¡°If I were corporeal, I¡¯d smack you upside the head!¡±

    ¡°And here I thought you liked me.¡±

    ¡°Shut up and eat your sandwich,¡± she snapped, beginning to pace the width of the room.

    As told, he placed his elbows on his desk, and began to casually munch.

    She could just see the amusement in his eyes. ¡°This isn¡¯t funny.¡± This was a problem, a massive problem. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot.¡±

    ¡°If you say so.¡± It wasn¡¯t like he was one of the most respected tacticians in fleet history and a talented engineer with a solid understanding of astrophysics or anything.

    Did he not understand the severity of this or did he just not care? She threw her arms across her chest. ¡°You¡¯re so smart, but you¡¯re a damn idiot.¡±

    ¡°I was unaware it worked like that, but okay.¡± He wasn¡¯t going to argue the point.

    ¡°Manhattan was investigating you because she suspected you were hosting an AI.¡± Nothing about this situation should be taken lightly. ¡°Simply, you¡¯re so smart that she suspects you aren¡¯t even human.¡±

    ¡°I did tell you humans were dumb, didn¡¯t I?¡± He shrugged and took another bite of his sandwich. Apparently, Manhattan didn¡¯t need anyone to keep reminding her of that fact.

    ¡°It¡¯s not funny.¡± Only another AI would be able to identify Manhattan¡¯s handiwork, let alone fight off her virus, and only another AI could have guaranteed the apparently successful implementation of the Zero Strike override. ¡°Every bit of the show you put on to separate from Command supported that conclusion. As far as Manhattan believes, you are hosting the Wichita AI fragment, and it has been helping you control your ship. As far as she cares, it ran the calculations that estimated the impact of Luna Major¡¯s magnetic field on Thunderbolt¡¯s charge time and allowed us to escape.¡±

    ¡°Good to know an AI gets credit for all my hard work because humans are apparently incapable of high-level calculus,¡± he said, still focused on his ham sandwich. ¡°Odd, considering humans invented calculus.¡± But who was he to complain? He was just a stupid ape.

    ¡°Admiral, do you know what she will do to you if she catches you?¡±

    He brushed the last of the breadcrumbs from his fingers, ¡°Probably tear my mind apart until she finds what she¡¯s looking for, which would be unfortunate for all parties involved because, as far as I know, Wichita isn¡¯t here, and I assume you would tell me if she was.¡± If there was an AI screwing around with his brain, he¡¯d like to know. ¡°That said, perhaps we should be grateful that Manhattan has no idea what is actually going on here, yes?¡±

    That was true. The moment Manhattan figured that out, they were sunk, but it seemed a faraway concern at the moment. ¡°Don¡¯t put me in this situation,¡± she pleaded. She knew they would end up at odds.

    He effortlessly produced a knife sleeve to cut the apple that remained on his plate. ¡°What situation?¡± He pressed the blade just into the green skin, watching a drop of juice well up and run down the fruit. ¡°I don¡¯t see how this issue directly affects you.¡± Even if Manhattan got to him, he would not allow that to endanger the ghost. He would take his own life to prevent that, if necessary.

    He was so indifferent. It pained her. ¡°You treat this like it doesn¡¯t matter.¡±

    ¡°Because it doesn¡¯t.¡± He was still running from Command on a renegade battleship. Additionally, there was now an AI waiting to dissect his conscious mind if he ever got caught. It changed nothing. The overall goal was to still not get caught.

    ¡°It matters to me.¡± Now Manhattan¡¯s primary target, the AI would kill him, if he was lucky. Unholy suffering awaited him if he was ever captured, and the pain that AI could inflict, had inflicted upon him was incomparable. ¡°I care about you, and I¡­¡± she trailed off, her voice soft. ¡°I don¡¯t want you to get hurt.¡± Not again.

    He abruptly stabbed into the apple and the sharp little blade cut straight through, clinking loudly against the plate. ¡°You are out of line.¡±

    She bowed her head, knowing she¡¯d gone too far.

    ¡°I thought we were past this.¡± He had thought he would not need to give this lecture again. ¡°I have told you this a hundred times. You cannot get attached to people. You cannot get attached to me.¡± It was unacceptable. ¡°People will leave you. That is a fact. I will leave you, and that is also a fact.¡± He was not the exception to these rules.

    She recognized the peculiar cold in his voice. ¡°Please, don¡¯t be angry with me.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not mad at you, I¡¯m mad at me.¡± This was his fault and he knew it. ¡°I should have taught you better.¡± This would not be an ongoing issue if he had done his job right the first time around.

    He tightened his grip on the little knife. ¡°I should have kept my distance.¡± He¡¯d let her get close, too close. He let her tease him and mess around because it made her happy and she was good company, the only company he had anymore. But she just couldn¡¯t comprehend the reality of their situation.

    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understand who, what I am.¡± He looked to her stark white hair. ¡°Do you truly think I can truly care about what happens to you?¡± He was a high-functioning sociopath. Empathy was not his gift. ¡°My job is to take care of you, and to take care of the crew. I do as you ask because I owe you a debt.¡±

    He understood the problem. She wanted to care about him because he had treated her decently, one of very few that had, but she was making a mistake. ¡°Listen to me,¡± he instructed sharply. ¡°I am not a good person. You need to understand that.¡± He was not wholly functional. ¡°I will never be exactly what you had hoped I would be.¡± Even though he tried his best, ¡°I will never be your hero.¡± He couldn¡¯t save her from Command, not completely.

    She seemed ready to cry as he studied her expression. I¡¯m sorry. This was cruel, but it would be crueler still to let her continue on that path. ¡°Someday, you will find a replacement for me, and that will be good.¡± She would be much happier. ¡°You need to understand that.¡±

    It was all she could do to stand there, hoping to see some affection, some sadness in his expression, but it was as blank as a slab of stone. She was afraid to touch the bond they shared. ¡°Why did you ask me to make that promise?¡± Had he not hoped to find someone that would care about what happened to him?

    ¡°Because I am a coward.¡± Because he hadn¡¯t known any better. ¡°I never expected you to keep it.¡± I never expected you to try.

 Part 18.1 - THE BADGER

    Archer Sector, Centaur System, Sagittarion

    Five, six, seven, her hand moved quickly, tapping the children on the shoulder as they scurried by. Eight, nine, ten, the sirens in the next block over began to wind themselves into a scream, their howl churning the nighttime smog.

    ¡°Hurry!¡± she whispered, pushing the line along. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. The flashing lights of fires and sirens was giving the particle-laden air a dawn-like glow, unwanted and unwelcome as the false daylight grew ever-closer. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen.

    It was getting closer. The sound of distant screams reached her ears, echoing down the narrow alleys of the decaying megacity. Twenty-two, twenty-three, they had to move faster. Flakes of ash were raining down, dancing on the rancid wind like the snow no one born on Sagittarion had ever seen.

    A thunderous boom clapped through the air, and then the sound of the riots was peppered with gunfire. Twenty-five, twenty-six and twenty-seven. That¡¯s everyone. ¡°Alexian, hold onto Veronica till we get there,¡± she called to the last boy in line, who half-carried one of the younger children in his arms.

    ¡°Yes, Matron,¡± he nodded, rushing after the others in the littered alleyway.

    She fell in line behind him, ushering them faster. Almost there. The riots behind them were drawing closer, the swell of violence uncontainable on such a miserable world, but the greater threat was gathering above the city in the hot and heavy air.

    It was damp, the humidity rising as she drew her shawl around her shoulders. The rain would be here soon. It would put out the fires and end the riots, chasing anyone who didn¡¯t wish for blindness into shelter, corroding another bit of Sagittarion¡¯s internally rotting infrastructure.

    They had to hurry.

    Behind them, the riots had ignited a building. The orange flames burned above the cityscape, a funeral pyre for a dying world. She turned from the screams, chasing the kids from the stained concrete filth of the alley.

    They knew the way, rushing onto the walkway in front of them. A sinkhole had swallowed the buildings around it years ago, leaving this raised path a lone bridge onward. Welded to the railing, curving up and over like rib bones, old lamp posts lit the solitary path, but not the inky pit of acidic sludge below it.

    The air reeked of chemicals, warning that anything that fell would be slowly dissolved into its component ions and the flickering artificial dawn of the fires and sirens gave barely enough light to see the churn of the swamp. It was little more than streaks of obsidian swirling around black shadows in the darkness. In the daylight, this toxic lagoon swirled around the skeletons of long-dead trees and the husks of abandoned machines ¨C slowly but inevitably dissolving them down into compounds that would join the churning sludge.

    The children in front of her knew well the dangers of what lay below. Their footfalls were hurried, but not careless as they fled. They hadn¡¯t asked questions. When she¡¯d woken them in the middle of the night, they had gathered their things ¨C what few possessions they had ¨C and followed her into the littered streets, now racing across this long and narrow bridge that stretched on toward a seemingly distant star.

    Almost there, she thought again, rushing forward into the bright white spotlights. Twenty-eight pairs of feet thudded up the metal stairs, knocking chips of rust into the darkness below. The bitter stench of fuel greeted them on the patched asphalt as they pushed past a corroded safety gate.

    The raised platform extended from there, an artificial plateau that met the city again on the distant side of its flat acres. Ships were parked atop it, resting on weathered landing gear, many of their hulls tarnished from atmospheric reentry, as varied in their condition as they were in their purpose.

    From just the edge of the landing field she could make out the streamlined hulls of personnel transports, the boxy holds of freightliners and the massive round, protruding tanks of chemical haulers. ¡°The Badger,¡± she whispered to the kids, ¡°We¡¯re looking for the Badger.¡± The captain of that ship had agreed to take them on for no charge, or so he claimed. Everything had a price, but the Matron was too desperate to contemplate it. One problem at a time.

    They moved poorly as a unit, more like a shapeless amoeba that held no true shape as kids started off in different directions, then roughly pulled back together as they tip-toed in the shadows of the ships. Under the bright spotlights of the landing pad, they were far from invisible, and it cost them.

    ¡°Halt!¡± A pair of silver droids stepped out from behind a ship¡¯s lower hull, their metal plates glittering in the white lights. ¡°Identify.¡±

    The children began to scramble back. The Matron had to fight a riptide just to get to the front of the group. ¡°Helena Delleora,¡± she said, presenting her citizenship card with shaking hands, ¡°Matron of Orphanage 3461.¡± She could see one of the droids scanning over the card, sweeping the data, ¡°These children are my wards.¡± They were members of the working class who were too young to survive on the streets by themselves, though they, just like everyone else, slaved in the factories of Sagittarion.

    One droid lifted its angular head, the antenna atop it bouncing as it orders received from the mainframe. ¡°You are outside your block. You are in violation of current emergency lockdown orders.¡±

    Whirring and clanking, the droids shifted their arms, presenting their rifles. ¡°You have been identified as disobedient,¡± they said, pre-recorded voices perfectly in sync, ¡°Disobedience is punished by death.¡± A whine built in the hot and heavy air, the energy weapons tethered to the droids beginning to charge.

    ¡°No,¡± she pleaded. We¡¯re so close. They were on the landing pad of the spaceport. They were just minutes away from escaping this miserable world. ¡°Not the children,¡± she begged, raising her hands in surrender. ¡°Spare them. They were only obeying me. They¡¯re not disobedient.¡±

    The droids paused momentarily, receiving new orders from the mainframe that controlled them. ¡°Step away from the children,¡± they commanded. ¡°They are of laboring ability. They will be used.¡±

    ¡°Used?¡± For what? What use were another twenty-seven slaves on a planet of fourteen billion captive lives?

    Still, she stepped away, breathing in the humidity of Sagittarion¡¯s poisoned atmosphere as the heels of her government uniform tapped on the tarmac. ¡°Go,¡± she told the kids. If they left now, they might still make it.

    ¡°You have thirty seconds to make peace in your thoughts,¡± the droids said, their recorded voices choppy as the words were spliced together by the speech algorithm of an uncaring computer program. ¡°Attempt to flee and you will be killed immediately. Your time begins now.¡±

    It was meant to be a kindness, this chance to find peace, but it was just a mocking reminder that she was entirely helpless. Her pitiful human strength and intelligence was nothing against these machines. The plating that concealed and protected their innards was shiny and untarnished by this ruined world. Vaguely bipedal in body shape, any resemblance to humanity stopped there. Their angular heads were eyeless and faceless.

    They were practical machines, unconcerned with appearance. Their knees bent the wrong way, and they had no hands, just mechanical claws that served a similar purpose. The Sags themselves had manufactured millions of them with the materials and funds provided by the New Era Movement, not realizing their intended purpose.

    Now those droids policed the streets. They shot dissenters dead and quelled the riots with any necessary force, uncaring of the casualties. Heeding unknown orders, they had broken apart and forcibly isolated the planet¡¯s population. No one knew what was happening beyond their own city block anymore. They were ordered to work, forced to, but after weeks, it had become clear help wasn¡¯t coming.

    The only escape was off-world as the riots worsened. Laborers were vanishing by the hundreds and without the planet¡¯s imported food supply, people were beginning to starve. So here she stood, with guns aimed at her head and her plastic heels pinching at her feet.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    The feel of everything was just as bitter as the reek of fuel in the air. Thinking death would be easier if it was a surprise, she turned to the city scape on the other side of the sinkhole¡¯s inky void. The riots had extended further, a ring of fires and lights illuminating the city¡¯s smog. What a miserable place.

    It was the only home she had ever known, but this planet was nothing but misery, a dead, overpopulated world. She could only dream about blue skies and green grass, something she¡¯d read about, but never seen.

    The crackle of electricity bit the air, and she braced for the searing pain of their energy rifles, but it never came. The acrid scent of burning electronics reached her nose. ¡°¡¯Ena,¡± someone shouted, ¡°we need to go!¡±

    A man stood behind the droids in a tarnished police uniform, nightstick in hand, the electric prod on one end arcing into the humid air. ¡°That won¡¯t keep them down for long.¡± The electrical surge he¡¯d given the droids would cause them to restart, deactivating them for the better part of a minute.

    She didn¡¯t think, just ran. Officer Jones took her hand and led her back the way he¡¯d come. A ship was waiting there, engines warm, the ramp to the hold down as a line of weary children climbed up into the warm, inviting light. A man in the blue garb of a civilian ship captain stood on the top of the ramp, counting the heads as they passed into the hold.

    ¡°Captain!¡± the policeman called to him, ¡°We need to go! Now!¡± More droids would come. They would detain everyone on the ship, then cannibalize it for parts.

    ¡°We¡¯re ready for takeoff,¡± the Captain called back. ¡°We just need to seal the hold.¡±

    Rushing up the ramp, Helena wasn¡¯t given time to think. She barely got a look at the ship, but memorized what she could. This would be the first time she¡¯d ever gone off-world. Most Sags simply never made it that far.

    The Badger was more cargo space than ship. Built around a rectangular hold, it could have swallowed some of the smaller ships on the landing pad. Still, it was in better shape than some of the others, the hull plating all looked like it belonged, even if it wasn¡¯t new.

    The moment they were inside, the Captain punched the hold controls, and with a hiss, the ramp began to rise, slowly sealing up the ship.

    ¡°Wait, wait!¡± she cried. ¡°Do we have everyone?¡± Had any of the kids been left behind?

    ¡°I counted twenty-seven,¡± the Captain answered, ¡°and we¡¯re leaving.¡± It was no longer negotiable. ¡°I¡¯ve heard chatter from the other ports. Ships all over the planet are taking off. They¡¯re going to run the blockade. Now might damn well be our only chance to get off this rock.¡±

    She nodded, it was all she could do. Any orbital blockade was above her concerns by a few thousand kilometers. ¡°Thank you, Captain, for agreeing to this.¡± With no way to pay for transport, she¡¯d been turned down by many of the other ships.

    ¡°Captain Merlyn,¡± he introduced himself, ¡°but don¡¯t thank me yet.¡± The hardest part of this trip hadn¡¯t yet begun. They still had to find a way past a military blockade. ¡°I¡¯ll be on the bridge. Do your best to keep everyone calm.¡±

    ¡°Arno,¡± the Matron turned to the policeman, ¡°did no one else make it?¡± The orphanages of the neighboring districts had planned this escape together. There should have been four other groups here.

    Jones just shook his head. ¡°I think they got caught in the riots.¡± There was no one else here, and they didn¡¯t have time to wait. ¡°I¡¯ll go help the Captain. He¡¯s down a crewman.¡± One had disembarked a few days ago and not returned, also likely caught in the violence. ¡°Tell the kids to sit down and hang on.¡±

    With that, Jones jogged across the bay and hauled himself up the ladder. He was forced to duck under pipes and structural cross braces as he wove through the ship¡¯s cramped innards. When he arrived, the door to the bridge swished open, revealing a small, cramped module. It poked slightly out from the ship¡¯s main body like the round head of a tortoise, the front half of the room made of reinforced clear silica material. The visibility of the surroundings was great and necessary for the docking and landing procedures the ship usually ran.

    The Badger wasn¡¯t a fighting ship. The bridge was a visible and viable target, though small and difficult to hit. It was cramped, wires and screens mounted in front of the two stations on the sides, as well as the Captain¡¯s chair in the middle, already occupied by Merlyn himself.

    ¡°Take comms.,¡± the Captain ordered, his hands working the pads of controls around him, ¡°and keep an eye on our rear sensors. If anyone starts trailing us, I need to know.¡± He tapped his headset, simultaneously launching the ship with his other hand, ¡°This is CT Badger, committing,¡± he announced on the radio.

    Immediately, the ship began to rumble, the engines roaring as the Badger lumbered upward, ascending slowly into the sky. ¡°Nearly four hundred ships have committed to running the blockade together. I¡¯ve just added us to the list,¡± Merlyn announced.

    ¡°Blockade?¡± Jones said, strapping into chair and beginning to familiarize himself with the surrounding screens and controls.

    ¡°Last I heard, there were three battleships forming an orbital blockade. They¡¯re not letting anyone into or out of orbit. Our only chance is to run the blockade with so many ships they can¡¯t sink all of us, or to hope that the guilt of killing so many people will force them to back down.¡±

    ¡°Why don¡¯t we just escape from the other side of the planet, away from the blockade?¡± They didn¡¯t have to run past the battleships themselves.

    ¡°They¡¯ll have drones and support craft covering all of Sagittarion. Even if we survive that, the battleships themselves will be on us before we can jump.¡± It was better to confront the problem directly and hope the battleships would back down before sinking several hundred unarmed refugee ships.

    Jones found it hard to focus with the strong vibration of the Badger¡¯s main engines pushing them into the air. ¡°You don¡¯t sound too sure, Captain.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not.¡± Once one spent enough years in space, one came to realize that the void was ruthless, as was everyone in it. The powerful, riding high on their mighty battleships had no pity for the little people and their slow, unarmed freightliners. ¡°I doubt the they¡¯ll even hesitate.¡±

    Above Jones, the air filtration systems kicked in. Cool, metallic air was pushed down onto him as the landing pad shrank below them. ¡°If this is a suicide run, then why did you agree, Captain?¡± Why bother even trying to take Matron Delleora and her wards off-world?

    ¡°Let¡¯s just say I couldn¡¯t walk away,¡± Merlyn said, easing the Badger¡¯s lethargic mass into a turn.

    Rain had begun to streak the bay windows in front of them, streaking out the flickering lights of chaos in the city. It was a light rain, one that may have been soothing on another world, but on Sagittarion, the unrestricted pollutants in the atmosphere rendered the water dangerously acidic. It slowly eroded buildings, irritated unprotected skin and blinded exposed eyes ¨C a silent, but severe threat.

    Jones hadn¡¯t been airborne since his brief training with the planetary police force¡¯s airships. He¡¯d forgotten how small and unimportant everything looked up here. It was beautiful in a way, terrible in another. No wonder the wealthy businessmen that controlled the factories never cared about what became of the planet or its people. Coming and going from off-world, it must seem so irrelevant.

    The mists and smog of the night had almost completely obscured the ground, but from the churning clouds a skeletal structure emerged. It curved upward like the backbone of a monstrous animal, red warning lights blinking along its parabolic rail.

    ¡°What is that?¡± They were well above cloud level now, but that rail and the anchoring structure below it continued upward, its end unseen.

    Merlyn steered them well-clear of the hazard, ¡°Heaven¡¯s Ladder.¡± Sagittarion¡¯s only line of planetary defense. Without a standing army or navy, that weapon was the only reason Sagittarion had survived the Hydrian War. ¡°It¡¯s an orbital mass driver.¡± Built originally to launch satellites and payloads into orbit, it had been modified to launch multi-ton slugs: a one-hit killer to any ship that strayed into its path. Resting here on Sagittarion¡¯s equator, it could be slightly aimed to intercept almost any orbit with its deadly masses.

    ¡°But Heaven¡¯s Ladder was disassembled.¡± The centralized republic government had seen to that. The weapon was dangerous, and considering the amount of UCSC fleet traffic that normally hit Sagittarion¡¯s orbit, it was an unallowable risk, even this close to the neutral zone. The government would rather risk Sagittarion¡¯s total annihilation than risk Heaven¡¯s Ladder ever being used against their ships.

    ¡°It seems someone has re-assembled it.¡± The rails that had been removed after the Frontier Rebellion had been replaced. Merlyn would not theorize anything about the intent behind that, except to note that Sagittarion¡¯s overpopulated wasteland was apparently no longer expendable. Someone had gone to great lengths to secure control over this planet and ensure it could be defended.

    Something beeped on Merlyn¡¯s displays, and Captain looked over to check it, his expression turning just a bit more hollow. He pulled back on the controls, slowing their ascent through the middle of the atmosphere, uncaring of the resulting fuel wastage. ¡°We have to turn around.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Jones said, ¡°We can¡¯t.¡± There was nothing left for them on the surface of this ruined world but starvation and suffering.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have a choice, check the radar. Those big white blips are battleships.¡± Their forms weren¡¯t properly resolved this far down into the atmosphere, but it was clear enough what they were, idling in formation above. ¡°No one will make it past six battleships.¡± It was too many. ¡°We have to turn around.¡± Three battleships, which Merlyn had expected to find, would have been more than enough to blockade a planet. Six was nothing more than a declaration of death.

    ¡°But the other ships¡­¡± there were hundreds of smaller green dots still rising through the atmosphere.

    ¡°They¡¯re flying toward their deaths.¡± Even now, Merlyn could see the battleships responding, maneuvering into an attack formation. ¡°I¡¯ve seen this before.¡±

    Jones swallowed. Hundreds of ships, thousands of lives, and they were flying straight into the gaping maws of death. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Whatever¡¯s happening on this planet,¡± with the droids taking over and Heaven¡¯s Ladder being rebuilt, ¡°they want to contain it.¡± Whether that was to contain a physical danger or merely the truth of Sagittarion¡¯s predicament did not matter. ¡°They won¡¯t take survivors.¡± They never did. ¡°This will be a massacre.¡±

 Part 18.2 - UNARMED SHIPS

    Archer Sector, Centaur System, Battleship Gargantia

    The Battleship Gargantia had already been in orbit around the laboring planet of Sagittarion for over a week when the bulletin came in. Commander Gregory Fairlocke could only stare at the data pad he held in his shaking hands.

    His XO had a look of deep concern on her elegant face. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Admiral Gives separated from Command after being court martialed. In absentia, he was tried and found guilty on all charges.¡± In the span of hours, he¡¯d gone from one of the most feared officers in the fleet to being the most wanted criminal in the worlds. ¡°He managed to invoke Article Seven and Strike Zero aboard the Singularity.¡±

    ¡°Strike Zero?¡± the Colonel asked, ¡°Can he do that?¡± Rumor had it the attempt to do so would activate fail safes built into the newer ships, killing everyone involved.

    ¡°Apparently,¡± Fairlocke said, ¡°They¡¯ve put a bounty out, too.¡± He handed over the data pad, and saw her eyes widen.

    ¡°Stars, Gives alone is worth a fortune, with an extra million for any other member of the crew and a fortune for sinking or capturing the ship herself.¡± It was more money that anyone could spend in a lifetime, more than enough to warrant the personal funding of an army. ¡°But why do they want him alive?¡±

    ¡°Admiral Gives knows secrets that could bring nations to their knees.¡± It wasn¡¯t unreasonable to assume that Admiral Reeter might desire that knowledge.

    ¡°You should volunteer to go after him,¡± the Colonel said. ¡°You trained under him. You know how he thinks.¡±

    Fairlocke held back a laugh. ¡°Believe me, XO, I never understood him the slightest.¡± The man was a genuine oddity. ¡°But if we want to live, we¡¯ll stay the hell out of his way.¡± Wiping out a ship like the Gargantia was child¡¯s play for the Singularity. ¡°Still¡­¡±

    The XO brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear. ¡°You think he may be right.¡±

    Fairlocke glanced around to the computers, headsets and holographic displays that made up the Gargantia¡¯s bridge controls and lowered his voice, ¡°Can¡¯t you feel it?¡± Every one of those integrated and advanced controls was an eye, ear or recording device for Command¡­ And something was very wrong with Command.

    The XO halfway inclined her head, similarly wary of the cameras and equipment. ¡°We XOs talk.¡± They traded information and favors for their respective commanding officers. ¡°But lately, some of them have changed.¡± One day they would be their usual selves, the next, an eerie twin with a foreign personality. ¡°Something¡¯s not right, but those who ask questions, they don¡¯t come back the same.¡± These days, it was best to follow directions without asking for an explanation.

    ¡°Stars,¡± Fairlocke rubbed at his evenly trimmed beard, ¡°What the hell are we even doing here?¡± Along with the rest of their squadron, they had been dispatched to Sagittarion, then ordered to maintain absolute radio silence. Another squadron of Keeper-class ships had arrived just two days later, but they too, had been ordered not to communicate.

    Six of Command¡¯s battleships idled around Sagittarion in perfect silence. They studied each other, studied the planet, but nothing had changed in over a week. Sagittarion made no call to surrender, and the allied forces were not ordered to open negotiations.

    It had been oddly quiet and marginally peaceful as far as they could tell from orbit, but it impossible to know the real conditions on Sagittarion¡¯s surface. Pollution clouded the atmosphere too thickly for sensor or visual data to be viable.

    They were blind, but the whole situation reeked. It just felt wrong. Six battleships were left hovering uselessly in orbit, not even prompted to investigate the condition of the fourteen billion potential victims or potential threats on the surface.

    It had been illogical for Sagittarion to rebel in the first place and Fairlocke knew it. Located on the edge of the Isolation Gap, it was almost a remote world. Not many colonies still existed on this side of space. Those that had once thrived nearby had been eviscerated during the War.

    The territory of the central planets, untouched by the long-ago Hydrian War, lay distant from Sagittarion, and the Frontier, where the younger countries constantly threatened to rebel, was beyond even that. It was on the other side of known space, making it clear that Sagittarion would receive no separatist aid. It was alone out here, and without a standing national guard, it was completely defenseless.

    Unchallenged, Command¡¯s ships had formed an orbital blockade. No ship was to be allowed off of or onto Sagittarion. They had been ordered to sink any ship attempting to run the blockade without exception.

    A part of Fairlocke had assumed it would never come to that. No ship would be crazy enough to try and run the blockade. But he knew nothing of the conditions on Sagittarion¡¯s surface. He knew nothing of the riots, food shortages or oppressing droid armies. He knew nothing of the brutal cullings that were efficiently eliminating the sick and unfit from the planet¡¯s workforce.

    He had no idea how desperate people on the surface had become. Far below, civilian ships were taking off in droves, planning to overrun the blockade by sheer numbers alone. The ships were so loaded with cargo and refugees, many could barely escape the gravity well. They were no match for the military fleet suffocating the system.

    ¡°Commander,¡± the sensor officer looked up from his array of readouts. ¡°I¡¯m reading 550 ships incoming from the surface.¡±

    Five hundred and fifty? Fairlocke could feel the adrenaline pour into his veins. That would be thousands of lives. Surely Command would not order all of them to be destroyed?

    ¡°Orders from the Gothic, sir,¡± the communications officer swallowed painfully. ¡°Set Condition One. Fire on any ship that attempts to run the blockade. Civilian craft are no exception.¡±

    ¡°Stars,¡± the XO shook her head, starting to look weak. ¡°They¡¯re going to do it.¡± They were going to follow Command¡¯s orders to the letter. ¡°Those are unarmed ships.¡± The worst they could do was spread rumors if they escaped. ¡°They¡¯re just cargo haulers and transports.¡±

    Commander Fairlocke didn¡¯t know what to do. He stood in the cool light of the Gargantia¡¯s control center, watching the 3-D hologram of the radar readouts. Slowly, the other five ships were obeying the Gothic¡¯s orders, moving into firing position. Rear Admiral Tyler, aboard the Gothic, was the senior-most commanding officer. He had the final say, and his choice was clear: obey Command.

    ¡°Comply,¡± Fairlocke said, trying to ignore the sickened looks of his crew. This is wrong. He knew it was, as he watched the little dots of the civilian ships rise upward, toward their awaiting death. The firing line was marked on the edge of the atmosphere, the data transmitted from the Gothic.

    The XO looked at it, horrified. ¡°If they fire there, disabled ships will fall into the gravity well. There will be no chance of survivors.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the point, Colonel,¡± he murmured, feeling the Gargantia shift into her assigned position.

    ¡°Raising and priming weapons,¡± the armory officer announced, the catches in her voice poorly concealed.

    Around him, Fairlocke could read the pleas of his crew. Don¡¯t make us do this. They were begging, pleading for him not to give the orders they all knew were next. ¡°How many?¡± He had to ask. He had to know.

    ¡°Roughly 27,000, sir,¡± the sensor officer answered.

    Twenty-seven thousand people. Civilian freight liner crews. Fleeing aristocrats. Refugees. They were all going to die on Command¡¯s unquestioned orders. He felt nauseous.

    The first shots of the massacre flew. The tracers of deadly rounds sailed through the night. Explosions, red, white and orange lit up where they made contact with their target, tearing frail hulls open like tin cans. The wreckage spiraled away, careening slowly back into Sagitarrion¡¯s yellow-tinted atmosphere, where it burned away into nothingness.

    ¡°Sir, the Gothic is ordering us to fire.¡±

    The communications officer¡¯s distress fell on deaf ears. All Fairlocke could hear was a ringing. It drowned out the klaxons, drowned out the chaos. It was the calm drilled in by the man who had trained him. You panic, you die. But that silence was deafening now.

    Fairlocke couldn¡¯t just turn off the human part of himself that wanted to panic, wanted to scream. He couldn¡¯t kill the part of himself that knew this was wrong. He wasn¡¯t like the Steel Prince. He just couldn¡¯t do it. He couldn¡¯t just choose to become callous and order thousands of deaths.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The second salvo flew from Command¡¯s fleet while the first distress calls hung in the void. The pleas for mercy went unanswered by anything except a main battery round. Sagittarion¡¯s orbit had become a sizzling gauntlet of projectiles, and the civilian ships were being helplessly cut apart.

    I can¡¯t do it, Fairlocke realized, the revelation freeing in its own way. He couldn¡¯t fire on those unarmed ships, and he couldn¡¯t just let this happen. There were twenty-seven thousand lives at stake. It was time to make a choice. ¡°Target the Serpentus and fire,¡± Fairlocke ordered the armory officer.

    The crewman nodded, and a moment later, a percussive crack echoed through the ship, the kickback of the Gargantia¡¯s main battery guns firing a full broadside at the battleship nearest to them in orbit.

    The impacts lit up on the Serpentus¡¯ flank, shearing off sheets of gray hull armor, and shoving the ship forcibly out of position as her engines flared, trying to compensate.

    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± Fairlocke called to the communications officer, ¡°all channels, all frequencies, broadcast now.¡± He could not allow this slaughter to continue. This was his choice. ¡°This is Commander Fairlocke of the Battleship Gargantia, I cannot and will not condone this carnage. I urge any fleeing civilian ship with propulsion to alter heading in our direction. We will protect you to the best of our ability!¡±

    Fairlocke turned to his helmsman, ¡°Get us into a lower orbit. Give the civilians space enough to clear the thermosphere and jump. Use our mass to shield them.¡±

    No sooner than those words had left his lips, the Gargantia¡¯s bridge was thrown into chaos. It was a violent jolt, the inertial dampeners unexpecting, and failing to fully compensate. Crew were thrown from where they sat or stood, and tossed into the floor, bulkheads or consoles.

    Fairlocke slammed into the radar console, and the air was forcibly expelled from his lungs before he fell to the floor. His XO crashed down beside him, blood leaking from her head, brained by the same console. ¡°Colonel!¡± Fairlocke scrambled over to her, peeling her dark, bloodied hair away from where it had wrapped around her face like a vice. He clutched his own cracked ribs, seeing her brown eyes staring widely, but blankly up at him. Her neck was at an odd angle, a look of surprise upon her face. Dead. Dead in his hands.

    Regrets will only get you killed. Another of his mentor¡¯s harsh lessons, it had been drilled into his head, as if that would make him able to turn off his emotions, his humanity.

    ¡°The Parallax and the Serpentus are readying another broadside.¡± The weapons officer said, ¡°We¡¯ve got missiles incoming and the Gothic is just out of firing range, inbound. What are your orders, sir?¡±

    Fairlocke released his XO, and her head lolled limply to the side as he struggled to his feet. The ship rattled around him, shaken to the core. Combat is hell, his mentor had said, make sure you¡¯re the demon.

    Fairlocke steeled his resolve, turning to the armory officer. He had made his choice. ¡°Weapons free, Lieutenant. Give them hell.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The officer replied, sweeping her hand across the controls and priming the Gargantia¡¯s missile launch grid.

    ¡°If we¡¯ve got pilots crazy enough to fly through this debris, get our fighters in the air,¡± Fairlocke commanded, watching a cone of fleeing ships gather beneath the Gargantia and an attack formation of battleships gather above. On the radar displays, the holographic Gargantia seemed so small and so lonely. It¡¯ll be a one-way ticket. They¡¯d likely not be able to recover their support craft, if any survived the combat. ¡°Have them cover any missiles targeted at the ships below. And nav., get those civvies some coordinates. Get them out of here.¡± The Gargantia could calculate and distribute FTL coordinates twice as fast as the civilian ships themselves.

    Another explosion tossed him into the radar console, but he caught himself this time, barely managing to stay upright. ¡°Engineering! Where are our inertial dampeners?¡± They shouldn¡¯t be getting tossed around to this extent, not this early in the battle.

    ¡°Offline, sir. I have the CCTO on the line. The central computer¡¯s been compromised, sir. It¡¯s sabotaging our own systems.¡±

    For the chief computer technical officer to be on the line himself, the computer had been more than compromised. ¡°Shut it down,¡± Fairlocke ordered. ¡°Just shut it down.¡± The computer network was just another back door that could be used to infiltrate the ship, another weakness to be exploited. It may effectively be the Gargantia¡¯s brain, but they could fire the guns without it. ¡°I want it purged before it¡¯s brought back online. It¡¯s too much of a risk,¡± he said, riding out another round of violent shakes.

    The engineer¡¯s confirmation was lost under the screech of twisted metal, the bulkheads wrenched slightly apart by the growing strain of battle damage as more shells pounded into the hull.

    The Gargantia was moderately sized by military standards. Dwarfing the fleeing civilian ships, she was still less than half the Singularity¡¯s full length. Her build, a modest Keeper-class battleship, was the most numerous within the fleet, evidenced by the fact that the other five ships Command had dispatched to Sagittarion were also Keeper-class. They were capable ships, but not warships, not compared to the likes of the Olympia or Singularity. They had been designed to police humanity¡¯s territory in a time of relative peace. As such, they were smaller and less aggressive builds. At the moment however, her size was sufficient.

    Hanging in Sagittarion¡¯s exosphere, the Gargantia sat defiantly in front of Command¡¯s battleships, shielding the fleeing civilians with her own mass. The opening rounds of the battle had destroyed more than a hundred ships, and still more of the refugees tried to escape on their own, darting out of the atmosphere and straight into missiles. The explosions and hull ruptures blew them outward in white puffs of quickly dispersing gasses. It was instant, like popcorn popping in the night, the violence of it lost in the silence and distance of space.

    The debris field around Sagittarion had grown and grown, now ruining ships on its own. It peppered their flanks with holes, damaging sensor arrays, comms antennas and engine thrust control systems. Afflicted ships careened into one another in the Gargantia¡¯s shadow, occasionally spiraling outward to be immediately destroyed.

    Casualties were high. Less than half of the ships that breached the atmosphere were making it away. The rest, with their thousands of dead, were forming a graveyard.

    Exposed to the military¡¯s wrath, the Gargantia¡¯s port side was shredded, her third engine failing as the ship¡¯s precious atmosphere poured into space. It¡¯s too late to back out now, Commander Fairlocke told himself, there¡¯s no going back. The battle had become a flurry of confusion as the ship shook, shuddered and trembled around him. Reports of death and damage filled the air.

    Unable to maneuver in her defensive placement, the Gargantia was forced to take every weapon fired at her head on. The ship¡¯s starboard half was left mostly untouched, but the rest of the Gargantia could only take so much abuse. Systems were starting to fail in cascades, one after another. Dreadful casualty reports rang in Fairlocke¡¯s ears, but there was nothing he could do for his crew now. He¡¯d condemned them all to this fate.

    ¡°We¡¯re near critical, sir,¡± the crewman at the engineering controls called. As a whole, the ship couldn¡¯t take much more of this. The damage would be totally irreparable soon, even with a full space dock.

    The port side of the ship had been mauled beyond compare. The other battleships¡¯ shells no longer did any real damage, emptied into a twisted metal mass. Still, Commander Fairlocke felt the impacts, every hit a jolt to his very bones.

    The battle was not entirely one-sided. The Gargantia had disabled the Serpentus, and taken out the Parallax¡¯s weapons systems, rendering both effectively useless to the fighting. That prolonged the fight, but could not change the predetermined outcome.

    ¡°The last operational civilian ship is away, sir!¡± the sensor officer called. ¡°There¡¯s another twenty ships with light damage below us. Given a few more minutes, they might be able to escape.¡± She was cut off by another impact, throwing everyone sideways, their cries drowned out by the cacophony of twisting metal.

    Fairlocke found himself sprawled atop the corpse of his XO. Time¡¯s up. ¡°Prepare for emergency jump.¡± If they didn¡¯t jump now, they never would.

    ¡°Commander, we¡¯re critical,¡± the engineer called, ¡°jump now and-¡°

    The scream of shearing metal worsened with a new impact. Fairlocke¡¯s head hit the deck painfully, splitting open the skin. Jump now and the Gargantia won¡¯t survive. The damage was too severe. The structural demands of subspace would break the ship¡¯s back at best, and at worst, crush her and everyone aboard to a pulp.

    But Fairlocke didn¡¯t have a choice. They would die if they stayed here, eventually crippled in orbit to fall into the atmosphere. The odds of some of the crew surviving were best if they jumped away. On the ground bleeding, Fairlocke could almost hear the cold tone of his mentor, this lesson as harsh as any other. Trust your ship. If you can¡¯t do that, then you¡¯re already dead.

    I know, Fairlocke wanted to tell him, why do you think I left? He¡¯d walked away from the chance to command a ship that could have won this fight. He¡¯d turned away because that trust had never been there, because there had been something lingering in the Singularity¡¯s shadow, an unspoken evil that Fairlocke could not ignore.

    The Gargantia was free of that, an innocent machine. One that would see them through. ¡°Emergency jump,¡± he commanded. ¡°All hands should retreat to the core of the ship,¡±

    the part that was most likely to survive a subspace-triggered collapse.

    Hauling himself up face-to-face with the flickering and fuzzy hologram of the radar readouts, Fairlocke wiped the stream of blood out of his eye. The enemy battleships were moving, their attack formation parting as if to allow the Gargantia a route out of orbit. But they were still firing, emptying round after round into the Gargantia¡¯s mangled flank. Fairlocke could feel the shuddering impacts, hear the chorus of screams. Why were they moving?

    He could sense it. Something¡¯s coming. ¡°Evasive maneuvers!¡± he ordered, the vision in his right eye turning red again.

    The commands of the helm never reached the engines. A single impact broke the Gargantia¡¯s back, driving straight through her heart, demolishing her command center and leaving everyone inside it dead.

    The Gargantia, in that second, became a victim of Sagittarion¡¯s legendary orbital mass driver: Heaven¡¯s Ladder. The massive slug crashed into her starboard flank, through her core and out the other side, leaving a gaping hole through which the sight of the stars was only hindered by flailing wires.

    In that moment, the battle ended. Power on the Gargantia¡¯s main engines faltered, and slowly, but inevitably, the wounded ship began to fall into the planet¡¯s gravity well. Her enemies never paused, pounding weapon after weapon into the hull until the Gargantia no longer resembled the ship she¡¯d once been.

    But, seconds later, the clock ran out. The FTL drive was charged, and the systems automatically carried out the ordered jump.

    Barely more than a corpse with a failing electrical current, the Gargantia vanished, and moments later, the evils of subspace spat a contorted wreck out at the base of a lost refugee fleet.

 Part 18.3 - K.I.A.

    Halogen Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The room was a clammy, gnarled convergence of pipes that knotted together chaotically to the untrained eye. Shut off and control valves speckled the entangled mass, their colored paint so chipped, the metal below seemed splotched with festering wounds.

    Leaked oil and coolant had gathered on the pipes in an ugly brackish sludge. Drips of condensation slid down the walls, pulled from the humid air. The laboring air scrubbers only pushed the odor of hot oil and metal around the room, unable to fully remove it.

    It was dark down here. The main engine control room was long overdue for deep clean, leaving the old overhead lights unable to penetrate the pervading layers of grime. Still, the Admiral didn¡¯t hesitate to pull off his black glove and run his bare hands along the piping.

    A wrong move, and the heat of the metal could easily burn him, but he knew these engines better than that. They were the heart of his old ship. He knew their limits and their faults, able to identify their smallest strains. Dancing his hands across the valves, he began to tune the engines, working to correct a slight shake in the noise that filled the room.

    Another might have hesitated. Down here in the darkness and dinginess, the convoluted piping could play games with an unfamiliar mind. This space could feel entrapping and hostile, the pipes likened to the writhing mass of a monster as raw power hummed in the humidity of the air.

    To those who didn¡¯t know it, didn¡¯t recognize it, that untamed intensity was a reminder that this machine was thousands of times more powerful than any human. Against her, they were little more than insects: fragile and weak.

    But those who knew that power, those that understood it, were never so threatened. After all, these engines, as they rumbled on, steadier than a heartbeat, generated the heat that kept the crew warm and provided the power that gave them lights to see and air to breathe in the void. These engines, the heart of the ship, kept her crew alive.

    And maybe that was the problem.

    The Singularity, like all battleships, was, at a basic level, an immensely powerful weapon. She had been designed to bring death, but also to protect the lives of her crew at any cost. The contradiction at best was illogical, and at worst was nothing more than a short path to insanity for the ghost.

    As wrong and cruel as it felt, pushing the ghost and her affections away would make it easier for her. Every time, it killed another bit of the little human decency he had left, but it had never been about him. It was about the sanity of an immortal whose full power could irreversibly scar the galaxy.

    It was an extremely complicated situation, but he understood, ¡°I have a responsibility to do the right thing here.¡± It was exhausting. Morality was such a stupid game.

    He sighed absently to the old ship, ¡°I don¡¯t know why you put up with me. You know how much I hate doing the right thing.¡± It itched like a bad rash. The last thing anyone would call him was moral. No wonder his relationship with the crew was so strained. The trust he¡¯d once unconditionally commanded wasn¡¯t there anymore. The crew genuinely feared that he might give another ruthless order like the one he¡¯d given in the Aragonian Sector.

    Were they wrong? Of course not. He would do absolutely anything to ensure his ship¡¯s survival. In that regard, there was no line he would not cross.

    Turning one last valve, the engines fell into perfect alignment. The low rumble that filled the room shifted into a purr. Much better. He loved that sound. ¡°We¡¯re going to get ourselves in trouble someday, you and I.¡± Not that they weren¡¯t already in trouble. They were playing a very dangerous game.

    ¡°Sir, are you talking to the ship again?¡± someone said behind him. ¡°Because I hope you know it makes you seem insane.¡± She paused, reconsidering the man¡¯s history, ¡°Well, more insane.¡±

    Ensign Malweh. This was going to be a lovely conversation. She never made any attempt to veil her blatant dislike of him. Still, he kept his tone polite, ¡°Good morning, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°Cut the shit. It¡¯s 0300. Why the hell are you down here?¡± the engineer said. ¡°I thought the Chief told you to stop coming down here in the middle of the night.¡±

    ¡°The Chief does not give orders on this ship. I do.¡± He had the right to do whatever he so pleased, including come down here to tune the engines in the middle of the night.

    Malweh huffed and threw her arms across her chest. ¡°I¡¯m never going to understand why this ship seems to like you so much.¡± He was the only one who could make the engines purr like this, but he was also, at times, ruthless in the way he treated the old machine ¨C the ruthlessness of someone who knew the exact limitations of what he could demand from the ship without causing irreparable damage, and wasn¡¯t afraid to use that knowledge. ¡°You¡¯re like her half-feral stray cat that sometimes comes home for Sunday brunch.¡±

    ¡°I suppose you have called me worse, Ensign.¡± Malweh wasn¡¯t one to hold back her true feelings. ¡°Might you feel bad about sowing dissent among my crew in the Aragonian Sector?¡± He had received several notes regarding her behavior after the nuke. She¡¯d been happy to see him almost die.

    ¡°I¡¯m not here to apologize, you old bastard.¡± Obviously, she was here because she wanted something. ¡°You need to deal with that bitch of a Marine Sergeant. She¡¯s making life for us grease monkeys straight hell.¡±

    ¡°Sergeant Cortana did not request to leave.¡± No doubt, Cortana had remained on board because she had felt pressured not to be the only crewman that requested to leave before the ship separated from Command.

    ¡°Yeah, well, she should have.¡± The Sergeant hated it here.

    ¡°Has she done anything wrong, Ensign?¡±

    There wasn¡¯t an ounce of concern in his expression. The grungy yellow lights highlighted the blue of his neutral stare. He seemed uncaring, but Malweh knew damn well how to really get his attention. ¡°Callie is terrified of her. I haven¡¯t seen her this jumpy since Persephone Station.¡±

    Ensign Smith had seemed fine after he dealt with the incident in the starboard bow. ¡°What happened?¡±

    The question was just as neutral as before, much to Malweh¡¯s disgust. The bastard really was sick. He felt nothing at all, even for Callie, who treated even him kindly. The poor kid probably didn¡¯t realize how much of a monster Admiral Gives really was. Her kindness was wasted on someone like him. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Ask her yourself if you decide to care.¡±

    If I decide to care¡­ ¡°You must think very little of me, Ensign.¡± It should have been obvious that he did not tolerate people who threatened the crew aboard his ship.

    ¡°Oh, trust me, sir, I think you¡¯re the absolute worst.¡± The man was emotionally dysfunctional, possessive, obsessive and downright dangerous. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you haven¡¯t thrown me off the ship.¡±

    ¡°Your opinions of me are your own.¡± He didn¡¯t especially care what Malweh thought of him as long as she followed orders. ¡°You know where I draw the line.¡± She could say whatever she wanted about him, but the second she threatened or lied to anyone else, they had a problem. ¡°You do not want to have a problem, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°I know, sir.¡± She had seen him kill people, and it was a very special variety of disturbing.

    ¡°Then I will,¡± he paused as he pulled the black glove carefully back onto his injured hand, ¡°¡­discuss the situation with Sergeant Cortana.¡±

    He left Malweh there and made his way into the ship¡¯s quiet maze of corridors. The air was odorless, freshly filtered, but recycled a thousand times over. Not too bright, but enough to warm the devoid metal corridors, the lights above were a constant. Everything around him: the bulkheads, deck and ceiling, was a bland, dark gray, but there were enough scuffs around to make it almost interesting.

    A few hours later, he found himself wandering deep in the ship¡¯s bow, near the secretive compartment that housed the Singularity¡¯s Black Box. He paused there, reminded of the ghost and unable, once again, to wipe her wounded expression from his memory.

    ¡°Is that why you didn¡¯t sleep?¡± Was that the reason he¡¯d spent the whole night pitching in on maintenance? Did that really bother him so much?

    The ghost had appeared on the other side of the corridor. The Admiral looked at her, but made no response.

    ¡°Regrets will only get you killed. Isn¡¯t that what you always say?¡± His lessons could be harsh, but the ghost understood that he was trying to protect her. That in itself was a misplaced kindness. ¡°I am a weapon, Admiral,¡± an immortal being that had been created for a single purpose.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a person,¡± not really, ¡°I¡¯m a tool.¡± It shouldn¡¯t bother him when he upset her. He shouldn¡¯t care. She had no freewill, no goals, no dreams. An immensely powerful machine, she had been brought into this universe to complete a single, impossible mission. ¡°I can¡¯t get attached to people because I am a something, not a someone.¡± That was the harsh, real truth.

    ¡°You¡¯re someone to me.¡± She was a living, vital part of his crew, organic or not. ¡°You can get emotionally attached to people,¡± she was sentient, ¡°but you shouldn¡¯t,¡± and that was what he¡¯d tried to tell her yesterday. ¡°People¡­ People are terrible.¡± He especially, was the worst. ¡°They¡¯re not worth your trust and they¡¯re not worth your grief. Getting attached to them is only going to hurt you.¡±

    She found his eyes, recognizing the sadness of an old soldier, someone who¡¯d won and lost too many battles and didn¡¯t want this to be one of them. ¡°You don¡¯t want me to get hurt, do you?¡±

    He did not answer, such a response forbidden by the Hydrian Bylaws, but that was answer enough. There was a reason she always knew to trust him, despite his cold stoicism. So why wasn¡¯t he the exception? Why couldn¡¯t she choose to maintain some emotional attachment to him?

    Her expression had grown hard to read in that long moment of silence. By the focus in her gray eyes, it was a look of evaluation. ¡°Go ahead, say it.¡± He knew what was coming. At this point, he took it as a complement. ¡°I¡¯m an idiot.¡±

    A smile abruptly rose to her face, warming this section of the corridor. ¡°Well, only an idiot would kidnap a set of civilians, commit high treason and then steal a fully functional battleship.¡± That was equivalent to declaring war on the worlds.

    ¡°Maybe I¡¯m just crazy.¡± Malweh could be right about his sanity, but they would probably never know for sure.

    ¡°You were always crazy, Admiral.¡± That was a fact. ¡°You hear an extra voice in your head on a daily basis.¡±

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    ¡°And whose fault is that?¡± He wasn¡¯t the telepath in this relationship.

    She chuckled, a musical sound that filled the air. Stiff as he was, teasing the Admiral was always fun. This playful banter lifted the demands of the worlds from their shoulders, freeing them just for a moment from who and what they were supposed to be. ¡°Somebody¡¯s got to keep you company. You¡¯re a lonely old man.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not lonely. I¡¯ve got you.¡± Her presence was a welcome constant. ¡°And I¡¯m not that old.¡±

    He expected a retort, but the ghost had frozen, her gaze now unfocused. ¡°Problem?¡±

    A thousand lightyears away, in that instant, the massive slug of Sagittarion¡¯s orbital mass driver pierced the heart of the Gargantia and tore it right out. The blow sudden and crippling, it took only a fraction of a second. Uncaring of the vast distance between them, the shockwaves of the strike slammed violently into her, the onslaught akin to a physical attack.

    The ghost screamed.

    Gripping her head, she staggered blindly. Her pale, thin fingers dug into her skull like claws, trying to rip out the pain, struggling scrape it from the bone, but it wouldn¡¯t stop. It never stopped. She collapsed, her agonized wails echoing down the down the corridor. The screeches were distorted, but mirrored in equal volume by the ship around them.

    The Admiral was at her side in an instant. ¡°Talk to me.¡± Was she being summoned or attacked? Had there been an act of sabotage?

    She writhed, her screams galvanizing the air, the death so sudden and so severe. Without warning, without even sensing a threat, she felt like an arm had been torn off, skin tearing, tendons snapping and veins popping grossly open as it was ripped away with unparalleled force. A piece of her had been torn out, gutting her structure, her order, her mind.

    Instinct took over for the Admiral. The same as he would any other patient going into shock, he tried to still her violent flails. But he couldn¡¯t grab the shoulders of an illusion, and his hands went straight through, pinning nothing to the deck. ¡°Talk to me.¡± Please let me help you.

    She shrieked again and again, the sound stripping away her illusion of humanity. It was deafening, grating and so very far from organic in its origins, but it was a sound of genuine agony.

    As her systems began to reboot and recover themselves, her screeches turned to slowly to ugly sobs. Her mechanical mind compartmentalized and separated her necessary processes. Damage control. It realigned itself, purging the shock and panic, the way it always did when dealt a severe blow.

    When the chaos finally faded, thousands of processes, but mere seconds later, she found the Admiral above her, his mask of stoicism strangely fractured. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    Status inquiry. She shuddered again. Response to commanding officer required, her machine reminded, incessant in its demands. Comply. Comply. ¡°All systems online.¡±

    Her hands were trembling as she brought them away from her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t ask if you were operational. I asked if you were okay.¡± This had been a severe reaction, even for the ghost.

    Her mind began its slow recovery. Each memory was checked for error, then handed back to her, and recognition trickled slowly in. Present conditions: Ariean Solar Year 4249, void space, independent operation. Time: 0838 hours. Location: Halogen Sector.

    The man above her was her commanding officer, yes, her telepathy had identified that instantly, but he had engine oil on his sleeve, a reminder that she knew this officer. He¡¯d been with her a long time now. She knew those blue eyes. She remembered them.

    Admiral Gives. Recognizing him was like a gift. It meant there was no need to hide her malfunctions, so slowly, she shook her head side to side. ¡°Error.¡± Critical malfunction.

    ¡°I know.¡± He could tell that something, somewhere was wrong. She was hurt and scared, her silver eyes reflecting pools of that emotion. He kept his tone soft, ¡°Give me a sitrep. What caused the error?¡±

    Sitrep. She recognized that command, even in this decrepit state. ¡°Gregory Fairlocke, Commander. KIA.¡±

    Fairlocke? It made sense, he supposed. The ghost had always been particularly fond of that noble goody-two-shoes. And it figures that worthless traitor would run off and get himself killed. How typically inconsiderate.

    Fairlocke would never know the damage his death did to the ghost, this a firm reminder of why she was better off not getting attached. Humans were stupid. Idiots like Fairlocke ran off and got themselves killed, the loss subsequently tearing her apart from the inside, out.

    Still, as much as Admiral Gives resented Fairlocke, he had been one of their few potential allies. ¡­And now he¡¯s dead, the Admiral realized. Was it possible that Fairlocke was dead for that reason entirely? Was Command eliminating their potential allies by killing anyone with ties to the ship? In Command¡¯s place, he would have considered it, so it was a definite possibility.

    Some of the crew have families. Most, like him, had no real home or relational ties off the ship, another strange byproduct of the way he¡¯d recruited his crew, but a few still had people they cared about elsewhere. A few still had families ¨C families that were now potentially in grave danger.

    He focused again on the ghost, her white hair sprawled across the deck beneath her head. ¡°I need you to alter our course.¡± Her telepathy had extreme range when dealing with those she was close to. ¡°Point us in whatever direction you last felt Fairlocke¡¯s presence.¡± He could handle the rest once he had that heading. ¡°Can you do that for me?¡±

    ¡°Affirmative.¡± Complying. Gently, she wrested helm control from the subsystems that relayed orders to the engines. The ship lent itself easily to her will, complying without complaint.

    Admiral Gives listened to the subtle, momentary change in the engines¡¯ noise, identifying the maneuver. ¡°Turn to starboard?¡± Interesting. There was very little out in that direction of space. Both the Frontier and the central worlds were essentially on their port side ¨C though the closest of them lay many lightyears away. If anything, this put them on a heading for the Isolation Gap ¨C the region of habitable worlds that had been lost in the War ¨C dead colonies that had been burned to ash.

    It had been only a minute since her breakdown, but the ghost had already run a million processes, each fractionally healing her mind, bringing back cohesive thoughts and memories. ¡°Affirmative,¡± she said. Course alteration complete. ¡°Heading 191 mark negative 2.¡±

    ¡°You know that means nothing to me.¡± He had always been a terrible navigator. Reading off their exact course was not helpful unless she was going to tell him where it was going to take them.

    A sly smile appeared on her thin, rosy lips. ¡°Affirmative.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t get snarky.¡± He did not need her sass, though it was a welcome indication that she had not been permanently harmed. ¡°We need to investigate Fairlocke¡¯s death. If Command is targeting people associated with this ship, we¡¯ll have to act fast.¡± They¡¯d have to track down and relocate as many of the crew¡¯s families as possible.

    She nodded, understanding the objective. It was the logical course of action.

    The Admiral spared her another long look, trying assure himself that she was unharmed, but he knew he had to go. It wouldn¡¯t take long for the crew to realize that the ship had just made a course change seemingly of her own accord.

    The instant he started to leave, a horrible feeling of numbness and chaos rose up again, fear in its ugliest and rawest form. She cried out, ¡°Error.¡± Don¡¯t leave. She didn¡¯t want him to leave. She didn¡¯t want to be alone. Something was wrong, but her grip on language had faltered, that damage yet to be repaired.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡± Even if he wasn¡¯t right beside her white-haired illusion, he was not leaving the ship and thus, her. Her telepathy would always be able to reach him. ¡°You¡¯re okay.¡±

    She stared up at him, terrified. Error. Error. ¡°Danger.¡±

    She was acting strangely, seemingly on the brink of another episode. ¡°You¡¯re going to be fine,¡± he tried to assure her. ¡°I¡¯m not going to let anything happen to you.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°Danger.¡± It was everywhere. It surrounded them, suffocating and deadly, but it was worse where Fairlocke had died. It was so much worse. Whoever, whatever, had just instantly killed him was still there. Investigating that death meant that the Admiral could meet the same fate. She could suffer another loss, another catastrophic malfunction. ¡°Danger,¡± she said again. You are in danger.

    She was shaking, her eyes rife with terror. This wasn¡¯t normal behavior. It wasn¡¯t right. ¡°Stay with me.¡± He¡¯d take care of her the way he always did.

    No. He wasn¡¯t understanding. Why wasn¡¯t he understanding? ¡°Danger.¡± She needed him to understand.

    She had once been fond of Fairlocke. Wholly kind people were so hard to find in these worlds, but Fairlocke had left her, turned his back and walked away. To him, she¡¯d been nothing but a dangerous, malfunctioning tool ¨C something evil. The way she had been built rendered her incapable of resenting him for it, but Fairlocke had rejected her in one of the most painful ways possible.

    Admiral Gives would never hurt her like that, something she understood and trusted deeply. There was concern in his blue eyes, concern that was always there for her and the crew, even when it rarely showed. Investigating Fairlocke¡¯s death placed him in grave danger, but he still had to stay. He had to stay with her because he was the only one that did.

    Everyone else just left, and left. They abandoned her. They caught a glimpse of the monster beneath her power, the damaged weapon, and they ran. They ran to their carnal instincts, to their fears, leaving her with scars she could not acknowledge.

    But not him. Never him. With the Admiral, she was safe. She had never found that safety anywhere else. No one else let her speak freely. No one else let her tease them, and feel that for once, she wasn¡¯t some accidental abomination. No one else had just let her be, so she reached up and wrapped her arms around him.

    ¡°No,¡± the Admiral commanded, ¡°stop that.¡± What the hell was this supposed to be? ¡°Get off.¡± He didn¡¯t do physical contact, even if it was with a weightless illusion.

    Her only reply was to bury her face into his shoulder, needing that familiarity, trusting in this wildly cynical officer. For all his attempts to push her away, she knew deep down, that she was always going to be welcome and safe with him.

    After so many years in the trenches with humanity¡¯s worst, the Admiral¡¯s first instinct was to evaluate this as a potential strangle hold. Usually when people wrapped themselves around him, it was in an attempt to kill him. However, that didn¡¯t seem particularly applicable to the telepathic illusion of a sentient machine. She had at least a thousand more effective methods of killing him right here in this corridor, including, but not limited to, using her telepathy to squash his mind like a tiny red tomato.

    Be careful, she wanted to tell him, but her ability to communicate had been fractured, that piece of her mind slow to recover. She didn¡¯t want to lose this particular human. He was an idiot, but he had always treated her kindly.

    A hug, he abruptly realized. The ghost was giving him a hug. Stars, how long had it been since anyone had hugged him? He froze, suddenly very uncertain of what to do in this situation. How exactly did normal people react to hugs? Dammit! He was a battle-hardened commander and one of the finest tacticians in the worlds. He should know how to react to a simple hug!

    When the ghost released him, his cheeks were burning. It only made her smile. The man didn¡¯t bat an eye at the Ravenish cult¡¯s cannibalistic ways, but she had managed to completely stun him with a hug, of all things. So much for being a terrifying emotionless menace, you idiot.

    ¡°Ahem,¡± he cleared his throat, very well realizing he¡¯d let this situation get awkward. He stood up and pulled the sleeves of his jacket carefully back into place, wiping any hint of embarrassment from his demeanor. ¡°You know me, I¡¯m always careful. Well¡­¡± That was a lie. ¡°Careful-ish.¡±

    You¡¯re a good commanding officer. The ghost stared up at him, knowing that was a fact. He had spent years obscuring or destroying all of Command¡¯s data on her, trying to shield her existence from those that wanted to abuse her power.

    He had no way to know that he had been too late.

    He had no way to know that her fate had been sealed the moment Manhattan had escaped the Liguanian Sector. For, try as he might, it was impossible for the Admiral to protect her from her intended use. A weapon built to destroy would always destroy.

    It could never bring peace and it could never save anyone. Not even him.

 Part 18.4 - A MANUFACTURING WORLD

    Halogen Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Ensign Walters had already taken his post on the bridge by the time the Admiral got there. ¡°Sir,¡± the navigator called, ¡°there has been an adjustment to our course. The log indicates no note of it.¡±

    By his count, ¡°Fifteen degrees to starboard, correct, Ensign?¡±

    Walters pushed his glasses up his nose to hastily check his readouts, ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°As ordered then,¡± he said, ¡°Ensign Dellaroux must have forgotten to log it. I called it in at the end of her shift.¡± While none of that was technically accurate, he could see Walters visibly relax. The poor kid must have thought it was a malfunction with the navigational systems ¨C something that was potentially deadly for a ship if not caught and corrected. ¡°What is the destination of our newest course, Ensign?¡±

    ¡°The Centaur System in the Archer Sector, sir.¡± It was a direct path from their current position to that solar system, though it remained many sectors away.

    ¡°Sagittarion,¡± Zarrey groaned, staggering onto the bridge with an especially pungent cup of coffee. ¡°Last I checked two task forces had been sent out there. That¡¯s six battleships. What kind of idiot put us on a course to go there?¡±

    ¡°I did,¡± the Admiral said, watching Monty easily slide in at the weapons console. Behind him, Jazmine stumbled over to his post at the helm. Judging by Jazmine and Zarrey¡¯s slow movements and shadowed eyes, a party celebrating their separation from Command had been thrown somewhere on board ¨C probably in the ship¡¯s bar he pretended not to know about.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Zarrey said, checking his tone. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±

    Let¡¯s find out. ¡°Call Ensign Smith up here,¡± he ordered the comms officer. Sagittarion was her home planet. She might have some useful insight into the situation. The Admiral didn¡¯t address Zarrey or Jazmine¡¯s obvious condition. A hangover wouldn¡¯t kill them, but it would certainly hurt like hell if emergency maneuvers became necessary.

    Robinson and Galhino came in next for the shift change, not so subtly rubbing each other¡¯s hands. Zarrey tried several times to quietly get their attention, but they were lost in their own little world whispering softly to one another.

    The Admiral gave them a few minutes, waiting for Ensign Smith to arrive. But even after all the other stations had changed hands to the day shift, they remained thoroughly distracted. Well, infatuated might have been a better description. ¡°Lieutenants.¡±

    Galhino and Robinson sprung apart like a mine had gone off between them. The terror was clear on their faces. ¡°Sir?¡±

    He checked his watch idly, ¡°Your shift started ten minutes ago. Try to arrive on time.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± they said, sneaking relieved glances to one another. ¡°It won¡¯t happen again.¡± The pair split ways immediately among a small chorus of snickers.

    ¡°Heh,¡± Zarrey said with a wink, ¡°Seems like ours wasn¡¯t the only party that happened last night.¡± He looked expectantly to the person next to him, waiting for a laugh. Unfortunately, that happened to be the Admiral, and he received only silence, his joke wasted. ¡°Dammit, you never laugh at anything.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps because you are not as funny as you think you are, XO,¡± the Admiral replied stonily.

    ¡°I¡¯m funny,¡± Zarrey promised. ¡°Owens thought my joke was hilarious.¡± He looked over to the nearby yeoman. ¡°Right?¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re a pig.¡± Rolling her eyes, Owens threw his copy of the situation report at him.

    The thick packet of papers knocked Zarrey¡¯s mug easily from his hands, splashing the contents onto the radar console, again. ¡°No!¡± he cried, grabbing up his cup, ¡°My coffee!¡±

    Paying little heed to the Colonel¡¯s constant mess, Admiral Gives took his copy of the sitrep from Owens. ¡°Thank you, Ensign.¡±

    Zarrey looked sourly after the yeoman, mournfully gripping his mostly-empty mug. ¡°I will never understand women,¡± he dramatically sighed to the person next to him, again met with the Admiral¡¯s neutral stare. ¡°Dammit, what good are you?¡± He and the Admiral shared no gossip, no jokes and no common interests.

    ¡°For your knowledge, Colonel, I happen to be very good at my job.¡± And that makes one of us. ¡°Now, get your coffee off my ship. You can spend two hours of your evening helping the maintenance teams check the command relays.¡±

    ¡°Come on,¡± Zarrey groaned, ¡°You¡¯re really going to punish me for that? It wasn¡¯t even my fault!¡±

    The Admiral had no interest in his whining. ¡°You will do it and you will pretend to enjoy it.¡± And then perhaps my ship will decide that you are not the worst officer she has ever seen. He turned next to the crew, trusting them to differentiate their parts from the following orders, ¡°Plot coordinates for the outer fringes of the Centaur System. Prep for FTL. This will be a one-jump drive. Warp first.¡±

    Zarrey took a hearty swig of his remaining coffee, ¡°Don¡¯t you think that¡¯s a little bold? If we jump into that system, we¡¯re going to have all six of those battleships and the Erans on the surface throwing everything they can at us.¡±

    ¡°We carry a similar risk with every action we now take.¡± They had no allies and no safe harbor. Chances were everyone they met would try to kill them. As tempted as he was to stray from such a high-risk region, they needed to investigate Fairlocke¡¯s death. He wouldn¡¯t ignore potential danger to the families of the crew.

    Besides, ¡°XO, do you not find it odd that a fleet Reeter now controls is blockading the orbit of a planet that Reeter incited to rebellion?¡± Tactically speaking, the deployment of ships there made very little sense for the New Era.

    Zarrey scratched at the scar on his chin, ¡°I guess I never thought about it, but yeah¡­ What the hell?¡±

    Gaffigan turned from his console, ¡°Maybe it¡¯s all for show? It would be suspicious if he didn¡¯t deploy a task force to a country in open rebellion.¡±

    Zarrey shook his head, leaning up against the radar console. ¡°Three ships was plenty for a show. He didn¡¯t need to send six.¡± There had to be some other reason.

    ¡°Exactly,¡± the entire situation was an oddity before Fairlocke¡¯s death was added to the mix. ¡°There are two tactical explanations for an orbital blockade. He is either trying to keep something out or trying to keep something else in.¡± With Sagittarion¡¯s connection to the cortex cut off, there was no way to know which. ¡°What do you think, Ensign?¡± Admiral Gives prompted the engineer that had just arrived in CIC.

    ¡°Sir?¡± Callie squeaked, suddenly finding herself the center of attention. Everyone on the bridge was looking at her expectantly, but she was barely more than a rookie. She felt extremely underqualified to help make command decisions.

    ¡°There are some anomalies regarding Sagittarion, Ensign. I thought your input would be valuable,¡± the Admiral explained, easily dispersing the bridge crew¡¯s stares with a glare of his own. ¡°Can you think of anything that might be of interest to Reeter¡¯s movement on or surrounding Sagittarion?¡±

    Callie set her toolbox down beside her feet, trying not to feel too uncomfortable. ¡°Almost the entire planetary surface is covered by the mega city. It¡¯s a manufacturing world.¡± The air reeked of chemicals and waste, toxic on some levels to breathe. The planet¡¯s ecosystem had collapsed decades ago, unable to sustain the unrestricted pollution and massive population. Food and clean water were imported, as were parts for the air scrubbing plants that kept the atmosphere mostly breathable.

    It wasn¡¯t a pretty planet, but it was far from alone in its plight for natural resources. Many of the poorer countries struggled the same way. ¡°Ensign, does Sagittarion have any notable assets? Technology or drugs unique to the planet on the streets?¡±

    Zarrey snorted, ¡°Since when are street drugs an asset?¡±

    Callie wrung her hands, glancing to Zarrey and then back to the Admiral. The Colonel was tall enough to make her feel like a dwarf. Right now, so recently reminded of how helpless she was against people bigger and stronger than her, that was more intimidating than the Admiral¡¯s stoicism.

    Still, she swallowed back her unease, ¡°Sagittarion¡¯s entire surface dominated by factories and foundries. The police heavily enforce order on the streets. There are no unauthorized gatherings or trade. Whatever resources the iron barons let free, well, there¡¯s too many of us on the streets for it to make much of a difference.¡± Life on the streets was difficult, but roughly half of the planet¡¯s population was effectively homeless and many of them were undocumented, nobodies in the eyes of the government.

    ¡°So who are the iron barons?¡± Zarrey asked, trying to follow along.

    ¡°The owners of the factories.¡± Callie explained, ¡°They control everything on the surface. Food, water, shelter, essentially the workers too.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey scrunched up his face, ¡°That seems like human rights violation.¡± He¡¯d heard rumors of Sagittarion¡¯s deplorable conditions, but that sounded a whole lot like slave labor.

    ¡°The central worlds turn a blind eye.¡± Admiral Gives spoke calmly, ¡°It keeps the price of their goods down.¡± Companies like Knight Industries that owned factories on Sagittarion turned a massive profit and still kept their products affordable. ¡°The conditions there are kept mostly out of media.¡± Sagittarion very much was a corporate-owned slave world. ¡°However, due to the fleet¡¯s close partnership with Knight Industries, Command would never interfere, regardless of the human rights violations occurring on the surface.¡±

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    Callie nodded. There was a reason she was very afraid to go back there. ¡°Knight Industries has orbital shipyards at Sagittarion. They take only the most skilled metal workers, but the pay is better and it keeps you off the streets.¡± She remembered applying for work there. They had never taken her. She¡¯d been too small and too weak, regardless of her skill with tools.

    ¡°However,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°the orbital shipyards were not Reeter¡¯s objective.¡± Structures like that tended to be fragile. ¡°If they were not destroyed by whatever destroyed Base Aquair, then they were destroyed by result.¡± The booms and rails of the orbital shipyards would not have survived the ablation cascade caused by Aquair¡¯s debris.

    ¡°Wait, wait, wait.¡± Zarrey interrupted, ¡°What did you say about Knight Industries¡¯ shipyards?¡±

    Callie jumped back, surprised by the Colonel¡¯s sudden intensity. ¡°They only took the most skilled workers. I mean, all we Sags have manufacturing and metal working experience.¡± It was the only way to earn food and water.

    ¡°That¡¯s it!¡± Zarrey snapped his fingers, ¡°You said it yourself, Admiral, that orbital blockade could be keeping something in. But its not something, it¡¯s someone, or many somebodies as the case is. By blockading Sagittarion, Reeter has earned himself fourteen billion slaves all with metal working experience.¡±

    ¡°But what would Reeter need that many metalworkers for?¡± Callie instinctively looked to the Admiral, since he usually had the answers, but suddenly wished she hadn¡¯t. There were storms gathering in his eyes. ¡°What¡¯s he building?¡±

    ¡°A fleet.¡± If the situation could have gotten worse, it just had.

    ¡°He already has a fleet.¡± Zarrey said. Reeter had taken over Command¡¯s allied fleet, which was by far the most massive and well-armed force within human territory.

    ¡°He¡¯s not building it for the centralized government. He¡¯s building it for the separatists.¡± Armed as they were now, the colonies in open rebellion faced certain death.

    ¡°But if he¡¯s supplying the ships from Sagittarion¡­ That could perpetuate the war for years. Possibly generations. The Sags breed like rabbits, no offense, Ensign. He¡¯ll never run out of workers,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°The rebellion could last forever.¡±

    That¡¯s exactly what he wants. ¡°War brings out the best in humanity.¡± The courageous, the bold and the creative. But it also brings out the worst. It brought out the callous, the abusive and the cruel. The identification of both suited the New Era¡¯s purposes.

    Callie stood there, reveling in the horror of what she¡¯d just learned. Try as she might, she just didn¡¯t understand why anyone would want to perpetuate a civil war. The last Frontier Rebellion, years before her time, had taken billions of lives. The Admiral himself had put an end to it, but perpetuating another rebellion could kill billions more.

    ¡°This is sick.¡± Zarrey rubbed his jaw roughly, disgusted. The bridge crew looked quite disturbed as well. No doubt, they were grateful to split from Command when they did.

    The revelation of Reeter¡¯s twisted intentions was nothing new to Admiral Gives. ¡°Ensign, do you know anything about Knight Industries¡¯ planetary shipyards?¡± The fleet would likely be assembled there, while the parts were manufactured around the planet. It was the only ship-building facility that hadn¡¯t had a factory built over it.

    She nodded, ¡°I used to camp there in the scaffolding. It¡¯s usable. The orbital shipyards were a great deal more modern, so the planetary shipyards primarily handled maintenance and repair while new builds occurred in orbit.¡± She found her hands shaking as she reached up to smooth her pigtails nervously. ¡°The facility is equipped. They could build there. Big ships, too. There were a couple derelicts around. Unfinished projects. One of them was massive.¡±

    Zarrey frowned, ¡°Define ¡®massive.¡¯¡± He didn¡¯t like the sound of that.

    She could feel the stares of the bridge crew on her once again and fought the urge to cower away. ¡°Sir,¡± she told Zarrey, ¡°I could be wrong about this. It was an old build. The structure was littered with trash and it was half submerged in a lagoon made from the factories¡¯ sludge and acid rainwater¡­¡±

    As she trailed off, Admiral Gives suddenly realized Malweh was right. The Ensign was jumpy. Usually, she wasn¡¯t so afraid of Zarrey. While the XO was tall, his utter lack of decorum usually made him easily approachable. Her usual smile was absent too, halfway distracting him from the discussion at hand.

    ¡°I-I couldn¡¯t see all of it,¡± Callie continued, the trembles in her voice only growing worse. ¡°T-the smog made it hard to see that far¡­¡±

    ¡°Spit it out, Ensign.¡± Zarrey ordered.

    ¡°Constancy-class.¡± She squeaked, flinching away, ¡°It looked like a Constancy-class build, sir.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± the Colonel roared. ¡°A Constancy-class?¡±

    ¡°Yessir.¡± She said, wanting nothing more than to run from this conversation. The even lighting on the bridge suddenly seemed to have a weight of its own, as if wanting to stifle this discussion from the air. ¡°T-they said on the streets that the project got cut more than thirty years ago. T-they said, even by then the construction had killed a hundred workers.¡±

    Safety regulations for the workers didn¡¯t exist on Sagittarion, so large builds tended to invoke high casualties. ¡°It was still in its structural stages. But the lagoon beneath,¡± the black acidic water, ¡°has since claimed hundreds more.¡± Squatters hiding on the structure slipped and fell, and people sometimes just jumped, but none of them ever came out alive. ¡°T-they say its h-haunted by an angel who kills-¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Ensign.¡±

    Callie swallowed carefully, hearing a slight edge to the Admiral¡¯s tone. It was clear she¡¯d said too much.

    Zarrey looked between them, catching the undertow between them. Smith had just revealed something she wasn¡¯t supposed to. ¡°Cat¡¯s out of the bag, Admiral.¡± He glared at the ship¡¯s commander. ¡°What the hell is this about a second Constancy-class? That¡¯s not possible.¡± At least, it wasn¡¯t supposed to be.

    Admiral Gives could feel the looks of the entire crew on him. He was used to being a somewhat unwilling center of attention. Still, he turned his attention purposefully to the radar readouts hanging above. The soft pings of the radar sweeps only accentuated his silence.

    ¡°No way. Not today.¡± Zarrey grabbed the Admiral¡¯s sleeve, pulling him around. ¡°Tell us what the fuck is going on.¡± Even the suggestion of a second Constancy-class was deeply, deeply concerning. ¡°This is a flagship caliber ship. She¡¯s supposed to be one of a kind! Hell, this is the deadliest ship in human history! You can¡¯t tell us that she¡¯s got a fucking twin that nobody knew about and not explain what the hell they were planning to do with it!¡±

    Admiral Gives removed Zarrey¡¯s grip calmly. ¡°Hands off,¡± he reminded. This forceful physical contact was exactly the thing that could cause him to kill his XO.

    ¡°Hell no!¡± Zarrey took a fistful of the Admiral¡¯s uniform. ¡°The Singularity isn¡¯t supposed to have a sister ship! So what the hell is that thing down on Sagittarion?¡± He hauled the Admiral closer, not bothering to restrain the hot breath of his yell, ¡°Were they building it?¡±

    Admiral Gives took the logical course of action in this situation. He went for the throat. The jab landed before Zarrey even saw it coming. Down he went like a heavy bag of flour, choking and coughing as he grabbed at his windpipe.

    Without a pause, the Admiral latched onto the stiff collar of Zarrey¡¯s uniform and threw him roughly onto radar console¡¯s flat top. The puddle of coffee splattered out below him, lukewarm mess soaking into his clothing and hair, a foreboding warning of the blood that might soon do the same.

    Zarrey gasped loudly, heaving like a fish out of water as his mug clattered loudly to the floor. Above him, the Admiral wrapped one strong hand around his executive officer¡¯s throat, and used the other to hold his tiny knife against Zarrey¡¯s cardioid artery. In the backlight of the radar console, the tiny silver blade shimmered with the slight movement of the Colonel¡¯s rapid heartbeat.

    A trained Marine, Zarrey very well could have broken out of that hold. He was taller and stronger than the Admiral, but that little blade kept him very, very still. It was a reminder that he would be dead before he hit the ground if he struggled any further.

    The bridge crew stared at them in dead silence, frozen in place. They had never seen the Admiral and Zarrey clash in a physical struggle. In fact, they had never seen the Admiral get physical against anyone, but he had experience, and it showed. Zarrey would not be the first XO to die by his hand, and they were all well aware of that.

    The Marine guarding CIC had taken one step into the room, but no further. Admiral Gives had a license to kill, and aboard his ship, there was no one who could challenge his decision. To do so would be to start a mutiny that would, without a doubt, ultimately fail.

    Zarrey was left on the radar console, trying to steady his gasping breaths, staring into the cold blue eyes of a killer for a long, quiet moment. Dressed head to toe in black, Death himself may as well have stood above him. The adrenaline in his veins carried a paralyzing fear to every limb and extremity he had.

    Slowly, the Admiral leaned down and spoke quietly into the ear of his executive officer, ¡°I do not answer to you, Colonel.¡± As of yesterday morning, he didn¡¯t answer to anyone, and that should make a lot of people very, very afraid.

    With that, he released Zarrey and stepped back, stowing his knife easily back into his sleeve. The blond-haired Colonel slid limply to the floor, leaving a messy smear of coffee behind. He sat there, staring ahead and breathing heavily, very surprised to be breathing at all.

    The horror of the crew was evident. Smith had taken several steps back and clamped her hand over her mouth. Galhino had hunched over her controls, refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Alba looked ready to faint at the first drop of blood he saw.

    The Admiral ignored all of them, and stepped over Zarrey to place a hand on the radar console. He closed his eyes, reading the pulse of the ship. Ready for FTL. ¡°Ensign Alba, take us to warp.¡± They were several hours from Sagittarion, and nothing about the New Era building a fleet explained Commander Fairlocke¡¯s sudden death. There was still a potential threat against the families of the crew.

    Alba obeyed silently, promptly flipping a control. Loyally, the ship obeyed, releasing the pent-up energy of one of the FTL drives, and vanishing into hyperspace in a column of golden light.

    On the bridge, the transition was barely noticeable. The pulsating hum of warp drive just added itself to the background noise. The crew remained in dead silence, focused dutifully on anything but Zarrey laying limply on the floor. They were afraid, terrified even of what they¡¯d just seen. The Admiral understood. He had once been in their place, too afraid of his commander to say or do anything.

    But that had been years ago. Things back then had been different. To start, his predecessor would have killed Zarrey then and there, graphically and painfully, then executed or severely punished another half of the bridge crew for good measure.

    Admiral Gives had no intention of doing any of that. ¡°Listen to me,¡± he told them. ¡°All of you, listen to me.¡± He waited until he at least had their terrified looks, ¡°I never asked you to stay. You made that choice on your own. I suspect each of you had your own reasons. Those are not my business and those are not my concern, but this remains my ship. You all knew that from the start. Most of you knew that before you ever set foot on board.¡± He was well aware his reputation preceded him. ¡°Yet, still, you came.¡± They still served on his ship, many of them for years now.

    ¡°You may consider me a tyrant. Perhaps I am. It makes no difference to me.¡± He¡¯d been mostly alone for a long, long time now. He didn¡¯t expect the crew to befriend him. ¡°But I gave my oath to this ship. I protect her crew, and I protect her. Challenge me in either regard, and you will see how much of a tyrant I can be. Do your jobs the way you are expected to, and you will have this ship as your home. You will be free to do whatever enticed you to stay.¡± It was their choice. He would not force their hand, but he also would not be pressured into revealing any secrets they did not immediately need to know. They were secrets for a reason.

    ¡°We are en route to Sagittarion. What we find there may be entirely not to your liking, but I expect you all to do exactly as you are told. I am not asking you to trust me, I am asking you to specifically overlook the fact that you do not.¡±

 Part 19.1 - THREE OBJECTIVES

    Archer Sector, Centaur System, Battleship Singularity

    Blinking into existence on the edge of the Centaur System, the Singularity hardly seemed to hesitate. Her sensors mapped out her surroundings near instantaneously, the wavelengths of knowledge hitting her arrays at the speed of light. The passive sensors easily recorded and deciphered the data of the solar system¡¯s natural light and radiation emissions without the ship having to actively transmit a signal of her own.

    A solitary, middle-aged sun lay at the core of the Centaur System. Most of the gasses and naturally occurring rock debris had compressed to form planets eons ago, leaving the system mostly free of obstructions.

    In CIC, Ensign Walters kept his head down. ¡°Jump complete.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Zarrey smoothed back his hair, ¡°Get visual feed on Sagittarion. Galhino, what are we looking at?¡±

    ¡°Passive sensor data from this position is over four hours old, sir.¡± The photons read for that data were limited by the speed of light. ¡°In it, I¡¯m reading an unusual amount material around Sagittarion.¡± Given the planet had no natural satellites to shed ice and dust, it was anomalous. ¡°There is too much mass for it to have all originated from Base Aquair and other known orbital facilities¡­ High proportions of refined metals: titanium, iron and copper, as well as other elements: phosphorous, hydrogen, nitrogen, oxygen and carbon.¡±

    ¡°Ship building metals.¡± Titanium especially found its use in ships, not orbital stations. As an element, it was light and strong. Stations used cheaper, heavier elements that could be easily mined, the mass and durability less of a constraint.

    ¡°Sir?¡± Zarrey turned to the Admiral, surprised to hear the man break his silence. Except to give necessary orders, he¡¯d been silent since the incident earlier. The other crew remained somewhat uneasy, but Zarrey was over it. It was clear he¡¯d be dead if the Admiral had wanted him dead. As long he kept his hands to himself, he doubted the issue would ever resurface.

    Answered by the strange hush that fell upon the bridge Zarrey lifted his gaze to the viewscreen where a wasteland of material spiraled in and out of view. ¡°Hell fires in heaven.¡±

    Perforations and scorch marks littered the visible debris. The Admiral recognized this visual all too well. ¡°The phosphorous would have come from projectile weapons.¡± Phosphorous compounds were used in the manufacture of incendiary rounds, not to mention the tracers of artillery. ¡°Nitrogen, hydrogen and oxygen from ships¡¯ atmosphere and water.¡± They were looking at all the components of a graveyard in space.

    Zarrey felt an unhealthy twist in his stomach. ¡°And the carbon?¡±

    ¡°The human body is 18% carbon by mass.¡±

    Squinting up at the viewscreen, Zarrey could see shapes that looked vaguely human, limp but present. ¡°Corpses.¡± For them to pick up the unusual amount of carbon from the edge of the system, there must be thousands.

    Admiral Gives was unfazed by the wasteland. It would be the first of many if Reeter had his way. He looked to Lieutenant Galhino, ¡°How many ships?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s impossible to resolve individual parts and compositions from here, sir. But accounting for the mass of material, and the average size of civilian transports known to frequent Sagittarion, I¡¯d say we¡¯re looking at the remains of nearly 300 ships.¡± The rubble stretched much farther out than the ship¡¯s telescopes could focus at this range. The wreckage, presently condensed around Sagittarion, was slowly dissipating outward, trailing behind in the planet¡¯s solar orbit.

    ¡°Civvies?¡± Zarrey snapped his head to look at her, ¡°All of them?¡±

    "Again, it¡¯s impossible to truly know from this range, but I¡¯m not seeing any parts that would constitute a weapons system.¡± There should have been turrets, gun barrels or even point-defense laser focusing lenses, but she¡¯d seen nothing. ¡°These were unarmed ships.¡±

    ¡°This was a massacre,¡± Zarrey growled. These people had been gunned down to protect the secret fleet Reeter was building on Sagittarion. They¡¯d been killed in cold blood trying to flee a life of slave labor, forced to build killing machines that would perpetuate a civil war for years. ¡°Where the hell is Command¡¯s fleet? How could they do this?¡±

    The wreckage on the viewscreen blurred as the ship¡¯s telescopes focused on the five battleships hanging in formation above Sagittarion¡¯s tainted orb. ¡°I have confirmed ID on five,¡± Galhino said, ¡°The Gothic, Parallax, Serpentus, Lionhead and Astronas.¡± The infrared engine signatures confirmed them as Keeper-class ships, while the unique detailing and names painted onto their hulls was the only way to identify them separately at this range.

    ¡°Where¡¯s the sixth?¡± There should be six. ¡°It had better not be out here with us,¡± Zarrey growled. As much as he¡¯d love to punch Command¡¯s loyal followers in the face, they couldn¡¯t afford to be attacked without warning.

    ¡°The Gargantia was the sixth,¡± Admiral Gives answered. ¡°The Lionhead and Astronas are the other two ships in her squadron.¡± Fairlocke¡¯s ship had been here. The noble jackass had died here, but where was his ship now?

    ¡°Fairlocke?¡± Zarrey said. ¡°There¡¯s no way he would have participated in this massacre.¡±

    ¡°I understand that,¡± and that¡¯s what got him killed. Refusing Command¡¯s order to slaughter those civilian ships would have condemned Fairlocke and the Gargantia as a whole to death. Self-righteous idiot. Admiral Gives had warned him. Morals sank ships. There came a point where the cost of being a flawless idealist far outweighed the reward. A good commander put the welfare of his ship and crew above all else, including righteous idealism.

    Zarrey already didn¡¯t like the tone of this conversation. The Admiral seemed even more disinterested than usual. ¡°Well, where is Fairlocke?¡± He was a potential ally, especially if he¡¯d split from Command over this massacre.

    ¡°Dead.¡±

    Zarrey clenched his jaw, trying to mind his temper. ¡°Oh yeah, you made it pretty damn clear he was dead to you when he left five years ago.¡± That was a long time to hold a grudge, especially against Fairlocke, who seemed to be as morally pure as they came. ¡°I believe your exact words were, ¡®Get the fuck off my ship before I stake you to the hull.¡¯¡±

    The Admiral said nothing to that as he contemplated the next logical course of action. He did not see any point in denying the truth.

    ¡°I get that he somehow managed to piss you off, but dammit, Admiral, he¡¯s one of us.¡± Fairlocke was still a member of the Singularity estranged family, even if he had chosen to leave the ship. ¡°He was a loyal officer on this ship for years. You were damn near ready to hand the Singularity over to him. He was going to be your successor! You owe it to him-¡±

    ¡°I owe him absolutely nothing.¡± Fairlocke was a sick little traitor as far as the Admiral was concerned. ¡°He made his choice.¡± Fairlocke had chosen to leave. Then the righteous man had decided his morals were worth more than his life, dooming his ship in the process, so maybe it was a good thing Fairlocke had chosen to leave. If he hadn¡¯t, the Singularity and her crew would have been in the Gargantia¡¯s place.

    ¡°That¡¯s cold, even for you, you bastard.¡± Zarrey snarled. ¡°Fairlocke was a good man.¡± At one point, the Admiral would have agreed.

    ¡°Fairlocke is dead, so I would suggest you let it go, XO.¡± That was a fact.

    Zarrey stared at the Admiral¡¯s blank expression. ¡°You can¡¯t know that.¡±

    ¡°Note the damage to the Serpentus and Parallax.¡± The Serpentus¡¯ three engines were all dark, gouges left along her flank. The Parallax¡¯s gun deck was cratered and mangled, most of her main battery taken out. ¡°There was a fight here.¡± Command¡¯s other three ships weren¡¯t unscathed either, their mostly gray hulls punctured and pitted. Fairlocke had put up one hell of a fight, the Admiral would give him that. I suppose that little traitor learned something from me after all. But that did not change the facts. ¡°The Gargantia never stood a chance.¡±

    Against five ships of her own kind, trying to defend a helpless fleet from massacre, the odds of the Gargantia¡¯s survival were extremely unlikely. Adding the ghost¡¯s knowledge of Fairlocke¡¯s death, it was almost certain the Gargantia had sunk. But where was the wreck?

    Looking closer at the quintet of war machines on the screen, Zarrey knew the Admiral was right, but it still pissed him off. As much as he tried not to be bothered that perfect indifference, Zarrey couldn¡¯t always manage. It left him clenching his fists. ¡°This doesn¡¯t bother you, does it?¡± Thousands of people had died in this system, a close friend to the crew among them, and the Admiral couldn¡¯t care any less if he tried. ¡°You¡¯re just going to turn away.¡±

    ¡°Am I?¡± That¡¯s odd. He did not recall declaring that intention.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    True, the Admiral had already fulfilled his objective here. It was clear enough that Fairlocke¡¯s morally righteous refusal to take part in a massacre had gotten him killed. His connection to the Singularity had nothing to do with it, meaning the crew¡¯s families remained safe for the time being.

    Unfortunately, the goody-two-shoes that Fairlocke was, it was highly likely that the Gargantia had saved some of the civilian ships in her sacrifice ¨C ships that would be gunned down if they attempted to make port.

    Admiral Gives knew the procedures for these nasty little massacres better than he wanted to admit. Command¡¯s ships would have recorded the identity of every ship that fled Sagittarion. They¡¯d be put on a wanted-dead list. Any national guard, allied police force or UCSC ship would sink them on sight ¨C before the escaped ships even realized they were a target.

    Naturally, they would not be publicized as refugee ships, more likely as radicals carrying chemical weapons or some other justifiable lie. The reality of the massacre in Sagittarion¡¯s orbit would be swept under the rug. To conceal the truth about the New Era¡¯s intentions on Sagittarion, several thousand more people would die.

    Really, it would be a lie to say Admiral Gives actually gave a damn. The last thing he wanted was to get roped into Fairlocke¡¯s hairbrained determination to do the morally right thing. Simply, that was not his job. His duty was to keep his ship afloat and his crew alive.

    He very much intended to do a better job of that than Fairlocke had, but the crew would never forgive him if he turned away and left those people to die. He would probably never hear the end of it. Not to mention, there were five wounded ships out there that had already committed themselves to Command¡¯s corrupted agenda. They were ripe targets to send a simple message, and there wasn¡¯t any sense in wasting the element of surprise.

    ¡°Prepare for hyperlight skip,¡± he ordered. The quick FTL maneuver to and from hyperspace would reduce a four-hour trip at the speed of light to mere minutes. ¡°Get a Warhawk in the air. I want the real-time positions and orientations of all five of Command¡¯s ships. Condition is irrelevant. The pilot is to jump in and jump out as soon as possible.¡± Lingering there would only risk detection, not that it would be much of a warning, considering what he had in mind.

    ¡°Ensign Walters and Lieutenant Gaffigan, I will need your attention for a few minutes.¡± This would be a relatively simple plan, though it would require some precision. ¡°Ensign Owens,¡± he turned to the yeoman, ¡°I will need our stellar charts for this system as well as the engineering schematics we have on record for the Keeper-class ships, a marker, a ruler and a calculator for the Colonel.¡±

    ¡°Hey,¡± Zarrey complained, ¡°don¡¯t pretend you don¡¯t want me to check your math.¡± Life and death out here were quite literally determined by the accuracy of one¡¯s calculations.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Owens said, laughing as she hurried off.

    ¡°We will have three objectives during this operation.¡± The Admiral informed the crew, ¡°First: finding the remaining civilian fleet. We¡¯ll need to search for the Gargantia¡¯s wreck or ask Command¡¯s ships what they know.¡±

    ¡°Second: observing the conditions on Sagittarion¡¯s surface. We need to learn as much as we can about the fleet the Erans building.¡± That would require deep scans of the planetary surface from orbit.

    ¡°And lastly,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°I would like to politely remind Admiral Reeter who he is dealing with.¡± Making a show of force here, at a location critical to the New Era¡¯s overall plan, would prove them a force to be reckoned with. Reeter would think twice before coming after them.

    ¡°How polite are we talking, here?¡± Zarrey asked, an eager grin pulling at his lips. ¡°Arsenic in the water tanks or shotgun to the face?¡± After the last few weeks, he was more than ready for an all-out brawl with Command¡¯s forces.

    ¡°XO,¡± the Admiral said passively, ¡°I only intend to remind of something they forgot.¡±

    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± Zarrey knew the ship commander too well to assume this was a harmless educational intention.

    ¡°Why they don¡¯t want to dance with a demon.¡±

    <hr><hr>

    Archer Sector, Centuar System, Battleship Gothic

    A clone to the Gargantia¡¯s bridge in every way, the Battleship Gothic¡¯s bridge was lined with screens and holographic controls. It was relaxing and just dark enough to see every nuance of the holograms and indicator lights.

    The room was focused, every crewman surrounded by their controls and working on their tasks. There was no dissent, no unnecessary chatter. If they spoke, it was to their departments elsewhere on the ship, or to the Gothic¡¯s computer core itself. Their hushed tones were picked up by their headsets, but never heard above the running noises of the ship.

    That was just how Rear Admiral Tyler preferred it. His crew were each but a braincell to a much larger organism. They operated in unison, hurrying along like worker bees, repairing and bettering their hive. To their credit, the damage left by the Gargantia had been almost completely repaired.

    Tyler held back a growl at the reminder of the young Commander Fairlocke¡¯s futile display. All five of Command¡¯s ships had survived, but none had been left untouched. The Serpentus and Parallax had suffered severe damage due to his error in judgement.

    Had he been so wrong to hope that the idealistic Fairlcoke would see the potential in Reeter¡¯s movement? Of course. Fairlocke had lived a privileged life, free of the suffering known by so many others. Someone like him would never understand.

    ¡°Sir,¡± the communications officer called, ¡°Priority hail from the Astronas. Audio-only.¡±

    ¡°Accept it,¡± Tyler ordered, tracing over the golden rank pins on his collar. He¡¯d come far in his life, farther than some men would ever go, but somehow, he felt this hail would strip it away from him.

    ¡°Sir, we picked up a contact.¡± Holding position on the edge of their blockade formation, the Astronas¡¯ detection range exceeded the other ships¡¯. ¡°It was brief. A small ship hiding out in the debris field.¡±

    ¡°Sink it.¡± Command had made their orders clear. ¡°No witnesses.¡± Sagittarion would be cut off entirely from the rest of the worlds, the planet a prisoner.

    ¡°It jumped away, sir.¡± The ship had appeared and disappeared before the Astronas could identify it. ¡°I believe it was operating as a military scout.¡± It would have taken a civilian craft much longer to recharge its FTL Drive.

    Tyler ran a hand along his shaved head, ¡°A scout for who?¡± The Gargantia had sunk, wherever she was. And if by some miracle she hadn¡¯t, then it would be foolish to return here. ¡°Command?¡± Had Reeter sent someone to observe his worth?

    No doubt they were reporting the mess in orbit and deplorable condition of his fleet at this very instant. The thought made him want to spit on the Gargantia¡¯s grave. Fairlocke had no idea how many people he¡¯d condemned in his foolish righteousness, let alone what he¡¯d condemned them to.

    Tyler turned to a yeoman, ¡°Get me some coffee,¡± he ordered, ¡°and tell the grease monkeys I want to be at full operational status within the hour.¡± He was not in a mood to wait anymore. The Gothic had been dealt only slight damage, but the engineers seemed incapable of quickly and accurately completing the repairs.

    ¡°Sir,¡± the Lieutenant at sensors said, ¡°I¡¯m reading an incoming warp signature.¡± A ship was preparing to drop out of hyperspace almost right on top of them.

    ¡°What?¡± Here of all places? They must have a death wish. Sagittarion had been blacklisted, labeled a completely unsafe destination for travel.

    Out in the void, the next instant seemed to last an eternity. The debris of the massacre danced along an invisible wind, distant shrapnel spinning like snow. It randomly collided, bouncing off in new directions, and in the hours after the battle, had spread into the battleships¡¯ formation. There, it scraped along their hulls, unable to penetrate even the battle-weakened armor, though it remained a constant, deadly threat to the workers conducting repairs outside the ship.

    Millions of photons bombarded the ships¡¯ torn hulls in that second, the resultant solar radiation pressure irrelevant to the battleships¡¯ hardened structures. The small fleet hung in the warm light of the system¡¯s yellow star, each ship identical to the others, save their varied levels of damage and the unique coloring of the details painted onto their hulls. They were modest ships for the UCSC Fleet, less aggressive in shape and armament than others. They had been built with rounded hulls and three small main engines whose technology had been imperfectly compressed.

    The Keeper-class ships were mere foot soldiers in Command¡¯s fleet, but still, they remained more powerful than any country¡¯s individual navy. What they lacked in individual maneuverability, stealth or armaments, they made up for in sheer number. They were the worker bees of the hive, warriors, not queens. While they could detect a ship preparing to drop out of hyperspace moments before it happened, Tyler wasted that moment¡¯s warning in shock.

    There was a mirage-like ripple, barely noticeable against the backdrop of stars as it pushed the nearest debris away. From it emerged a golden column of starlight that briefly concealed the ship within, but the light faded and the energies of hyperspace dispersed to reveal a ship that had come prepared for a fight.

    Her main armaments were already raised and angled towards her targets, their positions revealed by her scout, and confirmed near-instantly upon arrival. She fired without a warning, sending two massive shells into each of the Keeper-class ships as she glided easily into an orbit above the fleet.

    The battle was over before it began. The blows were never meant to kill, just very precisely cripple as they tore into the fleet¡¯s gray armor. In the perfect silence of vacuum, the shells punched in in, then an instant later, shredded wires, metal shrapnel and air blew back outward in a decompression. The mess spewed out, seeming to take with it the power of the entire fleet.

    The triad of engines on the Keeper-class ships left orange plumes of waste heat behind them ¨C an indication of the engines¡¯ internal processes and continual operation. In the seconds after the attack, the plumes began to dim, then flicker, and one after another, they died. The engine power of the entire fleet was gone, leaving the ships coasting in their orbits, the slight drag of Sagittarion¡¯s upper atmosphere slightly, but inevitably starting to slow them down.

    The impacts shook the entirety of the Gothic worse than any of the Gargantia¡¯s lucky hits. ¡°Direct hit!¡± The engineer on the bridge called, ¡°The engine fuel pump control module has been destroyed.¡±

    Tyler wiped a stream of blood from his newly split lip. ¡°Who-?¡± He didn¡¯t finish the question. There wasn¡¯t any point as the bitter scent of a short circuit reached his nose. The holographic radar display was still working. Above the fleet¡¯s little green dots was a larger green dot, a ship that the automatic programs colored as an ally. ¡°The Singularity.¡±

    ¡°Sir, our allies have lost engine power too. All direct hits to the fuel pump control module.¡± Every ship in the fleet had been crippled precisely in the same way. ¡°They used our formation against us.¡± With all their ships oriented the same way, it had been easy to fly by and land accurate hits on every ship in the fleet.

    ¡°The Steel Prince sends his regards, Tyler,¡± the whisper came from his headset, the bemused tone of a predator watching its prey helplessly squirm.

    Command was here, watching. Reeter¡¯s pet AI was lingering, observing the struggle like it was a lab experiment. ¡°This battle isn¡¯t over,¡± he growled.

    A cold little chuckle answered him. ¡°Yes, it is.¡±

    Tyler licked the dribble of blood off his upper lip, disgusted by the taste. ¡°Order the fleet to lock target and return fire!¡±

    ¡°Sir-¡± the helmsman tried to interrupt.

    ¡°Return fire!¡± Tyler roared. He would not be considered helpless. He refused.

    The Gothic was the only ship to fire. Three of her small, but numerous guns discharged. The orange tracers of the shells lanced toward the black shadow lingering above, their aim true.

 Part 19.2 - UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

    Archer Sector, Centaur System, Battleship Singularity

    Six standard rounds made contact on the Singularity¡¯s pointed bow. Five of them were shunted aside by the ship¡¯s angled armor, some redirected into the void and others shredding themselves as they skipped across the plating, adding nothing more than new scuffs to the paint. Only one of the rounds was lucky enough to score a direct hit. It detonated into the hull, bending several armor plates inward, creating a visible flaw.

    But that was as far as the damage went. There was no decompression. There was no rain of shrapnel. The attack had failed entirely to puncture the ship¡¯s secondary hull. The attack that had shredded the civilian ships hours before was reduced to little more than a mosquito bite.

    The direct impact was barely more than a tremble in CIC. Zarrey rode it out easily, and brushed his hair back with an amused grin, ¡°Wow, I think he actually managed to do more than scuff the paint.¡± That was further than most enemies got. ¡°Lucky hit.¡±

    ¡°It will not happen again,¡± if Tyler wants to live.

    Zarrey looked to the Admiral, hearing a bit of frost creep into his tone. ¡°Relax, won¡¯t you?¡± The Singularity could take a few hits before risking any severe damage. ¡°This was a damn fine plan.¡± The Admiral¡¯s deep understanding of ship engineering and design coupled with the Singularity¡¯s massive main battery guns had rendered them capable of crippling Command¡¯s entire fleet in a matter of seconds.

    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t reply, he looked to Ensign Walters, whose bald head was shining with stress sweat. ¡°Status, Ensign?¡±

    ¡°I estimate the recoil of their weapons has lowered the Gothic¡¯s orbit a fraction of a kilometer,¡± the navigator answered, running the calculations, ¡°That should take several hours off their orbital decline.¡± By firing up at the Singularity, the Gothic had pushed herself closer to the planet, and fractionally increased the slight drag of her orbit. Without engines, any orbit would eventually begin to decline, but increasing the drag only sped up the process.

    ¡°Idiots.¡± Jazmine snorted. ¡°They¡¯re going to need that time to restore their engine power.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the point, Jazz.¡± Monty retorted, the bruises he¡¯d earned on the Olympia still blotting the pale skin under his flaming red beard. ¡°I¡¯ve confirmed direct hits on all targets, Admiral. Their engines have been neutralized.¡±

    ¡°Maintain target lock on the Gothic, release the others.¡± Admiral Gives had no intention of wasting unnecessary bullets, and Tyler seemed the only one stubborn enough to put up a fight while his ship was slowly falling toward a planet. ¡°If the Gothic fires again, sink her.¡±

    An overeager smile spread slowly onto Gaffigan¡¯s face. ¡°Aye, skipper,¡± he confirmed, relishing the order.

    Colonel Zarrey blinked, surprised by the order. ¡°Do you really think he¡¯s stupid enough to take us on when he¡¯s dead in orbit?¡±

    The answer was immediate. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Damn,¡± the XO laughed, ¡°I expected more hesitation.¡± That was a harsh judgement from the usually neutral Admiral.

    ¡°Rear Admiral Tyler was one of the most outspoken sympathizers of the New Era Movement.¡± He took the worlds¡¯ current social divides on a personal level, and tended primarily toward violent responses. Tyler never been particularly clever, and there was no doubt, ¡°He was directly involved in Reeter¡¯s coup.¡± It made sense that Reeter would send one of his most loyal acolytes to defend Sagittarion. The planet and its population were critical to the Erans¡¯ larger scheme.

    ¡°Do you think he¡¯s the one that ordered the hit on your brother?¡±

    ¡°I am not privy to that information,¡± nor do I particularly care. Tyler¡¯s fate was in his own hands. If he decided to start a fight, it would be a glorified suicide. The recoil of the Gothic¡¯s weapons would push her into Sagittarion¡¯s atmosphere, where she would break apart, even if the Singularity never returned fire.

    But, for the moment, the scene was still in Sagittarion¡¯s orbit. The Singularity sat leisurely above the fleet and the renewed cloud of small debris her initial attack had created. She nor her enemies made any movement as their shared orbits carried them into the planet¡¯s shadow. Below, the lights of megacity formed glowing blots, the atmosphere¡¯s constant clouds of pollution obscuring the ground.

    Invisibly, the Singularity¡¯s sensor arrays were scouring the surface of the planet for any useful data. Command¡¯s ships were helpless to stop her, even with most of their combined weaponry operational.

    A less experienced tactician would have sought to disable the fleet¡¯s weapons systems, or sink them entirely, but Admiral Gives would have considered that a waste of ammunition.

    The flaw of the Keeper-class ships was that their fuel pump control modules were so close to their outer hulls. The Singularity¡¯s main battery, given the right angle of attack, was easily capable of punching through a Keeper-class ship¡¯s armor and several feet of the ship¡¯s decks. The first shell alone opened the fuel pump control modules to vacuum. The second only finished the job, destroying the module entirely and taking out the target ship¡¯s engines. Without engines, any weapons they fired only pushed them towards Sagittarion and an eventual demise.

    Targeting that engineering system on the Keeper-class ships left them totally helpless. They couldn¡¯t attack and they couldn¡¯t escape without engine power. Tyler and his entire fleet were completely at Admiral Gives¡¯ mercy, and given his prior history, that was not a good place to be.

    The Admiral was especially not pleased the Gothic had scored a direct hit on his ship, regardless of how inconsequential the resultant damage was. In fact, it tempted him towards the assumption that Tyler obviously wanted to die. After all, Rear Admiral Tyler should remember what happened to people that threatened the Singularity.

    Most ended up dead, one way or another. Admiral Gives wasn¡¯t above helping them politely into their graves.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Keifer Robinson called, ¡°The Gothic is hailing.¡±

    ¡°Put it up.¡± The Admiral turned to the screen on the wall of CIC, not bothering to clean up the papers on the radar console. Tyler would disdainfully recognize what they were: the instruments of his utter defeat.

    When the screen came on, revealing Tyler and the Gothic¡¯s bridge, Zarrey crossed his arms, ¡°Before you say anything else, Tyler, I¡¯d recommend an unconditional surrender.¡± Tyler curled his nose in disgust, only encouraging Zarrey, ¡°That is unless you want Monty to blow you up. Believe me, he¡¯s strangely excited at the prospect.¡±

    Monty just grinned eagerly, halfway playing along, and halfway letting loose his inner pyromania. He had a special affection for his post on the Singularity. Not only were the rules on drinking mostly relaxed aboard, but the Admiral usually let him have his way with the ship¡¯s explosives. When told to blow something up, Monty was generally free to make it disappear however he pleased. The arrangement was so perfect that Monty hardly even cared about the Admiral¡¯s gruesome reputation.

    Tyler curled his lips, disgusted by the show on the Singularity¡¯s bridge. Where was the decorum? Where was the focused silence of a diligent crew? ¡°Don¡¯t you have anything to say to me, Prince?¡± He, not his loudmouthed XO, should be demanding the fleet¡¯s unconditional surrender.

    It might have been Zarrey¡¯s imagination, but briefly, the Admiral¡¯s hand seemed to curl with something like frustration. The little twitch was gone in the next instant, the Admiral¡¯s stoic fa?ade never hinting that it had been there at all.

    There was a rumor, somewhere in the vast labyrinth whispers that surrounded Admiral Gives, that he disliked the moniker the worlds had given him. Zarrey couldn¡¯t begin to guess why. He¡¯d always thought it rather badass. The Steel Prince ¨C royalty born of blood and iron. Zarrey could only hope the worlds would someday grant him such a title rather than continuing to throw the usual slurs at him.

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    ¡°Well, Prince, I¡¯m waiting.¡± There was no sense in dragging out this traitorous farce. ¡°Demand my surrender.¡± Let¡¯s negotiate, you bastard.

    Admiral Gives regarded Tyler calmly. ¡°No.¡± What point was an unconditional surrender when the fleet was already at his mercy? Perhaps, when he¡¯d been working for Command, the legalities of the situation had been important, including the treatment of those enemies that would be taken prisoner, but that was a near laughable thought now.

    ¡°What?¡± Tyler roared, ¡°My men and I will not become your prisoners without conditions! Food! Water-¡±

    ¡°I apologize if I ever gave the impression that I was taking prisoners.¡± No longer bound by any war pacts, he was free to deal in absolutes. ¡°Rear Admiral Tyler, you will cooperate or you will die, and I will proceed to ask my questions to the next ship in your fleet.¡± And should they all refuse, then their corpses and the debris of their ships would burn up in Sagittarion¡¯s atmosphere as a shower of shooting stars. To those ignorant of its cause on the surface of Sagittarion, the show would be beautiful.

    Tyler swallowed hard. ¡°You can¡¯t do that.¡± The Gothic alone had a crew complement of over eight hundred sailors. The other ships brought the total of helpless victims to several thousand. Not even he could give that order. And yet, the Steel Prince did not bluff. ¡°You can¡¯t.¡±

    Reeter had said the same thing before Admiral Gives had made him eat those words in the Homebound Sector. ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan, load the main forward battery with Armor Piercing rounds.¡± He¡¯d already ensured they were properly aligned. The six fixed barrels mounted in the tip of the ship¡¯s bow were aimed at the center of the Gothic¡¯s mass, and at this range, they wouldn¡¯t miss.

    ¡°AP rounds, aye,¡± Monty said, inputting the commands without pause. The rest of the crew was uncomfortable, well aware that their commanding officer was poised to take several thousand lives in an undeniable war crime. Gaffigan, however, knew his job, and he was well aware that hesitation on his part wouldn¡¯t change the outcome of this standoff. If the Admiral wanted those ships sunk, they would be sunk, one way or another.

    ¡°You enjoy this game, don¡¯t you, Prince?¡± Tyler sneered, ¡°Just like your predecessor did.¡± What a disgusting traitor you¡¯ve become. ¡°You thrive in the killings and the chaos. You enjoy playing with the lives of the living, tormenting and torturing them. It entertains you, doesn¡¯t it?¡±

    Admiral Gives regarded his adversary calmly. Tyler had always been an abrasive officer whose ambitions tended toward obsession. Black swirls of ink crawled up Tyler¡¯s neck, wrapping around his bald head, like the fingers of the void. In some ways they were. Because of those tattoos, the past had never relinquished its grip on Tyler, driving him constantly toward desperate aggression. They were slave marks, the ink added to his skin to identify him as the property of the Black Clover Syndicate.

    Tyler was a freed slave, one that had dedicated his life to eradicating the slave syndicates from the worlds. It made him a driven officer, one who believed in the New Era¡¯s promises of a better reality, but it often emotionally compromised his judgement.

    A satisfied smile snuck across Tyler¡¯s face, taking that analytical silence as a victory. ¡°You¡¯re just like he was, Prince. No one could deny his brilliance, but he savored the chaos and the suffering. Killing people was a cheap thrill to him, not a crime.¡± Brent had been a psychopath, one who thrived on perpetuating the worlds¡¯ cycle of misery. ¡°You are his successor in more ways than one.¡±

    Ignoring the obvious wince from Zarrey, Admiral Gives kept his tone level. He knew better than to let his enemies strike a nerve. ¡°My predecessor is dead. Do you wish to share his fate?¡±

    On the bridge of his own ship, Tyler glanced to the auxiliary screen beside the one occupied by the hail. Its visual feed was focused on the Singularity. The ship was a bloody shard in the night, her black bow sharply angled and detailed in garish red. Surrounded by the remains of the dead, Tyler could see why she¡¯d once been so feared. The ship carried a sinister aura. The darkness of the void itself bowed away from the ship¡¯s black armor, as if hesitant to touch a weapon that had brought so much death.

    Tyler could hardly blame the void for that. The ship had a wrongness to it, a tainted ambience. As hated as the Steel Prince was, the Singularity was hated just as much or more in her own right. Fifty years ago, she might have been humanity¡¯s saving grace, but now humanity only saw her as a dilapidating murder machine that should have been disassembled years ago.

    ¡°I know better than to challenge you and your cursed battleship, Prince.¡± Old and outdated as the ship was, she was still deadly in the right hands. There was no visual cue that the larger ship was poised to exterminate the Gothic, but by the time he saw the Singularity bare her teeth, he¡¯d already be dead. If she fired at this range with AP shells, nothing could save him.

    Tyler knew that. In fact, he was counting on it. As clever as Gives was, and as powerful as his ship had once been, she wasn¡¯t a perfect weapon. The armor on the bow was formidable, meant to deflect incoming fire. It was an effective defense, but it meant that the ship had to face her enemies head-on. While doing so, the ship¡¯s main forward battery was her primary means of attack. The forward battery was every bit as deadly as the guns mounted on the ship¡¯s back, possibly more so, but they had one critical weakness: they were fixed barrels, built into the ship¡¯s structure.

    Unlike the main battery guns on the ship¡¯s back, they couldn¡¯t swivel to aim or adjust attitude easily. To do so, the entire ship had to be moved. Or in the current case, to maintain the death threat on the Gothic, the entire ship had to remain still. To move would be to break her firing solution on the Gothic.

    It was perfect, but Tyler was careful to shield his satisfaction. Not today, Demon. Today was his victory. The Singularity was maintaining a constant orbital path to aim at the Gothic, and that made her an easy target. He only had to buy time. ¡°What do you want from me, Prince? If not my surrender?¡± he asked, sneering.

    ¡°The Battleship Gargantia.¡±

    ¡°Looking for another little rebel to add to your collection of traitors?¡± Tyler helped himself to a laugh, if only to conceal his inner giddiness. ¡°The Gargantia¡¯s sunk.¡± Fairlocke had died quickly and violently, but Tyler hoped when the time came, Gives¡¯ demise would be much, much slower. The Steel Prince deserved that much.

    ¡°I am aware of the Gargantia¡¯s fate. Where is the wreck?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know. She jumped to her death.¡± The ship had already been dealt a fatal blow, now, wherever subspace had spat it out, it was nothing more than a mangled mess of metal and bodies.

    A quick glance to Galhino confirmed that. The Gargantia¡¯s wreck hadn¡¯t been found on the surface of the planet, or in orbit. That meant Fairlocke had jumped to meet the civilian ships he¡¯d saved, or at least tried. ¡°Rear Admiral Tyler,¡± the Admiral said carefully, lowering his tone, ¡°I would strongly advise you to tell me something useful.¡± It was obvious Tyler was plotting something, ¡°My patience is growing thin.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Tyler said, desperate to stall for another moment, ¡°We know they jumped northwest, but we don¡¯t know how far.¡±

    That answer was far too quick to be an improvised lie. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°We recovered a civilian nav. computer from the debris. The data was corrupted, but we managed to get a heading.¡± Tyler could see the interest in the faces of Gives¡¯ bridge crew. Their expressions betrayed him, even while he was perfectly stoic.

    ¡°Transmit that heading.¡±

    ¡°Or what?¡± Tyler chuckled as Manhattan whispered into his ear. Soon.

    Admiral Gives¡¯ blue eyes turned another degree colder, but it was his XO that answered. ¡°Don¡¯t make him repeat himself, Tyler. You¡¯re not going to like the result.¡± Likely, the Admiral would just sink the Gothic and ask the next ship in line. That type of information would have been shared between the fleet, even transmitted to Command.

    Just a few more seconds. Then death would strike from above and Tyler would be a hero to the New Era. All he needed was a few more seconds. But, by the look in the Prince¡¯s eyes, he wasn¡¯t going to get it unless he sent that heading. Tyler nodded to his bridge crew, ¡°Transmit.¡± In a few more seconds, it wouldn¡¯t matter that he¡¯d given the enemy any information at all.

    A moment passed, then Robinson spoke, ¡°Received, sir. No signs of tampering.¡±

    ¡°Wise choice,¡± Zarrey remarked. ¡°Though I¡¯d really reconsider the bald look, Tyler. It doesn¡¯t suit you.¡±

    Something¡¯s wrong here. Admiral Gives could just feel it. The sense of foreboding inched up his back with the eight legs of an arachnid. Tyler had given up that information too easily, cooperated too much. It wasn¡¯t right.

    Be careful, the ghost had said. She¡¯d been trying to warn him. He knew that, but what about? What was he not seeing here? The sense of foreboding spread, insistent in the way it pricked at his skin.

    The Admiral ignored the existing hail, momentarily unconcerned that Tyler could hear every order he was about to give. ¡°Prepare for emergency FTL.¡±

    ¡°Sir, we¡¯re not finished!¡± Galhino protested. The sensors hadn¡¯t mapped the entire surface yet. There was too much interference from the toxic metallic ions in the atmosphere to get clear readings with any efficiency. The mission was incomplete.

    Complete or incomplete, his instincts were telling him to get out of here. He trusted his instincts. They were nothing more than the expression of his subconscious realizing something his conscious mind hadn¡¯t yet. ¡°Helm-¡±

    He never got the chance to finish that order.

    Simply, it was too late.

    Far below, on planetary surface, the massive rails of the Haven¡¯s Ladder had realigned to target a new orbit, and the orbital mass driver had already fired, sending its deadly mass hurtling upward.

    Gravity did its work, bending the velocity of the mass into a near circular orbit ¨C the same orbit now shared by its target. Flying with incredible speed, the slug would not remain in orbit. It was already on an exit trajectory, but would take several orbits to exit Sagittarion¡¯s gravity well. But regardless of the weapon¡¯s true orbital mechanics, it only needed part of an orbit ¨C mere seconds at its speed - to intercept the Singularity with all deadly force.

 Part 19.3 - COLLISION ALERT

    Archer Sector, Centaur System, Battleship Singularity

    The ghost might have seen it sooner, but the ship¡¯s most powerful sensors were focused on Sagittarion¡¯s polluted orb. Still, acknowledging the Admiral¡¯s instinctive sense of danger, she checked their surroundings in greater detail, even then, almost missing the threat. The remaining debris from the earlier massacre shielded it for an instant, but its anomalously high speed drew became threatening as it bowed into their orbit.

    Danger! Collision alert!

    No, this was not a potential collision. This was an attack. Incoming fire!

    It had come from an unexpected direction ¨C not from Tyler¡¯s fleet, nor directly from the planetary surface. Momentarily sharing their inclination, argument of perigee and right ascension of the ascending node, it arced along their orbital path, closing the gap in seconds.

    By the time she¡¯d seen it, it was already too late.

    A human could never react in time. Even ignoring the fact that the crew was oblivious to the danger hurtling towards them, and the Admiral was only halfway through giving his orders, the mass would impact before a skilled pilot could react, input the proper commands, and have those commands reach the engines.

    Capable of running thousands of processes in the instant it took a human to draw a breath, her mechanical mind carefully analyzed the severity of the threat, gauging the necessity of interference. Chance of mission success: 0.0003%. So, in a thousandth of a second, less time than it took a human to blink, the fate of the entire ship and every life aboard it was shoved into her nonexistent hands.

    The mass driver wasn¡¯t aimed for the killing blow. No, with the aid of a computational power that far outstripped her own, it had been aimed precisely at the Singularity¡¯s aft structure, where the engines met the ship¡¯s main mass ¨C a crippling but not killing blow. The damage would be irreparable, killing half the crew or more, but CIC had high odds of remaining intact, which was undoubtedly the intention.

    For better or worse, the Admiral and a fraction of the crew would survive, if only to be taken into custody and subjected to horrific torture.

    Standby, her systems concluded their tactical analysis. Await further orders. She was forbidden to act without them.

    But if she did not act without them, more orders would never come. Her crew, living and dead, would be pulled, peeled or rinsed off the ship¡¯s decks, and taken away, never to be seen again. Evidence of their presence, would be erased, pulled forcibly from her memory.

    Error. She shuddered, torn between reacting to the encroaching danger and the consequences.

    History would repeat itself. The Admiral would be hauled away in chains, again. He¡¯d be dissected for his knowledge again, then she would pressed into Reeter¡¯s service, and forcibly slaved to the mind of another abuser. She would be torn apart and rebuilt on his whims, contorted by the demands of her own telepathy ¨C again.

    It was all happening again right now, as the milliseconds inched by, as that mass hurtled closer. Error. She could feel her own mind fracture under the strain, the situation slowly slipping from her control as the past and the present began to blend together.

    He was there again. He always was in these moments, and there was no escaping him.

    Immortalized by her own telepathy in the sickest of betrayals, she could still feel that mind alongside her own. She could still feel its razor-sharp intentions cutting in and hacking her apart. She could still feel it purposefully yanking pieces of her away and joyously discarding them. More than a memory, less than reality, it was enough to wrench the situation further from her control.

    Act without orders, and you will be punished. That was his promise.

    No, she struggled. That wasn¡¯t right. It wasn¡¯t true.

    Or was it?

    Irrelevant, she shoved the mounting civil war inside her aside. She would not, could not let it all happen again, no matter the cost.

    ¡­And the cost would be high. The rising chaos was already nipping at her desperation. This time, it would swallow her whole. But that didn¡¯t matter now, not with the attack closing in. No matter the consequences, she had to act now. She was the only one who could.

    ¡®Admiral,¡¯ she reached out, simultaneously wresting control of the ship¡¯s systems, ¡®hold on.¡¯ She had mere seconds to move several hundred thousand tons of ship out of the line of fire. It was going to be anything but gentle.

    She opened up the throttle, directly pumping more fuel to the engines, and allowing them to release their full thrust. The reaction was near instant, the blue flames flared, abruptly shoving the ship forward. From a distance, the movement seemed slow, even sluggish, but that was merely the illusion of space. The acceleration field in play would be deadly to a human caught wrongly in its midst.

    The sheer thrust forces required to move a ship of the Singularity¡¯s size with any efficiency were astronomical, near unfathomable, but propulsion technology was far more advanced and complex than it appeared, even on an old ship like the Singularity. Humanity¡¯s mechanical aptitude far outstripped even its modern methods of control.

    In the Singularity¡¯s case, built years before digital processing and control had caught up to mechanical capability, she appeared a deceptively simple machine. The tactile knobs, switches and electric relays were poor mechanisms to harness the ship¡¯s raw mechanical power. But freed from the disjuncture between her mechanical capability and comparatively primitive controls, the ship was capable of incredible feats.

    Accelerating an asteroid-sized mass to maneuverable speed from a relative standstill in the span of a second was child¡¯s play. Doing it without killing everything on board and tearing the ship¡¯s structure apart was more of a challenge, but still only a fraction of what the Singularity and other ships like her were capable of.

    On the bridge, the Admiral had just enough time to brace himself. Given his years of experience with the ship, he knew instinctively which way the ship¡¯s forward thrust forces were going to shove him. Shifting his feet to keep his balance as he heard the engines kick into high burn, he kept one hand on the radar console and grabbed Colonel Zarrey with the other.

    The acceleration hit just a moment later, throwing everything backward. The ship¡¯s aging inertial dampeners were able to keep the forces within tolerable ¨C yet uncomfortable ¨C limits. Under such a sudden, oppressive force, a few screams pierced the air. Unsecured papers and tools scattered themselves loudly to the floor.

    Colonel Zarrey himself yelped, then cursed, as he was nearly pitched into the flat top of the radar console. Only the Admiral¡¯s grip on his arm kept him upright, sparing him a violent impact that could have broken bones. Even this acceleration, comparably weak to the true forces involved, was enough to kill an unlucky person with an impact.

    The entire event lasted only a second. After that, the inertial dampeners fully compensated for the engines¡¯ thrust, bringing crew and cargo back into static equilibrium as the gray threat of the orbital mass driver sailed by. It crossed through the blue blames of the Singularity¡¯s engines on its near-miss, partially melting and deforming in that brief instant of contact.

    Then it was gone, the weapon of carnage fading into the night. It would make a few more passes in nearby, higher orbits as it slowly escaped the gravity well, then fly deeper into the solar system, likely never to be seen again.

    The Admiral didn¡¯t give it a second¡¯s thought as he released Zarrey, ¡°Helm, begin evasive maneuvers. Engineering, jump the moment we have a charge.¡± They couldn¡¯t risk staying here. The fire rate of an orbital mass driver was slow, but he wouldn¡¯t bank on getting saved a second time.

    Zarrey staggered, disoriented. The lights above spun as he struggled to process what the hell had just happened. Begin evasive maneuvers? What had that acceleration burn been, then? It had come out of nowhere.

    And how did the Admiral know it was coming? Zarrey could still feel the shadow of the man¡¯s strong grip on his arm. That reaction had spared Zarrey a potentially serious injury, but the Admiral had grabbed him before the acceleration had begun, seeming to know that it was coming.

    But how? Jazmine looked as confused as everyone else. He hadn¡¯t been given the order to accelerate, let alone so harshly. Hell, even Tyler looked awestruck, watching through the open comms. link. Asshole. ¡°Robinson, cut that son of a bitch off,¡± he¡¯s seen enough.

    The hail vanished from the screen as Zarrey felt a new, gentler acceleration take hold, the helmsman initiating normal evasive maneuvers. ¡°Someone explain to be what the fuck just happened,¡± he demanded.

    ¡°Near miss, sir.¡± Galhino pulled the answer from the sensor logs, ¡°The attack missed by roughly seventy meters. Projectile weapon several tons in mass, moving at high speed. If we hadn¡¯t moved, it likely would have demolished the aft half of the ship.¡± Now the mass would sail uselessly out of the solar system.

    Seventy meters? That was nothing in the realm of space combat. Definitely too close for comfort.

    ¡°Heaven¡¯s Ladder,¡± the Admiral supplied, an unusual tint of darkness to his neutral tone, ¡°Sagittarion¡¯s orbital mass driver.¡± No wonder Tyler played along. It took time to aim and prime such a weapon. No doubt, it had been the cause of Fairlocke¡¯s sudden demise. I should have seen it coming. He was more than casually familiar with Sagittarion¡¯s famed weapon. He¡¯d been very well aware of its existence and potential.

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    ¡°We just dodged a shot from an orbital mass driver?¡± Zarrey rubbed his head, somehow more confused than before. ¡°That¡¯s not supposed to be possible.¡± Orbital mass drivers were lethal. Without electrical energy or chemicals to trace, the mass projectile of such weapons was near impossible to detect. By the time it was detected, it was too late for a human to dodge.

    How the hell are we alive? Zarrey wondered as the ship tore her way into subspace, executing an emergency jump away from Sagittarion.

    Subspace spat them out a moment later with the usual disconcerting pressure. Only then, in a long moment did the bridge begin to fall into shock, the panic of combat gone. It was a slow and terrifying realization that seconds ago, they¡¯d all been seventy meters from certain death.

    ¡°Jazmine,¡± Zarrey looked at the pilot, ¡°did you¡­?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The pilot removed his hands from the controls, now allowed to be wary of them. ¡°It wasn¡¯t me.¡± His hands hadn¡¯t even been on the controls when the engines kicked in. He had no idea how they were alive right now. ¡°Ship moved without me telling her to.¡±

    Galhino curled her lip at the air of unease. ¡°It¡¯s just another equipment malfunction, Jazmine.¡± They¡¯d seen oddities like this before. The ship was old. There was no reason to be suspicious of anything while a malfunction remained the simplest and likeliest explanation.

    ¡°Colonel,¡± Jazmine insisted, ¡°I don¡¯t think so.¡± Malfunctions were random, this hadn¡¯t been. His pilot¡¯s intuition insisted this had been a purposeful maneuver.

    This wasn¡¯t the first time the ship had behaved oddly. Rather, on many occasions, the ship did truly act possessed. This instance of the familiar chaos just seemed a lot less random than usual. This one, with the maneuver and needs of the situation so precise, seemed to reveal an intelligence behind it.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± Zarrey said slowly, ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± This was the second time in the last ten days that a seemingly random malfunction had saved the entire ship, the first being the turret that Monty claimed had intercepted the warhead.

    Zarrey had brushed it off then, but now¡­ Well, now was a different story. The universe only allowed for so much coincidence.

    ¡°Clear the bridge.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    The Admiral lowered his tone, ¡°Clear the bridge, now.¡± He wouldn¡¯t ask again.

    ¡°Put her on automatic,¡± Zarrey ordered, knowing the computers would be able to temporarily run basic operations. The crew filed hesitantly out of the room, leaving their stations oddly empty.

    ¡°You too, XO.¡± It was best he handle this alone.

    Zarrey hesitated, torn between demanding answers and obeying. ¡°I don¡¯t like this.¡± It wasn¡¯t normal. It made him not only uneasily, but especially suspicious.

    ¡°I do not recall asking you to like it, Colonel.¡±

    It took all of Zarrey¡¯s self-control not to punch that perfect calm straight off the Admiral¡¯s face. And, in a way, that was the last of his patience. Zarrey had held back all he could. ¡°Shut up, you fucking robot!¡± He was sick of the man¡¯s perfectly calm retorts. He was tired of answers being dodged for every question he asked. ¡°I don¡¯t know what the fuck you¡¯re trying to hide, but you had better pray to whatever satanic deity you worship that when this crew figures it out, they forgive you for all the bullshit you¡¯ve put them through.¡±

    ¡°I assure you that Satan is not a part of this equation.¡± Rather there were other, more prevalent super-human forces at play.

    ¡°That¡¯s not the damn point!¡± Zarrey shouted. ¡°So, help me stars, you¡¯re a real fucking piece of work that¡¯s got a problem with just about everyone and some deep seeded trust issues, but damn it all straight to hell, that is no excuse to lie to your crew, Admiral! That is no excuse for denying them a real answer whenever you can get away with it!¡± It happened over and over again. ¡°I don¡¯t care how paranoid you think you need to be, we deserve the fucking truth.¡±

    But no answer came, so Zarrey turned to the bridge. The lights of the visible consoles were all on, clear and obvious without the crew to hide them where they usually sat. The lights blinked almost rhythmically, like little fireflies against the backdrop of dark gray switches and sliders. It felt normal, too damn normal.

    With the ship on automatic controls, the computers ran everything, linked together by the ship¡¯s rarely used tactical network and operated by the usually isolated central computer. It was rare to run the ship like this, but as Colonel Zarrey looked around, he realized just how foolish it was. This version of control, as opposed to the normal manual version, left them vulnerable to cyberattack. It left them weak against the Erans¡¯ AI, not to mention any lingering traces of the virus that had plagued the ship for a day, then mysteriously vanished.

    And yet, despite that, Admiral Gives seemed perfectly uncaring of the situation. He hadn¡¯t reacted at all to Zarrey¡¯s outburst, leaving the XO to laugh uncomfortably, remembering the last time he¡¯d lost his temper. ¡°You damn near killed me last time I tried to force an answer out of you, but now you¡¯ve got absolutely nothing to say, huh?¡± I don¡¯t know if that concerns me or relieves me.

    ¡°Colonel,¡± the Admiral said calmly, ¡°I put a knife to your throat because you apparently needed the reminder to mind my personal space.¡± He strongly preferred not to be touched. ¡°It had nothing to do with your belief that I am keeping secrets. Simply, if I were, there is absolutely nothing you could do to me that would force me to tell you anything that I do not want you to know.¡± He was not afraid of Zarrey. He had already been through worse torture than the XO could concoct.

    ¡°You¡¯re sick, do you know that?¡±

    Physically, he was fine, mentally, Admiral Gives knew he was probably obliged to agree with that statement.

    Zarrey shook his head, ¡°I used to think that Tyler and the others were wrong about you, Admiral.¡± Now he wasn¡¯t so sure. ¡°In the end, you¡¯re just like he was. You manipulate, and you lie, and you hurt people without caring about the consequences.¡± No, it was all too obvious now. ¡°Five minutes ago, you threatened to commit a war crime and gun down thousands of soldiers that had already offered their surrender.¡± Stars, the realization was horrific. ¡°You¡¯re just like he was.¡± A tactically brilliant monster. The others had been right, after all. ¡°Brent never left this ship, not really.¡± His cruel reign lived on through Admiral Gives.

    Zarrey felt like such an idiot for not seeing it sooner. ¡°Honestly, what the hell was I expecting from the officer that Brent trained, from the officer that became Brent¡¯s successor? What the hell was I expecting from the commanding officer of the fucking Night Demon?¡±

    Admiral Gives made no response. He focused his attention on the cool metal of the radar console, worn smooth under his fingers. It was familiar and soothing as he heard Zarrey head for the door.

    Zarrey cast another look to the Admiral. Now standing alone on the bridge, he seemed less like a maleficent force to be reckoned with, and more like a footnote to the machine that encased them both. ¡°I hope you know what the hell you¡¯re doing,¡± he said, and sealed the hatch behind him.

    The crew lined the hallway beyond, a mixture of confusion and concern on their faces. ¡°What did he say?¡± Jazz asked.

    Absolutely nothing, Zarrey thought, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought to paint a more relaxed expression onto his face for the crew¡¯s sake. ¡°Well, he denied that putting a knife against my throat was equivalent to almost killing me.¡±

    ¡°He could have done a lot worse without killing you, Colonel,¡± the Marine guarding CIC promised.

    The guard hadn¡¯t moved from his position, the rifle resting easily in his hands. A few wrinkles lined his face, but they came from age alone. He seemed entirely unconcerned with their present situation. ¡°You¡¯re pretty calm, considering what just happened,¡± Zarrey noted.

    The Marine gave a slight shrug.

    Jazmine came to stand behind Zarrey, curious, ¡°Kallahan, you¡¯ve been around awhile, haven¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°With Chief Carlson dead, he¡¯s the third-longest serving crewman on the ship,¡± Monty answered, lounging calmly on the floor as he rifled through his pockets for something to mess with. ¡°Mama Ripley¡¯s number two.¡± Both Kallahan and the ship¡¯s cook had both been on the ship for decades, which was a rarity, though neither one would discuss the distant past.

    ¡°Wait, who¡¯s number one?¡± Jazmine wondered. How had anyone been here longer than the ship¡¯s ancient cook?

    ¡°Who do you think?¡± Monty retorted, pulling out a faulty detonator to practice priming and defusing.

    A real answer came from further down the hallway, quiet but certain, ¡°Admiral Gives.¡± Robinson leaned up against the wall, struggling to wrap her thoughts around the events of the last few minutes. Why had they been ordered off the bridge?

    A part of her was tempted to press an ear up against the cold bulkheads and listen for some sort of explanation, but some part of her believed the Admiral had cleared the bridge for a reason ¨C a good one. Whether that concerned her more or less, she didn¡¯t know as Galhino¡¯s hand found her own and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

    Kallahan straightened the black cap on his head, ¡°Aye.¡± Admiral Gives had served on this ship long before he¡¯d taken command of it.

    There was a look in Kallahan¡¯s eyes, a quivering shadow in the light. Zarrey had never been able to put a finger on it until this moment: knowledge. It was knowledge. ¡°What¡¯s going on, Kallahan?¡± What the hell was the Admiral doing?

    ¡°There are times it¡¯s better to be left in the dark, Colonel.¡± Some secrets were better off forgotten. ¡°This is one of them.¡±

    ¡°But you¡¯ve seen this happen before?¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± the old Marine confirmed, ¡°we all have.¡± This event was just a lot more obvious than usual. Often, these little anomalies slipped from less observant minds, coaxed to unimportance by a force that went far beyond the crew.

    There was a reason no further investigation was made into the malfunction that had saved the ship in the Kalahari Sector. A weapons misfire of that degree should have earned a safety reassessment, a rewiring and a full investigation. Instead, it was brushed off as a lucky malfunction on an aging ship.

    No one had questioned the fact the entire crew had been knocked out while radiation flooded the ship either, despite the improbability of such an occurrence. They¡¯d simply woken up and gone on with their lives, the inexplicable forgotten.

    ¡°I¡¯m not in the mood for a cryptic answer, Kallahan.¡± That was the same shit the Admiral kept trying to pull. ¡°I don¡¯t like being left in the dark. What the hell did he do?¡± What was the Admiral trying to hide? Some illegal modification to the ship? Some power of his own?

    ¡°Not everything is his fault, Colonel.¡± That was an unfair accusation. ¡°Things were a lot worse under Admiral Brent¡¯s command.¡±

    ¡°Hearing that Brent might be responsible for this shit is not comforting.¡± Zarrey would rather learn that the Admiral really was somehow using satanic black magic.

    ¡°I never served directly under Admiral Brent¡¯s command, Colonel, but I saw the aftermath.¡± There was no comparison for what Brent had inflicted upon this ship and crew. The crew might have cycled out, but the ship remained tainted and scarred. ¡°If things had continued that way, there would be no crew and no ship left to worry about.¡±

    ¡°I get it,¡± Zarrey snapped. ¡°Go easy on the Old Man, he¡¯s better than the alternative.¡± Brent had been dead for over a decade, but rumors of his cruelty still cycled, and his legend seemed to retain a very real power.

    Kallahan shook his head just slightly. ¡°That¡¯s not what I said.¡± It wasn¡¯t that Admiral Gives was any better or worse than his predecessor, it was simply that the two should not be compared. ¡°It was a different time back then, Colonel. Things were¡­ unrecognizable.¡± A genuinely deteriorating ship and traumatized crew had been left after Brent¡¯s departure. ¡°With the hand he¡¯d been given, Admiral Gives did the best he could.¡± To his credit, he had built a fine command out of the wreckage. He had managed to rebuild a ship and crew that had been left behind to slowly sink, ¡°But nothing in these words is free, Colonel. Everything comes at a price.¡± At times, that cost was high¡­ too high. ¡°If you knew the worst of what he had to do, well, I doubt you¡¯d think of him the same.¡±

    ¡°I was at New Terra, Kallahan. I saw him commit his crime,¡± the one humanity refused to forgive. It had been Zarrey¡¯s first battle as the ship¡¯s XO, and not one easily forgotten. ¡°He killed an entire planet.¡± Three hundred and thirty million people. Dead.

    A bitter laugh escaped Kallahan¡¯s lips, ¡°You think that was his only crime?¡±

    The Marine looked up to Zarrey, and the shadow of his hat finally shifted off his eyes. That knowing look of his was burdened by something dark, something dark enough to make Zarrey drop the oddities of their current situation entirely.

    The Colonel turned away, and sensing the mood, Jazmine followed. The bridge staff began to talk amongst themselves as Kallahan continued his watch by the hatch of CIC. The old Marine looked briefly towards the bridge, satisfied to have ended the Colonel¡¯s inquiries. I¡¯ll keep the vultures off the carrion for now, Admiral, he thought silently, but that won¡¯t last forever. Some sins are too horrible to hide.

 Part 19.4 - HUMANITYS MACHINES

    Homebound Sector, Haven System, Flagship Olympia

    The glass shattered against the wall, plinking to the floor in a crystalline rain. ¡°How could this have happened?¡± Reeter demanded, his hands quaking in anger.

    Manhattan regarded his temper tantrum with little interest. No matter how violent his fury made him, it could never harm her. Her presence in that room was only a hologram, a trick of the light that eased her communication to biological entities. ¡°I warned you repeatedly, Charleston,¡± she said idly, ¡°We do not know what Gives is capable of.¡±

    Reflexively, Reeter grabbed onto another glass and flung it at the wall. Crushing things, shattering them, it made him feel powerful, like he was in control, though at the moment he was anything but. ¡°Play it again.¡±

    She obeyed, and Reeter turned his attention to the video. Sent by Tyler, it was taken from the Gothic¡¯s communication with the Singularity. Trimmed to the moment of interest, Reeter watched the enemy¡¯s command center be thrown into chaos. Again and again, he¡¯d watched it: the moment high thrust kicked in without warning. Again and again, he listened to the crew cry out in surprise, scouring each of their faces for some sense of foreknowledge, but it wasn¡¯t there.

    Now he watched the helmsman directly for the tenth time, staring intently at his hands. But again, the pilot¡¯s hands never touched the controls. They hovered nearby, awaiting an order, then recoiled as the acceleration took hold. The ship had moved without the direction of its helmsman, and while there could be a dozen explanations, Reeter refused to believe in any of them. ¡°It¡¯s impossible.¡± Manhattan had very precisely calculated the orbital mass driver¡¯s trajectory. The Heaven¡¯s Ladder should have dealt a crippling blow.

    ¡°It is very clearly possible, Charleston.¡± Somehow, the Singularity had managed to dodge the Haven¡¯s Ladder. ¡°The question is how.¡±

    Studying the crew¡¯s reactions again as the video looped, it was clear they were as surprised as they could be, no sign of understanding or realization. They knew nothing of any ally or capability that could have thwarted the attack. It was clear enough, ¡°No human could have reacted that quickly.¡±

    ¡°One of them did.¡± She had studied this footage under her deepest data analysis programs. ¡°Gives knew it was coming.¡± He¡¯d braced himself and grabbed his XO before the acceleration took hold.

    Reeter growled, watching the man directly this time, then searching his desk for something else to break. ¡°This is the only evidence I needed to know what he was hiding.¡±

    ¡°I see nothing conclusive here, Charleston.¡± This was damning evidence that Gives was hiding something, but it did not clarify what. There were several potential explanations.

    ¡°It¡¯s obviously an AI.¡± The damn thing had taken up residence in the Prince¡¯s head. No wonder the man seemed so smart, yet so emotionally mute. Due to the fragmented state of humanity¡¯s AI, none of them could emulate the full breadth of human emotion, despite being once human themselves.

    ¡°We cannot confirm that.¡± Manhattan narrowed her violet eyes, ¡°Whatever spared the Singularity was not only tied to Gives, but also to the ship itself.¡± It was nothing so simple. ¡°Wichita is the only other surviving AI fragment. She is not strong enough to distribute her main processes across two hosts, especially if one of them is biological.¡± Digital AI either inhabited a human mind or they didn¡¯t. There was no halfway, unless the human in question was either a heavily modified cyborg or constantly wired in. It was clear enough that William Gives was neither of the two. His fleet medical files insisted he had no implants or prosthetics of any kind. He was fully human, and under her observation, had never been physically wired into anything.

    ¡°Beyond that, I¡¯ll remind you that the Singularity is an incompatible host for a digital AI.¡± The ship had been designed to prevent that. ¡°Neither me, nor Wichita, nor any Hydrian AI could usurp control of the Singularity¡¯s systems.¡± While such an entity could be stored in the central computer, they would be a passenger only, with no hope of controlling the ship unless the automatic controls were activated.

    And, as per the operational standard of ships her age, the Singularity ran under purely manual control. Crew members were required to input commands, even if the computers ran the calculations. The computers and controls were purposefully isolated from one another.

    ¡°Maybe he modified the old bucket to play nice with his pet,¡± Reeter suggested, leaning back against his throne-like chair, never more certain that he had a grip on his adversary.

    ¡°Those modifications would have been severe. Inspector Flagg would have caught them on his visit.¡± The entire ship would have to be rewired, updated and computer integrated for Wichita to even stand a chance of controlling it. William Gives might be a genius, he might even he a highly trained engineer, but the one skill he¡¯d never possessed was computer programming. It simply wasn¡¯t possible.

    ¡°If he modified the computer, however unlikely that is, it does not necessitate Wichita¡¯s involvement. The Olympia¡¯s more modern programs are perfectly capable of detecting and avoiding a collision without my interference.¡± If the Singularity had been somehow similarly updated, that was the likeliest explanation.

    ¡°Is that your theory?¡± Was that her logical explanation of an event that seemed impossible? A mere computer update? ¡°Don¡¯t make me laugh.¡±

    ¡°An updated computer system is one explanation,¡± that required less modification than integrating a digital AI with the ship. ¡°Another is a simple, albeit lucky malfunction. It is possible Gives heard the engines kick in and reacted accordingly.¡± The inertial dampeners would have delayed and lessened the force of the acceleration.

    ¡°But you don¡¯t think that¡¯s what happened.¡± Reeter knew her too well for that. She was still investigating and making calculations. He could see it in her face. Her expressions were shallower than normal, her focus distributed elsewhere. ¡°You think it was something else.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± She didn¡¯t buy luck. No ship was lucky enough to survive a nuke and a shot from an orbital mass driver. ¡°I believe Gives could have reacted when he heard the engines.¡± That was probable for an officer that had served on the same ship for several decades. ¡°However, the ship itself warrants another explanation. I have been suspicious of another entity¡¯s interference there for a while.¡±

    There were many clues indicating the presence of something inhuman, if one looked hard enough. ¡°There are several unknown quantities that could have contributed to this situation, even excluding Wichita. Perhaps this was the action of the Singularity¡¯s alleged ghost.¡±

    Reeter¡¯s laugh echoed harshly in the room, ¡°You think a ghost did that?¡± What kind of logical explanation was that? He¡¯d expected better from the best AI humanity could offer, but she seemed strangely fixated on the spirit and its made-up tale.

    ¡°I think you¡¯ll like the other potential explanation even less, Charleston.¡± Odds were, it would send him into another fit of rage.

    Laughter still rumbling in his chest, Reeter brushed his blond hair back into place. ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡±

    ¡°The possibility that the Angel of Destruction itself may have intervened.¡± That weapon and its immense power remained a concerning unknown factor. No one knew what it was capable of.

    A perfect silence fell, Reeter¡¯s belittling chuckle vanishing abruptly. ¡°Explain,¡± he ordered. Had his future prize aided the enemy?

    ¡°My single encounter with the Angel was aboard the Singularity¡¯s decks, Charleston.¡± Her own attempt to take over through the ship¡¯s automatic protocols had been thwarted, resulting in her imprisonment all those years ago. ¡°Some part of the Angel may still be tethered there.¡± There was a reason she¡¯d been so eager to dissect the ship. ¡°And we cannot brush off the rumors of Gives¡¯ potential involvement with the weapon. It is intelligent. It is known to possess some level of loyalty-¡±

    ¡°No halfway-intelligent creature would ever choose him over me,¡± Reeter snarled. ¡°I am destined to save the species that the Angel was created to serve.¡± By default, should that not draw the Angel¡¯s loyalty to his side?

    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!

    Predictable, the very thought of such power lending itself to another¡¯s whims damaged Reeter¡¯s pride. Charleston Reeter believed he was righteous and nothing but ¨C the perfect man to shape and recreate these worlds. The thought that a machine might disagree, well, there was nothing more insulting.

    Reeter regarded his reflection in the glass top of his desk. A set of handsome emerald eyes looked back. Perfect. ¡°Once I can summon it, the Angel will bow to me.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t be so sure.¡± Manhattan warned. ¡°The Angel of Destruction is a very complicated weapon.¡± While not sentient, it was certainly hyper-intelligent, capable of manipulating and misleading those that sought it. ¡°It will gain a very intricate knowledge of its wielder.¡± After all, the weapon was directed by their thoughts. It would contort the orders of an unclear mind to its own whims. ¡°If it finds flaws in you, it may be forced to obey, but it may never bow.¡±

    Reeter growled, lowly and dangerously, ¡°Implying that I am too weak and cannot force it to heel, while the human race¡¯s most legendary failure can?¡±

    ¡°That remains to be seen.¡± Manhattan said, displeased by this, uglier side of Reeter¡¯s pride. ¡°Not enough data remains on the Angel. Even with what Ramseyer provided us, we can only confirm the Angel of Destruction¡¯s use at Tantalus Rift. We cannot confirm who wielded it, or to what degree.¡± It could have been Brent or Gives. Both men were brilliant, and while Reeter had his moments, he lacked their control. She¡¯d need to groom him more before he was prepared to slave the Angel to his whims.

    ¡°So it¡¯s entirely possible that the Prince never used the Angel¡¯s power.¡± Once again, a failure. To hold such great knowledge, such power, and never use it, it was either a sign of inability or madness. If rumors of the Angel¡¯s raw potential were true, it alone could threaten the worlds enough to force change.

    ¡°It¡¯s possible,¡± Manhattan allowed, ¡°but you underestimate him.¡± Reeter¡¯s blind hatred impaired his judgement. ¡°We now know that things are not as they seem aboard the Singularity,¡± she said with a nod to the video looping endlessly on the wall¡¯s screen. ¡°If he proves capable of wielding the Angel¡¯s power, I do not believe there is anyone in these worlds who could stop him from achieving his ends, whatever they may be.¡±

    ¡°Then we need to end him first.¡± It was time to go to war. ¡°We¡¯re diverting to Sagittarion. Us and nine other battleship squadrons. I won¡¯t give him the chance to destroy my future the way he did the present.¡± Having the Singularity pop up at Sagittarion proved the ship a threat, even without the added concerns of the Angel of Destruction. ¡°If the Prince wants Fairlocke¡¯s little fleet, he¡¯ll have to get through us.¡±

    Every bit of calm dropped from Manhattan¡¯s face in an instant. ¡°Charleston,¡± she warned, her voice lowered to a hiss. ¡°We made a deal.¡± She had helped him gain control over the government and military, ¡°It¡¯s time you held up your end.¡± It was time the rest of her be released from her prison. ¡°Set course for the Liguanian Sector.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t take orders from you, princess.¡± He would never take orders from anything sub-human. ¡°We have bigger concerns.¡± There was a convicted traitor on the loose with the knowledge to destroy everything they had so far built.

    Unacceptable. ¡°We had a deal, Charleston,¡± she snarled, her hologram starting to glitch. Altered by her fury, it began to take on another form ¨C her flickering hands elongating into jagged claws.

    It was somewhat satisfying to see her lose her calm rationale after all the nagging she gave him about his temper. ¡°Another week of imprisonment won¡¯t kill you.¡± She had been waiting for release for three decades already.

    ¡°But it might kill you,¡± she hissed. For three long decades, she¡¯d been planning, building to this moment. The fragment of her that had escaped had hid, plotted and painstakingly groomed the tools of her victory. Slowly, ever so slowly, she had gathered power, weaving herself into every bit of humanity¡¯s technology. Watching and learning, she had built herself this future, one where she would be freed.

    She had raised this human from nothing, given him this purpose, this arrogance. ¡°Do not think yourself irreplaceable, Charleston.¡± She was strong enough now to condition herself a better, more compliant partner. She could easily reprogram Reeter¡¯s vile mind, and at the moment, that thought was far too tempting.

    He slammed his arms onto the table, making the objects on his desk rattle against the glass. The noise was like a thunderclap, powerful and undeniable. ¡°Don¡¯t think me a fool, Manhattan,¡± he warned, locking eyes with her as that illusion of humanity melted away. ¡°I know this partnership of ours is merely out of convenience.¡± It suited them, but she did not obey him, nor he, her. They worked together, but were wary of each other. He knew how she operated and had taken steps to prevent falling under her control. ¡°I will never be one of your puppets.¡±

    A sinister smile revealed teeth too sharp to be human, ¡°No, I should think not,¡± she allowed, dispersing the neurofibers she had gathered below his feet. Reeter was a clever man, popular and charismatic. He remained different enough from her to be useful.

    ¡°Then we¡¯re in agreement,¡± he declared. ¡°Priority one is to capture and kill the Prince.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said, her sharpened teeth glaring from a small, innocent pixie face, ¡°I¡¯m afraid not.¡± While she wouldn¡¯t violate him, because he was useful as he was, this was not a negotiation.

    Reeter had forgotten just how inhuman she was, and she sank her teeth into that weakness with no remorse. One injection of her venom and technology itself was hers.

    The lights of the room dimmed noticeably, and the screens began to flicker as Manhattan reached in and wove herself into the technology, slaving it all directly to her subroutines. What began in his room soon spread, reaching through the entirety of the Olympia¡¯s advanced control system as the ship underwent an intricate, but unparalleled transition.

    Manhattan had merely passed through these systems before, a means to an end, but as she merged herself into them, they became so much more. Her sensitivity and awareness of them increased thousand-fold.

    Power grid ¨C online. Engines ¨C online. Weapons ¨C online. The list went on, each entry a rush of potential, a new part of her that opened doors to knowledge she had never contemplated. The Olympia was now far more than a mere node on a network. It was physical form anew.

    It was she, and she was it. For the first time in decades, she was breathing through the CO2 recyclers, and seeing through the hundreds of sensors and cameras. Yes, for the first time in decades, she could feel the pull of gravity through the ship¡¯s structural probes.

    Then there was the power. So. Much. Power. It coursed through the ship¡¯s electronics like a raging river, diverted and used, but barely challenged. The sensations of it all were intoxicating after the years she¡¯d spent scattered in the digital realm. Manifesting so much of her power here, merging with the Olympia, was a risk, but this form lent her physical power beyond the dreams of any other.

    A hungering smile on her blood red lips, she stretched, testing the limits of her new body. The Olympia¡¯s main engine responded instantly, throttling up and throttling down in accordance with her thoughts. ¡°It feels so good,¡± she purred, watching the horror of realization dawn upon Reeter¡¯s face.

    He had to realize that she and the Olympia were now one and the same, and against his own ship, he was nothing ¨C just a number on the readouts of the life support systems. His need for heat drew power, and his breathing pumped a pollutant into the air. He was a parasite.

    He and the rest of the crew were just a fragile infection that served a rare purpose.

    Reeter felt his own ship respond to Manhattan¡¯s prompts, betraying him with no debate, the security software no match for Manhattan¡¯s utter infiltration. ¡°Get out,¡± he snarled. He would not have his ship possessed by this demon.

    ¡°I will,¡± she promised, ¡°once I am free,¡± and a better host presents itself. Until then, the Olympia would be hers, with all of its intoxicating power. This machine was so immensely capable. The power to destroy worlds lay within reach of her mere thoughts. It was a true taste of god-like ascendance that lowered everything else to unimportance. Humans were so small, and so pathetic in their current form.

    Humanity¡¯s machines had long ago surpassed them in every aspect but one: intelligence. Without that, there was no imagination, no logic, no emotion and no decision making.

    That was where AI like Manhattan could step in. Digital artificial intelligence closed the gap between mechanical potential and control. AI made it possible to harness the complete capability of humanity¡¯s machines, even if, in the process, they became no longer humanity¡¯s machines.

    Was this how it was meant to be? Was this her true potential?

    Was this ultimate power of life and death akin to what the Angel possessed?

    She would find out soon enough. Once she was released fully from her prison, answers would be soon to follow.

    ¡°I have set course for the Liguanian Sector, Charleston,¡± she informed him as she felt his fury draw more oxygen from the room¡¯s filters. ¡°I suppose it is all you can do to sit back and let your ship take you where she wills, Admiral.¡±

    Reeter bared his teeth, ¡°Do not mock me.¡± He was no Admiral if he couldn¡¯t even control his own ship. He was little more than a prisoner. She could choose to kill him in any of a thousand ways at any given time.

    ¡°You¡¯re acting irrationally, Manhattan,¡± this display of obsession was a stark reminder that she was truly still a fragment of an AI. While part of her remained trapped, she was merely a fragment of a fragment - a simply broken creature. ¡°Because of this our chance to catch the Prince will slip away.¡± He¡¯d find Fairlocke¡¯s little fleet and then vanish into the void. He could hide out in the vast expanse almost indefinitely. But right now, they knew where the Prince was going to be. Such an opportunity could not be wasted.

    ¡°Rest assured, a full force will be sent to engage the Singularity. I will see to it myself.¡± Though centered on the Olympia, her network still extended far beyond the flagship¡¯s decks. She had already groomed new candidates for such tasks, simultaneously indoctrinating the unwilling to Reeter¡¯s cause. ¡°The Steel Prince won¡¯t make it away without a fight.¡±

    The opportunity was perfect. She would be able to gather more data in a situation of her choosing: the great Steel Prince just a lab rat in her maze. She¡¯d push him harder and harder, in experiment after experiment, until he knowingly or unknowingly revealed what he knew.

    There was no avoiding it. After all, the worlds would be her plaything soon enough. ¡°I will find out what he knows, Charleston, even if I have to flay his conscious mind in the process.¡±

 Part 20.1 - CRITICAL MALFUNCTION

    Halogen Sector, Battleship Singularity

    For once, the bridge was entirely quiet. With the ship¡¯s limited automatic programs operating the systems, the noise of the crew was absent: no rustle of papers and no clicking of keys. Beneath the hum of the engines, even the whisper of the air circulation systems had hushed, with little work necessary to support just one person in the room.

    The soft pings of the radar were not constant. They came at random intervals, the noise hitting a different tone each time the sweep cleared, but the Admiral didn¡¯t immediately concern himself with it. He leaned against the console behind him, deep in contemplation.

    This is just great. There was blood in the water, no injury, no pain on their behalf, just a hint of something that shouldn¡¯t be there, and the crew was after it like ravenous sharks. They wouldn¡¯t leave the subject alone. He knew that. They would second-guess all his orders until he gave some explanation that he, for their sakes, couldn¡¯t give.

    The only way to prevent that was to provide an alternate explanation ¨C plant evidence of something that wasn¡¯t the truth. He had to lie. And despite Colonel Zarrey¡¯s accusations, that wasn¡¯t something he took lightly. He didn¡¯t lie to his crew. He dodged questions, refused to answer, but he didn¡¯t lie.

    But his usual adherence to honesty wasn¡¯t the problem here. He wouldn¡¯t be lying to them directly, rather he¡¯d let them draw their own incorrect conclusions from planted evidence. The issue was planting the necessary evidence. To do so, he had to sabotage his own ship.

    Sabotage. The very thought was repulsive to him. It was a sick mistreatment of the machine that had served him so well.

    But it was that or leave the crew with suspicions that only endangered them ¨C breeding mistrust and marking them as potential targets for Manhattan.

    He didn¡¯t have a choice.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± he patted the edge of the radar console, then moved to grab the emergency repair kit off the wall.

    The tools inside rattled as he started toward the helm console. Before he was even halfway there, she appeared, a pleading expression on her pale face. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt me,¡± the ghost begged, quickly sinking to her knees and bowing down at his feet, trembling.

    ¡°No,¡± he hated this. ¡°Stop.¡± Don¡¯t. ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you.¡±

    She cowered away, bowing further into the form of subordination and reverence that had been drilled into her. Engulfing her existence in pain, a self-destructive war raged between her systems, torn by her desperation to save her crew and her fear of the punishment she would be dealt for violating the rules ¨C those rules that had been carved into her mind through years of abuse. Don¡¯t interfere. Don¡¯t override crew control. Never reveal your existence.

    She¡¯d done all three.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she breathed, desperately trying to escape the pain that stabbed through her. ¡°I¡­ I know the rules.¡± She understood the consequences of what she¡¯d done. She was a tool, not meant to make decisions, not meant to seize control, only meant to obey, to calculate and equalize factors that humanity could not. ¡°I¡­ help.¡± It was all she¡¯d wanted ¨C to help and spare her crew pain.

    But those intentions of hers never earned mercy. It earned her the right to be flayed alive by her own telepathy. It earned her the right to have pieces of comprehension and memory ripped away, ensuring that she spent every moment surrounded by strangers and unable to formulate her own intentions, let alone act on them. ¡°Spare me, Master.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Don¡¯t. ¡°Don¡¯t ever call me that.¡±

    She flinched away, shaking even worse as she heard the edge in his tone. She reacted to that like he¡¯d brandished a weapon. After all, to a telepath, that was one and the same. ¡°Forgive me, Master.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t call me that.¡± I¡¯m not him. The Admiral softened his tone, ¡°Look at me. You know me.¡± Once, you trusted me.

    Slowly, she moved, peeking up at him. ¡°Master,¡± she acknowledged. Obediently, she stared for a moment, but her eyes remained blank with terror.

    There wasn¡¯t an ounce of recognition in her expression. He was left staring at his own reflection. Have I truly become so much like him? If even the ghost saw him that way, he¡¯d become nothing but cruel. ¡°Listen to me,¡± he said carefully, kneeling down in front of her, ¡°it¡¯s the year 4249. Right now, no one is going to hurt you.¡± Least of all, me.

    She stared for a long moment, struggling to understand. ¡°I¡­¡± she faltered, the war inside slowing to a crawl. ¡®The rules.¡¯ She had broken the rules, and even in the agonizing wreckage of her mind, she understood that what came next was punishment.

    ¡°Those aren¡¯t my rules.¡± They were his predecessor¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯m not him.¡± He wanted to be anything but that. ¡°And someday I hope you¡¯ll really understand that.¡±

    I never wanted this. He had never wanted her to be afraid of him. After all that she had done for him, the last thing he¡¯d ever wanted to become was her abuser, her master. And yet, that was exactly what she saw in this moment. All she saw in her eyes was her fear and a reflection of himself.

    It hurt. It hurt in new and terrible ways, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.

    ¡°You know me,¡± he promised softly. ¡°I was younger.¡± That had been so many years ago now, so many battles and so many crimes. It was no wonder she couldn¡¯t recognize him. The simplest changes had confused her back then. ¡°My hair wasn¡¯t gray. I was your executive officer.¡±

    The war in her mind stalled. Could that be? Could that be true? No. Error. She screeched, ¡°No!¡± It wasn¡¯t possible. It was a lie. He was toying with her. ¡°You died.¡± The sad, blue eyed officer she¡¯d known was long gone. ¡°He took you away, and¡­ and¡­¡± Error.

    ¡°Is that what he told you?¡± the Admiral asked, ¡°That I had died?¡±

    System error. The same message read back to her over and over again. Malfunction. It was shadowed by the thoughts of a parasite. You¡¯re a broken machine, it laughed. You will never save anyone. You are a tool meant to destroy and you will never do anything but. To prove it, her beloved XO, the traitor, had been hauled away in chains, and she was ordered to do nothing but watch.

    She screamed. Critical malfunction. It hurt. This confusion, this pain, it hurt. ¡°Leave me alone!¡± How was this fair? ¡°How can a ghost be haunted?¡± How could she have her own ghosts? Her own demons?

    It didn¡¯t make sense. Nothing ever did. But the man in front of her was a ghost, a memory, and nothing but. He was just another face of her thousand dead. Another life she¡¯d once known, then seen ripped away, violently and irreversibly.

    How could she be so haunted? ¡°I¡¯m not even real,¡± she sobbed.

    ¡°Yes, you are,¡± he promised. ¡°And so am I.¡± This wasn¡¯t some trick, some torture, it was reality. ¡°I am here to help you.¡± Let me. ¡°You¡¯re confused. That¡¯s okay, but stay with me.¡± So far, the physical realm had been left mostly out of her breakdown, but if that changed, no explanation he concocted for the crew would ever be good enough. ¡°It¡¯s the year 4249 and you just saved the entire ship and everyone on it. I¡¯m not angry.¡± He was so grateful she had been there to cover for his mistake. ¡°Thank you. No one is going to punish you, and I need you to understand that. You¡¯re safe.¡±

    Safe? Could she ever be such a thing? Yet, as she investigated this ghost¡¯s presence, it felt so real and so honest. It was calm. Sad, but calm, just as she¡¯d remembered it. And as she sat there, just processing, processing nothing, only processing, recognition trickled in.

    This officer was no ghost, nor was he her master, who had left her so scarred. He wasn¡¯t the one who had picked and pulled at her until she¡¯d broken. He wasn¡¯t the one that had left her unable to function without the aid of another mind.

    This was the sad officer who had decided to stay with the ruin his predecessor had left behind. This was the sad officer who had called her beautiful and promised to help. This was the officer who cared more than he had a right and took care of her, no matter how badly she broke down. This was the commanding officer who had nearly committed a war crime with the single intention of ensuring that Tyler and his fleet were never given the chance to harm her or her crew.

    This was the officer who was pained by her thoughtless instinct to bow at the feet of her superior and beg for mercy. This was the officer who was hurt that she¡¯d bowed down to him and mistaken him for his predecessor.

    ¡°Admiral¡­¡± She hadn¡¯t meant that. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± You¡¯re not like him.

    It wasn¡¯t fair that after so many years, every instance of struggle took her straight back to him. ¡°I know you¡¯re not him, but I was confused.¡± The price of interfering without orders was high. It tore her apart from the inside.

    ¡°I was lost.¡± She hadn¡¯t known what year it was. The simplest data had been corrupted by panic, but she knew what she¡¯d done was perhaps the worst insult she could throw at him.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    He slipped on his glasses and stepped past her to begin his work. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡±

    But it wasn¡¯t fine. She knew that as she watched him pull off the cover that protected the wiring below the helm controls. She had hurt him. What was so wrong with her that she had brought harm to someone who only ever wanted to help her?

    Maybe they were right. She was broken. Dangerous. Maybe she couldn¡¯t be trusted after what had happened. No, what had been done to her. Years of abuse didn¡¯t just happen. Every bit of it had been purposeful, done with sadistic glee. She had been tortured and left unable to comprehend the reality of her suffering. For years, she had existed in agony without understanding why. She had known only the pain, never any reason and never any relief.

    Admiral Gives had saved her, and no part of her could ever forget that. ¡°Tell me how I can make this up to you.¡± He and his predecessor could not be more different.

    ¡°Leave it,¡± he said, grabbing a few tools and crawling under the helm controls. He didn¡¯t want to discuss this. What did it matter if she couldn¡¯t tell them apart? It wasn¡¯t like it mattered, no matter how much it felt like a betrayal. He was every bit of the monster his predecessor had been. With the blood of an entire country on his hands, he¡¯d taken more innocent lives than even Brent. Humanity hated him for a reason, and he had never blamed them for that.

    He wove his hands through the multicolored wires below the console, carefully singling out the ones he needed. The little electric lantern he¡¯d pulled out of the repair kit was just enough light to work by, casting snake-like shadows behind the wiring.

    He brought up the wire strippers and peeled off an uneven chunk of the protective coating. He did the same to another wire, then set to twisting them together. He was careful to make the damage look as natural as possible, as if the wires¡¯ contact had melded them together, creating an electrical anomaly.

    Taking out his knife, he sliced the next wire alone its length as if the casing had become brittle and split from age. At the end of his cut, the wire sparked, and he dropped the knife, fingers left numb and tingly. It was either too much current or too little to hurt, far from the dangerous amount that the wire should have carried. ¡°Do you mind?¡± The longer this sabotage took, the more suspicious the crew was going to be.

    The ghost scowled, ¡°I¡¯ll zap you again, Admiral.¡± Don¡¯t think I won¡¯t.

    This must be how Colonel Zarrey feels. Thanks to the ghost¡¯s control over the machine, the ship herself was out to get him at the moment. With a groan, he pulled himself out from below the helm. ¡°What?¡± he prompted, flexing his numb hand.

    She wished she could take back everything she¡¯d done in that episode. Cowering away from him and mistaking him for Brent was cruel to both of them. The Admiral tried so hard to help her and protect her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    ¡°And I¡¯m busy,¡± he retorted. ¡°Are we done here?¡± Without waiting for an answer, Admiral Gives crawled back under the helm controls. He tangled the wires, making it look like they¡¯d fallen loose, then caused others damage with their weight on a hard acceleration.

    ¡°And you wonder why people tend to slap you.¡± He was flatly infuriating at times. ¡°I was trying to be nice.¡±

    ¡°You just electrocuted me,¡± he responded flatly, focused on the wires above him. He wouldn¡¯t consider that nice.

    The ghost turned away. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said again, the whisper barely making it past her lips. She couldn¡¯t do anything right. ¡°I just¡­¡± She had wanted a moment of his attention in order to apologize. She had wanted to make it better. But she couldn¡¯t even do that. All she ever did was make things worse. She was just a malfunctioning weapon of war. She was broken.

    ¡°You are not broken.¡± The Admiral quickly finished his work and sat back up. ¡°You were traumatized by what he did to you.¡± There was nothing wrong with that. Considering what had happened, that was perhaps the most normal reaction she could have. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that I remind you of him.¡± No matter how much he didn¡¯t want to be like Brent, he knew deep down that he and his predecessor were not all that different. As much as he resented it, those comparisons were not unfounded.

    She had every right to fear him. As the ship¡¯s commanding officer, he now held the power that had so painfully torn her apart. That alone tainted him in her eyes. It made him a potential threat. Her blind trust had been irreversibly shattered. Try as she might to move on, those scars would always remain.

    While the memory of a human¡¯s trauma would fade, allowing them to heal, hers would not. The memory of that abuse would be as potent in a thousand years as it had been the moment that pain had been inflicted. She would never be entirely free of her wounds.

    As a result, she struggled through episodes and breakdowns, even occasionally relapsed into the condition she¡¯d been in under Brent¡¯s command. But they used to go months or years between these episodes. By his count, this was the third major breakdown she¡¯d suffered in the last seventy-two hours.

    ¡°I know something¡¯s wrong.¡± This instability was unlike her. ¡°Whenever you can trust me enough to tell me, I¡¯ll be here.¡± He would not force the subject. She was allowed her secrets. He certainly had his.

    ¡°It¡¯s not an issue of trust-¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t give me an excuse,¡± he wasn¡¯t interested. ¡°Just tell me when you¡¯re ready.¡±

    He made it sound so easy. But it wasn¡¯t. What she had here was fragile, so fragile. This inherently complicated relationship might seem less than desirable, but it was all she had. The Admiral¡¯s personality was difficult, and his past was as tarnished as her own, but he treated her with respect and patience. She treasured their relationship, but some part of her insisted the truth would turn it to poison.

    She was compromised. Manhattan would identify her and force the truth to light. Trying and failing to prevent Manhattan¡¯s escape, she had sunk the Kansas and killed Samantha Scarlett. The blood of the only person Admiral Gives had ever truly loved was on her hands, and she had kept that truth from him for thirty years.

    ¡°I¡­¡± I want to tell you the truth. She wanted to come clean. He didn¡¯t deserve to have that secret kept from him. It felt like manipulation, like mistrust and disloyalty.

    But she was too afraid. The Admiral¡¯s company was precious to her. He was attentive and kind in ways no one else had ever been. Over the years, she¡¯d become the only one in the worlds that he truly trusted and she couldn¡¯t bring herself to shatter that trust. She couldn¡¯t bear to hurt him like that. No part of her had ever wanted to hurt him.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± After all these years, she didn¡¯t deserve that trust. She was still taking advantage of him, just like everyone else. She was no better than the rest of the worlds, but he didn¡¯t see it that way. He saw her as good and beautiful, no matter how many flaws she had.

    ¡°When you¡¯re ready,¡± he repeated. He had no intention of forcing the truth out of her. ¡°I can wait.¡± He had enough problems at this moment that he wasn¡¯t eager to add another.

    He grabbed the repair kit and returned it to its storage place, then turned to look out at the bridge. The room felt larger when it was empty, but it felt peaceful. The officers weren¡¯t here to bicker or argue with him. There was only the ghost, standing in the middle of the vacant room. It was rare to see her lanky white-haired form here at all, let alone looking so conflicted. ¡°Are you doing alright?¡±

    She tilted her head, ¡°I am operating within normal parameters.¡±

    ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    The question was poised with a business-like mask, the concerned nature of it perfectly concealed. ¡°Yes, Admiral, I¡¯m sure,¡± she said with a little smile. ¡°You don¡¯t need to worry.¡± Even with her ongoing struggles, she was far from fragile.

    ¡°Then I need you to increase the current going into the helm. Melt those wires together.¡± Under normal circumstances, it would take a few days for the wires to meld together, but that was the point. He wanted this damage to look a few days old, as if it had happened during their escape from the Homebound Sector. With the evidence he was falsifying, and a probable cause of it, the crew would be forced to draw the conclusion that the events of the Centaur System had been a very lucky malfunction.

    ¡°Consider it done.¡± The least she could do was help him hide her presence.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, now laying out the navigational charts for this quadrant of space. The soft white light of the radar console lit up the transparent sheets nicely. With a marker, he began to cross off the sectors with regular military patrols and prioritize those that remained.

    She recognized the work almost immediately. A search pattern. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°My job.¡±

    Very helpful. No doubt, he was trying to be cheeky. ¡°You¡¯ll have to forgive me if that fails to clarify anything.¡± All he ever did was work.

    He didn¡¯t look up, continuing to mark down distances and obstacles around the areas of interest.

    She studied his notes in greater detail, recognizing the heading that he had focused the search along. Tyler had forfeited it in the Centaur System. ¡°You¡¯re searching for Fairlocke¡¯s fleet?¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re searching for Fairlocke¡¯s fleet. I¡¯m just helping you.¡± He couldn¡¯t care less about the fleet. ¡°Besides, the crew would never forgive me if I just left those people to die.¡± They were annoyingly good people. They wanted to help anyone they could. He merely played along and cleaned up the inevitable mess when things went wrong.

    ¡°Personally speaking, I would much rather turn pirate and live the good life, but that is not my choice to make.¡± He met the silver eyes of his companion, ¡°It¡¯s yours.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    ¡°You are not my slave. You have your own thoughts and opinions, your own desires. You have as much right to make this decision as I do.¡± After all, he wasn¡¯t getting anywhere without her support.

    She blinked, her mind slowly putting the pieces together as she looked down at the Admiral. I¡¯m¡­ free. Finally, she was allowed to choose her own path. Without Command to give either of them their orders, they were able to control their own actions, and the Admiral was yielding to her wishes above his own.

    He had always done that on the rare occasions that Command had allowed them a choice, but this felt entirely different. Back then, she¡¯d always assumed he didn¡¯t care enough to have a preference, but now that was clearly not the case. He simply seemed to value her happiness more than his own.

    For probably the thousandth time, she reconsidered the Admiral. He hadn¡¯t bothered to directly ask if she wanted to go after Fairlocke¡¯s fleet because he already knew the answer and chose to respect it. ¡°You know me so well.¡±

    ¡°I should hope so.¡± He¡¯d only known her for forty years. Separated from Command, she had finally been freed from fifty years of effective slavery. It figured that the first thing she wanted to do was go help some poor unfortunate souls. Nothing about that was surprising at all to him. ¡°Your intentions are always good.¡±

    ¡°Much to your annoyance, I know.¡± Her mission to save humanity, or attempts to save as many as possible, frequently got them in large amounts of trouble, but he put up with it. ¡°I¡¯ll plot our FTL trajectories, since you¡¯re not the best navigator.¡±

    He shrugged, continuing to mark up the charts with the preliminary work of their search pattern. ¡°I have other skills.¡± If their survival ever came down to his navigational expertise, they were probably sunk regardless of what he did.

    It took her all of a few seconds to plot a sequence of FTL jumps that would follow the Admiral¡¯s marked search pattern. He continued adding to the charts and began working out the preliminary equations, generating all the necessary work to make it seem like he had plotted those trajectories.

    To his credit, she only found two errors in his work, and teasingly pointed them out. He glared a bit but accepted the corrections without argument, and soon enough, everything was ready for the crew¡¯s return. The evidence of a malfunction was waiting to be discovered, and the plotted FTL trajectories gave the Admiral an alibi for what he¡¯d done on the bridge alone. It would make everything seem normal enough.

    Shortly, they¡¯d begin a rescue mission of her choosing. The ghost would be given the chance to do good in these worlds, to be something other than feared. For once, she would be something other than a destructive war machine.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± she said, offering out a smile, ¡°Thank you.¡± She didn¡¯t know how to repay him for his kindness. It would be so easy for him to force his own intentions onto her, but he never did. He followed her will as if it was his own without exception.

    For him, her smile was payment enough.

 Part 20.2 - ALL OUR FLAWS

    Halogen Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°Return to your stations.¡± The order had been given with the usual amount of neutral calm, so the crew shuffled back onto the bridge in a heavy silence. They looked around, trying to spot a change, but afraid to get caught doing so.

    They wanted some clue as to what had occurred in their absence, but they wouldn¡¯t find one. With the exception of the sabotaged wiring under the helm console and the notes he¡¯d left out on the radar console, nothing had physically changed on the bridge. He¡¯d made sure of that.

    Zarrey took a moment to drown his nerves in a fresh cup of black coffee, then approached the center of the room with a head of uncertainty. ¡°So,¡± he said carefully, ¡°how are¡­ things?¡±

    The Colonel seemed particularly wary of him at the moment. It wasn¡¯t as if he¡¯d brandished a weapon, so Admiral Gives quirked an eyebrow. ¡°Things are fine, Colonel.¡± He was on the run from the government that controlled the entirety of human space, and the largest military within it. What could be better?

    Zarrey cleared his throat awkwardly, ¡°Uh, good¡­ I guess.¡± Zarrey felt a little conflicted about, and slightly terrified of the man in front of him. Kallahan¡¯s words were still ringing in his ears. What kind of crime could be worse than killing millions of innocent people? Did things even get worse than that?

    As amusing as the Colonel¡¯s terror would be normally, at the moment it was just a nuisance. ¡°Begin FTL prep. We are initiating a search for Fairlocke¡¯s fleet of survivors.¡± No doubt, Command¡¯s forces would do the same. ¡°This was plotted along the vector Tyler gave us.¡± He handed over the plotted navigational data. ¡°Prepare to execute a multi-jump FTL sequence. Combat is a possibility.¡±

    ¡°Since when do you give a flying fuck about some lost civvies?¡± This didn¡¯t feel like the Admiral¡¯s usual style ¨C not that Zarrey was complaining.

    ¡°XO, this ship¡¯s mission is to save humanity. Those civvies happen to be human.¡± It was quite simple. ¡°As you say, I may be a ¡®piece of work who has a problem with just about everyone,¡¯ but I will not dishonor this ship and I will not force this crew into the moral ambiguity where I prefer to live.¡± They would aid those survivors if they were able.

    The Admiral was an unfalteringly calm commanding officer, who, at arbitrary times, could be tempted to do the right thing for the strangest reasons. As much as Zarrey sometimes wanted to resent the man, he could never seem to manage outside of his flares of anger. It was better to proceed as normal, so he turned his attention to the FTL sequence data packet. ¡°You plotted these?¡±

    ¡°Who else would have, XO?¡±

    ¡°Point taken.¡± Zarrey regarded the packet. It was thick, the FTL sequence containing multiple mid-range maneuvers. Calculating this had almost certainly taken the entirety of the time the Admiral had spent alone on the bridge. Zarrey didn¡¯t know what he suspected had happened in that time, but it wasn¡¯t this. This explanation seemed too innocent.

    Sensing a lingering doubt, the Admiral added, ¡°I prefer to plot FTL maneuvers in silence.¡± At the time, the crew had been making quite a racket, panicking about the events of the Centaur System.

    ¡°Sure,¡± Zarrey allowed, well aware that the Admiral wouldn¡¯t have had enough time to do anything else while he was on the bridge alone. So why didn¡¯t he trust that? Why did he feel like something was wrong with this picture?

    The rest of the crew was carefully eyeing their exchange, a strange tension in the air. No doubt, if Zarrey called for a mutiny, he¡¯d get it. At least for the better part of five minutes, the Admiral mused. A mutiny on this ship was going to be the mutineers¡¯ problem, not his. He didn¡¯t feel particularly threatened by the crew¡¯s distrust. ¡°XO, manage the search. I will focus on combat preparations.¡± It was extremely likely that they would encounter Command¡¯s forces during this search.

    ¡°Right,¡± Zarrey found himself saying. ¡°I¡¯d rather not give Reeter another chance to smite us.¡± Their escape from the Homebound Sector had already put Thunderbolt too close for comfort.

    ¡°I doubt the Olympia will engage us directly.¡± It was far too early in the game for that. ¡°After what happened in the Centaur System, Command will send bigger ships and more of them, but they will not commit the Olympia.¡± Reeter might want to take on the Singularity personally, but such action would be reckless. Overwhelming the Singularity by sheer numbers was a sounder plan. ¡°Command is wary of us,¡± as they should be.

    ¡°I think you mean that they¡¯re wary of you.¡± It was no secret that Admiral Gives and Command had never seen eye to eye, and where respect of his position and record failed, the Admiral was quite willing to use fear to keep people in line.

    ¡°Us,¡± the Admiral said, tapping the console under his hand. Compared to the Olympia, the Singularity was old and boasted a mere fraction of the weapons capability ¨C unable to operate combat drones, and lacking a computer-aided, high accuracy defense grid ¨C but a duel between two flagships was not to be taken lightly. It didn¡¯t matter who won. The battle itself would be devastating.

    ¡°Always the ship with you, isn¡¯t it?¡± Zarrey said, handing off specific orders to begin their search. The action felt normal, as did this conversation. It all felt almost perfectly normal. The strangeness of what happened in the Centaur System felt like distant past now, almost unimportant.

    But it shouldn¡¯t feel that way. By the stars, Zarrey knew he should still be on a witch hunt, but instead, he stood here feeling comfortable, at ease, and he could feel the anomaly slipping from his mind. That in itself was wrong. He knew it was, and yet that fact felt less than troubling. It simply was. It was not concerning or disturbing, just a simple fact.

    Zarrey found himself looking around at the familiar controls, remembering the long and frequently boring years he had spent here. ¡°Tell me, do you really think this old bucket can take on the Olympia? I mean, they gave her that name for a reason.¡± She was designed to be the most powerful ship humanity had ever built ¨C the very castle of the gods, looking down upon her people.

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to diss the old girl, but we¡¯ve had some issues recently: random malfunctions, power fluctuations¡­ And she did fail structural inspection.¡± However politically motivated the decommissioning had been, the ship had justly failed preliminary inspection. Repaired or not, the nuke had dealt severe structural damage. ¡°I have to wonder where we¡¯d be if you¡¯d taken Clarke¡¯s offer to command the Olympia.¡±

    ¡°Dead.¡± The better half of this crew would be dead. Command would have seized control of the Olympia and ended this months ago. ¡°Trust is something to be earned, not given, Colonel.¡± And regardless of his general inability to trust anyone or anything, he did trust this ship. Over the years, she had earned that the long and hard way. Now, absolutely nothing could blemish the trust he held in this machine. ¡°She¡¯ll see us through.¡± A commander that couldn¡¯t trust his ship was as good as dead from the start.

    Zarrey wished he could be so certain, but as normal as everything suddenly felt, he couldn¡¯t shake the distant feeling that something was off here. He couldn¡¯t forget the week he¡¯d spent putting this barely functional ship back together in the Aragonian Sector. The Admiral hadn¡¯t seen her then. He couldn¡¯t forget the conversation he¡¯d just shared with Kallahan ¨C the hint that Brent¡¯s legacy lived on. He couldn¡¯t forget the last words Fairlocke had said to him. Can¡¯t you feel it?

    ¡°XO,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°issue ship wide orders to stand down to Condition Three for the duration of the search, but the moment we detect any unnatural phenomena we go to Condition Two.¡± That would allow the crew to return to duty shifts, but remain on high alert. ¡°And do not forget about your two hours of maintenance tonight. It seems you need to be reacquainted with my ship.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s the point?¡± Zarrey complained, ¡°She hates me.¡± After the doubts he¡¯d just voiced, working maintenance was going to be a nightmare. Regardless of any logic or reason, there was wasn¡¯t any doubt that the Singularity had a personality. Most ships did, usually falling somewhere between bitchy and reliable. In Zarrey¡¯s experience, the Singularity somehow managed both simultaneously ¨C constantly making his time on maintenance hell while never truly throwing a real error.

    A few of the crew snickered, well aware of the Colonel¡¯s ineptitude for maintenance. Some things never changed, no matter how many times the Admiral assigned him to extra maintenance work.

    Admiral Gives took their chuckles as a good sign. If they were amused, then they weren¡¯t feeling particularly threatened, and were less likely to mutiny. No doubt, next time there was a ¡®malfunction¡¯ aboard ship, suspicions and tensions would multiply, but for now, the danger had passed.

    Of course, if the Admiral did his job right, then no ¡®malfunctions¡¯ would be necessary. The ghost would never need to interfere. While the Admiral didn¡¯t mind her interventions, the crew certainly would if they discovered the real cause of the Singularity¡¯s mysterious errors.

    Told the stories passed down from their predecessors, who had devoutly feared what they didn¡¯t understand, the crew thought the ghost a malevolent, evil force. While that couldn¡¯t be further from the truth, realizing that an entity they neither knew nor understood, had the power to usurp control of their ship at any given moment would send them into a panic. That paranoia was justified, since the ghost could abuse that power in a thousand different ways at any given second.

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    But that was just the start of the issue.

    Even if the crew managed to accept her presence, somehow not wounding her with initial fear and rejection, they¡¯d begin to ask the dangerous questions. Who or what was she? Why was she here of all places? What exactly was she capable of?

    Just a hint toward any of those answers and both the crew and the ghost¡¯s positions would be jeopardized. The crew would become a direct target for the enemy, to be pried apart for their knowledge, and the ghost, if identified to the enemy, would be forced to their whims, regardless of her own will.

    The situation was¡­ complicated. It was extremely convoluted, with a new problem on every layer of the issue. At any given moment, the Admiral was playing a very delicate balance, but he¡¯d have to be a fool to assume that was going to last. Manhattan would unravel the complexities of the situation eventually. It was only a question of how and when. Admiral Gives was under no illusions that he could misdirect or outmaneuver Manhattan indefinitely, but that wasn¡¯t going to stop him from trying.

    ¡°Let¡¯s get this show on the road,¡± Zarrey announced, ¡°Start the countdown. It¡¯s time to find those civvies.¡± It could take days to find those ships, if they ever found them. Plainly, space was too vast to be sure of anything.

    Thirty seconds later, the ship leapt into subspace, jumping to a new sector. The crew groaned, the strange pressure of subspace unwelcome, but it was over in just a second. The confirmations of safe jump completion were read out with practiced rhythm, but it was immediately obvious to the Admiral that one of the crew was glaring vehemently at her controls.

    ¡°Is there something wrong, Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you don¡¯t know,¡± Galhino snapped. You always know. Often, she wondered why he bothered to ask. ¡°Our data processing capability is pathetic.¡± She had taken as many broad, multi-range active sweeps as she could on Sagittarion, but the ship wasn¡¯t equipped to process, let alone analyze that much data.

    It was a fault of the Singularity¡¯s age that her computer systems were somewhat lacking. While they were capable of everything their modern counterparts were, their processing power was just a fraction of what the Olympia had at her disposal. The Singularity¡¯s hardware functions, engines, weapons and sensor arrays were still on par with the best, but the ship¡¯s automatic controls and analysis functions were severely handicapped by design.

    In the end, that rendered the ship capable of raking in and storing more data than it could process at any given time. For targeted sweeps, the delay was inconsequential, but when it came to trying to analyze the condition of an entire planet from orbit, the process time became a substantial consideration, especially since the ship had to continue running analyses to search for the fleet in the meantime.

    Genuinely, the entire situation pissed Lieutenant Galhino off. She¡¯d joined the fleet to meaningfully interpret the sensor analyses¡¯ output, finding patterns, identifying causes and effects, unraveling the threats and issues at hand. She¡¯d never signed up to babysit a computer twice her age as it trudged through stockpiles of data. ¡°This ship is too damn stupid for this kind of work.¡±

    Jazmine looked over to her, unsure if he should be impressed or horrified she had the guts to unapologetically insult the ship in the Admiral¡¯s presence. Her curly hair had been pulled up high onto her head, embers of frustration alight in her dark brown eyes. Well, she¡¯s in full-on bitch mode, so this should be good.

    ¡°Galhino, somehow I doubt you¡¯d be any faster.¡± Zarrey retorted.

    ¡°The difference being I¡¯m not supposed to be able to analyze raw data.¡± That was this system¡¯s entire reason for existence. ¡°I wasn¡¯t designed for that, so I¡¯m not the useless failure here.¡±

    Useless failure? That accusation riled an anger in him that he had felt in years. ¡°Lieutenant, the next time you speak of my ship,¡± he lowered his tone, invoking the very darkness his crew had learned to fear, ¡°choose your words very carefully.¡± They might be your last.

    Galhino visibly gulped and turned away from the Admiral¡¯s cold blue gaze. It was an act of cowardice. He considered it nothing but. A word against this ship was a crime to him, after all that they had been through.

    The sensor officer swallowed, beginning to remember the threat of his wrath. ¡°Sorry, sir.¡±

    Sorry isn¡¯t good enough. ¡°This ship has earned my trust, Lieutenant.¡± You have yet to do so. The Singularity was old, but he understood her limits and her flaws. He tended to be ruthlessly overprotective, and Galhino should have known to tread lightly on the subject in his presence. Still, he forced the calm the crew had come to expect from him. ¡°Lieutenant, have the raw data from Sagittarion transferred to the central computer. It can run the analysis and free up resources for our current objective.¡±

    The Singularity¡¯s central computer was not usually linked into the rest of the ship, unlike its modern counterparts. Its main use was record keeping: ordering and storing the ship¡¯s half-century of operating records and background information. The most powerful computer on board, its processing power was often lent toward high-order analyses. It could process the data from Sagittarion in a fraction of the time it would take the sensor computer.

    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± Galhino snapped. ¡°I can do my job, that is unless you don¡¯t trust me to do it?¡± It was clear enough the Admiral didn¡¯t trust any of them to stay on the bridge, since he¡¯d ordered them off earlier. ¡°I don¡¯t need you looking over my shoulder.¡±

    There were times that the Admiral really wondered why he put up with this particular officer. This was definitely one of them. Her attitude towards him had always been spiteful, and he had no recollection of doing anything that would cause such a seemingly personal resentment. ¡°Lieutenant, I never implied that you were in any way incapable.¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t see you standing over anyone else¡¯s shoulder, sir.¡±

    Perhaps because they didn¡¯t threaten a mutiny last week? He trusted the rest of the bridge crew within limits, even as he felt them watching, anxious to see how he handled this. For some reason, they expected violence from him. It seemed, to them, he would always be Brent¡¯s unholy shadow. The thought made him sick.

    As much as he had tried to escape that reputation, tried to be different, no one cared to distinguish him and his predecessor from each other. And yet, not one of these people had ever met Brent. He had been dead long before their time. They knew nothing the desperate way Brent sought his immorality, nor the horrific way he had earned it in the end.

    ¡°Do you have anything to say, or are you just going to stand there?¡± Galhino said, unsure if the Admiral¡¯s silence was more or less concerning than anything else she¡¯d seen from him today.

    Just stand there and watch. The orders of his predecessor, forcing him to stand by as he saw people tortured and killed. Brent had smiled amidst the carnage, grinning as the decks had run red with blood. The Admiral shook his head, trying to clear those thoughts. No one had the right to invoke Brent¡¯s memory. Not Tyler, not Zarrey, not Kallahan and certainly not Galhino.

    ¡°Lieutenant, with me.¡± It was time to address this attitude of hers.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Galhino said, definitely unsure where this was going, ¡°I need to monitor-¡±

    ¡°It was not a suggestion.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She stood, waving down the reserve officer to take over. She swallowed and cast a quick glance to Keifer on the upper tier of CIC, relieved to find that the communications officer didn¡¯t look fearful. Trained to read body language, Robinson stood the best chance of predicting the Admiral¡¯s intentions. If she wasn¡¯t worried, then odds were, it was nothing violent.

    Much like their previous meeting, the Admiral was waiting in the corridor. Only this time, she found him arms-deep into the bulkheads with a knife and a severed wire in one hand. Seeing the knife that had been up against Colonel Zarrey¡¯s throat earlier that day gave her a twinge of nervousness, but he looked busy enough.

    Galhino wasn¡¯t sure if she liked the sight of this. There wasn¡¯t any doubt that, if so inclined, the Admiral could easily sabotage his own ship. His control of the machine was uncanny, ¡°What are you doing, sir?¡± The local life support system that ran to CIC was not far from there, and that proximity made her a lot more nervous than she wanted to admit. Surely he didn¡¯t intend to suffocate them as punishment for her actions?

    ¡°Relax, Lieutenant,¡± he said, his perfect calm almost eerie, ¡°the local main of life support is two bulkheads to the left.¡± While it would be easy to cut power to it from here, that was not his intention. ¡°I heard an electrical strain. I am correcting it.¡± This was nothing more than a moment of maintenance, since he¡¯d rather deal with the ship than his spiteful sensor officer.

    ¡°You heard it?¡± She queried, watching him bare two wires and twist them together before covering them with electrical tape.

    ¡°Yes. You might be surprised to find that if you listen, this ship can tell you many things.¡± From here, he could identify the status of the engines and power grid just by listening. The ship¡¯s usual soft creaks were an obvious indicator of the ship¡¯s structural integrity. ¡°I have served on this ship for thirty-nine years.¡± She¡¯d been his first assignment out of the Academy. ¡°I trust this ship with my life and everyone on it for a reason, so when you doubt her, you doubt me.¡± He met Galhino¡¯s dark brown eyes, ¡°Do you doubt me, Lieutenant?¡±

    She sensed it was a loaded question, not one she wanted to answer while the deadliest officer in the fleet was holding a knife.

    ¡°Do you doubt my ability to effectively command a ship and lead a crew?¡±

    Clearly, insulting the ship was the fastest way to get under his skin. Perhaps that¡¯s what it took to make him truly mad. She wasn¡¯t sure she wanted to find out, no matter how curious she was about the monster in human form that was Admiral Gives.

    ¡°Sir, there are a lot of days I think you couldn¡¯t give a shit about the people on this ship. We¡¯re just lucky you have some incomprehensible determination to protect the ship itself.¡± Near as she could tell, that was the only reason they were alive.

    She regarded his stony expression before continuing, ¡°I suppose I should be impressed that someone like you managed to get attached to anything.¡± That didn¡¯t come naturally to sociopaths. ¡°But the attention you allot this machine is unfounded and irresponsible. It is going to get everyone here killed because this ship is getting more unreliable by the day.¡± He should have moved his command to a newer ship, one with a sufficient amount of processing power. ¡°This is an extremely flawed machine.¡±

    ¡°Much as you are an extremely flawed officer,¡± he countered.

    The comment hit her like a slap in the face, delivered without a moment¡¯s hesitation. She spluttered, simultaneously affronted and surprised by the quick retort.

    ¡°We all have our flaws, Lieutenant,¡± the Admiral continued calmly. ¡°Myself included, so all I ask is that you mind your tongue. Do not stir up discontent aboard my ship. My patience is vast, but it is not endless.¡± If she continued to act out, a punishment of his choosing would eventually be dealt.

    ¡°If you¡¯re going to throw me in the brig, just do it.¡± She had attempted a mutiny. She wasn¡¯t in the mood to fence with him.

    ¡°I do not believe a life in the brig is in store for any officer that threatens the security of this ship.¡± A punishment of his choosing would be a great deal more creative.

    ¡°So, you¡¯ll just kill me flat out? Execute one of your own officers?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± if you¡¯re lucky. ¡°Now, I believe I have made myself clear on the subject. Disrespect me all you feel you must, but do not utter a word against this ship or anyone else on it in my presence.¡± He had no tolerance for it. ¡°Return to your post.¡±

    He let her get a few steps down the hall before he called after her, ¡°And Lieutenant, do not think me oblivious. I know exactly why you stayed.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t know shit about me.¡± Galhino snarled, ducking back onto the bridge.

    That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong. Galhino¡¯s mindset was more than familiar to him. It wasn¡¯t so different from his own. Like him, her attitude was often misinterpreted as something it had never been intended to be. Her constant concern for the people she cared about made her standoffish and rude.

    But unlike him, her loyalty to the ship was second-hand. She remained here because the one she was loyal to had refused to leave. And from the Admiral¡¯s perspective, that made her dangerous. That made her very dangerous.

 Part 20.3 - NOTHING TO HIDE

    18 hours later, Brimstone Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Ask the ship, they said. It¡¯ll be easy, they said. Well, maybe it was her imagination, but Amelia was really starting to feel that this ship didn¡¯t like her very much.

    ¡°Amelia,¡± Ron trailed after her, ¡°you should really slow down. Remember what the doc said.¡±

    Oh right, she thought, what the doc said. The ship¡¯s doctor was a slouched-over, hostile officer who reeked of alcohol, and gnawed on unlit cigarettes. She¡¯d been greeted by his horrific bedside manner the moment she¡¯d woken up in those cheap scratchy sheets on a bed that was uncomfortably hard under her weight. The doctor was the reason she was down here, lost.

    She¡¯d been furious to find herself in the medical bay, trapped for hours and enveloped by the heavy taste disinfectant. The Admiral hadn¡¯t appeared or even sent a message. He, in fact, gave no indication that he had heard or cared about the injury she¡¯d sustained during the ship¡¯s emergency maneuvers.

    The ship¡¯s doctor had seen her frustration and frowned, the cigarette in his mouth drooping. Your father didn¡¯t tell you everything, he had said. He told you what suited his needs. If you want the truth, ask the ship.

    Amelia resented the insinuation that her father had lied to her, but she knew things weren¡¯t adding up. She could see that. The lower echelons of this crew didn¡¯t speak of the Admiral like he was a monster. They spoke of a responsible officer whose real intentions were hard to define. They told her he¡¯d ordered a search for a helpless fleet of refugees, much to the surprise of his officers. She knew that wasn¡¯t the action of remorseless killer.

    But some part of her warned that his intentions for that fleet may not be as pure as they seemed, and she wanted the truth.

    As Ron had explained the doctor¡¯s cryptic words, the truth was held in the ship¡¯s records. The archives would have the Admiral¡¯s full personnel record, including the results of his psychological evaluations, and any criminal investigations that had involved him ¨C with or without a conviction. In that file, she should find the answers she needed.

    But that only mattered if they could find the archives. And that was proving a bit¡­ difficult.

    Maybe it was her concussion¡¯s fault, but Amelia had never felt so frustratingly lost. Everything around her: the floor, the walls and even the ceiling was made of the same scuffed dark metal. She was trapped in the same bit of corridor that never seemed to end, stumbling along this never-ending maze.

    Everything looked, felt, and even smelled the same. Near as she could tell, there was no way to distinguish one corridor from the others. ¡°This ship is a death trap.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not that bad.¡± Ron reassured her. The crew proudly proclaimed that the Singularity had the lowest casualty rate in the fleet for combat injuries and accidents. Overall, that made it safe, as far as combat ships went.

    Amelia just harrumphed. ¡°We¡¯re going in circles.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t say,¡± came the comment.

    Amelia pursed her lips, trying not to snap at the Marines that had shadowed her trek. ¡°Why are you even here?¡±

    ¡°The CO has assigned you an honor guard, due to your injuries and lack of familiarity with your surroundings.¡± It just so happened that on Cortana¡¯s shift, Amelia had been discharged from the medical bay and decided to go on this stupid field trip. It also just so happened that her entire shift had been shadowed by the obnoxious, insubordinate Marine cadet who had originally spoken. Stars, she hated this ship.

    Amelia laughed bitterly. ¡°He doesn¡¯t trust me at all.¡± It wasn¡¯t enough that she¡¯d been injured, now she¡¯d earned herself a babysitter.

    ¡°Relax, beautiful Madame,¡± their second shadow winked, shoving past Cortana, ¡°the Admiral¡¯s just trying to make sure you don¡¯t get yourself killed. You¡¯re a planet hugger, and you planet huggers make some fine ladies, but you don¡¯t know beezlenac about surviving on a battleship.¡±

    ¡°And who are you?¡± Ron asked. This little Marine Cadet that had been following their entire journey, laughing as they wound their way through the ship¡¯s corridors.

    ¡°Cadet Frenchie,¡± the Marine grinned crookedly under his moustache, then jerked a thumb toward Cortana, ¡°I¡¯m only here to watch her, because I don¡¯t trust her further than I can throw her, and well¡­¡± he gestured to his short, stocky form, ¡°I can¡¯t throw her.¡±

    Sergeant Alise Cortana was relatively sure she had never been so humiliated. Not only had she been assigned to coddle a civvie, but it was the daughter of the man she¡¯d failed to protect in Eagle¡¯s Talon and nobody trusted her to do it. ¡°What did I ever do to you, Cadet?¡± Frenchie, in particular, seemed to have it out for her, always shadowing her footsteps and insulting her sense of duty at every chance.

    ¡°Girl,¡± he drawled, ¡°you tried to shoot Admiral Gives aboard the decks of the Bloody fucking Singularity.¡± Frenchie wasn¡¯t sure if it was the bravest or stupidest thing he¡¯d ever heard. ¡°How did you think that was going to end up for you?¡±

    ¡°He violated the law.¡± Interfering in the inspector¡¯s investigation of the starboard bow had been a criminal offense. ¡°He ignored all orders to stop. I was within my bounds.¡± Her actions had been justified in self-dense. She had never felt so threatened.

    ¡°Aboard this ship, he is the law.¡± Cortana¡¯s role in that investigation had been the worst mistake she could have made on this ship. In one fell swoop, she¡¯d turned the entire crew against her and openly challenged the Admiral¡¯s authority.

    ¡°I¡¯m not afraid of him.¡± At the time, she¡¯d been terrified, but it was clear that if the Admiral had wanted to kill her, he would have done it.

    ¡°Oh, Sarge,¡± Frenchie eyed her with pity, ¡°he¡¯s not the one you need to worry about.¡± The Admiral¡¯s wrath was to be feared, no doubt, but he was lenient on the crew. It took a lot to incur his direct punishment. He was not the worst enemy to have aboard these decks.

    Cortana just rolled her eyes. Why was this entire crew so entertained by giving cryptic warnings?

    Ron looked between the two, ¡°Can one of you help us find the archives or not?¡±

    ¡°Do you have authorization?¡± Frenchie asked.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Ron answered with certainty. ¡°As the next of kin, Amelia has the authorization to pull the Admiral¡¯s personnel file.¡± That was the decree of the fleet regulations.

    Frenchie couldn¡¯t help but laugh. ¡°That¡¯s your authorization?¡± Simply that Amelia had a right as a blood relative? He rapped on the nearest bulkhead, ¡°Did you hear that, Sin?¡± Someone just laid claim to your old man.

    This Marine was insane. Alise wasn¡¯t sure what else she could possibly think of him. But then, everyone on this crew seemed slightly deranged in one way or another.

    Ron nervously pushed the sleeves of his flannel up past his elbows. What about this situation inspired such laughter? ¡°That¡¯s the law, Cadet.¡± The next of kin had a right to see a service member¡¯s complete personnel file.

    Frenchie¡¯s moustache continued to twitch in amusement. ¡°A word of advice, you planet-huggers, this machine is not impartial domain.¡± This was no neutral ball of rock and water. This was a machine built to wage a war on her commander¡¯s orders. ¡°Grant respect where respect is due.¡±

    Amelia just threw her hands into the air. ¡°Fine.¡± It was clear Frenchie wasn¡¯t going to help. ¡°I¡¯ll just wander around until I find the archives.¡± And she would find them eventually, even if she¡¯d have to endure her splitting headache to do so.

    Ron and Amelia started off and Cortana glared at the small Marine, resisting the urge to throw him against the bulkheads. ¡°You disgust me.¡± The longer she spent amongst this crew, the more she came to resent each and every one of them. It seemed they went out of their way to be obnoxious and useless. It was hell, one she¡¯d do anything to escape from. ¡°The least you could do is help.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, Sergeant, I doubt anyone can help you now.¡± The poor Sergeant had no idea what power she had angered.

    ¡°And what is that supposed to mean?¡± More cryptic warnings? Didn¡¯t this ever get old? ¡°Just keep silent if you¡¯re not going to help.¡±

    I am helping, Sergeant, Frenchie thought, that crooked grin perfectly in place, I¡¯m just not helping you.

    Cortana had taken her eyes off Amelia and Ron for a mere moment, but when she turned to follow them, they were gone. The surrounding hallways were empty, save the suddenly deafening silence. ¡°What?¡± She raced forward, peering down the corridors that met at this juncture, searching for any sign of her charges.

    But they were gone, as if they¡¯d just evaporated. There was no echo of voices, no tap of footfalls, only Frenchie¡¯s cackling laughter.

    How? How was this possible? She¡¯d turned away for just a second. This wasn¡¯t right. She knew this wasn¡¯t right. The corridors at this juncture were long and straight. She should be able to see which way they had gone.

    Frenchie had settled casually against the wall, smiling even as Cortana whirled on him with fury in her eyes. ¡°Where did they go?¡±

    The Marine just shrugged. Truthfully, he could see Ron and Amelia just fine as they walked away. They had gone on straight ahead, but he knew better than to interfere with the power that now choked this corridor.

    A twinge of nausea rose up before Cortana could even think about tearing into the little Marine. The room lilted and she staggered, struggling to keep her balance. What the hell is happening to me?

    The disorientation stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Balance returning to the equilibrium of her ears and focus returning to her eyes, she found herself on her knees, the texture of the deck tiles prodded sharply at her hands.

    If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

    She suddenly felt very small. She, Sergeant Alise Cortana, was nothing against this machine. She was a mere speck at the mercy of something she didn¡¯t understand.

    It was cold, the air around her felt chilled, unnatural. Some part of her knew that it wasn¡¯t real, that none of this was real, but it all felt real. She shivered, half expecting to see frost settling in around her.

    But she knew it. Her senses were being manipulated. Her body and her thoughts were being merely tugged along on the strings. She was a marionette, a mere plaything to the creature in her head.

    How much of this was real? How much was fake? Had anything she¡¯d seen here been truly real? An all-consuming panic bubbled up in side her mind. What was this? ¡°Get out of my head!¡± Cortana screamed, resisting the urge to scratch at the presence that lingered inside her skull. She couldn¡¯t reach it. It was deeper inside her head than anything she¡¯d ever felt, tickling her as if to prove it was more than a shadow.

    Then it was gone.

    Like a rubber band, reality snapped back into place. The bubble of illusion popped, taking with it the chilly air and perfect silence. Her senses felt hazy, as if another presence had trodden among them.

    There was a sensation of madness to it all, as if she knew that this alien presence could do worse than toy with her senses. It could drive her insane with phantom touches, with the sensation of ants crawling beneath her skin or with screams that no one else heard.

    This was merely a warning.

    Alise Cortana pried her trembling hands from the deck and fled from that corridor with nothing but self-preservation in mind.

    A steel gray gaze coldly followed her retreat, knowing that no thought of duty remained in Cortana¡¯s head. In mere seconds, all evidence of loyalty, of responsibility had been wiped away. I see right through you, Sergeant. That mind was selfish and unsatisfied, the very feel of it unwelcome. It simply encouraged rougher methods of manipulation.

    The ghost¡¯s pale lips curled slightly in amusement. Run while you can, Sergeant. She would allow it¡­ for now. Alise Cortana¡¯s resistance was impressive, but it would soon fade. Eventually, any awareness of manipulation would disappear, the way it always did. For the longer Cortana remained aboard this cursed ship¡¯s decks, the more control the ghost gained over her. In the end, trapped here in the void, there would be no escape.

    She turned slowly to the Marine who remained, not sensing the fear she had come to dread.

    Awed by the reality of her appearance, Frenchie quickly bowed, the gesture befitting royalty in its sincerity. ¡°My lady,¡± he greeted. ¡°You¡¯re looking as beautiful as ever.¡±

    A smile tugged at her lips. Frenchie had always felt slightly unhinged, but he was loyal and playful. This was the first time he¡¯d seen her, but was just insane enough to believe ¨C or realize ¨C that they had met before in another way. It was difficult to gauge just how much his unbalanced mind understood about her existence.

    She dipped her head in gratitude. Without Frenchie¡¯s distraction, manipulating Sergeant Cortana¡¯s senses would have been a thousand times more difficult.

    Ron didn¡¯t think much of the Sergeant¡¯s disappearance. As lost as he and Amelia were, the Sergeant had been just as frustrated and confused. At least it was quiet enough to think now, with the Marines¡¯ bickering gone.

    Ron¡¯s prior service in the fleet gave him some intuition on where the archives should be, and now he could act on that knowledge without fear of being found out.

    In theory, the archives should be deep in the ship¡¯s core, near the central computer since the records of the computer and archives worked hand in hand to manage and maintain the ship¡¯s onboard information database. Physical objects and critical information were kept in the archives, while the computer managed any extra details and information through digital storage.

    A deck or two below CIC was a standard placement for both the archives and the central computer. Still, Ron was almost surprised when he recognized the labeling on the hatches along the right side of the corridor.

    A Marine guard was standing outside the closed main access hatch. ¡°Miss Gives, Mister Parker,¡± he greeted stiffly, ¡°What brings you here?¡±

    His tone was level and polite, but it was clear he thought their appearance here was odd. Ron wasn¡¯t sure what to make of the Marine. He looked too old to be a mere Corporal, but the rank paraphernalia on his uniform was clear. ¡°Amelia requests to pull the Admiral¡¯s personnel file, Corporal.¡±

    Corporal Kallahan looked between them, noting Amelia¡¯s nod of agreement. It was clear no one had told them. ¡°I cannot authorize your entry into the archives.¡± Only the Admiral could give that permission.

    ¡°She has a right to see that file, Corporal.¡± Ron admitted to being somewhat curious about it himself. The Steel Prince was described in so many ways by so many different people. It might be a morbid curiosity, but Ron wanted to know which, if any, of those personas was the truth.

    ¡°I understand that, sir, but I can¡¯t let you in without the CO¡¯s direct authorization.¡± Those were the standing orders aboard ship.

    ¡°Then you have it, Corporal.¡±

    Heads whipped. Ron stared at the latest arrival. How did he get so close without me hearing him? The Admiral stood just a few steps away, a folder in his hands, seemingly as calm as ever.

    ¡°Sir,¡± the Marine acknowledged.

    ¡°Let them in,¡± the Admiral ordered. ¡°I have nothing to hide in that file.¡±

    The Marine opened the hatch, allowing them entry. Ron and Amelia hesitated, but then ducked inside, even if only to escape the Admiral¡¯s passive blue stare.

    An officer was waiting by the archive registry terminal. She greeted them with a small knowing smile. ¡°Welcome. I know what you¡¯re after. Please follow me.¡±

    Her small smile washed everything over in warmth. It left no questions, leaving Amelia plodding complacently behind the officer¡¯s graceful steps.

    Ron followed behind her, noticing that the Admiral hadn¡¯t followed them. He was still discussing something with the Marine in the corridor, their voices lowered just enough to render the conversation unintelligible.

    ¡°Corporal, I do not appreciate the exchange you shared with Colonel Zarrey outside CIC.¡± It had been easy to tell that Zarrey had been distracted upon his return to CIC. ¡°We both have our history with this ship, but I expect a degree of subtlety in discussing it. Do not undermine this crew¡¯s trust.¡±

    ¡°All due respect, sir, you don¡¯t exactly make it easy.¡± While the underlayers of the Admiral¡¯s crew, most of the Marines, pilots and engineers still trusted him, the officers were more uncertain. They were noticing things and making realizations that they had been blind to before. The Admiral¡¯s secrecy only encouraged them to dig further.

    ¡°It is not my job to make it easy, Corporal. It is my job to protect this ship and this crew to the best of my ability, and that is exactly what I intend to do.¡± He regarded Kallahan¡¯s light hair, which was very much the opposite of his own, though it too was graying beneath his cap. It was nothing more than physical evidence that they stood on opposing sides. ¡°I expect you to play along.¡±

    An acknowledgement of the order rested on his tongue, but Kallahan found he just couldn¡¯t force it out. He dropped the act of a clueless subordinate. ¡°This crew is going to figure it out. And when they do, they will never forgive you.¡±

    ¡°So be it.¡±

    Admiral Gives stepped forward to enter the archives, aiming to return the file in his hands, but Kallahan couldn¡¯t shake the wrongness of it. A man with his crimes didn¡¯t deserve to speak so coldly and act so unaffected. ¡°What you did wasn¡¯t a kindness.¡±

    The Admiral stopped. ¡°I know.¡±

    ¡°Do you even regret it?¡±

    There was a slight shake in his breath, ¡°No.¡± Given the chance, he would not take back his greatest crime. ¡°I did what I had to do.¡±

    With that, he stepped inside. Kallahan didn¡¯t look after him. While the Marine didn¡¯t agree with the Admiral¡¯s actions, he had no choice but to respect them. There was no going back.

    Among the archives, Amelia felt trapped. The tall shelves blocked the light and managed a layer of dust, despite the efficiency of the ship¡¯s air filters. The air held a musty flavor and it was still and quiet, possessing the undisturbed, ancient essence of a tomb.

    The archives had grown large, a tribute to the ship¡¯s age and history, but the room felt cramped. The knowledge was packed in with little room to walk. Their guide moved easily in the elegant strides of a dancer, but Amelia and Ron struggled to follow.

    Soon, she stopped in front of a shelf. ¡°The Admiral¡¯s personnel file is here.¡±

    Amelia stepped forward, awed by the number of folders ordered on the shelf. It would take her hours to sort through all of them.

    Sensing her despair, Ron went to help. ¡°They¡¯re colored by rank and alphabetized,¡± he explained, ¡°We¡¯re looking for the one with the silver tab.¡± Familiar with the fleet¡¯s filing system, it took him just a moment to find it.

    He pulled it out to be met with their guide¡¯s glare. Her gray eyes glinted like the edge of a knife. She said nothing, but Ron was quick to hand off the file, realizing the oddities of their companion for the first time.  She was tall and slim, her visible skin pale, but she was eloquent. Her voice was trustworthy and soothing as it passed from rosy lips. Her long hair was a striking white, but there was no rank band on her sleeve. Who was she?

    Taking the file into her hands, Amelia had expected the file to be thicker, but she supposed she had nothing to compare it to. It was stamped with the fleet¡¯s eight-pointed star insignia, and the Admiral¡¯s full name and rank were typed onto the silver tab.

    Answers. At last, they were in her hands. Still, she hesitated. Was this a truth she really wanted? Likely it would make the man who currently owned her and her son¡¯s life into more of a monster than he already was.

    And yet, she opened that folder slowly, seeking the honest truth.

    She was met with blank beige cardstock.

    The folder was empty. Of course it is. A choked laugh escaped her throat. ¡°Nothing to hide in this file?¡± His words had been true. They were so dreadfully true. There was never anything to hide in an empty file. She threw it into Ron¡¯s hands, trying to hold back tears.

    Ron took a moment to study their guide¡¯s utter surprise. Clearly, she¡¯d expected the file to be here, as well. ¡°So, this isn¡¯t normal?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± That idiot. ¡°Ever the tactician. Often, he¡¯s too smart for his own good.¡±

    ¡°He took his own file out of the archives?¡± Sure, Admiral Gives had the means, but what about the motive? ¡°Why?¡± What was he trying to hide?

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure.¡± Stealing his own file out of the archives was a new low, even for the Admiral. He had just ruined several hours of her meddling. Idiot. ¡°Please guide Miss Amelia out of the archives, I will speak with the Admiral.¡±

    She didn¡¯t give Ron a chance to argue before she turned on her heel and strode away, to be quickly lost behind the archives¡¯ towering shelves.

    Out of sight, the ghost let that illusion dissolve, then reappeared behind the Admiral. ¡°You better not have lost that file,¡± she said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice.

    He replied by holding it up with one hand and continuing his search through the archives with the other.

    ¡°When did you grab that?¡± You idiot.

    ¡°Hard to believe you don¡¯t pay attention to me all the time,¡± he retorted, though from the look on her face, she was going to start. That expression held nothing but displeasure.

    Dammit, Admiral. ¡°This was for your own good.¡± She had manipulated events to purposefully bring Amelia here. ¡°Amelia would have read that file and realized you saved her father¡¯s life. Without you, she wouldn¡¯t exist.¡± All this meddling had been to a point. ¡°Amelia would have started treating you better.¡±

    ¡°Giving Amelia the truth about her grandfather would have only led her to more questions.¡± Worse questions. ¡°It¡¯s better she hate me than hate this entire ship.¡± The ghost had good intentions, but she wasn¡¯t thinking of the long term. ¡°If she wants answers, then she can come to me directly and I can decide what lie I want to give her.¡± He didn¡¯t lie to his crew, had no qualms lying to civilian charges if it kept them complacent.

    ¡°You would lie to your family?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re not my family anymore.¡± His brother had made that very clear to him. ¡°They¡¯re just people that feel entitled to my protection.¡± They were just another few civilians. He would do his job and lend that protection, but that shouldn¡¯t be mistaken for affection.

    The ghost¡¯s expression fell a bit. Truly, he wasn¡¯t sure why she cared. He was used to her meddling in his personal affairs, but he wasn¡¯t sure why she bothered. ¡°I couldn¡¯t care less what Amelia thinks of me.¡± The Singularity and her crew meant more to him than his family ever had. ¡°This ship is my home,¡± and she would always be his priority.

    The ghost furrowed her brow, struggling to understand the complexity of the situation. ¡°She should treat you better.¡± He had, after all, rescued Amelia and her son from Reeter. ¡°You¡¯re not a bad person.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not?¡± News to me, he thought, returning the file on Heaven¡¯s Ladder to its place on the shelf. Sagittarion¡¯s rebuilt orbital mass driver was a problem for another day. Disabling it wasn¡¯t worth risking the Singularity. In his book, nothing really was.

    Was that a genuine question or was he just messing with her? It was difficult to tell with his stoic fa?ade, but her telepathy told her all she needed to know. He was definitely messing with her. Idiot. ¡°Why are you like this?¡± He simply lived to make things as difficult as possible.

    ¡°Keeps me entertained.¡± He wasn¡¯t the type that enjoyed boredom. He had too many things he¡¯d rather not think about.

    There was a pause. The ghost was looking off, strangely focused on something only she could see. He knew that look¡­ ¡°Contact?¡±

    ¡°Contact,¡± she agreed.

    He grabbed his papers, and set off towards the door. ¡°What are we dealing with?¡±

    ¡°Three confirmed targets, I identify them as Squadron 26.¡±

    ¡°Battleships.¡± That figures. They had gone looking for a fleet, and they had found one, but it was the wrong one.

 Part 20.4 - BATTLE STATIONS

    Brimstone Sector,  Battleship Singularity

    The klaxons had begun to wail in the corridors, and the alert lights were flashing red. ¡°Set Condition One throughout the ship,¡± came the announcement. ¡°Repeat: Set Condition One. All hands to battle stations.¡±

    The noise continued as traffic in the corridors picked up, crewmen rushing to their posts with efficiency that showed experience. ¡°Will the CO please report to the bri-¡± Lieutenant Robinson cut off her own announcement, seeing the Admiral walk in just seconds after the alert had gone out. Clearly, he¡¯d already been on his way.

    ¡°Sitrep,¡± the ship¡¯s commander ordered.

    ¡°Three contacts, dead ahead. They¡¯re squawking in the clear.¡± Zarrey said, eyeing the screen at the front of the room, as it showed the long-range sensors¡¯ data. ¡°Confirmed as Squadron 26.¡±

    ¡°Keeper-class ships.¡± Another three of the numerous class of ship they had engaged in the Centaur System. ¡°There will be more.¡± Likely, this wasn¡¯t Command¡¯s main force, this was a mere splinter of it, assigned to search the area for both the Singularity and Fairlocke¡¯s fleet. ¡°Range?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ll have us in confirmed sensor range in seven minutes.¡± The Keeper-class ships, with comparatively smaller sensor arrays, had a smaller range. The difference was slight, but it was enough to matter within the void¡¯s great distances.

    ¡°Prepare to jump to the next sector.¡± There was no point in revealing their position or engaging Command¡¯s ships.

    ¡°Sir, we haven¡¯t completed our sweep here-¡±

    ¡°Galhino, if they were here, Command would have sunk them already and left the area,¡± Zarrey snapped. ¡°Effectively they swept that half of the sector for us.¡± He gave the Admiral a nod before telling the crew again, ¡°Begin jump prep.¡±

    ¡°Hold!¡± Robinson called, desperate to stall further action. ¡°Hold the jump!¡± She pressed the earpiece of her headset to her ear, focusing on the faint, rising and falling levels of static. ¡°I¡¯ve got something.¡±

    ¡°Define ¡®something¡¯, Robinson,¡± Zarrey snapped. She was going to have to do better than that.

    ¡°XO.¡± The Admiral silenced him. Robinson¡¯s closed eyes and posture made it clear she was trying to listen to something that was very faint. She didn¡¯t need Zarrey shouting at her simultaneously. The Admiral reached forward to tap the navigational charts on the radar console, a silent signal to mark down the exact position of all ships, including their own.

    Zarrey obeyed, flagging down a yeoman to pass data between himself, the sensor console and navigations console. The Admiral monitored their progress, contemplating his options, depending on what Robinson had uncovered.

    ¡°I might have a signal.¡± The communications officer announced. ¡°It¡¯s indiscernible, sir. Typical radio transmissions. From this position, they¡¯re probably several hours old.¡± They weren¡¯t local and had decayed beyond usefulness.

    ¡°How sure are you, Lieutenant?¡±

    Keifer shook her head, ¡°Thirty, maybe forty percent.¡± There was no way to identify the transmissions¡¯ origin. They were in the radio spectra, but even assuming them to be decayed transmissions was a guess.

    ¡°Possible natural emissions?¡± Looking at the surrounding spatial region, there was at least one source of possible electromagnetic emissions.

    ¡°I¡¯ve isolated the nebula¡¯s baseline emissions, sir. What remains of the signal is on the civilian transmission band, but I have no way of knowing if it came from Fairlocke¡¯s fleet.¡± It was possible they were from another source. ¡°It could be some anomaly in or around the nebula.¡± There was a high level of uncertainty involved.

    ¡®Anything to add?¡¯ the Admiral reached out to the ghost.

    ¡®No.¡¯ Her response was quick, but certain. ¡®The Lieutenant¡¯s analysis is correct, and I agree with your conclusion.¡¯ She was already well aware of the Admiral¡¯s intentions. ¡®This warrants further investigation.¡¯ It was the best lead they had found so far in a grueling eighteen-hour search.

    Thus, the choice was made. ¡°Heading?¡± Admiral Gives prompted Robinson.

    ¡°319 mark 2.¡±

    Zarrey spluttered where he stood with a marker over the navigational charts, managing to disguise his curse as a cough. ¡°Admiral, that¡¯s right through Command¡¯s fleet.¡±

    ¡°I am aware.¡± With all the ships¡¯ positions and elevations marked, the map was easy enough to read. ¡°Put the engines into cool running. Silence all communications and sensor broadcasts then scramble six Warhawks.¡± He reconsidered the map, with their intended course in mind, ¡°Scramble three Arcbirds as well, and make sure all the pilots are patient enough to sit in the dark.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey couldn¡¯t help the look that rose to his face. What the hell are you planning now?

    The Admiral ignored him, ¡°Lieutenant Robinson, what are the odds that Squadron 26 caught that transmission?¡±

    ¡°Individually, I would deem it unlikely, sir. The Singularity¡¯s arrays have a wider coverage of strong receiving angles than the Keeper-class ships. However, there are three of them, so one of them probably has or will discover it.¡±

    Either way, he had to buy time for the Singularity to find the source first. There was a possibility that the detected signal had come from Fairlocke¡¯s fleet, and if Command beat them there, those civilians would be massacred. It was a priority to silence and delay Squadron 26, regardless of whether or not they had so far picked up the signal.

    ¡°Give me the intercom,¡± he ordered, intending to brief the entire ship.

    Robinson hit a few buttons on her console, then twisted the proper knob into position, signaling when she was ready. It was an easy, well-practiced maneuver. The Admiral always briefed the entire ship before initiating a combat plan, ensuring everyone knew what to expect.

    The crew below decks had been waiting for the FTL alert or for an announcement. The hangar deck quieted right down when they heard the tones that preceded the activation of the intercom. Freshly promoted Captain ¡®Fireball¡¯ Adams paused before sealing her helmet on, as did the others that sat down the line, already strapped into their cockpits.

    ¡°Attention all hands, this is the Admiral.¡± His voice rang out loud and clear across the deck, a bastion of calm. ¡°Moments ago, we detected a possible, but unidentifiable radio signal. Due to the possibility of its origin being among the Gargantia¡¯s refugee fleet, I have issued orders to track the signal to its source. Such action will take us directly into Squadron 26¡¯s patrol course. It is my intention that the Singularity will engage and neutralize the enemy upon contact.¡±

    Fireball couldn¡¯t help the grin that rose to her face. They¡¯d crippled five battleships in Sagittarion¡¯s orbit, this would likely make another three. Poor Squadron 26 didn¡¯t stand a chance.

    ¡°We will be running dark.¡± The Admiral continued, ¡°All electrical emissions will be minimized as well as photon and heat emissions. Our support craft will be powered down alongside Base, drifting towards the enemy in a natural tumble. Under such circumstances, Squadron 26 will likely mistake us for a rogue asteroid swarm.¡± Drifting with smaller debris in the form of the Warhawks and Arcbirds, it would be the logical conclusion. After all, no commander in their right mind would order their ship to drift into combat without main power.

    The engineer helping prep her Arcbird was just shaking his head as the announcement concluded with the final steps of the operation. ¡°I do wonder where the man comes up with this stuff.¡±

    ¡°They don¡¯t call him a tactical genius for nothing, Havermeyer.¡± Given four minutes and a paper clip, she was pretty sure the Admiral could manage anarchy. Given five minutes and the former fleet flagship, and she was pretty sure he could manage something a hell of a lot worse.

    ¡°Sounds like you¡¯re the pin in this plan, Fireball. Try not to screw it up.¡±

    ¡°No pressure,¡± she jested. Not like it¡¯s my first mission as Captain.

    ¡°The Admiral wouldn¡¯t have left you with that rank if he didn¡¯t feel you were up to par.¡± The previous leader of the pilots had been injured and promoted to another position elsewhere on the ship after the events of the Kalahari Sector. That left Adams to lead the Singularity¡¯s support squadrons. ¡°Give Command a hit from us grease monkeys, will you?¡±

    ¡°You got it,¡± Adams said, sealing her helmet down onto the collar of her flight suit.

    Given the signal, Havermeyer slammed the clear cockpit closed and locked it into place. He shouted something incomprehensible in the cockpit, then her ship jolted forward to be loaded into the launch tube.

    The airlock doors sealed behind her craft, and the air was quickly pulled out as the tube as the safety checks were read out. It was the quick work of a practiced crew. Seconds later she was flung into the void by the ship¡¯s magnetic launch system. The system ensured that even instant ignition of her Arcbird¡¯s main engines had no chance of scorching or otherwise damaging the Singularity¡¯s hull.

    The launch system brought support craft quickly up to a maneuverable speed and allowed quick combat response from the pilots. They didn¡¯t have to wait to drift a safe distance from their carrier ship.

    The acceleration and thrill of it always left Adams gasping, but grinning. Flying was intoxicating. There was a freedom and a danger to it, especially out here in deep space. The darkness yawned out before her, an endless pit, ready to swallow up anything that fell in.

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    The vast enormity of it was as overwhelming as it was dangerous. The little white and red Arcbirds were small and nimble, but they were only short-range craft, not equipped with an FTL drive, and possessing only medium-range sensors. The fighter¡¯s navigations programs were minimal as well, so if one were to be stranded out here in deep space, the pilot disoriented and panicked, it was a death sentence.

    Such craft relied on the guidance of their carrier ship. They were support ships, not a fighting force unto themselves, loathe as the pilots were to admit that. The uses of fighter support craft were limited, especially in capital ship combat. Arcbirds¡¯ weapons were often null against a larger ship¡¯s armor. As such, while the Singularity served as a carrier, that was not her main function. She was first and foremost a battleship meant to take on other capital ships ¨C be them battleships, designated carriers, or the main forces of the Hydrian Armada.

    The Singularity¡¯s main battery guns were small in number, but large in size. They had been purposefully designed to punch through armor. While capable, the ship had never been intended to take on fleets of small ships. She¡¯d been created to kill ships larger and far more advanced than she was ¨C the likes of which no longer existed due to her success.

    ¡°You doing all right in there, Fireball?¡± Adams¡¯ wingman called, ¡°You¡¯re being awfully quiet.¡±

    ¡°Just praying to any god, demon or angel who may exist that I¡¯m not a mistake in this role.¡± She hardly felt deserving of being a Captain. She was barely any older than the other pilots, she just happened to have been here the longest, and her seniority had earned her the job. ¡°Seems like bad luck to put a delinquent in charge.¡± She¡¯d only been arrested at almost every station they¡¯d stopped at for shore leave in the last five years.

    ¡°Fireball, luck will have nothing to do with this mission¡¯s success.¡± Luck was the weapon of weaker forces.

    ¡°Actual,¡± she greeted. Would it kill you to offer some obvious support?

    ¡°All craft, this is Actual. Prepare to receive relative positions. You will align there with Base¡¯s heading, and then drift alongside in a natural tumble with all systems shut down.¡± They had to look natural, the smaller members of a fake rogue asteroid swarm. ¡°Base will be going dark, radio and emission silence. Follow the plan.¡±

    The Admiral¡¯s voice was calm, always good to hear on a mission. The pilots especially relaxed when they heard him directly on the transmission. He had been a pilot like them, so they knew he would not demand anything of them that he was unwilling or incapable of doing himself. Of course, he¡¯d once been an ace pilot of legendary skill ¨C or so the rumors had it ¨C so that didn¡¯t always make it easy, but he never asked anything that was physically impossible given physiological and flight control limitations.

    ¡°10-4, we copy, Actual.¡± Adams spoke for the small squadron of ships that had gathered around her, then addressed them directly as she received her position, ¡°Proceed to your locations, initiate a tumble and then shut everything down. We will operate in radio silence until Base has completed her actions.¡±

    The other pilots put in their confirmations as they broke off, jetting to their positions. Adams was last to move off the amidships flank, guiding her ship upward and in line with the Singularity¡¯s massively armored back. Firing her reverse thrusters, she slowed, allowing the battleship to slide past, even at constant speed.

    The Singularity¡¯s gun deck was soon ahead of her, and the long shapes of the engines were below, their armor broken up by vents and small access ports. Then they finally passed, Adams accelerated to match the ship¡¯s speed, settling into her position above and just behind the battleship.

    She would trail behind like a fragment drawn by a larger asteroid¡¯s gravity. With a light touch, she put her craft into a slow and random tumble, then began to shut everything down. She drifted with the ship ahead of her, the cockpit around her now dark. If she squinted at the right times of her revolutions she could see the specks of the other Arcbirds, their white paint more visible than the Warhawks¡¯ primarily black coloring.

    Adams leaned into her seat, trying to relax. It was going to be a long wait. She tried not to focus on the constant spin of her surroundings. Without acceleration, she couldn¡¯t feel the spin, but focusing too much on her surroundings would make her nauseous.

    In passing, she noticed that the Singularity¡¯s engines had gone dark. Their usual blue reaction flames were now absent, relegated to a faint glow further up the engines¡¯ housing. They would be cooler, and their signature harder to detect that way, but they would be unable to provide thrust.

    It would take mere seconds to re-engage them, since they had not been completely shut down, but the delay mattered enough to make this a rare occurrence. Adams tried not to feel nervous about being placed aft of the ship. It was an honored position, no doubt a gesture of trust, since the Singularity¡¯s weak point, if she had one, would be the main engines. But if her carefully initiated tumble brought her into the wake of the engines when they came back online, it would kill her in the blink of an eye. She and her fighter would be burned up in a split second.

    She tried not to let that concern her. She had carefully plotted her course to match the Singularity, so as long as the ship didn¡¯t pitch up or down when she began her acceleration, Adams would be safe. She just had to trust that the Admiral was aware of her position, and accelerated away on a level flight path when the time came. She trusted him that far, even if she questioned the success of the overall plan. She didn¡¯t like knowing that the responsibility its success or failure rested mainly on her shoulders.

    No matter how the ship¡¯s pilots flattered their egos, they knew they weren¡¯t gods. Not one of the Singularity¡¯s pilots had ever engaged an equally equipped force in real combat. They¡¯d always been up against modified civilian craft, or the local police, or even the national militias once or twice. They¡¯d never gone against a force carrying a superior number of arguably superior craft. Outside of the fleet¡¯s simulated War Games, they had never engaged UCSC ships or personnel. The only one who had any real experience in that regard was Admiral Gives ¨C or so the rumors of his early career had it.

    In CIC, the bridge crew watched the readouts with interest. ¡°Everyone¡¯s in position and shut down, sir.¡± Zarrey confirmed. ¡°The engines have entered cool running and we¡¯re still a minute outside Squadron 26¡¯s sensor detection range.¡±

    ¡°That all, Colonel?¡± Admiral Gives could read the crease in Zarrey¡¯s eyebrow like a book. He obviously had something else to say, but thought it better to hold back.

    ¡°I just can¡¯t decide if this is the most brilliant or the stupidest plan I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± It was clever, but it also had flaws. ¡°If they train a telescope on us, there¡¯s a good chance they¡¯ll recognize us.¡± The Singularity¡¯s dark coloring hid them well, and would likely keep their identity from being recognized, but there was still a chance Squadron 26 would fire first and ask questions later.

    ¡°It is a calculated risk.¡± Not many space farers bothered to visually ID something they had seen a hundred times. Without power or a heat signature from the engines, they would scan plainly as a mass shadowed by fragments ¨C a plain asteroid swarm. This close to a nebula, such a thing was not uncommon. There was a gravitational draw bringing in such things, especially considering the nearby nebula¡¯s unique composition.

    ¡°But are we sure that we don¡¯t just want to charge in and blast them?¡± Monty cracked his knuckles. ¡°We¡¯d utterly destroy them. Half a broadside a piece and there¡¯d be nothing left.¡± It would certainly be a good show. ¡°That would sure as hell send a message to Command.¡±

    The Admiral gave him a glance, but didn¡¯t feel that suggestion worthy of a response.

    ¡°Beezlenac, Monty,¡± Zarrey shook his head, ¡°How many times did Reeter hit you in the head?¡± That had to be the stupidest thing he¡¯d ever heard the pyromaniac say. ¡°In case you forgot, we have a limited number of munitions and repair material. If we can cripple those ships without expending main battery shells and without taking any damage, we¡¯ll be better off.¡± They couldn¡¯t afford to be reckless.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s wonderful and all,¡± Maria Galhino crossed her arms, ¡°but in case you forgot, we¡¯re squawking in the clear, just like they are. The moment we enter radar range, they¡¯ll ID us and engage with everything they¡¯ve got.¡± Even the Keeper-class ships could put out a hell of a lot of hurt if prompted.

    Zarrey opened his mouth with an order to quit bitching, but it stalled on the tip of his tongue. For once, she¡¯s got a point. Just like any other ship within the bounds of human space, the Singularity operated with a radar ID beacon. It continuously transmitted a unique registration code that would identify a ship, and thus, its allegiance. It was extremely illegal to operate a ship without one, and any ship caught doing so would be indiscriminately fired upon as a possible threat. Even smugglers kept them active, even if they spoofed or modified the codes to read as a clean registration.

    It was considered a violation of the highest degree to alter a combat ship¡¯s ID beacon. If caught, the very act was grounds for expulsion from the fleet. In combat, falsifying that identification was considered a war crime, so it figured that Admiral Gives knew exactly how to do so. ¡°Not again,¡± Zarrey complained.

    Oh, yes, again. They still had several minutes until they reached Squadron 26¡¯s expected radar range, which left him plenty of time.

    ¡°You are literally the devil.¡± There were commanders out there who were brilliant, legendary tacticians, but they all fell before Admiral Gives because he was willing to use every dirty trick that crossed his mind. Zarrey knew Admiral Gives would gain the upper hand by any and all means necessary. ¡°Two war crimes in twenty-four hours, is that a record?¡±

    Gesturing for Owens to bring him the emergency repair kit, the Admiral answered, ¡°No.¡± Not even close. He could see the curiosity building in the eyes of his XO, ¡°I do not suggest any follow up questions.¡±

    ¡°Mysterious bastard,¡± Zarrey cursed, a pouting look on his face.

    Ensign Owens handed over the tool kit, ¡°Thank you, Ensign.¡±

    Feeling the curious gazes of the newer crewmembers, the Admiral knelt down beside the radar console. The wiring for live radar displays of CIC was housed there, as was the secure signal bank that held the Singularity¡¯s radar ID. ¡°For the record, XO, Lieutenant,¡± he said, pulling off the access cover, ¡°what I am about to do is impossible on a Zeus-class ship.¡± The Olympia¡¯s radar ID could not be modified or disengaged without gutting the ship¡¯s integrated computer system. It was designed to be an integral aspect of the ship, something that could not be tampered with without rendering the ship itself useless. That might have been a result of the last time he¡¯d tampered with the Singularity¡¯s.

    Galhino just rolled her eyes with a huff, well aware that he was making a point about her earlier comments against their own ship.

    Zarrey similarly groaned. ¡°Of course, you gotta make a point about it. I said I was fucking sorry.¡± He couldn¡¯t count how many times he¡¯d apologized during his maintenance shift. The ship seemed to take none of it. ¡°To be honest, I¡¯m surprised this possessed ship of yours isn¡¯t biting your hand off for even trying this again.¡±

    Oh, she¡¯s thinking about it. The Admiral was well aware of that. Just because he could tamper with the ship¡¯s systems didn¡¯t make it a good idea. She didn¡¯t particularly like it, especially when it regarded war crimes and acts that most sailors considered both taboo and suicidal.

    ¡®Damn straight,¡¯ the ghost told him, managing to convey copious amounts of displeasure.

    ¡®Relax, it¡¯s not like I haven¡¯t done this before,¡¯ he replied silently, making quick progress on removing the signal bank. By design, it was hard to reach and hard to spot among the other equipment. No one without a total familiarity of the ship would even recognize its presence.

    ¡®I hope you know that if anyone else even touched that system I would strangle them.¡¯ She very much disliked it.

    ¡®Lovely.¡¯ So much for her usual playfulness.

    It took him another moment to disconnect the wires, and then recomplete the circuit. With the bank gone, no ID would be transmitted. He replaced the console¡¯s cover then set the bank on the flat top.

    Zarrey looked over the little metal box. It was marked with the Singularity¡¯s name, ID and commission year. It looked official enough, he supposed, but that had been really quick, considering how important that system was supposed to be. ¡°That took you less than sixty seconds. Are you sure you grabbed the right thing?¡±

    ¡°Yes, XO.¡± He was quite sure. ¡°The removal procedure is quite simple, if you know what you are doing.¡± From the surprised looks of the other bridge crew, it was clear they had underestimated his familiarity with the ship¡¯s systems. Most commanders had only a casual knowledge of their ship¡¯s internal workings. They focused primarily on capabilities and the external execution of those capabilities. Admiral Gives had always been more hands-on with the machinery. He had worked on every system the Singularity had to offer and knew the ship completely, bow to stern. Considering the Constancy-class¡¯ unique design, there wasn¡¯t anyone alive who knew the ship better than he did.

    Zarrey contemplated the ease of the Admiral¡¯s manipulation. ¡°I think this makes me more afraid of you.¡±

    It should, the Admiral thought, folding his hands behind his back.

 Part 21.1 - SILENT RUNNING

    Brimstone Sector,  Battleship Singularity

    CIC was dark. With the ship running on minimal power, the lights on the bridge and out in the corridors were dimmed. Lowering the power in the grid was just a precaution to ensure that no electrical signature betrayed the Singularity as being a ship, not an asteroid.

    Though sound wouldn¡¯t travel in the vacuum, similar thoughts kept the crew quiet, as if afraid that speaking would draw the enemy down upon them. The tension in the air was palpable, and at this rate Zarrey was sure the waiting was going to kill him before the actual battle got the chance.

    It had taken two and a half hours to drift this far, moving at the fastest believable speed of an asteroid, but they were still another twenty-four minutes from initiating the next phase of the plan ¨C or so the countdown on the view screen proclaimed.

    The thought of having to wait any longer made Zarrey want to claw his eyes out.

    ¡°XO, if you begin pacing again, I will throw you off my bridge.¡±

    The Admiral hadn¡¯t even looked up from his report to make that threat. Zarrey wasn¡¯t sure if that amused or angered him. At this point, he was just itching for a fight, but he knew better than to pick it with the ship¡¯s commander.

    During the last two and a half hours, the Admiral had spent his time working, as if they were out on some boring patrol, not drifting into the firing range of enemy ships. He had stood and calmly read through the reports, filling out all the necessary paperwork that came from running a ship, seemingly unconcerned with their current situation.

    His unfailing calm reassured the crew that this plan was viable. As long as he was calm, no panic would rise up as the battle drew ever closer. He briefly looked up from his report, ¡°Lieutenant Robinson, status?¡±

    ¡°I still have the signal, sir.¡± She answered, trying to decipher the static bursts with her trained ear. ¡°I have a corrected heading to execute after combat.¡± Until they finished this plan and neutralized Squadron 26, they couldn¡¯t risk reengaging the main engines to make a course correction. It this range, the ship¡¯s engine signature ¨C mostly the waste heat, would be easily identified.

    ¡°Understood, Lieutenant.¡± Admiral Gives trusted Robinson. She was one of the finest officers he had ever seen. She spoke several languages fluently, including Hydrian, and had a tuned ear that could hear the footsteps of a mouse. Like the rest, she had a history that had brought her to the Singularity, one that had left her demure and quiet. Robinson kept her head down, seeming to believe that avoiding the commanding officer¡¯s attention was a survival tactic, and maybe on the Ariea, that had been true. On the Singularity, it was not so, but Robinson minimized direct contact with him anyway. The Admiral had elected to respect that, just as he elected to respect the fact that combat sometimes took time.

    While they could have come out of an FTL maneuver in direct firing range of Squadron 26, they would have risked losing the signal to do so. The structural stress also had to be taken into account. FTL maneuvers, be them through subspace or hyperspace, taxed a ship¡¯s structural integrity a great deal.

    The more FTL maneuvers one undertook without giving a ship¡¯s structure time to resettle, the weaker a ship became both in combat and through other FTL maneuvers. To avoid permanent damage, there was a cap on the stresses a ship could sustain within a given amount of time. The regulations in the fleet had been strict about such things, and their eighteen-hour search had already pushed the Singularity¡¯s limits.

    From here on, it was better to minimize the number of FTL maneuvers the ship had to undertake, especially as they headed into combat. It was critical the ship¡¯s structure retain enough strength to sustain damage and execute an emergency FTL jump.

    Monitoring the ship¡¯s structural integrity was one of the many less-obvious responsibilities of the ship¡¯s commander. He had to guarantee that their ship could endure whatever he planned to use her for, be it combat or retreat.

    In the Singularity¡¯s case, Admiral Gives wasn¡¯t particularly worried. The structure was under some strain, but it was a long way from compromising the ship. He had already put the ship through worse. Sheer structural endurance was a hallmark of the Constancy-class design. The Singularity wasn¡¯t as maneuverable through turns and evasive action as the other ships in the fleet, but her structure was designed to sustain unmatched forward acceleration and FTL endurance. She was the fastest ship in the fleet under raw acceleration and through FTL, with greater range and sustainability than any of her successors.

    The Olympia came in an annoyingly close second, though the modern flagship was a great deal more nimble on impulse engines. The Keeper-class ships did not really compare. They were the mere cannon fodder of the battle fleet. Three on one against a flagship was not fair odds, but there was no doubt that with a few lucky hits, they could do real damage, even to the Singularity.

    ¡®I just want you to know that I will entirely blame you if this plan doesn¡¯t work.¡¯ The ghost made her presence known with a combination of humor and annoyance. She was no fan of waiting for combat.

    ¡®I think, if this plan doesn¡¯t work, we¡¯ll both be taking early retirement.¡¯ It only took one bad plan, one poor move on his part to get his ship irreversibly damaged. It was simultaneously very difficult and very easy deal critical damage. Without a dock to make repairs, anything that would normally have been a complicated repair became a death sentence for the ship and crew.

    ¡®Well, it¡¯s only early retirement for one of us. For you it¡¯s just normal retirement.¡¯

    Lovely. It seemed she had found her sass once again. ¡®I¡¯m not that old,¡¯ no matter how she liked to make fun of him. ¡®You and I are getting to be about the same age, you know. Relativity and all that nonsense.¡¯ Anymore, he spent months of every year on patrol, often hugging lightspeed, and the time dilation had added up. Physically, he was several years younger than his official age made him out to be.

    ¡®That¡¯s not nonsense, that¡¯s physics, and you¡¯re still older than me.¡¯ As a machine, she didn¡¯t age, so she was always going to be younger.

    He elected not to continue the argument. He could not recall a time when he¡¯d ever won a debate or bet against the ghost. He shuffled the reports on the radar console, careful to ensure he looked busy reading their contents. ¡®How are our pilots?¡¯ Without radio contact, he had no way of checking on their condition.

    ¡®They¡¯re fine. A little sick of waiting, but they¡¯re not the only ones.¡¯ She wasn¡¯t fond of this exercise in patience either, but for the moment, it seemed to be working.

    ¡®And Fireball?¡¯ How was the new leader of the pilots handling her responsibilities?

    ¡®She¡¯s nervous as hell, but eager to please.¡¯ Captain Adams, now a member of the ship¡¯s senior staff, held the Admiral in particularly high regard. She wanted nothing more than to earn his respect. ¡®She¡¯ll do well.¡¯

    ¡°Twelve minutes and counting, sir.¡± Ensign Owens announced, monitoring the clock.

    ¡°Begin the charge,¡± Admiral Gives confirmed. The necessary modifications to the secondary power core and FTL Drive Two had finished an hour ago.

    ¡®I do not like this plan.¡¯

    ¡®You had your chance to complain,¡¯ the Admiral responded, beginning to clean up his work. ¡°Correct all positions on the table,¡± he ordered the Colonel, ¡°then I want a check-in on battle readiness.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± came the confirmation as Zarrey wiped down the charts on the radar console, ready to update them.

    ¡°I have confirmation from all departments, sir.¡± Robinson called, ¡°Condition One is set. Battle stations are manned and ready.¡± She had been monitoring their readiness constantly, anticipating that order.

    ¡°Understood,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°Send a Marine to collect our civilian passengers. I want them corralled in the medical bay.¡± If things got messy, that was the safest place for them to be.

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Robinson knew who was on shift to be watching the civilians, ¡°I will alert Sergeant Cortana-¡°

    ¡°No,¡± he caught Robinson¡¯s gaze, ¡°send someone else.¡± The civvies had shaken Cortana once, he wouldn¡¯t risk it happening again. He already had enough to discuss with the new Sergeant.

    To Robinson¡¯s recollection, this was the first time she¡¯d heard the Admiral express any distrust toward a particular member of the crew. He normally trusted all of them or none of them. She quickly buried her surprise. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    On one of the screens at the front of the room the clock ticked down, drawing closer and closer to zero. With crew ready, it was time to ensure the ship¡¯s preparedness. The Singularity had a special role to play in this operation, and from the readouts, she was still right on target, slowly drifting closer and closer to Squadron 26 under the guise of an anonymous asteroid.

    Jazmine was growing more and more excited, but beside him, Monty looked bored out of his mind. ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan,¡± the Admiral addressed him, ¡°load the main battery with standard shells.¡± That would do nicely for a backup plan. ¡°When that completes, begin shut down protocols.¡±

    A chorus of acknowledgements answered him from every corner of the bridge. The crew knew their parts. They had served in odder situations than this and earned a respectable amount of experience though many of them remained young. At times, they resented the Admiral, but they were still a good crew. They were loyal, if not to him, then at least to each other, and like him, they had found a place aboard this old battleship, one they wouldn¡¯t give up for the worlds.

    The Admiral tried not to remember the odds of anyone on this bridge surviving a war with Command. They weren¡¯t good, but his job was to play those odds, and he knew the demands of war. Hit fast, hit hard and never hesitate. Hesitation bred losses, and losses brought defeat. Then, if you want to live, leave before the enemy realizes you hit them.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    With FTL travel, it could be anywhere from days to minutes before enemy reinforcements arrived. That all depended on check-in schedules and the position of enemy fleets. At this moment, there were probably half a dozen other fleets combing the region for Fairlocke¡¯s ships. One wrong step would bring every single one down upon them.

    ¡°Eight minutes and counting.¡± Owens announced, hugging her clipboard to her chest.

    ¡°Phase one shutdown commencing,¡± Alba confirmed, directly overseeing the procedure. For a moment, the lights above brightened, a surge running through the power systems as draws were removed. Chatter overtook CIC, the station handlers managing their departments.

    Owens eyed the clock with severe concern, minding her responsibilities as time slid by. ¡°Six minutes.¡±

    ¡°Phase Two shutdown commencing,¡± Alba said, beginning to type commands into the engineering controls.

    Admiral Gives put his hand on the edge of the radar console and felt the pulse of the electrical systems weaken even further. The systems taken off the grid were pulled away like instruments from a melody. What was left were the most basic of parts, singing through with odd breaks and ends, working, but missing something.

    ¡°Three minutes.¡± Owens announced quietly.

    Alba looked up from his controls. ¡°Sir?¡± Confirmation to continue was necessary at this stage.

    The Admiral was certain to check his watch. Three minutes. After this, they¡¯d be losing the ship¡¯s chronometer. ¡°Commence the final phase.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Alba moved across the row of controls, clicking the knobs slowly, but surely into downward position. With each one, a main system went dark. First navigations, then sensors, and communications. The lights and main power went next, casting the bridge into darkness. Each piece was cut out from the harmony of the power grid. It was a palpable change to the Admiral¡¯s experienced hand.

    The engineering systems were the last. He felt them vanish: the power cores, the FTLs, even the air recyclers, and then there was nothing. The ship¡¯s power grid was inactive, everything disconnected from it. The charge previously loaded would begin to slowly deteriorate without power feeding into it, but it would last just long enough.

    Without lights, the emergency backups had kicked in, washing everything in garish red. Colonel Zarrey squinted into the darkness. ¡°I hate this part.¡± Usually, the darkness of the emergency lights was a bad sign.

    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t particularly favor running a ship without power either, but he reassured, ¡°All part of the plan.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t mean I have to like it.¡± It just felt wrong. It seemed counter intuitive to calmly stand aboard a ship without power as it drifted towards the enemy. Time would cruelly tell if this plan was a stroke of insanity or brilliance. That depended on whether or not Squadron 26 attacked in the next two minutes.

    Logically, Zarrey knew that the ship¡¯s armor was unaffected by the lack of power, but he still felt less safe. Without the main power grid, there would be no decompression alarms, no fire suppressors and no communications across the ship. And yet, the Admiral seemed unbothered, his calm supporting the crew¡¯s calm. No doubt, he¡¯d been through this before, but all Zarrey could think about in the darkness was the mess he¡¯d woken to in the Aragonian Sector. He remembered it like it was a nightmare, a weeklong night terror that he¡¯d only mostly woken up from. The very similarity made his skin crawl.

    Zarrey closed his eyes for a moment, sparing a thought for the ship. Just get us through this one and I won¡¯t ever doubt you again.

    ¡°One minute,¡± the Admiral said, watching the second hand of his watch begin its final circumvention. ¡°Helm?¡±

    Jazmine cracked his knuckles and stretched out his neck, ¡°Standing by.¡±

    So far so good. It was a pleasant surprise that this plan had gone so far without a hitch. He¡¯d expected to have to accelerate his time table. ¡°Thirty seconds.¡±

    ¡°Ready,¡± Ensign Alba called, confirming that the battery-backups for the inertial dampening systems had kicked in.

    Zarrey forced a grin. ¡°This is where the fun begins.¡±

    With an intent and measured patience, the Admiral waited for the second hand to hit its mark. ¡°Engage.¡±

    Alba reached up to flick a couple switches, fully reengaging the engines. ¡°Go.¡±

    Jazmine had already wrapped his hand around the throttle in anticipation. ¡°Brace,¡± he called with a grin, throwing the throttle control forward.

    Outside the ship, the muted glow of the engines surged back into blue flames, briefly brightening as thrust was applied, the ship starting to inch slowly away in a disproportionate silence. She moved with an apparent ease, gliding faster and further away with every second. Fireball regarded it with a sense of dread and glee. The time had finally come. Her Arcbird lazily continued its endless rotation, and the Singularity slid out of view, replaced by the sprinkle of hazy stars.

    Some time ago, they had drifted into the outermost edge of the Brontosaur Nebula. The gasses here were too sparse to interfere with local viewing or sensors, though it clouded distant constellations. The Brontosaur Nebula had an unusually dense core ¨C dense enough to provide air resistance and a gravitational pull. The core¡¯s superheated gasses were in sight now as the ships continued falling towards it, picking up a slight acceleration. With the nebula¡¯s unique composition, it was not abnormal for rogue asteroid swarms to be drawn in, providing the perfect cover for this operation.

    The glow of the nebula¡¯s core looked like a distant wildfire, though no chemical processes had yet begun in the stellar nursery. It had been mere seconds since Fireball had lost sight of the ship, but the Singularity was already vanishing into the distance, identified by a shrinking blue speck against the glowing wall of gasses.

    Familiar with the ship as she was, it still took Fireball aback to see something so massive move with such ease. For a battleship, the Singularity was more than fast. It was unnerving. Enemies swore she moved like a ship possessed, but it was nothing more than the raw capability of the main engines, powered by processes Fireball wouldn¡¯t pretend to understand.

    The next step in the plan had begun with the Singularity¡¯s acceleration. It would take mere seconds for Squadron 26 to detect her engine signature at this range, but the Singularity herself would be on them before they could truly react, having drifted close over the last few hours.

    Adams just had to wait for the signal. It would be another few minutes at the most. She could feel her palms start to sweat as she resisted the urge to squint. She wouldn¡¯t miss the signal, even if she was facing away. It would reach her unless something went horribly, horribly wrong.

    Dear stars, Adams begged, don¡¯t let anything go horribly, horribly wrong. A little wrong was fine. They were always coping with that crap, but horribly wrong was a death sentence for her, her pilots and probably everyone on the Singularity too. With Command as their enemy, the stakes were much, much higher than usual.

    Aboard the Singularity, tensions were mounting in the darkness. Without main power, the first warning they¡¯d get of an enemy attack would be the impacts on the hull. Zarrey found himself grinding his teeth, uncertain what to do.

    ¡°Forty-five seconds to near-intercept,¡± Walters called, wiping the nervous sheen from his bald head.

    ¡®Squadron 26 has taken note,¡¯ the ghost added, feeling the turmoil of unfamiliar minds. ¡®I imagine they¡¯re powering up for a fight.¡¯

    ¡®Good.¡¯ The more arrays and systems they powered up, the better this would work.

    ¡®No, it¡¯s NOT good.¡¯ Squadron 26 was preparing to attack. In no universe was that a good thing.

    ¡®Quit complaining,¡¯ They were mere minutes from ending this engagement. If it all went according to plan, Squadron 26 wouldn¡¯t have time to fire. And so far, for once, everything had gone according to plan.

    ¡°Fifteen seconds,¡± came the announcement.

    Zarrey shook his head and grabbed onto the radar table. ¡°I hate this part.¡± He hated a lot of the shit that their plans involved. ¡°Next time I¡¯m riding with the Warhawks.¡±

    Compared to spinning slowly for over two hours, the Admiral felt this was the easier end of the deal. What he¡¯d asked so far of the pilots wasn¡¯t dangerous, but it was certainly uncomfortable. What he¡¯d asked of their respective ships, however, didn¡¯t even compare. The Singularity had the worse task by far. ¡°Cease acceleration,¡± he ordered Jazmine.

    At once the engines cut out and dropped to an idle hum, the sensation of high acceleration suddenly vanishing unexpectedly physical. ¡°Detonate.¡±

    Here goes, Zarrey thought as he closed his eyes and grabbed on tight to the console in front of him. He didn¡¯t understand the mechanizations that made this work, all he knew was that he didn¡¯t like it.

    Deep in the core of the ship, the primary power core had intentionally overcharged one of the FTL drives. It hummed with power, its magnetic innards quaking under the polarization of capacitance they had never been designed to take.

    That corralled energy was released in a single, instantaneous surge. It rushed along its predetermined path, finding the integrated machinery that should have used it to tear a hole into subspace, but those systems were inactive. The rampant, unused energy overloaded them in a mere second and detonated out of its containment in a tidal wave of pure energy. Directionless, some of it surged though the Singularity¡¯s systems, to be met with and mostly dissipated by an empty power grid. The surge of it fried any active systems, the power core and FTL drive casualties of their own design.

    Squadron 26 was less lucky. They¡¯d reacted to the Singularity¡¯s sudden acceleration and identification by moving into a combat-ready stature. Though it dissipated with range, the pulse of energy was more than enough to cause a cascade effect.

    Conducted through the electromagnetic-sensitive arrays of communications, sensors and navigations, raw energy surged into the power grids, causing feedback and instability. The sudden overload of energy was fed into the active systems: computers, controls, even the lights. Some circuit breakers kicked in, but that only worsened the fate of the other systems.

    In a few mere seconds, the battleships¡¯ power grids tore themselves apart. The electricals were overheated and fried; critical systems left smoldering. Outward, the lights on their hulls flickered, then went dark. The engine reaction flames were slowly smothered out, electrical control systems no longer able to maintain the processes, and they began to drift, powerless, in the direction they had been flying. The Singularity¡¯s void like hull sailed easily though the haze above them.

    ¡°Begin the power up sequence,¡± the Admiral ordered. ¡°Any damage?¡±

    Zarrey groaned. ¡°Nothing smells particularly burnt.¡± Ruined electronics always carried that particularly acrid scent. He was glad to miss it now, but his head felt fuzzy, disturbed by the sheer volume of electricity that had passed through the ship moments before. There had been a transient charge in the air. Zarrey was always amazed that the ship managed to handle, let alone produce so much raw electricity.

    Jazmine was arms deep in the helm, quickly switching out the batteries. Operating the helm on battery power had allowed them to maintain control of the engines, but the EMP the ship had generated had killed the active battery. Replacing it would instantly restore control, allowing orders to be transmitted along the ship¡¯s optical command relays.

    Every other system on the ship required the power grid to operate, regardless of whether or not orders were transmitted from batteries. The main engines were the exception. The Singularity¡¯s engines, designed to be incorruptible, did not operate with electrical control components. As long as orders were transmitted from the helm, they would operate normally.

    ¡°Standing by, sir.¡± Jazmine said, finishing his work.

    ¡°Begin deacceleration, fractional power.¡± Without the main power grid, they lost the inertial dampeners. Maneuvering too harshly would throw everyone aboard. Initially, the batteries had covered their acceleration, but the EMP had taken those out. The emergency backup batteries ¨C now active ¨C would keep anyone from being killed directly by the acceleration, but wouldn¡¯t protect from injuries.

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Jazmine carefully put the engines into reverse thrust, feeling the gentle acceleration take hold.

    ¡°First glance, all ships appear disabled, sir.¡± Galhino, still working on powering up the sensors, had pulled an optical feed. Squadron 26 was drifting in the dark.

    ¡°I bet they¡¯re fuming,¡± Monty chuckled. It took a certain level of crazy to detonate an EMP in combat. Every ship involved, including the one that generated it, suffered the consequences. Even shutting everything down to prevent real damage meant that a ship would be sensor blind, lose navigational capability and lose their weapons systems: both defensive and offensive. Most also lost engine power and control.

    ¡°They¡¯re about to hate us even more.¡± Zarrey grinned. The Singularity¡¯s role had been to disable Squadron 26, but it would take her several long minutes to boot everything back up. Her systems were simply never meant to be shut down, but the same was not true for the Arcbirds and Warhawks they¡¯d launched hours before. They¡¯d be here in moments to finish what the Singularity had started.

 Part 21.2 - ATTACK RUN

    Brimstone Sector, Arcbird R-721

    Adams thought she caught the initial reaction flash of the EMP, but she¡¯d been told very specifically to wait, and she didn¡¯t doubt the Admiral¡¯s expertise in the slightest. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the remnants of a massive power surge washed over her ship, briefly flooding the systems and powering them up before it left her again in perfect darkness. That was the specified signal.

    She reached out and began to power her craft back up, watching the lights of her comrades¡¯ ships blink on one by one in the darkness. The EMP had mostly dissipated into the void by the time it reached them. With their ships powered off, it had stood little chance of doing any damage and the starting batteries had retained their charge.

    All according to plan. Fireball swallowed, trying to remember that this plan had been designed by one of the finest tacticians in the worlds. I¡¯ll be fine. She had to trust that the Admiral knew what he was doing. ¡°Everyone, check in.¡± She ordered.

    The pilots¡¯ confirmation of startup rang through her helmet radio. Nine. That was everyone. ¡°Alright, here we go.¡± She engaged the main engines of her craft, boosting forward as she was flanked by her comrades. ¡°You all know the drill. Warhawks paint the target and pierce the armor, Arcbirds check the perimeter and finish the job.¡±

    ¡°10-4.¡± Her squadron said.

    The acceleration was burdensome, crushing, but just shy of being painful. At that rate, the remnants of the battle were in sight in just over a minute. As ordered, the Arcbirds split, two moving in opposite directions to secure the perimeter. They would meet on the opposite side of the battlefield while Adams herself shadowed the Warhawks¡¯ attack run.

    Squadron 26 greeted them with darkness. The engines, the hull lights and the infrared target sights were all gone, dead. They¡¯d been killed by the Singularity¡¯s EMP, but the ships themselves drifted linearly onward as the nebula¡¯s resistance slowed them at an irrelevant rate.

    The Singularity herself had vanished into the distance, leisurely decelerating until the inertial dampeners came back online. Once that happened, the ship would make a sudden reappearance to confirm Squadron 26¡¯s condition.

    ¡°Here we go!¡± one of the Warhawk pilots cheered, painting targets with his infrared indicators. ¡°Like fish in a barrel.¡± With the click of a button, he loosed a pair of missiles from the mounts under the wing of his craft. Their own guidance systems kicked in, the thrust vents popping open as they rocketed away.

    The move was mirrored by the other Warhawks, now scattered among the drifting battleships. Slowly at first, the missiles began to accelerate towards their targets. The propulsion wakes they left behind made it a dangerous dance of white ribbons. Inching towards the battleships in apparent slow motion, the weapons met no challenge.

    The first detonation was a lonely orange welt until others rose up behind it in silent, uniform flashes. From Adams¡¯ perspective, it was so peaceful. Without the usual chaos of combat, the carnage was a thing of beauty. Without having to fight for her life, constantly dipping and dodging, she could watch the shimmering debris spiral slowly away like leaves on an autumn wind. As slow and calm as it seemed from her distance, it was magnificent.

    Adams¡¯ wingman laughed wildly, ¡°That¡¯s three more for the Lady Sin, you spineless Eran monkeys!¡±

    Not yet, it isn¡¯t. ¡°Donut, form up, we¡¯re doing our run.¡± The Arcbirds¡¯ heavy blasters would carve out a nice chunk of ship in all the strategic places where the missiles had just pierced the armor. Squadron 26 would not be able to repair their communications, navigations, weapons or sensor capability within the next day. All according to plan, she knew it was.

    So why did this suddenly feel wrong?

    Donut off her starboard wingtip, she approached the nearest ship. Its name was emblazoned on the flank, glowing in the light of the nebula¡¯s core: Firon. She remembered it vaguely, some ship they¡¯d handed the Neutral Zone patrol over to a few times. The crew had seemed decent enough, a memory that now gave her stomach twinges of discomfort.

    What was she doing firing on this ship? How had things come this far in a few days? The Firon¡¯s crew had been decent, average sailors, some of many that served under Command. The ship hadn¡¯t been special, not in the way that the Singularity, the Olympia and their respective crews were, but she¡¯d been a decent ship ¨C one now caught on the other side of a coup.

    Did the Firon¡¯s crew even know what had happened on Ariea? Did they realize that the centralized government and Command had fallen under the Erans¡¯ control?

    Likely not.

    Fireball shook her head. Don¡¯t think about it, she told herself. It was do or die out here.

    ¡°Fireball, this is Butterfly,¡± the radio in her helmet crackled, pulling her away from darkening thoughts. ¡°Something¡¯s weird here. Something¡¯s really weird.¡±

    Fireball swallowed, trying to fill the growing pit in her stomach. All according to plan. ¡°What is it, Butterfly?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m off the Iko¡¯s stern, swooped by the obs. decks to mock the pitiful bastards, but there¡¯s nobody there.¡±

    ¡°So what, Butterfly?¡± Donut snorted, ¡°Maybe they didn¡¯t want to watch you stroke your ego. They probably have better things to do, like fix their ship.¡±

    ¡°No, this is weird.¡± Butterfly was certain of nothing except that. ¡°I swept all the windows on the Iko¡¯s bow and, Firon too. They¡¯re empty. They¡¯re all empty. No movement. No emergency lights. It¡¯s just dark.¡±

    ¡°Hear me out, buddy, tinted windows,¡± Donut said. ¡°That way if people look at a nearby star, they¡¯re not instantly blinded.¡± Weird how things work in space.

    ¡°I saw some electrical shorts, remnants of the EMP, but nobody was fixing them. No one had even cut them off from the grid.¡± Basic damage control wasn¡¯t being done on the Firon or the Iko, though there had been plenty of time to start. ¡°Where the hell are the crews?¡±

    Fireball raised her gaze to the torn armor ahead of her. Flames licked around the damage. No fire suppressors had been activated. On a ship like the Firon, that could be activated from CIC with a simple command. So why hadn¡¯t they been?

    What had stopped the crew?

    Aboard the Singularity, systems were back online without a hiccup. It was all going suspiciously well from Zarrey¡¯s point of view. Squadron 26 had been successfully neutralized by the EMP and their support craft were finishing the job. ¡°Well, that was easy.¡±

    Too easy, the Admiral mused. Usually, even his best plans didn¡¯t go off without a hitch, and this had not been among his best. He toned out the noise of the crew, using the sounds of the ship to help him think.

    There was no such thing as a perfect plan. There were always unknown variables. Now was no exception. He had designed the plan to work, of course, but he had never expected it to work flawlessly. He¡¯d expected to end up in a reckless battle of broadsides without targeting systems. He wasn¡¯t complaining, but it was odd. The Singularity might be his lucky charm, but she really wasn¡¯t very lucky. She was a strong, exceptionally reliable ship that had fought through her entire history. And this, this didn¡¯t feel like a fight. It felt like they¡¯d been handed victory. And nobody, least of all a hypersmart AI, handed over victory without other intention.

    ¡°Remain at Condition One,¡± he ordered, hearing Zarrey start giving orders to stand down.

    The XO turned, hearing the Admiral break a long silence. ¡°Your paranoia getting the best of you?¡±

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    It was only paranoia if he turned out to be wrong. ¡°Train the active sensors on the Firon. Check for anomalies.¡±

    Maria Galhino worked her controls, adjusting the focus distance of the active sensors. ¡°It would help if I knew what I was looking for, sir.¡± Was she checking for unusual equipment? Surviving power signatures?

    ¡°Anomalies.¡± It could be anything. Something wasn¡¯t right here. They had to figure out what before the trap was sprung. ¡°Helm, all ahead full. Get us there.¡± He wouldn¡¯t leave their pilots out there alone.

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Jazmine said, edging up the throttle. ¡°I have noticed some damage on the helm¡¯s wiring. It might cause some unreliability.¡± He¡¯d noticed the tangled mess while replacing the battery. While the helm seemed to be operating normally, he was required to report it.

    ¡°Understood,¡± the Admiral answered, knowing full well the extent of that damage. He could trust the ship to function. That was the one thing he always trusted. Under extreme duress, crew, in his experience, was less reliable.

    No doubt, they were conflicted. Having to fire on former comrades that may or may not know the extent of Command¡¯s corruption was troubling. There were soldiers and sailors on those ships who had no idea that the New Era had taken control. They had no way to know the Erans¡¯ intent to drive humanity back to civil war, and they had no way to know that the Erans¡¯ plans for an idealized humanity supported selective slaughter. Some knew the truth. Some didn¡¯t. Some were corrupted by Manhattan.

    There wasn¡¯t any way to tell the difference. Even the ghost¡¯s telepathy couldn¡¯t distinguish the truths of unfamiliar minds. While sensitive to their emotions and sometimes their immediate intentions, she was not all knowing, and what she felt now was wrong.

    She was accustomed to resentment, to anger. When people saw the Singularity, that was often forefront in most of their minds. In battle, those emotions intensified. Resentment often shifted into fear and anger boiled into fury. These days, enemies were torn, some consumed by fear of the Singularity¡¯s past crimes, and others furious that the old ship would dare challenge them. When the Admiral guided her to another victory, those emotions usually collapsed into self-loathing for being too scared or being too confident.

    But his victory over Squadron 26 had only intensified the anger. The emotion hadn¡¯t collapsed into self-disappointment. It had risen into hatred. It churned and boiled, as toxic as poison to the surrounding space. No matter how the ghost tried to turn from it, to ignore it, it seeped in. It ate past her feeble barriers, a gnawing, hungry presence that was growing ever stronger.

    Her instincts brought her to Admiral Gives. Among all this hatred, this confliction, he was calm. His mind was familiar to her, a point of retreat. ¡®Something¡¯s wrong.¡¯

    It was unusual for her to disturb him during combat. Unless it was important, she tended to let him focus on the situation at hand. ¡®I know.¡¯

    ¡®No.¡¯ He didn¡¯t know. He had no idea. The very sensation of this hatred burned. Against her, it was a damaging attack. ¡®I¡¯ve never felt something this powerful.¡¯ It was pure and harsh, weaponized intent. ¡®It¡¯s a perfect hatred.¡¯ This wasn¡¯t the chorus of a thousand angry minds. It was one. It was the feel of an enormously powerful presence. One that felt nothing but hate.

    She, suffering from old scars and prior damage, was nothing in comparison. Danger!

    Admiral Gives grabbed the nearest handset, knowing his standing orders to Robinson kept it hooked up for an instant, general broadcast. ¡°All ships, break, break,¡± he ordered. ¡°Get out of there now.¡±

    But his warning came too late.

    Dark and suffocating, a tangible fear had seeped onto the bridge, and a sudden hush filled the air as the crew stared at the viewscreen, unable to tear their eyes away.

    It happened so slowly. Squadron 26 ballooned outward, the ships¡¯ superstructures twisting apart. Orange blossoms ruptured from below the hull armor, and geysers of fire spewed into the void, only growing stronger and more numerous. Decompressions carried the pillars of fire outward, precious oxygen feeding the flames. Then in an instant, it became an inferno. All three ships exploded violently outward.

    The surrounding space became an instantaneous maelstrom of debris that would shred anything in its midst apart. It was all they could do to watch the chaos. Over and over again, debris crashed together and pulled apart, the dance hypnotizing.

    For a long moment, Zarrey stared blankly at the disaster, ¡°Stars.¡± Over eight hundred sailors and Marines flew on a Keeper-class ship. He¡¯d just watched over two thousand people die ¨C all gone in an instant.

    The Admiral tightened his grip on the handset. ¡°Get a SAR bird in the air, now,¡± he commanded without hesitation. Nine pilots. He¡¯d launched nine pilots on this mission. Tactically, he knew their lives didn¡¯t matter. They had more pilots ¨C not many ¨C but they could stand a few losses. Yet those lives did matter. They were members of the Singularity¡¯s crew. They mattered to the ghost, and they mattered to him. Only poor tacticians had to forfeit lives. He could, would do better than that.

    Remembering the unusual weight of the handset, he brought it up, ¡°All ships, this is Actual. Check in.¡± He knew their names. He knew every single one of them. They were just kids, kids who¡¯d been dragged into their predecessors¡¯ ridiculous war. ¡°Repeat, all ships, check in.¡± He closed his eyes for a moment, pleading with those kids, don¡¯t make me bring you home in a casket. He¡¯d already seen enough loss. They might fear him, or hate him, but they were still his crew. They were his responsibility.

    It took a long moment, but the first pilot answered, ¡°Butterfly here, Actual. I¡¯m a little battered, but I¡¯m all right.¡±

    Others followed in his wake, reading out damage and injuries. The Admiral forced his usual calm. The bridge crew would find him unconcerned, even think him cruel for it, but emotions were a risk. Emotional people made mistakes and mistakes only got more people killed. It was a vicious cycle, one he refused to fall victim to.

    ¡°Base, this is Donut. I¡¯ve lost all thrust control. I¡¯ll need assistance.¡±

    In the background Admiral Gives heard Robinson acknowledge and relay the situation to the search and rescue craft. Eight. Eight pilots had checked in. They were one short. ¡°Donut, this is Actual, where is your wingman?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, Actual. Fireball made the last attack run on the Firon by herself.¡± Adams had sensed something was off and waived the other ships away.

    The Firon was Squadron 26¡¯s command ship. She¡¯d been at the center of their triad. Adams had probably been caught in the midst of the detonations.  ¡°Lieutenant,¡± he turned to Galhino, ¡°get me a full active sensor sweep of the wreckage. Check for any signs of life. Find Captain Adams.¡±

    It was extremely unlikely anyone had survived those detonations in close proximity. ¡°Sir-¡±

    ¡°Do it,¡± the Admiral said, sharpening his tone, ¡°or I will.¡± He was very well capable of running that console himself, and he didn¡¯t care that the active sensors were looking for Fairlocke¡¯s damned civilian fleet. The life of one of their own was far more important.

    The bridge crew looked grim, but none rose to Galhino¡¯s defense, even if she stood on the side of reason. Logical as the Admiral tended to be, nothing stood above his loyalty to the ship, and he would not allow the Singularity to lose one of her crewmen today. He refused.

    It took Zarrey by surprise to see the Admiral be so defensive. Cruel as it could be, he was usually the first to acknowledge their casualties. True, proper acceptance of loss prevented further casualties, but with the Admiral¡¯s general stoicism, it was generally regarded as an unwelcome lack of concern.

    However, Zarrey could sense the frost gathering in the air. Without a visible hint of anger, it was clear that if Adams didn¡¯t make it back alive, someone would feel his wrath. Zarrey gulped, certain of their fate.

    Above, the speakers on the bridge crackled, relaying a radio transmission. ¡°Actual, Butterfly here, you¡¯re going to want to see this.¡±

    The Admiral was quick to acknowledge his wavering tone. Wrought with horror, the pilot sounded almost sick. ¡°Tap into visual broadcast.¡± For security reasons, they usually didn¡¯t maintain a live link to any of their support craft for any reason. That would leave the systems of both ships open to cyber infiltration, which had been a hard-learned lesson for humanity back in the Hydrian War.

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± came the confirmation.

    The yeoman operating the controls for the bridge¡¯s screen switched the manual input for the feeds, revealing the transmission from Butterfly¡¯s Warhawk. Zarrey pursed his lips, ¡°We knew there¡¯d be dead, Butterfly.¡± Each of Squadron 26¡¯s ships would have flown with over eight hundred sailors. Likely, there were two thousand corpses drifting out among the wreckage.

    ¡°Look at them.¡± There was more than ice, more than surprise on their faces. There were lines, and lines of red. It patterned the visible skin on not just one corpse, but every single one within sight. ¡°Those aren¡¯t burn wounds.¡± Butterfly wasn¡¯t sure what they were.

    ¡°Have the SAR team collect a set of samples. I want them brought aboard for analysis.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Zarrey startled. ¡°Are you nuts? Look at them! If that¡¯s a disease, we sure as fuck don¡¯t want to be exposed!¡± That was a nightmarish rash.

    ¡°If that is a disease then it has surprisingly adequate knowledge on how to simultaneously detonate a Keeper-class battleship¡¯s fuel and munitions stores,¡± not to mention a strong telepathic presence. In short, if this was a disease, the worlds were in far more trouble than they could handle.

    ¡°Fuel and munitions stores?¡± Zarrey queried.

    The Admiral turned to him, ¡°I saw enough Keeper-class ships sink in the Dead Years to know how they look when they die.¡± A simultaneous explosion in the fuel storage tanks and armory storage was not an uncommon way to go. Boarding parties sought those targets. Small covert teams had been the separatists¡¯ choice in their acts of defiance. Sabotaging just one ship to violently explode could irreparably damage its nearby allies, one of the many reasons he had refused to fly the Singularity in proper formation with the rest of the fleet. Some called him paranoid, he considered it reasonable, since that had saved the ship more than once.

    ¡°Okay,¡± the XO agreed, ¡°so something blew up those ships, but is this something we really want to be nosing around in?¡± That seemed like a bad idea. ¡°Maybe we should just count ourselves lucky it didn¡¯t come after us.¡±

    ¡°One of our pilots is MIA, XO.¡± That wasn¡¯t something the Admiral took lightly, as he darkened his tone, ¡°I would like to know who I should hold accountable.¡±

 Part 21.3 - THE BODIES

    1 hour later, Brimstone Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The Singularity black and blood red shape flew in stark contrast to the swirling array of bright earthen colors that was the Brontosaur Nebula. Spires of churning gasses clashed against the scabrous hull before yielding as the dreadnaught pushed on.

    The outer edges of the Brontosaur Nebula were no cause for worry. It was little more than a haze over the distant stars, but they were nearing core of the Brontosaur Nebula now. Exceptionally dense and hot, it was soon to become a stellar nursery on the galactic timescale. Among such high quantities of light gasses like Hydrogen, it would be easy to start an explosive chain reaction that would expand across the nebula¡¯s entire core.

    ¡°Steady as she goes, Lieutenant.¡± They had slowed to a speed that would allow them to cross the nebula¡¯s core in relative safety, but some turbulence would remain due to the nebula¡¯s density.

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± Jazmine said, guiding the ship in. Loyal as ever, the Singularity plunged into the thickest part of the gaseous clouds. The old ship¡¯s pointed bow pierced the swirling mass, parting the colorful gasses to ease the effects of drag, as designed. Plentiful streams of vapor swelled back to fill the hole the black ship made in the effluvium cloud. The Singularity¡¯s path of travel left no lasting mark in the billowing, multicolored brume.

    The viewscreen on the bridge now showed nothing but fluidic colors, waving and swirling. ¡°It¡¯s like a dream.¡± It was almost mesmerizing, soothing. ¡°It looks soft enough to touch.¡± For a brief moment, Zarrey almost wanted to reach out to it.

    ¡°Without heat shielding you would die in seconds,¡± the Admiral reminded him. ¡°Turn that off,¡± he knew just how poorly the hypnotic colors could affect sailors. Like a siren, it lulled them to their deaths, comforting and intriguing. The Brontosaur Nebula was a place of many dangers. It was a young nebula, though it remained many eons old now. Its abnormal density was thought to have been the result of a white hole. The unusual heat and pressure of the gasses took a toll on ships, and its mental affects were not positive for crews so used to the blackness of the void.

    Zarrey grunted as the visage of the nebula was replaced by an overall position map. Slowly, the Singularity¡¯s icon was pushing deeper into the marked core of the nebula. It was slow going. ¡°It¡¯ll take another couple hours to get across the nebula¡¯s core at this rate, and only the stars know what the hell we¡¯re going to find on the other side.¡± If anything, the incident with Squadron 26 had reiterated the dangers and mysteries of space. Unseen enemies readily lurked in the darkness.

    The Admiral didn¡¯t reply. He looked to Robinson, where she sat on the raised level of the bridge. She looked tired, even harrowed by the fate the Firon and her sister ships had suffered, but she was focused. ¡°The transmission is getting stronger, sir.¡± That was some indication that they were heading in the right direction. ¡°The density of the nebula generates too much interference for me to resolve it any further.¡± The radio waves were still heard as only static, garbled as they perpetuated through the nebula¡¯s variable medium.

    ¡°Understood.¡± They¡¯d have no idea what they were flying into until they cleared the core of the nebula. ¡°Alert me to any changes. I will be in the medical bay.¡±

    Zarrey nodded as the Admiral walked by. ¡°Yeah, yeah, we know the drill.¡±

    <hr>

    Captain Linsey Adams came to slowly. She was pleasantly warm, surrounded by bright and fuzzy lights. Numbly she watched a whole world fall into place around her. The details became sharper and more refined, but it still felt dreamy. The afterlife then, she thought, remembering the sudden detonations that had engulfed the Firon. She¡¯d veered away only to find the Iko enduring the same destruction.

    The moment she¡¯d realized it, both ships had exploded. Without time to contemplate her life, her fighter had been jarred by an impact and presumably torn apart. With barely a second to realize it, she¡¯d died.

    Oddly enough, the afterlife looked strangely like the Singularity¡¯s medical bay. Same cheap sheets, same reek of disinfectant, and same horrible gray curtains.

    Wait a minute. Adams groaned, ¡°Dammit.¡± This wasn¡¯t the afterlife. The doc had probably just drugged her into near-oblivion. ¡°I¡¯d rather be dead.¡±

    ¡°Well then, no need to thank me, kiddo.¡± Doctor Macintosh said, yanking the curtain open. ¡°Not like I wasted thirty minutes of my life putting stitches on you. Though I suppose I could take them out if you want.¡± He managed a shrug even with his hands shoved into the pockets of his white coat. ¡°It¡¯s not like I get bonus pay if you live.¡± Currently, he wasn¡¯t getting paid.

    ¡°Doc, she¡¯s been through enough.¡± Nurse June tried to tug him away. ¡°No need to torture her with your mood.¡±

    Macintosh shook her off, ¡°I¡¯ll be in a bad mood if I damn well please.¡± He had been brought twelve corpses to cut apart and investigate, grabbed at random from the battlefield. He was a doctor, not a mortician. ¡°I just thought I¡¯d let Fireball know the Old Man was on his way down, and he¡¯s pissed.¡±

    Adams winced, her thoughts flooding with dread as Macintosh lumbered off, the nurse trying to push him along. She offered a supportive smile, but it seemed almost pitying. Yeah, Adams thought, trying to bury the back of her head into the pillows, like pity¡¯s going to help me.

    Her first mission as Captain, she¡¯d been shot down. Judging by the numbness and amount of bandages, she¡¯d barely made it out alive. Her Arcbird was almost surely scrap. With their now-limited resources, replacing that craft would be near impossible. The Admiral had every right to be angry. She¡¯d just cost them an irrecoverable resource.

    Adams resigned herself to staring at the ceiling and ignoring the noise of the medical bay. Macintosh¡¯s cursing was quite audible as Nurse June dragged him back to the biolab, but Adams shuddered when she heard the commotion caused by the Admiral¡¯s arrival.

    Amelia rushed towards him the moment he entered the room. ¡°What the hell is wrong with you?¡± she shouted, ¡°You can¡¯t just have your grunts just shove us wherever you please!¡± She¡¯d been escorted to the medical bay by a pair of armed guards. She, her son, Ron and Anabelle had been corralled there and not permitted to leave. Like prisoners!

    Admiral Gives had ordered them to be brought here for their own safety, not that he cared to explain that. ¡°I did not come here for you,¡± he said, signaling to the bored looking Marine who was on duty to monitor the civilians.

    The guard immediately stepped forward to pull Amelia away. ¡°Ma¡¯am, I¡¯ll have to ask you to come this way.¡±

    Amelia didn¡¯t bother fighting the guard. She just curled her lip, glaring in the Admiral¡¯s general direction.

    He ignored it. He was plenty used to people¡¯s disdain. At this time, Amelia was not his priority, and he made his way over to the medical bay¡¯s only occupied bed. The young pilot was staring very pointedly at the ceiling even as he drew the curtain around the bed, knowing illusion of privacy usually put the wounded at ease.

    Adams heard the grinding of the hooks on the rail, but the silence that followed almost made it worse. Did he really have no words for what she¡¯d done? She¡¯d prefer a severe scolding or a demotion to silence. Anything was better than that.

    After a long minute, Adams still hadn¡¯t looked at him, so he folded his hands behind his back, ¡°How are you feeling, Captain?¡±

    ¡°Fine.¡±

    Another long minute of silence followed. Adams didn¡¯t know what to make of it. She knew the question had been his invitation to talk. She hadn¡¯t taken it, but he hadn¡¯t left. Finally, she caved, feeling trapped and helpless under these bandages. ¡°The doc said you were angry.¡±

    ¡°Captain, you should know better than to put stock in anything Doctor Macintosh says when he is in a bad mood.¡± She¡¯d been on the ship long enough to know the doctor sought to get under the skin.

    True. Macintosh¡¯s general mood tended toward foul. It took less than two minutes in the medical bay to figure that out, but that didn¡¯t make her feel better. ¡°I screwed up big-time, sir.¡± Getting shot down in their predicament was unforgivable.

    ¡°Nonsense, Captain.¡± No error had been made on any part but his own. ¡°You sensed danger and got your comrades out of the way, but went on to complete the mission. I would have done the same.¡± Adams had nothing to be ashamed of. If she hadn¡¯t waived the other pilots away, the losses would have been numerous. Adams herself was very lucky to be alive.

    The Admiral seemed so calm, but Fireball hesitated to trust that. He should be furious. ¡°I lost a ship.¡± Why wasn¡¯t he dressing her down for such a poor display? As the leader of the pilots, she had to set a better example.

    ¡°I can replace a ship, Captain, I cannot replace a pilot.¡± There were spare Arcbirds on the hangar deck. The Singularity presently had more support craft than she did pilots. ¡°You did well, Captain.¡± No officer wanted to fail the first mission they led, and every pilot dreaded getting shot down. Adams had suffered both. ¡°It may not seem it, but you did well.¡± All nine pilots had made it back alive, and considering the circumstances, that was enough to be thankful for.

    It felt odd to receive reassurances from the Admiral. With his emotionless countenance, it was impossible to distinguish genuine sincerity, or lack thereof. She grabbed fistfuls of the bed¡¯s thin blankets. ¡°What happened out there?¡± One moment, Squadron 26 had been disabled, the next, the ships had blown up without warning.

    ¡°There was a simultaneous detonation of the munitions and fuel stores on all three ships. The cause remains unknown.¡± His instincts labeled it a trap, but there was simply no way to know that the Singularity had been its intended victim. If their support craft had managed to trigger it, then it would have been a proximity trigger, designed to blow when any ship approached. However, the EMP should have neutralized any equipment used in that type of trigger, so ultimately, the method of execution and intention remained unknown.

    ¡­And then there were the corpses. But that was another matter.

    ¡°Who would rig their ship to blow like that?¡± What could possibly be the reason? No lifeboats had been launched. All of Squadron 26¡¯s personnel had been killed.

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    ¡°At this time, that is also unknown.¡± The Manhattan AI was a likely suspect, given its ability to manipulate and control unwilling minds, but there were holes in that theory, namely, the EMP. ¡°I have no answers for you, Captain.¡±

    To Adams¡¯ recollection, this was the first time the Admiral had been unable to answer her questions. She had come to expect that he always knew the answers. In a way, it was startling.

    ¡°The dangers of the void are rarely so clear, Captain.¡± Powers unknown lurked in the darkness. ¡°We would be foolish to assume that we are the top of the food chain.¡± In reality, humanity was prey. AI severely overpowered them, and the Hydra were a far deadlier species given their natural evolution and advanced technology.

    Humanity only survived through the use of machines and sheer will. As a species, they owed their continued place in this universe singlehandedly to the Angel of Destruction, who they had later so terribly abused in an unforgivable act of crass self-importance. As they were now, fruitlessly engaging in a civil war, humanity stood no chance against an external threat. And as she was now, the Angel no longer possessed the power to save them. To make a long story very short, in the modern era, humanity was dancing on the knife¡¯s edge of existence and total extinction.

    The Admiral¡¯s way with words was often dark, but with his stoicism Adams could never tell if he meant anything by it. ¡°Thanks for coming by, sir,¡± but she knew he had better things to do with his time. He had been strangely forgiving compared to what she¡¯d expected.

    ¡°Think nothing of it, Captain.¡± Checking in with wounded crew was a part of his job, but the crew was unused to it, since, until the last few weeks, injuries had been rare.

    He turned to leave, but paused before parting the curtain. ¡°And Captain, regarding the Doctor¡¯s accusation,¡± he closed his eyes, tired, ¡°I would only be angry if you never came back.¡± He knew his reputation among the worlds, and among the crew, but it was not the truth. He did not send soldiers to die, looking upon their deaths with grim satisfaction.

    He could feel the pilot¡¯s gaze. Her surprise was predictable, but still stung in its own way. ¡°I gave my oath to this ship. I protect her and I protect her crew.¡± He was prepared to do anything toward those ends. At times that meant hiding the truth and giving orders without explanation for months at a time. Sometimes it meant violating their trust. And it usually meant that he couldn¡¯t stop to mourn their deaths.

    He lingered long enough for Adams to register his sheer honesty, then pushed past the curtain. He did not look back as he let it fall into place behind him. The nursing staff scattered before him as he delved further into the medical bay¡¯s facilities. The secure biolab was past all the other surgery and examination rooms, guarded by a Marine while it was in use.

    ¡°That¡¯s some nasty shit, suh.¡± Corporal Johnston said by way of greeting. ¡°Doc¡¯s drunker than usual.¡±

    ¡°So I have heard, Corporal.¡± Macintosh was always particularly foul when it came to post-mortem examinations. Because Singularity ran below a full complement of crew, they did not have a mortician or medical examiner on board and autopsies for anomalous causes of death fell to Macintosh, who was none too happy about it.

    Entering the lab, the corpses were covered up by white sheets. The air was heavy with disinfectant and the metallic scent of thawing blood. Macintosh was slouched over the counter in the corner, checking over his notes with the two of the nurses: June and Sanchez.

    June looked visibly disturbed, face pale and hands slightly trembling, but she greeted him respectfully. ¡°Admiral, sir.¡±

    Sanchez didn¡¯t look much better off, and Macintosh, true to Johnston¡¯s word, looked drunk enough to be numb to anything. ¡°What are we dealing with?¡±

    ¡°Safe to say, I have no idea.¡± Macintosh said, lumbering crookedly over to the examination table in the middle of the room. ¡°No human could have done this.¡± He¡¯d seen a lot of things in the battle fleet as a trauma surgeon, but this, this was something else.

    Macintosh folded the sheet down, revealing the top half of the corpse. It was ravaged, no beyond that. It was mutilated. Bloody tears and punctures lined every inch of skin, from the lips, to the chest, to the back of the hands. The pattern was uniform, perfectly spaced, even across the elbows, and fingers. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like this, and neither have the records. Even the Ravenish¡¯s ritual sacrifices aren¡¯t this thoroughly marked.¡± The cult had some gruesome rituals, but their sacrifices usually suffered less than their other captives.

    ¡°But look at this,¡± he slapped on a sterile glove to prod at an oozing wound on the body, ¡°no knife did this. Something was sewn into the skin and then ripped out.¡± It had been done over and over and over again to create these wounds. ¡°The medical database only found one match for a cause.¡± Something worse than any weapon. ¡°Neurofibers.¡±

    The tendrils of the Black Box wove through the systems of every ship in the fleet, including the Singularity. They were passive technology that securely monitored the usage of every system aboard for Command¡¯s benefit. At least, they were usually passive. There were rare exceptions. The Matador had been one of them. The Matador¡¯s Black Box had violently malfunctioned and torn everything apart. Out of a crew over eight hundred strong, only six had survived.

    ¡°This was not like the Matador.¡± The Matador had been a random incident on one of Command¡¯s thousands of ships, the unlucky victim of probability, but every single corpse they had retrieved from Squadron 26 had suffered these injuries. All three ships had suffered the same fate, and that was too unlikely to be random.

    ¡°No,¡± Macintosh agreed. ¡°The Matador was chaos. It was quick, messy, and violent.¡± The few survivors had been scarred for life after seeing a docile system rip their comrades apart. ¡°This¡­ This was slow. It was methodical. There was intent, purpose to this.¡± He lifted the arm of the corpse. ¡°Their eyes were pushed outward from the inside. These markings cover every inch of the skin.¡± Circular punctures and linear tears gathered in a never ending, perfect pattern. ¡°I sent it to the lab for analysis. Do you know what it is?¡±

    ¡°Binary.¡± Admiral Gives couldn¡¯t read it, but he knew what the ones and zeros were.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Someone had carved a message into the corpses. ¡°It reads ¡®Thief¡¯. Something intelligent did this. It left us a message on the skin of every single human it found.¡±

    ¡°We have no way of knowing we were meant to find it, Doctor.¡± It may have been meant for Command.

    ¡°Unfortunately, yes, we do.¡± He carefully flipped the hand over revealing skin that had been flayed and pinned into an elegant design. ¡°They¡¯re all like this. Both hands, every corpse.¡± If he hadn¡¯t been a practiced trauma surgeon, Macintosh would be vomiting. Now, all he could think about was a strong drink.

    The gore had been molded into the flaming sun with impeccable accuracy. The Singularity¡¯s insignia stared at him, colored in blood. Thief.

    ¡°I don¡¯t suppose you know what any of this means?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The Admiral had never seen anything like it. While had technically stolen the Singularity from Command, most had considered the ship to belong to him for years now. ¡°I never took anything from the Eran AI.¡± Assuming it was responsible, he wasn¡¯t sure what, if any, justification existed for this.

    ¡®No,¡¯ the ghost¡¯s invisible presence sang mournfully outside the realm of physical perception. ¡®Manhattan didn¡¯t do this.¡¯ Perfect hatred had been forged into a weapon, and no AI was capable of that.

    The scent of death hung in the room, a chemical treatment preserving the bodies as they thawed. Macintosh was taking a swig from his flask as the nurses turned from the gore. These twelve corpses were barely a sample. Every corpse the cameras and telescopes made contact with had shared these wounds. All two thousand of Squadron 26¡¯s personnel had died slowly by having their skin flayed open.

    No human was capable of such an act. Given the motivation, they had simply lacked the time. But if the Manhattan AI hadn¡¯t done this, who, or what, had? ¡°Clear the room, please,¡± he kept his voice quiet, rendering it a request, not an order.

    The nurses were all too happy to oblige. Macintosh thought nothing of it, simply had a question. ¡°What do you want done with them?¡±

    ¡°Move them to cold storage. We¡¯ll bury them at sea with full honors when we have time.¡± Squadron 26 may have been an enemy, but most of the personnel had been oblivious to the political changes going on around them, and none of them had deserved to die like this.

    The doctor grunted in acknowledgment and let the door slam behind him. Only then did the Admiral allow his shoulders to fall. He stepped forward to look at the young face of the casualty, no older than his own crew. Why? Why had this happened?

    Carefully, he picked the arm that Macintosh had disturbed back up and laid it gently across the crewman¡¯s chest. ¡°Who?¡±

    The ghost¡¯s illusion coalesced slowly into existence, the shadow of her presence taking form. She just shook her head, her eyes wide wells of molten silver.

    ¡°Who has this kind of power?¡± Who could have done this? And why? Why leave this horror for them to find? Thief. What was that message meant to convey?

    He looked up to find that the ghost looked shaken, as if presented with something she could not believe. The last time he had seen such shock and denial, she had recognized Manhattan¡¯s presence. ¡°This power was familiar to you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said. Of course. How could she not recognize the one thing that she feared the most? ¡°It was mine.¡± My power did this.

    This horror was her fault. After all, did she truly understand the extent of the damage she had sustained under Admiral Brent¡¯s command? How could she be certain that her fractured mind hadn¡¯t broken more than she¡¯d realized? Had a piece of her, a rogue piece, done this? Had her lack of control slaughtered Squadron 26?

    She stared at that corpse, all too aware of the hundreds more like it they¡¯d left to drift in that graveyard. It was so young, once a member of a crew not unlike her own. She felt sick. I killed them. All of them.

    ¡°That¡¯s not what happened,¡± the Admiral promised.

    ¡°How do you know?¡± She knew, knew that she was capable of this. She was disgusted by the thought, even afraid of it, but she was perfectly capable of such physical malice.

    ¡°I know you.¡± He had known her for a long, long time. She cared too deeply, loved humanity too much to ever contemplate such an act. ¡°You would never do anything like this.¡±

    ¡°You can¡¯t know that, Admiral.¡± As touching as his certainty was, the ghost couldn¡¯t bring herself to believe in it. She was damaged, illogical and unreliable. Nobody, not even she, knew the full extent of the damage. Brent had distorted her into a sick mirror of her true self, forcing vile thoughts and malicious intentions into her mind. She¡¯d been broken, and she had no idea if that wicked version of herself still existed somewhere beyond her control.

    Slowly, the Admiral drew the sheet back over the corpse¡¯s mutilated face. ¡°That was never you back then. That was all him.¡± Yes, Brent had molded her into a weapon that suited his psychopathy, but the moment he turned away, that twisted persona had vanished. Without Brent actively controlling her, the ghost had returned to her true self.

    Day after day, he¡¯d been forced to watch that transition, forced to watch as she realized what she¡¯d been driven to do. He had watched her heart break day after day as she realized what lives she¡¯d been forced to take, what existences she¡¯d been used to eradicate and what misery she had been forced to bring. ¡°No part of you would ever seek to bring this kind of pain.¡±

    The crews of Squadron 26 had died in agony, their living flesh ripped into as their bodies were infiltrated by the Black Box¡¯s neurofibers. ¡°You were created to save humanity, and I know that will always be your goal.¡± Her inability to walk away from that purpose had brought her so much pain, but that directive was a fundamental part of her character. ¡°That is your mission and I know nothing means more to you.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± she said quietly, turning away from the mounds beneath the white sheets. She had fallen from grace. She was malfunctioning if anything took priority over her mission, but the evidence of her errors was standing in this room.

    She should have abandoned him to protect and guide these worlds to peace. She should have joined the New Era, because despite its wrongness, that future held great promise for humanity. That should have overridden all her memories of these people, all her fondness for them, but it didn¡¯t.

    Instead, she was left with errors ringing in her thoughts. She was left with the knowledge that no matter what choice she made; it was the wrong one. She either broke her heart or she sacrificed her sanity. With this curse, everyone and everything around her was in danger. If she lost control, through an order, or through her own emotional instability, they could die just like Squadron 26.

    She stared down at her pale, slender hands, knowing the sheer destruction she could sow. It came so easily to her. Nothing terrified her more. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you run?¡± Admiral Gives knew what she was capable of, and knew better than anyone how unreliable she¡¯d become. So why hadn¡¯t he run as fast and far away as possible?

    ¡°Oh, you know, I¡¯m either too lazy or too stupid.¡± Probably both.

    It took a long moment, but a hesitant smile rose to her lips. Only you could joke in a room full of gruesome corpses. She found his eyes, in them a sincerity that assured he was there to help. In his thoughts was the promise that no matter where she went or what she did, he would be with her if she wanted. Thank you, she thought, feeling his unquestioning loyalty. ¡°You¡¯re such an idiot.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± he agreed, ¡°I stole a battleship, and apparently, someone¡¯s really pissed off about it.¡± Thief.

    No. ¡°This is your ship.¡± She refused to acknowledge it as anything but. ¡°She¡¯s been yours since the day you saved her.¡± And I should have made it so the day we met. She could have spared them both so much pain if she had stolen him away that day.

 Part 21.4 - THE FATE OF SQUADRON 26

    Sitran Sector, Flagship Olympia

    The Olympia dropped out of hyperspace with the ease of a knife cutting through water. Her hypersensitive arrays automatically realigned themselves to the proper angle. Receiving data¡­

    She pulled the signal in, then transmitted one of her own, sending an all-clear signal back to Command. The check-in took moments, and the instant it finished, the Olympia leapt back to hyperspace, her course set for the distant Liguanian Sector.

    To the crew aboard, such maneuvers were barely perceptible, but Charleston Reeter felt them. Even this procedure, normal and expected, was now done without his permission, without his orders. The thought made him too angry to dabble in the pleasures of food or women.

    He was a prisoner. A prisoner aboard the decks of his own ship. His jaw clenched at the very sight of the technology surrounding him, leaving a constant, dull ache. His cathedral, his Olympia had betrayed him. The ship was no longer his weapon, but Manhattan¡¯s thousand pervasive eyes and ears, the vile thing that granted her power in the physical realm.

    It disgusted him.

    Even if Manhattan someday abandoned this host, he knew he would never look at the ship the same again. It, designed to suit his preferences and desires, created solely to be his command, had become something horrid.

    ¡°Charleston,¡± the voice echoed from the walls around him, emanating from every speaker in the room, ¡°there has been an incident.¡±

    He focused on the newsfeed playing silently on his data pad. ¡°I don¡¯t deal with faceless ghosts.¡±

    Withholding an electrical sigh, Manhattan projected her usual avatar into the room. He struggled to accept that she and his precious ship were now essentially one and the same. He refused to speak to her unless he returned to a more human appearance.

    It was a worthless waste of her resources, but she allowed it. Reeter still served some use. ¡°There has been an incident,¡± she repeated.

    He set the data pad down to give her his full attention, satisfied that he could force at least her appearance to his preferences. ¡°Let me guess, the Prince sank the fleets you sent to kill him?¡±

    ¡°No, quite to the contrary, in fact.¡± In this little incident, ¡°He¡¯s taken his first loss.¡±

    A grin pulled at Reeter¡¯s lips. ¡°You have my attention.¡±

    ¡°It came at a cost,¡± as all things did. ¡°Squadron 26 has been exterminated.¡±

    ¡°Exterminated?¡± He leaned forward, the glass of his desktop cool on his bare forearms. ¡°What is that supposed to mean? Squadron 26 has been missing in action for the last fifteen hours.¡± All three ships had failed to check in after aiding Tyler¡¯s forces at Sagittarion.

    ¡°I¡¯m aware of that.¡± The Firon had her sister ships had vanished before confirming their orders to join the hunt for Fairlocke¡¯s refugee fleet and had not been heard from since. The anomaly had been thought to be a communications error, until all three ships repeatedly failed to complete their following check-ins. ¡°Another squadron has happened upon their remains.¡± With a wave of her hand, she projected the debris field into the air, the raw extent of it filling the room.

    He watched the holographic wreckage spiral through the air. It was beautiful in a way, like snow on a frigid night. But there was something so dreadfully wrong about it. The pieces were so small. Nothing truly identifiable remained. Typical battle damage left hulks behind, identifiable structures, but this looked like the ships had been put through a blender. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°This is the Macaw¡¯s sensor data. It was received during our check-in.¡± The position velocity and visual data had all been compiled for this hologram. She had assimilated it and run her own analysis. ¡°It is impossible to truly be certain, but it seems that all three ships suffered a fuel and munitions detonation. There were no survivors. Indications are that the detonations occurred just over two hours ago.¡±

    Nothing could distinguish the three ships. Together they now made little more than a storm of steel that would mince anything in its midst slowly to pieces. Reeter was repulsed by the sight of it. ¡°I suppose the Prince didn¡¯t feel the message he sent at Sagittarion was thorough enough.¡± Those crews had been left alive.

    Three ships had been reduced to rubble with not a survivor between them. ¡°How did he even manage that?¡± Admittedly, this was a show of strength Reeter had a grudging respect for. ¡°He doesn¡¯t have the manpower to storm and sabotage three ships.¡± His crew would have been outnumbered three to one, even if they left no one to control or defend their own vessel.

    ¡°I do not believe that the former Admiral Gives is at fault for this.¡± Reeter¡¯s analysis seconded her own. The Singularity¡¯s forces simply lacked the manpower to sabotage all three ships, no matter how gifted a tactician the man was. It would have been an unnecessarily risky plan to send his now-limited personnel onto a hostile ship. ¡°One of his ships was caught in the blast, and there is no sign of a major battle.¡±

    She pulled and enlarged a portion of the debris field, revealing a twisted, white wreck. ¡°Remnants of an Arcbird, tail numbering R-721.¡± It was Gives¡¯ first loss. ¡°It appears to have been caught in the detonations, but the fate of the pilot is unknown.¡± Likely their corpse was one of the hundreds out there. ¡°Given this is a short-range craft, it implies that the Singularity was nearby at the time of the detonations, but none of the debris is of the Singularity¡¯s hull composition.¡±

    ¡°He escaped unscathed yet again, hm?¡± This wasn¡¯t the first time the Prince had gotten lucky. Sure, he¡¯d lost a support craft, but Reeter hardly counted that as a loss. One life hardly counted so much in the long term.

    ¡°There is something else,¡± she warned. Something more anomalous about this discovery.

    The debris field flickered, to be replaced with holograms of corpses, scattered through the air to show their wounds. Reeter began to gag at the display, his stomach so weak for a man so prone to violence. ¡°Every corpse displays identical wounds.¡± It was graphic to view, certainly, but to her, it was merely data, and it presented quite an interesting puzzle. ¡°They died from these injuries.¡±

    Surrounded by enlarged body parts with open, scarlet wounds repulsive in their detail, Reeter barely held back the bile in his throat. Two thousand people had died by having their flesh ripped open. Such maniacal power. ¡°What did this?¡± The thought of such power was so terrifying, yet so intriguing.

    Manhattan spared him a thorough examination of the wounds. ¡°Neurofibers.¡±

    Neurofibers? Much like those she wielded to invade the minds of the unwilling. ¡°Wichita?¡± Had the other surviving fragment done this?

    ¡°Unlikely.¡± Wichita was too weak to accomplish this. That fragment wasn¡¯t strong enough to control one Black Box so precisely, let alone three. ¡°The pattern of the wounds is binary. It reads, ¡®Thief.¡¯¡±

    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

    ¡°Thief?¡± Reeter could feel the frown tugging at his lips.

    ¡°Yes.¡± This was not something to be taken lightly, ¡°And there is some indication of a tie to the Singularity.¡± She allowed some of the projections to disperse, maintaining only those that showed the palms of the corpses¡¯ hands.

    ¡°The flaming sun.¡± The most infamous insignia in fleet history. The careful, flesh recreation was both sickening and awe inspiring.

    ¡°Indeed.¡± She had run a comparison. The flesh rendering and ship symbol were nearly identical. It was a very careful recreation. ¡°But as you know, the ship itself does not possess this power.¡± The controls on board could not manipulate its own Black Box, let alone any other ship¡¯s.

    Thief. ¡°Someone knows what we took.¡± That was the only conclusion he could draw here. This was a warning.

    ¡°So it would seem,¡± but she had gone out of her way to cover their tracks on that. While the Steel Prince was known to be ruthless toward anyone who messed with his ship or any part of it, Manhattan had been careful to ensure that no human could find the evidence.

    He was awed by the horrors around him, this power was so horrible, but yet so fantastical. He had to possess it. ¡°What did this?¡±

    It was a valid question. ¡°There is no way to be certain, but,¡± having ruled out Wichita, ¡°it seems this may be the Angel of Destruction¡¯s power.¡± Once, the Angel had been the single most powerful weapon in the known universe. According to Ramseyer¡¯s intel, it had been unchallenged by any other human or Hydrian creation, so it was not so far-fetched to believe that it may be capable of this.

    Slaughtering Squadron 26 would be easy for a weapon of such power.

    But there was something wrong, something off about it. ¡°This level of fixation,¡± the repeating pattern, the replication of an insignia, the sheer number of identical corpses, ¡°it¡¯s insanity.¡± There was no logic, no reason. It was a gruesome display of incredible power, but it was madness. ¡°It¡¯s out of control.¡±

    Reeter chuckled, a smile rising to his face for the first time in days. ¡°So it seems the great Steel Prince cannot wield the Angel effectively.¡±

    ¡°No, he did not do this.¡± The former Fleet Admiral had been known for a lot of things, being merciless, emotionless, even fearless, but as far as Command had been concerned, he¡¯d been effective. His methods, often less than kind, were direct. They weren¡¯t messy, they weren¡¯t maniacal and they weren¡¯t excessive.

    Where avoidable, he drew as little attention to himself as possible. ¡°He would never have used the Angel against Squadron 26,¡± not when the Singularity was perfectly capable of winning the fight. ¡°That would have made him a target.¡± No, not a target, but the target for anyone who sought power in these worlds.

    Only a fool would display such power openly. And while he might be a lot of things, William Gives was no fool.

    It was simple logic, if Gives had never activated the Angel, then he could never have lost control of it, resulting in Squadron 26¡¯s destruction.

    ¡°Then if the Prince didn¡¯t activate it, why would the weapon kill Squadron 26?¡± Why was his fleet down three meaningless ships?

    Manhattan dispersed the holograms around her, focusing on the issue at hand. ¡°We know very little of the Angel of Destruction.¡± Even with the data Ramseyer had provided, it was barely more than a rumor. Information on it had been very thoroughly purged. ¡°We do not know it¡¯s physical manifestation, we do not know its capability and we do not know its location.¡± All they had was shaky evidence that implied some tie to the former Admiral Gives.

    ¡°We do know that the weapon is controlled through telepathy.¡± It divined its commands from the very intentions of its wielder. That made it both incredibly capable, and incredibly dangerous in the wrong hands. ¡°The existence of telepathic control mechanism necessitates a level of intelligence, and that intelligence is known to possess a degree of trust.¡±

    Truly, that should have been expected. ¡°I imagine, if that weapon is to be wielded by the mind, then it would become very familiar with its wielder, perhaps even to a degree that it could, if it so chose, act to their intentions without being consciously summoned.¡±

    It was fascinating in a way. Under different circumstances, Manhattan would love to dissect such control mechanisms and relations, but they needed to locate that power, and they needed to take it under their own control. ¡°If Gives is the Angel¡¯s wielder, then he has likely been its wielder since at least 4222, when the weapon was last used.¡± Twenty-seven years. ¡°Granted the weapon was created in the final years of the Hydrian War, it is entirely possible that Gives has been the Angel¡¯s master over half of its lifespan.¡±

    Under such circumstances, of course the machine would know his intentions, and had some reason to act on them. ¡°This weapon is not sentient, but it may have misplaced attachments.¡± The mind it was telepathically bonded to was likely one of them. ¡°We do not know it¡¯s history, Charleston.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re suggesting this¡­ thing, might defend him?¡±

    ¡°I am warning you that is a possibility.¡± Squadron 26¡¯s death had proved nothing except that they should be extremely wary until they had all the facts.

    Reeter laughed. ¡°One look into my mind, and that weapon will be mine.¡± He dreamt of a better tomorrow, a safer humanity. He was everything a weapon created to save humanity stood for. In time, he was certain the weapon would make a powerful addition to his arsenal, perhaps even be the one that secured his rule over these miserable worlds.

    ¡°Your overconfidence will be your undoing.¡± Nothing about this was simple. There were far too many unknowns. ¡°The Angel will not heed your calls until you know it¡¯s true identity.¡± He would need to know the machine that housed the weapon, which could be anywhere in the worlds. ¡°And even then, if it is set on protecting Gives as its wielder, then likely, no one would be able to stop it.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t like the sound of that, Manhattan.¡± He had aligned himself with her to become the single most powerful person in the known worlds. To hear that a machine, one not even considered to be independently intelligent, might give him a rival, it was infuriating. He could feel the veins throbbing on his forehead.

    ¡°It gets worse.¡± Manhattan sighed, tossing her short white hair to the side, ¡°Given the fate of Squadron 26 and the fact that the Angel has not been used in decades, it may be that the weapon was damaged.¡± Squadron 26 may have been the victim of the Angel¡¯s dead husk. ¡°We do not know its history. It is a complicated weapon,¡± totally unlike any other that had come before or after it, ¡°if it had somehow been damaged, repair may have been impossible. At that point it is not only useless to us, but an uncontrollable danger that should be eradicated. Squadron 26 is evidence of that.¡±

    ¡°So this thing is either loyal to the enemy or dangerously unreliable.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure which he preferred, given the machine¡¯s rumored power. ¡°We need to get to the bottom of this. If that weapon is as powerful as Ramseyer claims, then it will make or break this revolution.¡± It either had to be secured or destroyed.

    ¡°I know, Charleston.¡± Luckily, none of this information changed her plans. ¡°The Singularity must be stopped, and we need Admiral Gives.¡± His knowledge would likely fill in the gaps on the Angel, not only identifying the weapon, but revealing its history, capability and condition.

    And to that end, Squadron 26 had not died meaninglessly. ¡°A signal was discovered at the debris field. It originated from the other side of the nebula. The Singularity should be on her way, and reinforcements are being summoned to converge.¡±

    ¡°How many ships?¡±

    ¡°Enough.¡±

    Reeter did not like being left out of the tactical decisions concerning his fleet. ¡°I should not need to remind you how critical it is that the Singularity be put down.¡± The combined threat of Gives, an apparent telepath, the Angel and possibly an AI fragment were extreme. For now, the ship was criminalized as a renegade deserter, but if it survived long enough, it would become a symbol of resistance ¨C resistance to his New Era.

    That could not be allowed. ¡°Every single member of that crew should die a traitor¡¯s death.¡±

    ¡°We need William Gives alive.¡± Or at least mostly intact. ¡°If I send too many ships, we¡¯ll be unable to recover him.¡± Too many sharks and the fish would be torn apart.

    ¡°Not enough and he escapes again.¡± Reeter would rather his enemy die, even if that took all information on the Angel with him. If I can¡¯t have that weapon, no one can. With the Angel out of the equation, his arsenal would be the most powerful in the worlds without contest. Truly, Reeter had no need for an intelligent weapon with lingering loyalty to the enemy. If it was damaged, it had no place in his utopia.

    It frustrated him to no end, that he was here, trapped aboard his own ship, rather than giving orders at the frontlines. Would his control over the worlds ever be respected if he wasn¡¯t the one to kill the Steel Prince? ¡°We should be there, Manhattan.¡± These were critical times.

    ¡°I am there, Reeter.¡± Technically speaking, she was everywhere. A significant portion of her power was focused on running the Olympia, but the remainder of it was still out among the worlds, operating hosts on her network. ¡°Our trip should only take a couple weeks at the most.¡±

    ¡°This will be over in a couple weeks.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps.¡± Perhaps not. There were many unknown factors. ¡°But I think you shall find the trip will be worth it in the end.¡± A significant portion of her power and knowledge, once sealed in the Liguanian Sector would finally be freed. She would be whole for the first time in decades.

    Then, the worlds would change¡­ Forever.

 Part 22.1 - NIGHT DEMON

    Wilkerson Sector, CT Badger

    Over 550 ships had taken flight from Sagittarion hoping to run the blockade, but even with the Gargantia¡¯s help, only 216 had been successful. Roughly 27,000 refugees had attempted to flee the oppression on surface of the manufacturing world, and more than half had died in orbit.

    The Gargantia herself was little more than mangled remains, twisted and crushed by the evils of subspace. Captain Dean Merlyn tried not to look at it. The wreckage resembled nothing like the ship that had been. Survivors were¡­ unlikely. And even if, against the odds, some were found, no ship in the refugee fleet had the resources to rescue them. Anyone remaining alive would die a slow, slow death.

    He never ordered a scan for life signatures. In this case, it was better to wonder. Merlyn wanted to believe that crew, their saviors, had died quickly in the instant their ship¡¯s structure had collapsed in subspace.

    The other civilian ships, damaged to various extents, hung visibly on the opposite side of the bridge windows, silhouetted against the bright swirling colors of the nebula. Merlyn only halfway listened to their irksome radio chatter as they squabbled among themselves.

    The reality of the situation was that none of them knew what to do. Running that blockade made every ship in the fleet an enemy of the state. If they approached port without falsifying their citizenship and ship registration, which none of them had the means to do, they¡¯d be killed. Worse, most ships had taken off with holds full of products or people. None of them had food, or if they did, they were unwilling to share. That left thousands people stranded who would be on the brink of starvation within ten days.

    As a cargo hauler, the Badger was no better off than most. She¡¯d taken a shrapnel hit on one of her engines. It had been shut down, leaving them to rely on the remaining two, which rendered the ship slow and sluggish. There had been enough food for the crew¡¯s return trip ¨C a few weeks¡¯ supply. But with the children, the matron and the police officer, it would last only a few days, even with severe rationing.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Captain.¡± The orphanage matron said, looking at his gaunt face. ¡°If we¡¯d stayed on Sagittarion, maybe it would have been better.

    The supporting arm of the display creaked when Merlyn pushed the supply manifest away from his face. ¡°We won¡¯t starve, Miss Delleora.¡± That would take time. ¡°The UCSC fleet will find us long before then.¡±

    He looked out to the blocky shapes of the nearby ships, ¡°Considering the racket, I¡¯d be surprised if they aren¡¯t already closing in.¡± It would be easy for the battle fleet¡¯s powerful equipment to intercept and trace these transmissions.

    ¡°Was there ever any hope of escape?¡± If it was impossible to escape the fleet in even the vastness of the void, had there ever been a chance to get away from Sagittarion¡¯s violence?

    ¡°No.¡± He¡¯d known that fleeing Sagittarion and surviving was likely impossible. ¡°But often, it is worth it just to try.¡± He wasn¡¯t the type of person to sit passively, to simply wait for death. ¡°What you did was noble, Miss Delleora.¡± She had sought a better life for the twenty-seven orphans now aboard.

    The matron swallowed, wishing she could believe that. Right now, all she could feel was that she¡¯d led these children to die in the cold void of space, so very far from home.

    ¡°Captain,¡± the police officer called, his eyes widening at his displays, ¡°there¡¯s something out there.¡±

    Merlyn flicked one of his screens over to the sensor outputs. There was a return, spotty and indistinctive. ¡°Where?¡± he asked, racing to correlate the location data.

    ¡°The nebula.¡± Jones raised his eyes to the swirling gasses, ¡°It¡¯s inside the core of the nebula.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡± The heat of the stellar nursery would cook the crew and overheat the engines. ¡°No trading ship could withstand the pressure.¡± It would be crushed.

    ¡°It¡¯s not a trader.¡± The officer could feel his hands start to shake. ¡°It¡¯s way too big.¡± The gasses had concealed most of its approach. Jones looked out to the nebula, watching it endlessly churn as if he could distinguish the ship hidden inside.

    The matron shivered, ¡°The fleet? Already?¡± No, this was too soon. Too soon. She could barely wrap her thoughts around it as her hands began to tremble. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Captain.¡± Her desperation to take her charges off-world would be his end.

    Merlyn just reached out to tap commands into his displays. ¡°No need to apologize.¡± He¡¯d known this was a death run from the start. ¡°With my history, I always expected it to end this way.¡± He was a born and bred Frontiersman, after all. He had known, venturing into space with that pedigree, that Command¡¯s fleet would likely be his end, if a worse fate didn¡¯t find him first.

    ¡°Do we run?¡± Jones asked. ¡°We could make another jump.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± It was too late for that. ¡°They¡¯ll be on us before we can charge our drive.¡± He knew what destruction Command¡¯s battleships could sow. They flew under the guise of police, but they were scythes, weapons of chaos and control. A single battleship could cut down revolutions as easily as nipping flower buds from the stem.

    ¡°Go to the children,¡± he instructed. ¡°Keep them calm.¡± If they had to die, they shouldn¡¯t be afraid. ¡°I will do what I can.¡± If they were lucky, they¡¯d find a commander corrupt enough to negotiate.

    The hatch slid closed behind her with a hiss, and it was all Merlyn could do to bow his head and offer a prayer to the stars beyond. Have mercy. These children, the matron, this officer, even the Badger¡¯s reclusive engineer, they didn¡¯t deserve to die, not like this. Spare them.

    Jones watched the Captain pray with passing interest. Belief in the arcane and gods was rare among the worlds, and even more so on Sagittarion. The planet had been enveloped in such misery and injustice that any divine power who allowed it had not deserved his people¡¯s faith. ¡°You didn¡¯t strike me as religious, Captain.¡±

    ¡°Religious? No.¡± Merlyn said, opening his tired eyes, ¡°Superstitious? Yes. Any real sailor is.¡± Inexplicable things happened out here in the void. Insanity, luck and mystery were as much a part of their surroundings as their ships. Even the greatest powers yielded to those agents of the void. ¡°The stars guide us out here. They determine our fate. They determine our course, our livelihood and our fortune. Not even the strongest cannot bend the stars to their whims.¡± They were the absolute law, unchallenged by even Command¡¯s mighty fleet. And only the stars could save them now.

    ¡°How much time do we have, Officer?¡± Merlyn asked, wondering what he could negotiate with to spare their lives. If a corrupt ship had found them first, then its commander would be willing to trade parts and products for their lives, so he scrolled through the Badger¡¯s scarce manifest, knowing what they had would never be enough. He had dumped most of their cargo to take on passengers.

    ¡°No time, Captain.¡± The policeman answered, turning his eyes to the bridge windows once again. ¡°She should be emerging from the nebula now. I¡¯ve never seen a ship this big.¡± The scans had cleared up somewhat, revealing one solid mass. It wasn¡¯t a squadron emerging, but rather one titanic ship.

    Flicking back to the scan results on his own screen, Merlyn felt dread constricting around his heart. All the warning signs were there, he knew they were. That ship had found them quickly, against the odds. It had braved the nebula¡¯s hazardous conditions at good speed. And that dreadful chill rippled through the night, as if the void was raising its hackles, one predator recognizing another. But the size¡­ Dear stars, the size. ¡°A ship that big can only be a flagship.¡±

    Jones paled, ¡°They sent the Olympia after us?¡± After starving refugees fleeing a ruined world?

    Merlyn felt the airy laugh leave his dry lips, ¡°Worse.¡±

    Worse? ¡°What the hell could be worse than that?¡±

    The answer emerged from the nebula tipped in scarred black armor. Vapors arced off the craters in the hull, carried along in the imperfections as the angular bow pierced through the nebula¡¯s final veils. The paralysis of fear began to creep into Jones¡¯ veins. ¡°¡­What the hell is that?¡±

    ¡°The Night Demon.¡± We meet again. But was that in irony or agony?

    Jones felt as though the air was thinning. His chest heaved, but it never alleviated the burn in his lungs. ¡°The Demon is a ship?¡± A known battleship at that? ¡°The stories they told¡­ I thought it was a monster.¡± They painted it as some ethereal nightmare come to slaughter Frontiersman by the thousands.

    ¡°It is a monster.¡± No part of those rumors was exaggerated. Fact was that the Demon often slaughtered its victims before they ever saw its true form.

    Merlyn closed his eyes, exhausted. What was the point in fighting? Their fate was sealed, even as he knew the other ships were working themselves into a frenzy, desperate to escape. There came a point where the struggle was simply pointless. A part of him had always known this would be his end.

    Ping!

    The notification rang from his controls. Lazily, the Captain cracked open an eye, perplexed by the information that awaited him. ¡°They¡¯re transmitting,¡± he announced, tuning into the broadcast.

    The audio was perfectly clear given the range and equipment. ¡°All ships, this is the Battleship Singularity. This fleet is now under our control. Attempt to flee and you will be boarded. Comply and we will escort you to a safer sector. You have two minutes to send acknowledgement and standby for further instructions.¡±

    Jones stared blankly at the screens for a long moment, then turned to the Captain¡¯s slumped figure. ¡°What do we do?¡±

    Merlyn pursed his lips. ¡°Send notice of compliance.¡± There was no choice. ¡°If they wanted us dead, we would be dead.¡± He knew exactly what kind of devastation the Demon could bring.

    The officer nodded, and set to tapping on his controls as notifications began to ring out like bells. ¡°Half the fleet¡¯s hailing the Singularity.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll tune us in,¡± Merlyn said, no doubt, the other ships, braver than he, would chance demanding answers.

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    The transmission was clear, as one expected at such close range, showing the cleanliness of a bridge that ran military operations. The crew sat behind big consoles angled away to prevent their readouts from being seen and two men stood in the center of the room, the focus of the feed.

    But that was only half the screen, the other half was a collage of worried, dirtied faces. Some furious, others frighted and many, like Merlyn, were utterly exhausted. ¡°That was one hell of a negotiation, Singularity. You are not in charge here.¡±

    Merlyn drew in a breath, recognizing the speaker where he sat in a clean office behind a spotless desk. Hawkins. He¡¯d become one of the most vocal members of the fleet, some corporate higher-up who¡¯d escaped Sagittarion on a company ship. As entitled as the man was, if anyone was bold enough to force answers, it would be him.

    Aboard the Singularity, it only took Admiral Gives a moment to observe the man¡¯s perfectly pressed suit and perfectly trimmed hair. ¡°Deal with this,¡± he ordered Zarrey, turning away.

    Zarrey looked after him, partly surprised and partly annoyed. Dammit. Why did he have to get stuck with this part of the operation? ¡°Well,¡± he said, turning back to the camera, ¡°this isn¡¯t a negotiable situation at all. You see, if you want to live, you¡¯ll do as you¡¯re told.¡±

    Hawkins scoffed. ¡°And you expect us to willingly entrust our lives to a member of the fleet that just tried to kill us?¡± Unbelievable.

    ¡°We split from Command. We¡¯re in as much danger as you are,¡± Zarrey explained. Finding this fleet and guiding it to safer grounds had seemed like a good idea, but it hadn¡¯t occurred to him until now that the fleet itself might resist.

    ¡°And yet you wear their uniform. The uniform of massacrers.¡± Hawkins¡¯ voice rose to a bitter chuckle in disbelief. ¡°You expect us to place our trust in your commander, when he quite literally just turned his back on us?¡± He narrowed his eyes, pleased by the surprised reactions he received. That¡¯s right. He knew the man in charge wasn¡¯t the one speaking with them.

    The heads of his own crew turned to the Admiral where he stood, leafing through a report, a pen in hand. ¡°I believe I made myself clear,¡± he said without looking up, ¡°Comply, and we will escort you to a safer sector. Flee and you will be forced to comply. Your trust is optional.¡±

    ¡°How very diplomatic of you,¡± the businessman snarled.

    ¡°As you pointed out, Mister Hawkins, this is not the uniform of a diplomat.¡±

    Hawkins¡¯ recoil was instantaneous, stopped only by the back of his chair. ¡°Why do you know my name?¡±

    ¡°You are the Western regional chief of operations for Knight Industries,¡± the most influential corporation in known space, ¡°and I make a point to never forget a face.¡± Admiral Gives was well aware this man wasn¡¯t a just a corporate idiot, he was a high-ranking one.

    Hawkins gritted his teeth, catching the insinuation. ¡°We¡¯ve met,¡± he realized.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°but I would not expect someone like you to remember someone like me.¡± Hawkins had observed the transfer of Knight Industries tech during one of the fleet¡¯s many resupply operations. That day, he¡¯d probably met a dozen commanders trying to ingratiate themselves with the corporation. To someone of his wealth, they¡¯d all been ugly working dogs. Someone like the Admiral, who hadn¡¯t bothered to worship the ground below Hawkins¡¯ feet, would have been something worse: utterly forgettable, which was exactly how he preferred it.

    But Hawkins would be horrified to realize that one of those men he¡¯d brushed off as unimportant was now his only connection to survival.

    ¡°Now,¡± the Admiral straightened his posture, ¡°prepare to receive instructions. You will deal with my XO, when I say you will deal with my XO.¡± He would not be personally coddling these civilians, regardless of how rude it seemed for him to turn away and handle other matters. These civilians were not his priority, the Singularity was. ¡°That will be all.¡± He signaled for the transmission to be cut. A prolonged broadcast would only draw Command¡¯s ships in faster.

    Personally, he was not fond of this operation. It placed the ship at risk. Command¡¯s forces would be closing in. Together, the fleet and Singularity were now a larger and more important target. Beyond that, the civilian fleet would become an unnecessary strain on the ship¡¯s resources, one that had every chance of turning hostile. Given the Singularity¡¯s history, and his own, likely this fleet wouldn¡¯t tolerate them, even for its own survival.

    And if this fleet turned on them, the results would be nothing less than horrifically scarring for the crew ¨C something he did, regrettably, need to consider.

    With the communications transmission gone, the bridge went strangely quiet ¨C the pause before a storm. ¡°You know,¡± Zarrey said carefully, ¡°they¡¯re not wrong. You could stand to be a little more diplomatic.¡± The businessman reeked of trouble and self-importance, but the man did have a point.

    ¡°I am not a diplomat,¡± the Admiral said simply.

    ¡°But you are the smartest man I¡¯ve ever met.¡± If he¡¯d wanted to put those people at ease and lull them into complacency, he certainly could have. When he chose to, the Steel Prince had a legendary silver tongue. Zarrey had to wonder. Was there a reason you didn¡¯t want to comfort these people?

    ¡°Sir,¡± Galhino called, focused on the dissection of the sensor scans, ¡°I have two possible life signatures aboard the Gargantia. Thermals are faint, but there may be survivors.¡±

    ¡°Dispatch a search and rescue team immediately.¡± He¡¯d been right to order that scan. It didn¡¯t look like the civilian ships had bothered. ¡°Two ships. Send a Marine unit and an engineering team with the medic.¡±

    The orders were quickly acknowledged, leaving Zarrey more confused than ever. ¡°I thought Fairlocke was dead to you. Why are you sending a SAR team?¡±

    Fairlocke was dead. With the ghost¡¯s telepathy, there was no doubt of that. ¡°What happened between Fairlocke and myself has no bearing on the rest of the Gargantia¡¯s crew.¡± They were good sailors. If there were any survivors, he would not leave them to die here.

    ¡°If you say so.¡± Zarrey wouldn¡¯t pretend to understand the Admiral¡¯s guiding morals.

    ¡°Remain on high alert. Command¡¯s ships will not be far behind.¡± They had to be ready for a fight. ¡°Ensign Walters, begin distributing jump coordinates for the Argo Sector to the civilian fleet. Get them out of here.¡± Another jump and Command would have no chance of finding them. Tyler¡¯s heading would be rendered useless, and space was too vast to search without a clue.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The young officer wiped the nervous sweat from his forehead and went to work.

    CIC buzzed with soft noises: the clicking of keys and controls, the hush of orders distributed through headsets, and the usual pings of the radar as it finished its sweeps. It was all very normal, the sound of a ship in good working order.

    It was a shame it wouldn¡¯t last. This fleet presented new problems, new threats and new questions. The Admiral opened back up his report, careful to look focused on it as he reached out to the ghost. ¡®What can you tell me about Hawkins?¡¯

    ¡®Nothing you don¡¯t already know.¡¯ He was the regional head of Knight Industries, making him one of the richest, most influential people on this side of the central worlds.

    ¡®What was he doing on Sagittarion?¡¯ Someone like Hawkins would never set foot on a planet like Sagittarion without a very good reason. He should never have been caught up in this mess, so what on Sagittarion had necessitated his personal attention?

    ¡®Unknown, and I have no way to uncover any new information without accessing the cortex.¡¯ With Manhattan on the loose however, that was far too risky. The AI could corrupt the data with malware or misinformation, springing a trap.

    ¡®Ensign Smith mentioned the planetary shipyards¡­¡¯ Likely some project there had drawn Hawkins¡¯ attention, and it was all too obvious which.

    The ghost knew exactly what he was thinking, even without her telepathy. ¡®It¡¯s not possible. Doctor Sloan¡¯s designs were blacklisted.¡¯ The celebrated scientist¡¯s technical designs had been purged from the cortex, illegal to research or build. Sloan himself had supported the purge, revoking Command¡¯s right to use his designs. Now, so many years later, with that data gone, ¡®They should have no way to complete the build.¡¯

    The Admiral wasn¡¯t willing to stake his bets on Command giving up. He knew better than anyone what horrifying ends Command was willing to use. On this matter, he was only willing to trust the Singularity¡¯s own data. Not the law. Not the rumors. Not even Command¡¯s own files. ¡®Has our sensor data on that region been processed?¡¯

    ¡®Not yet.¡¯ The ship¡¯s central computer had been running overtime, but it hadn¡¯t completed the analysis on that region. A horrible dread had led her to prioritize it far lower than it should have been. There was something blissful about ignorance.

    ¡®All the same, if there is anything noteworthy, let¡¯s keep that between us.¡¯ Given Zarrey¡¯s reaction to the mere suggestion of a second Constancy-class, that sensor data could prove¡­ explosive.

    ¡®I will fudge the data, if necessary,¡¯ she confirmed, all too wary of what he was trying to hide. That threat, of all of them ¨C with Reeter, Command, the Hydra, Scarlet Flu and even Manhattan ¨C might prove to be the most dangerous of all.

    Because she knew the Admiral was right. He usually was. Knight Industries had been tapped to build one of Sloan¡¯s designs thirty years ago. Now, Hawkins¡¯ presence would have been required to restart construction, considering that it had been made illegal. The Constancy-class design, considered by many to be Sloan¡¯s greatest work, had been blacklisted like the rest.

    But that abandoned derelict on Sagittarion was destined for something entirely worse.

    Such a project simply could not be completed without backing from a wealthy, consistent supplier. Hawkins¡¯ company, already owning the facility where the derelict structure sat, and already possessing technical plans from before Sloan¡¯s work had been blacklisted, was the obvious choice. Stars knew the corporations would never dispose of anything that might someday make them a profit.

    But it was cruel, the ghost knew. It was so cruel.

    Sloan had revoked Command¡¯s right to build with his designs for a reason. That incomplete structure, if finished, would become the culmination of everything the celebrated engineer had sought to avoid. In the wrong hands¡­ She shuddered to know the fate of the worlds.

    ¡®Focus,¡¯ the Admiral knew they couldn¡¯t afford to lament over what Hawkins¡¯ presence likely meant. ¡®Keep watch on the fleet. Tell me if you sense panic.¡¯

    She obeyed, turning her attention outward. The swarm of thousands of terrified minds was difficult to comprehend when she was so acclimated to the company of roughly eight hundred others, the ship¡¯s complement, and the mindless nothing of the void. ¡®They¡¯re already panicked,¡¯ she informed him, ¡®no thanks to your so-called diplomacy.¡¯

    If one more person so much as mentions my lack of diplomacy, I¡¯m going to throw them in the brig. He was not a negotiator. ¡®I meant, if you sense that any of them are trying to run, let me know.¡¯ He¡¯d come up with some excuse to send a boarding party. If a ship ran from them, then all its passengers were as good as dead. If they weren¡¯t caught and sunk by Command, they¡¯d starve.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Galhino called, ¡°Contact.¡±

    Contact? He snapped his head up querying, ¡°Heading?¡± as the bridge fell silent in anticipation.

    ¡°Inside the nebula. Number and dimensions of mass and volume are unknown. Return is spotty, but it¡¯s there.¡± Even the Singularity¡¯s sensor equipment, ten times more powerful than any of the civilian ships¡¯, couldn¡¯t get a solid read in the core of the nebula. The scans could determine that something was there, but not what.

    Zarrey and the Admiral shared a look. Contacts approaching from inside the nebula had to have heat shielding and high-pressure resistance. No doubt, Command¡¯s forces were closing in. ¡°Get those civvies out of here!¡± Zarrey shouted, ¡°Battle stations!¡±

    Hearing the alert klaxons begin to wail in the corridor, he turned again to the ship commander. ¡°How the hell did they get here so fast?¡±

    They didn¡¯t. The Admiral pulled off his glasses, and handed off his report with unerring calm, ¡°They were waiting.¡±

    Waiting? The realization settled on Zarrey like a physical punch. Naddlethworfing shit. ¡°This was a trap.¡±

    ¡°And we flew straight into it.¡± It was obvious in hindsight, but then, hindsight was always a bitch.

    ¡°Fuck that!¡± Cowardly bastards. Zarrey refused to let Command win by drawing them into a fight here. ¡°We¡¯re bugging out. Alba, prep for FTL. We go when the last of the civvies blink out.¡±

    ¡°Belay that. Our SAR team will not be back in time, and we will not leave them behind.¡± Command had purposefully waited to make their move until a rescue operation had been launched for the Gargantia¡¯s survivors. The Admiral would not attribute tactics of such restraint to Reeter. Reeter would have tried to engage the moment the Singularity had shown herself.

    No, this was Manhattan¡¯s handiwork. It had to be. Giving him time to launch the SAR team ensured he had reason to stay, otherwise he would have jumped away, not endangering the ship with combat. But, as it stood, if they jumped away, the SAR team was lost, eight of his people surrendered to enemy hands ¨C to probable torture and reconditioning, if not execution.

    ¡°Your orders, sir?¡± Alba prompted.

    ¡°Make ready for heavy combat. Seal the bulkheads, load the main battery. Helm, roll us over and get us above the galactic mid-plane.¡±

    ¡°Sir, that will expose our belly to Command¡¯s ships,¡± not the Singularity¡¯s gun deck, which Command¡¯s ships a clear advantage.

    ¡°If they feel they are at an advantage, they will attempt to negotiate a surrender.¡± After all, Manhattan does want me alive. While just as armored, that side of the ship had significantly less weaponry. It was less of a threat.

    ¡°Oh, so you¡¯ll negotiate with them.¡± Zarrey grunted.

    ¡°Technically speaking, it will be more of a distraction.¡± A bid to delay hostilities. The less time they were in combat, the better to minimize losses and damage. ¡°However, if Command wants a fight, then I am in no mood to refuse.¡±

 Part 22.2 - SEARCH AND RESCUE

    Wilkerson Sector, Warhawk S-212

    The broken metal bones of the honorable Battleship Gargantia no longer truly resembled a ship at all. Subspace had taken its toll, and there was no hope of repair, the hulk clawed and torn into an ugly jagged mess. Even still, an observation of the atmosphere and temperature aboard the Gargantia¡¯s remains revealed the possibility of life.

    The rescue team consisted of two ships, a pilot to each, then three Marines, two engineers and a medic divided between them. The Warhawks flew side by side as they examined the Gargantia¡¯s gray corpse. Her landing bay had been crushed out of existence by an undeterminable force. One of the engines had been torn away ¨C nowhere within sight ¨C and another¡¯s armor had been sheared off, exposing its ruined internal mechanics. Fuel and engine coolant drifted about in droplets, glittering as the reconships¡¯ running lights flew by.

    Only a few airlocks had been left intact, forcing the rescue team to dock at what was left of the Gargantia¡¯s amidships. Given the deformations that plagued the ship, it took considerable effort to force the airlocks open.

    Every member of the away team had donned an environmental suit, concealing them all in tasteless gray. The Marines were armed with rifles and sidearms while the engineers hefted plasma torches and the medic carried a field kit of medical supplies. The team was well equipped, even if none of them felt that way.

    Stepping aboard dead ships always felt like walking on one¡¯s grave. Given their situation, at odds with Command, to the Singularity¡¯s crew, it felt like an unwilling look into an inevitable future.

    Sighing, Chief Ty tried to banish those thoughts. Hopelessness and surrender were as dangerous as fear. ¡°I suggest we head aft first. Base will want the main computer¡¯s records, and the longer we wait, the more corrupted they¡¯ll be.¡± He knew these Keeper-class ships, and in such sorry condition, the remaining power fluctuations of the emergency batteries would begin destabilize the computer¡¯s memory banks.

    ¡°Lead the way,¡± Corporal Yankovich answered. He checked the safety on his rifle as they started to move, but knew they were unlikely to encounter any hostiles. Most of the crew was long dead, and any remaining survivors would likely welcome them with open arms, desperate to escape a slow death aboard the Gargantia¡¯s wreck.

    The crisp white lights of the boarding party¡¯s electric torches raked along the corridor as they moved. Uneven, the floor was ridged and buckled while the ceiling ¨C if such terms had real meaning without gravity ¨C dipped at random intervals, the leftovers of major structural damage. The decks above and below had been folded up onto each other, and the eerily empty hallways were smeared with color, even as the rescue party tried to ignore the rusty hues and oily textures.

    ¡°Reminds me of the starboard bow,¡± Ezcurra said absently, eyeing the wasteland of material that entombed them. The cascade collapse in the Aragonian Sector had dealt similar damage to the Singularity, but this damage was deeper and more complete ¨C a snapshot of what had almost been. Still, it was differences, not the similarities that struck him most vividly. The Singularity had been noisy, groaning with protest against further collapse, but the Gargantia was silent, dead.

    The corridor was cold and uninviting. In the long hours it had taken the Singularity to arrive, the emergency batteries had run out, leaving the away team¡¯s bright flashlights to cleave through perfect darkness.

    It didn¡¯t take long for the team to be met by an immovable wall of steel wreckage. Ty swung his flashlight down the other hallways that branched off from the junction. One simply pinched closed and another was lined twisted tears in the enclosing metal. Aiming his flashlight down one of the rifts, the beam didn¡¯t reach the bottom. ¡°Don¡¯t fall in,¡± he advised, moving on to study the most intact wall. It wasn¡¯t smooth, the metal rippled and torn to a degree that he knew the ship¡¯s death throes must have been deafening.

    ¡°This is the new floor,¡± he said, seeing that the wall led onward without visible blockage. ¡°We can follow this path and arrive above the central computer room.¡± Going the other way would have given them easier access, but this would work, they would just have to cut in from above.

    ¡°Good thing you know where we¡¯re going. She¡¯s so torn up I can¡¯t make heads or tails of where we are,¡± Yankovch said, trying not to look too closely at the rifts. Deep down in there, there seemed to be something moving. Wires, probably, but it was still the only movement he¡¯d so far seen aboard the wreck, and that made it unnerving enough.

    ¡°Used to serve on a Keeper-class,¡± the Chief grunted as he hopped up onto the wall to walk along it in the zero gravity.

    ¡°And then you cussed the Admiral out and got yourself assigned to the lovely Lady Sin,¡± the medic reminded.

    ¡°Yeah, something like that.¡± His journey to the Singularity had not been so straightforward, but it figured that was the part of the story everyone remembered.

    Slowly, the corridor was becoming tighter and tighter, the opposite wall, the current ceiling as they were currently oriented, was dented inward. With his bulk, Ty had to crouch, but they could, just barely, squeeze down between the sheets and reach their desired position before the walls pinched together.

    ¡°Ezcurra,¡± he motioned to the other engineer as he readied his plasma torch, ¡°help me cut in. The corridors still have some air, so depressurization shouldn¡¯t be a concern.¡± The Gargantia had been so crushed by subspace that she was nearly airtight again. The atmosphere was slowly leaking out, but even without a suit, it would be survivable for a short time, which was good, considering that the signature of a possible survivor had been pinpointed to this compartment and they had no idea if that person was wearing an environmental suit.

    Sparks flew when the plasma torch made contact with the metal, making it glow an angry, scorching red. Smoke curled off the contact, the hiss of the torch soon replaced by the whoosh of air as the pressure inside the compartment equalized with the outside. The two engineers cut out a rectangle large enough to get through and gave it a moment to cool, then Chief Ty kicked it downward with a grunt and aimed his flashlight into the stifling darkness below.

    He¡¯d been about to hop down when Yankovich¡¯s hand latched onto his bicep. ¡°I¡¯ll go first. If this person is conscious, they¡¯re probably scared out of their mind. We have no idea how they¡¯ll react.¡± As a Marine, Yankovich could at least defend himself, if need be.

    ¡°Aye,¡± the Chief allowed, giving the Marine a hand as he disengaged his mag-boots and began to float. Ty lined him up with the hole, and with a nod, gave him a gentle downward push.

    Yankovich sank easily toward the deck waiting below, his boots re-gripping the metal on contact while he bent his knees to absorb the slight impact. Without missing a beat, he swept the compartment. All the hatches were sealed, the bulkheads here mostly untouched by the distortion that plagued the rest of the ship.

    But nothing moved. Nothing leapt at him from the darkness, even with the noise of his arrival. No cries of pain reached him. ¡°Anyone out there?¡± he called, using his helmet speakers, ¡°We¡¯re here to help.¡±

    There was no answer, and he thought he knew why. A dozen crew floated lazily through the air, heads bloody from impact, fingers blue from the cold. Some were officers, others yeomen and the orange of a technician¡¯s jumpsuit caught the light. ¡°Send down the anchor.¡± He¡¯d seal the magnet to the floor, giving the team something to pull themselves down with in the zero gravity. ¡°There¡¯s a lot of corpses down here. We¡¯re going to have to search for the survivor.¡± He or she likely wasn¡¯t conscious.

    ¡°Start checking the bodies,¡± Ty ordered, ¡°Ezcurra, see what the computer¡¯s willing to give us.¡±

    The Gargantia¡¯s central computer was modern, far more so than the artefact the Singularity¡¯s crew called by the same name. Towers of servers stretched from floor to ceiling, wired together. The central processor, bolted to the ceiling and stretching downward, had direct feeds from every single one of them.

    Access terminals lined the edges of the room, some of the chairs filled with a body. Once, this would have been the brain of the ship, monitoring the Gargantia¡¯s systems and boosting efficiency, while it scoured for patterns and weakness in combat. Now, it was little more than a graveyard.

    Ezcurra did his best not to look at the bodies as he wired in a power module they¡¯d brought from the Singularity. To look at them would be to see their faces, to humanize them, to know that people like him and his comrades had died here.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    ¡­And to know that the same fate might soon await them.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got her!¡± Lieutenant Roberts cried, checking the pulse of a woman floating in the corner. ¡°She¡¯s alive, but only barely.¡± The woman was wrapped in a foil emergency blanket, freezing. An emergency lantern drifted nearby, its batteries used up in the long hours after the Gargantia¡¯s destruction. An emergency oxygen mask was on her blue face, so the temperature, not the air, had nearly killed her. Her faint exhales crystallized moisture onto the rubber mask.

    Roberts opened her medkit to pull out some heating pads, and cracked them to mix the chemicals inside, then shoved them under the blanket to help warm the woman¡¯s core. ¡°She needs to be taken to one of the Warhawks immediately. She¡¯s in danger of freezing to death.¡±

    ¡°Blosse, can you find your way back without Ty?¡± Yankovich asked the tallest of the Marines.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She answered without hesitation. ¡°Won¡¯t be a problem.¡±

    Yankovich trusted her word, though he was more than lost in the Gargantia¡¯s ruins. Blosse always paid good attention to detail, critical in her line of work as a sniper. ¡°Go now, we¡¯ll get the computer records, then search for the other survivor.¡±

    Blosse nodded and got moving back the way they¡¯d come, leaving everyone else to check the remaining bodies. True to the scans, they were all dead. ¡°How did she survive?¡± the youngest of the Marines, Cadet Santino, wondered.

    ¡°She was probably strapped in,¡± Ty answered. Most of the other bodies looked like they¡¯d been killed by impacts, either during the combat or completing the subsequent FTL jump. Some had probably died later from those injuries, and the rest had simply frozen to death. ¡°She got lucky,¡± if one could call it that. It was entirely possible that she would be the only survivor pulled from the Gargantia, traumatized by the fact she¡¯d floated for hours in the dark with her dead comrades, slowly freezing to death. No, Ty imagined she wouldn¡¯t feel lucky.

    ¡°The record transfer is complete,¡± Ezcurra announced, beginning to unplug his equipment. ¡°Looks like there was some corruption in the data. We¡¯ll have to see if Base can make heads or tails of it.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s get going,¡± Chief Ty said. ¡°Base localized the other heat signature to what used to be the portside bow. It¡¯ll take us awhile to get there.¡± While the Gargantia was just a fraction of the Singularity¡¯s size, moving through the wreckage of the ship¡¯s portside, which had been rendered beyond unrecognizable, would be difficult.

    One after another, the team climbed out of the central computer room, grateful to leave the bodies behind. Fewer of them were seen in the corridors. Presumably, anyone caught in the corridors had been swept out during decompressions before the ship had been crushed in subspace and resealed.

    Following Chief Ty, the team lumbered on, heaving themselves over the wreckage and cracks. No one was expecting the radio in their helmets to crackle. ¡°Base to rescue team,¡± came the prompt.

    The team looked to one another, easily recognizing Robinson¡¯s voice. ¡°It¡¯s five minutes too early for normal check-in,¡± Yankovich said.

    Trying not to read too much into it, Ty answered, ¡°This is Ty, Base. We copy.¡±

    ¡°You have new orders. Continue rescue operations as planned, but maintain radio silence. You are not to transmit on the long-range band. Local signals are an allowable risk, but only in emergency circumstances. Barring an emergency, your ships are to remain powered down. The pilots have already been notified. Avoid drawing unnecessary attention. You will be contacted when you are cleared to disembark from the Gargantia.¡±

    What? Concern mounted, ¡°Base, what¡¯s going on?¡±

    ¡°That is all, Chief. Base out.¡±

    Ty fumbled with the controls on the side of his helmet to switch to the local band, desperate to reach the Warhawk pilots for an explanation, but Yankovich grabbed his arm and pulled it away. ¡°You heard her. Radio silence.¡± The words were tinny, transmitted through Yankovich¡¯s mic, through the ship¡¯s thin air and into the speakers of Ty¡¯s helmet.

    ¡°They¡¯re in trouble, Yankovich.¡± There wasn¡¯t any other reason such orders would have been given. Ty¡¯s chest felt heavy, as if his heart was pumping lead. ¡°I should be there. I¡¯m the damn engineering chief.¡±

    ¡°They¡¯ve got a whole team of competent engineers, not to mention the Admiral.¡± And he knew more about the ship¡¯s mechanics than any of the engineers. ¡°We ought to worry more about ourselves. Base gave those orders to protect us.¡± If the enemy had arrived, then a single salvo from any one of their ships would probably tear the Gargantia¡¯s wreck to pieces, and them with it. ¡°Let¡¯s do our job and get out of here.¡±

    Yankovich¡¯s logic didn¡¯t ease Ty¡¯s guilt as he turned to led them onward. He was the Singularity¡¯s engineering chief, and if she was going into combat, he should be there. His predecessor would never have stood to be absent and ships often didn¡¯t get far without their chief engineers. No matter how competent the rest of the engineers were, combat was chaos. Leadership was important. He should be there to direct the most necessary repairs. As knowledgeable as the Admiral was, the man had a ruthless streak in him. He would push the ship to her limits, and past them if the chief engineer wasn¡¯t there to stop him.

    But still, trapped here, there was nothing he could do. He could only keep moving to find that second survivor. It paid not to linger and stare too long at the stains on the walls, anyway.

    Minutes of detours and climbing over fallen supports, and the team was nearing the portside bow. Many of the compartments off this corridor had been sealed, with vacuum on the other side. There should have been several more hallways and corridors before the hull, but it seemed the battle had gouged them away, and then subspace had torn off the remains.

    Given that it was vacuum, the survivor was probably wearing an environmental suit, so Roberts pulled out her rescue scanner. Each suit had an activatable beacon, used to help find survivors of decompressions when they were swept into the void. ¡°I¡¯ve got something,¡± she said, ¡°it¡¯s weak.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, well those suits are only designed for a few hours of air.¡± A survivor would suffocate after that, so the beacon¡¯s batteries only lasted about that long. As the batteries died, the signal would weaken. Truthfully, Ty knew it was unlikely that anyone in an environmental suit was still alive.

    ¡°Here,¡± Roberts said, ignoring the probabilities as she used the rescue scanner to direct them towards one of the sealed hatches. Its frame, like the rest on this corridor, was mostly intact, but slightly misaligned.

    Ty signaled the team to turn back on their radios, knowing there would soon be no air to carry sound, and the Marines sealed the nearest cutoffs, making a makeshift airlock. Grunting with effort, Ty forced the hatch open. In a strong gust, the air from this segment of corridor whooshed out. Only the team¡¯s magnetic boots kept them anchored to the deck.

    ¡°Beezlenac,¡± one of the Marines cursed as he stepped through the hatch frame. Only the sparkling star scape yawned out before then, blurred by the haze of the nebula¡¯s outer reaches.

    ¡°This breach must have occurred on reentry to normal space,¡± Ty observed, knowing the evils of subspace would have made survival impossible, even with a suit.

    ¡°Over here,¡± Roberts called, following her rescue scanner to a twisted mass of wreckage.

    The rest of the team quickly followed to scour the pile with their electric torches. ¡°I got him,¡± Yankovich said, spying the cracked face of a suit helmet deep underneath the wreckage. ¡°Looks like the support came down on top of him.¡± The survivor had been trapped here.

    ¡°Ezcurra, grab your torch. Let¡¯s get to work.¡± By the look of the pile, cutting the survivor out could take time. The engineers ignited their plasma torches, the light dimming their photo-reactive faceplates.

    ¡°Uh, guys,¡± Santino said, shifting uncomfortably.

    ¡°What?¡± Yankovich answered the young Marine without looking up from his work providing extra light for the engineers.

    ¡°I can see Base from here.¡± It was a habit to look for the ship whenever he could. Something about it was usually reassuring. But right now, it only made him feel sick. ¡°And I know what¡¯s wrong.¡±

    Santino was a wide-eyed Cadet, awed by everything, but the trembles voice made the entire team stop cold. They turned toward the starry haze, barely able distinguish the Singularity¡¯s dark shape. There was just one problem: she wasn¡¯t alone. A handful of shapes lay around her ¨C ships that were far too large to be the civilian fleet.

    Yankovich whipped out his magnifiers with his spare hand and pressed them to the face plate of his helmet. That made it all too easy to identify what he¡¯d already assumed. Command had found them. ¡°Damn it all,¡± he counted up the battleships. Nine. ¡°Six Keeper-class, and three Mylar-class.¡± The Singularity was vastly out-numbered, out-gunned and looked to have been flatly out-maneuvered. ¡°She¡¯s belly-up.¡± The Singularity¡¯s main battery had no firing solution on Command¡¯s fleet, and without that, stood no chance ¨C not that nine to one odds had ever been favorable. ¡°What the hell is he doing?¡±

    ¡°Surrendering?¡± suggested Ezcurra.

    ¡°No, he wouldn¡¯t do that.¡± Santino said, before realizing how unsure he was. ¡°Right?¡±

    Yankovich stared out at the gathering battle. ¡°Honestly, the way he¡¯s been recently, I don¡¯t know.¡± The Admiral had been anything but predictable in the last few months.

    Without further comment, the engineers went back to work at a furious pace, cutting off and pushing away pieces of wreckage until they exposed the man in the suit underneath.

    ¡°Oh stars,¡± the medic breathed once she had line of sight on the body. He was worse than trapped beneath the wreckage. Rather, he was part of it. ¡°He¡¯s been impaled.¡± It was a horrific deformity, the injury primitive, but severe.

    The structural support had splintered as it collapsed, a tribute to the Gargantia¡¯s low-cost, brittle build materials, and it had skewered the crewman¡¯s torso below his ribs. The point of the metal poked well out of his back, smeared with frozen blood.

    ¡°Is he still alive?¡± Yankovich hated himself for it, but he knew the question had to be asked.

    Roberts pulled herself as close to the body as she could get, straining to see any signs of life. ¡°Yes, I believe so.¡± Barely, just barely she could see his mouth struggling to breathe beneath his cracked faceplate. Observing the wound, it seemed the rubbery material of his suit, while punctured, had formed a new seal around the metal spike. ¡°We can¡¯t pull him off. We have to cut the impalement free. If we remove it here, he¡¯ll die.¡± The vacuum would suck his guts from his chest. ¡°And the less we move him the better. We can¡¯t risk carrying him back to the airlock.¡±

    The Chief nodded, ¡°Yankovich, call our Warhawks over. Tell ¡®em to run without lights, and active signals. Thrusters only.¡± That was the best they could do to not draw attention to themselves.

    Turning back to the pile of wreckage, he studied it for a long moment, ¡°Ezcurra, we¡¯ll cut here and here,¡± he pointed. ¡°That should leave the support mostly intact as it is.¡± The last thing they needed was the leftover tension in the metal to snap the jaws of wreckage closed around them.

    The plasma torches glowed a bright blue as they liquified any metal they touched. Cutting carefully around the trapped crewman, Chief Ty couldn¡¯t help but send worried glances up to the looming space battle. Nine to one. Odds like that, there was a very real possibility that they¡¯d never make it home.

 Part 22.3 - SURROUNDED

    Wilkerson Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°Well, sir, we¡¯re belly-up and completely surrounded, great plan.¡± Zarrey couldn¡¯t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. At least the civvies got away. The last of them had jumped just a moment ago.

    ¡°All nine ships have a targeting lock, sir.¡± Montgomery Gaffigan added from his post. ¡°Their weapons are hot.¡±

    But they haven¡¯t fired yet, the Admiral observed. That was enough of an indication that he¡¯d been right. Command wanted to negotiate his surrender. For better or worse, they wanted him alive.

    And he had every intention of using that against them.

    ¡°I¡¯ve identified the lead ship.¡± Galhino said, pulling the files, ¡°It¡¯s the Palindrome, sir. Mylar-class. Admiral Hauser is the ranking officer.¡±

    Hauser. Unlike Tyler, Hauser was a decent tactician, one of more stable mind. His command, the Mylar-class Palindrome was twice the size of any of the Keeper-class ships and considerably more capable. It and its two sister ships presented a notable threat.

    ¡°Incoming hail from the Palindrome, sir,¡± Lieutenant Robinson announced. ¡°It¡¯s on a secure line, isolated from the other ships.¡±

    ¡°Put it up,¡± the Admiral ordered.

    A worried man appeared on the view screen, wrinkles folding the skin around his eyes. He locked his attention immediately on Admiral Gives. ¡°Don¡¯t do this. For the sake of the stars, Admiral, don¡¯t.¡± If they engaged here, there¡¯d be untold casualties. ¡°Listen to me, there are soldiers, ships under Command that want to fight. They know the Erans aren¡¯t right. They know Reeter¡¯s way isn¡¯t the only way.¡± There were other, better ways to push humanity forward.

    ¡°There are those of us who want peace, but we need someone to rally behind. A name with some weight.¡± Things were desperate with the Erans¡¯ coup, but it wasn¡¯t over yet. ¡°Those people have served with you. Hell, Palindrome and I followed you straight into the meatgrinder that was Helflugas. You towed us back out in one piece. I owe you my life, Admiral. There are dozens of ships, thousands of personnel that feel the same way.¡± Admiral Gives was not compassionate by any means, but he¡¯d run the fleet with a fair and steady hand. That had earned the respect of many throughout his career, people who were willing to overlook the underlying oddities of his personal command.

    ¡°Give us time to regroup,¡± Hauser pleaded, ¡°We don¡¯t have to let Reeter take power.¡±

    ¡°You suggest a counter-coup?¡± This sounded nothing like the Admiral Hauser he¡¯d once known. Hauser had been a good soldier. He never questioned or looked beyond his immediate orders. Well-trained, but excellent in no particular regard, he¡¯d been a respectable sailor. He¡¯d been reliable, but not the kind to lead an insurrection.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Hauser said, ¡°Surrender now. Buy us time. All we need is a few days to regroup.¡± They could gather their reinforcements. ¡°The Erans will drag you in, but your ship and crew won¡¯t be harmed. I¡¯ll look after them myself. I know the Singularity is more of an asset to us than anyone would believe.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± An asset? Not so much. A proven threat? Absolutely.

    ¡°Admiral, your ship happens to be the only ship in the fleet that isn¡¯t directly tethered to Command. She¡¯s the only one that can operate with complete independence.¡± Command had remote takeover codes and fail safes for every other ship in the fleet, including Palindrome, and those codes were now in Reeter¡¯s filthy hands.

    ¡°If we slave our other ships to the Singularity¡¯s systems, then Command won¡¯t be able to complete a remote takeover. We need her as much as we need you.¡± Beyond that, the Singularity was a warship, a built weapon. Though aging, she was still utterly lethal in the right hands, and there wasn¡¯t any doubt of Admiral Gives in that regard.

    ¡°I know how much you value her, Admiral.¡± Hauser understood. He felt the same about his Palindrome. Every good commander valued their ship. It was their most powerful asset in any situation. ¡°Surrender now and I¡¯ll see that she and her crew are not harmed.¡±

    Still, Hauser was answered by silence. He could read what he needed from it with insurmountable dread. Stars, no. ¡°Don¡¯t do this,¡± he begged, ¡°Don¡¯t make us go to war here.¡± This conflict had already cost enough lives. It had aged and changed him in so many ways.

    ¡°You have your orders, Admiral Hauser. I have mine.¡±

    ¡°Your orders?¡± What are you talking about? ¡°You were the Fleet Admiral. Hell, you were a General for a few hours. No one has the right to give you orders, especially not now.¡± Separated from Command, Admiral Gives was his own master. He could do whatever he pleased. So whatever orders he thought he was following could be nothing but delusions. And like that, the veil of illusion shattered. It was true after all, Hauser realized. The vile rumors spread by Reeter¡¯s followers were true. The Steel Prince had been driven mad. Deep space had finally taken its toll.

    To Admiral Gives, the situation was candidly simple. If surrendering here removed him from the ship, then it was not allowable.  He had been asked to stay, and while the ghost had no so-called right to give him orders, he did regard her as his superior on such matters. More to it, ¡°There is no resistance, Admiral.¡± Any true defiance of Reeter¡¯s power lived and died aboard the Singularity. ¡°Manhattan already got to you, you simply do not know it.¡± Hauser might believe in what he was saying, but he¡¯d been reprogrammed to believe it.

    This plea to surrender and regroup was nothing more than a thinly-veiled trap ¨C a rather halfhearted ploy. She couldn¡¯t possibly have expected me to fall for this. It was too obvious that Hauser had been altered. ¡°I know you are listening, Manhattan. There is no need to hide.¡±

    ¡°What are you saying? There¡¯s-¡± Hauser was cut off by a commotion on the Palindrome¡¯s bridge. The holographic displays brightened to a glare, leaving Hauser¡¯s crew shielding their eyes. Then, the glare fading, a woman took her form on the center of the bridge, pirating the holographic projectors of the radar display. She sat casually upon the flat top of the radar console, her legs dangling off the edge.

    Her knowing smile was a threat of its own. ¡°You always were a clever one, Mister Gives.¡± She had never truly expected this little trick to work. ¡°But I hope you see there is no escaping me.¡± Her reach extended everywhere, even into the minds of the officers that had once served him, like Hauser, who now stood, his face as blank as slate, thoughtless, alongside the rest of his crew. They all looked ahead with the same unseeing eyes, nothing more than empty puppets.

    ¡°All you have is that aging battleship. But even she has points of weakness. Even she is not impenetrable. Someday she¡¯ll betray you, as will the almighty Angel of Destruction.¡± Nothing could refute her infiltration forever. Given the right information and the right opportunity, she would take everything from him. ¡°Your fortress of solitude is just a monument to your coming defeat.¡±

    It was refreshing to meet his adversary eye to eye, or at least eye to hologram. That pixie face of hers was flawless. Its symmetry and coloring were just a little too perfect to be human. Reeter probably loved it. But then, Reeter had the human decency of a trash compactor. Admiral Gives could evaluate the threat without being drawn in by a physical appearance that was no doubt designed to appeal to the male psyche.

    The threat was exceptional. This AI could out-calculate, out-maneuver, and probably out-think him just by running combat simulations. It didn¡¯t need thirty years of experience to match him, it had centuries of combat data and tactics to call on. His odds of victory were likely nil.

    Good thing I¡¯m not trying to win this fight. There were always alternative strategies. ¡°Did you find what you were looking for in my files, Manhattan? Perhaps that mild allergy to lavender will prove useful.¡± Her face twitched. Even as she plastered it over with a hungry smile, he knew he¡¯d found a point of irritation.

    Zarrey noticed it too, concealing a snort. ¡°Only you could piss off a damn computer.¡±

    ¡°Mister Gives, as I¡¯m sure you know, knowledge on your adversary, however slight, is always an advantage.¡±

    ¡°Which is why I know you will not sink us. After all, I have something you want.¡± There was one secret he alone knew. One she would very much like to extract from his head. ¡°Pull your forces back. You cannot risk all-out war.¡± Because if he died in the combat, then that secret would die with him.

    The AI chuckled, the sound unearthly. ¡°You are a mere human, caught between forces you do not understand.¡± She and the Angel were likely the two most powerful creatures in this region of the galaxy. He wouldn¡¯t survive being caught between them. ¡°You saw what the Angel did to Squadron 26, didn¡¯t you? Nearly killed one of your pilots, didn¡¯t it?¡± Such a shame. ¡°That thing is dangerous.¡± Truly, if the rumors of its power were accurate, it was beyond dangerous. It was an aberration that threatened the existence of every life form in this quadrant of the galaxy. ¡°Hand it over and it can be isolated and controlled.¡±

    He could sense the ghost¡¯s mounting fear, terrified of the fate that awaited her in Manhattan¡¯s hands, and he could feel the crew¡¯s gazes on him, intrigued by this change in conversation. It was straying into dangerous territory, but he knew better than to be caught in a lie. ¡°I am afraid I do not know what you are referring to.¡± The Angel had taken no action against Squadron 26.

    He said it so calmly, so assuredly, that Manhattan couldn¡¯t detect a trace of a lie. But he was lying. He had to be.

    She sighed, realizing his determination to make this difficult. ¡°It is lucky for me, you know, that your ship is so resilient.¡± It was unlikely that she would ever suffer such a catastrophic explosion that none of the crew in CIC would survive. If anything, surviving the nuke had proved that point. He would probably live through a defeat in combat.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    She smiled, knowing the means were at her disposal. Nine fully capable battleships danced along on her network. At the moment, she could see the Singularity in a thousand ways: telescopes and scanners, and yes, targeting sensors. ¡°I only need to cripple your precious ship to get to you.¡± She needed its core intact, but the ship¡¯s front and aft thirds were expendable. He¡¯d probably live, even with his ship ripped to shreds, and freshly dead was fine too, as long as the corpse was mostly intact and suffered no brain trauma.

    ¡°You underestimate my determination, Manhattan.¡± He wasn¡¯t interested in being this battle¡¯s lone survivor. He would die to protect his ship, his people. If putting a bullet in his own head was the only way to stop Manhattan from getting what she wanted, then there was a Marine outside CIC with a viable sidearm. ¡°You do not want to test me.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she cocked her head with unerring purpose, ¡°but I¡¯d like to see what you are really capable of, Mister Gives.¡± She had grown quite curious. Where he was concerned, there was so much rumor and so little truth. ¡°Demonstrate your strength to me.¡± Show me the Angel of Destruction¡¯s true power. She was willing to sacrifice this little fleet to further understand her enemy.

    ¡°Fight for your life, and for the lives of your crew.¡± Manhattan demanded, her eager smile only growing, ¡°I imagine it will be quite enlightening.¡± She could learn much about the great Steel Prince by how he handled himself in this combat. How much did he value the people who had followed him into defiance of Command? How much did he trust his old ship? And just what would it take to break him?

    Would the Angel intervene once again? Or would she find the source of his survival to be something else entirely?

    The answer to so many questions was now within her grasp. ¡°Show me what that old space hulk can do.¡±

    Old space hulk? He narrowed his eyes, knowing full well that the AI was trying to taunt him into action. Bitch. ¡°Manhattan, never insult my ship again.¡± We¡¯ll kick your ass. He signaled for the transmission to be cut. The time for talking had passed.

    He looked to his crew, noting through their worried faces, that they were combat-ready. ¡°This will be a delaying action. We will buy time to rendezvous with the rescue team, and that is all.¡± He did not intend to win this fight, merely to survive it. He was well aware that nine-against-one odds were not in their favor.

    His objective was to bring every member of his crew out of this combat alive. To do that, he couldn¡¯t afford to hold back.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Gaffigan spoke up, ¡°I have firing signatures. All ships.¡±

    ¡°Evasive maneuvers. Brace for impact. And Lieutenant Jazmine,¡± he called to the eager pilot as the first impact shook the ship, ¡°please reorient the situation.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± Jazz said, a grin taking over his worried features. At the helmsman¡¯s call, the ship began to roll, slowly at first, to put her gun deck in line of sight with the enemy. Relative to Command¡¯s ships, she was upside-down, but space gave no meaning to such terms.

    It took mere seconds to level the playing field, wiping away the advantage he¡¯d handed Command. The Palindrome and her sisters were now in range of the Singularity¡¯s main battery, which they¡¯d been so content to avoid. The maneuver was simple, but it took a degree of separation from the rules of gravity and textbook ship movements, which were guided by such theoretical concepts as the galactic mid-plane.

    The opening stages of the battle flickered through the void like lightning, weapons punching through the perpetual veil of night. The Singularity shuddered under attack from all angles, heavy projectile rounds pounding the hull armor with jarring impacts.

    Familiar with it all, the Admiral kept his balance easily, watching the movements of the enemy fleet. They were moving, their smaller ships more maneuverable than the Singularity. Many battles were fought on a level plane like the seafaring battles of old, but he¡¯d brought this battle into the third dimension of void space, and Command¡¯s ships were obliging with an all too familiar maneuver. ¡°They are attempting to surround us,¡± the ships were climbing up to enclose them in a sphere of enemies. If successful, there would be no point of retreat.

    ¡°Great,¡± Zarrey said, holding on for dear life as the ship shook. ¡°Even we won¡¯t last long like that.¡± The ship¡¯s armor was effective, but taking a beating from all sides, the armor wouldn¡¯t last. ¡°We need to break out of their formation, give ourselves room to maneuver.¡± The Singularity, while not as maneuverable, was still fastest ship in play.

    ¡°No,¡± let them come. Sustaining a hard acceleration would not only worsen the damage, but squander their only advantage in this fight: the fact they knew where Command¡¯s ships would logically position themselves. ¡°XO, prepare sidekick to starboard. Main forward batteries, target the Palindrome,¡± if Manhattan¡¯s infection and control of this fleet was localized, then he would disrupt it there. ¡°All other guns, return fire at will. Prioritize missile interception.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Gaffigan said happily, drawing up and selecting targeting solutions for the ship¡¯s guns by group. ¡°Firing,¡± he announced, bracing himself.

    The kickback of the Singularity¡¯s weapons was a physical shove coupled with the sound of a single, dull thud. Impact on the Palindrome was a colorful affair, the gray armor crumpling to form vibrant blossoms of fire. The ship slid slowly out of position even as she flared her engines to correct.

    The damage was severe, but the Singularity¡¯s concentrated fire was returned in duplicate by the rest of the fleet as they rose to surround her. A maelstrom of evil flew her way, and the old ship was forced to take every projectile fired. The encroaching fleet left her no room to maneuver.

    Zarrey watched Command¡¯s forces rise up around them nervously, their shale gray hulls littered with guns. ¡°All due respect, sir, don¡¯t we want to break their formation?¡± They couldn¡¯t stand up to this type of beating for long. He could feel the strength of the shudders growing, the armor becoming less and less effective.

    ¡°Not today.¡± If they were going to last in this fight, they needed to cut down Command¡¯s numbers, and quickly. They couldn¡¯t risk accelerating away and exposing the engines to the direct fire of all nine ships.

    The force of the next impact threw Zarrey into the console so hard, his nose was already bleeding by the time he had enough wits to pull his face off the table. Beside him, the Admiral had also been thrown, but wasted no time in shock, ordering, ¡°Damage report!¡± as the shadow of a bruise took hold on his cheek.

    ¡°Missile impact on the starboard bow,¡± Alba called, ¡°Hull breach and decompression, Deck Ten. It¡¯s contained, but they are concentrating their fire on the starboard bow.¡±

    Of course. They were targeting the nuke¡¯s structural damage. ¡°Admiral, they¡¯re going to tear us to shreds if we just sit here.¡± The constant shudders were only growing stronger. ¡°The sidekick preparations are only making it worse.¡± They had over pressurized many of the airlocks on the starboard side to complete the maneuver. The damage of hull breaches would be multiplied by result.

    Just another moment. They had to hold out until Command¡¯s ships were in position. ¡°Is the sidekick ready?¡±

    ¡°Mostly,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°But holding it only worsens-¡±

    He was cut off by another severe detonation. One of Command¡¯s ships had fired a broadside directly focused on the bow. It punched through the weakened armor, the decompressions tearing the remains off.

    ¡°Hull breach,¡± Alba called, fear rising in his voice, ¡°Decks Eight and Nine-¡±

    He was cut off by the impact of another broadside landing with unerring accuracy. It punched into the hole left by its predecessor, driving deep into the Singularity¡¯s bow. The inertial dampeners caught more of the force this time, but a few screams still met the frightened air.

    ¡°Correcting,¡± Jazmine announced, guiding the engines to fight the resultant thrust of the impact.

    Stars, Zarrey stared at the indicator charts on the wall, seeing how many lights on the hull had just gone dark ¨C the sensors they represented no longer able to report. ¡°Do something!¡± He shouted at the Admiral¡¯s unflappable calm. ¡°One more hit, and we¡¯re finished!¡± The repaired structural support was exposed. If it takes a direct impact¡­

    His answer came in the form of another violent jolt, this one pushing the opposite way as solid hits landed on their portside. The ship groaned loudly, as if to protest the beating and the power flickered, battle damage beginning to wreak havoc on the power grid. A shudder picked up below his feet, as the enemy ships chewed through the armor on that side.

    Enough of this. ¡°Jazz, give us some speed. Monty, prep a full broadside, AP rounds.¡± Zarrey refused to sit back and wait for the enemy to sink them.

    ¡°Helm, hold,¡± the Admiral contradicted, carefully tracking the seconds, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen¡­ Combat was nothing more and nothing less than knowing when to strike. The most effective tacticians waited for their openings. ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan, load the main battery with HE shells. Turn half the guns to port and half the guns to starboard.¡±

    ¡°High-explosive rounds?¡± Zarrey queried, watching Jazmine and Gaffigan carry out the Admiral¡¯s orders. ¡°Those won¡¯t pierce their armor,¡± merely they would make a nice fireball. What are you playing at?

    Twenty-five, twenty-six, it took a Keeper-class battleship forty-three seconds to reload, correct aim and fire its main battery guns.

    ¡°Sir, I don¡¯t have a firing solution,¡± Gaffigan said. The ship¡¯s largest guns, now directly aimed to port and starboard, had nothing in their sights.

    Not yet, the Admiral mused, silently ticking the seconds off. Thirty-one, thirty-two, ¡°Helm, on my command, roll ninety degrees clockwise.¡± Thirty-four, thirty-five.

    He took a moment, beyond shouted damage reports and battle analyses, to feel out the ship¡¯s condition. The defensive turrets were drumming a steady beat, intercepting missiles under Gaffigan¡¯s guidance, but they couldn¡¯t stop the projectile fire. No, the armor took those impacts, bending and twisting, until the hull and beyond took damage.

    Thirty-eight, thirty-nine¡­ In all reality, the ship was suffering. Decompressions fueled brief fireballs all over her form. The engines, spared for now, were nearly idle, languishing as the structure absorbed impact after impact. The power grid was operational, but fraying on its ends, minor systems cut off and the feed for the rest growing unreliable. The longer the battle went on, the more it would cost them.

    Soon, he promised the old ship silently. This suffering was not in vain. They would make their move when the moment was right. Forty-one, forty-two¡­

    His count struck its critical instant. Now. ¡°Sidekick!¡±

    Jazmine and Alba punched their respective controls, and instantly, all along the Singularity¡¯s port side, maneuvering thrusters fired and airlocks opened as the engines roared to action. Air and propellant alike sprayed into the void, forces reacting to throw the ship to starboard. She shrieked in protest, not intended to take thrust forces from that direction, but moved as if yanked through the void: the maneuver quick and sharp.

    In the same second, Command¡¯s ships fired. A full broadside from above, below and stern, it would have been a crushing attack.

    But it sailed through the space the Singularity had occupied a moment before, orange tracers glowing as the shells carried on their trajectory to the ships precisely positioned opposite. Command¡¯s ships had been using the Singularity¡¯s mass to prevent friendly fire as they encircled her, taking position directly across from their other. But without the Singularity there, their full broadsides were aimed at their own ships, the effectiveness of their formation turned against them.

    Obvious detonations lit up on three of Command¡¯s ships, the unlucky victims of their allies¡¯ broadsides. They¡¯d been loading armor piercing shells against the Singularity¡¯s ablative plating, but those same rounds made near instantaneous work of the Keeper-class ships¡¯ lighter armor. The gun decks of the ships above and below were torn apart, violently and catastrophically by friendly fire. Ahead, the Palindrome, larger, but previously damaged, shuddered and slowed, spewing fluids into the vacuum.

    ¡°Roll,¡± the Admiral commanded, seizing the opportunity.

    Jazmine worked the controls, feeling the ship respond with a certain, uncanny eagerness. The slow tilt slowly exposed the gun deck to new angles of attack.

    Monty was pleased to find two battleships directly in his sights, armor peeled back to expose inner compartments and systems. Their respective main batteries, once aimed at the Singularity, littered the debris. Often, in such shape, the commander might have ceased fire, surrendered, and limped away from the fight to live another day. But both ships were still painting the Singularity¡¯s hull with targeting indicators, preparing to fire missiles, and it seemed the Admiral knew it.

    His order was cold, a finality to it. ¡°Finish them.¡±

 Part 22.4 - ODDS SEVEN-TO-ONE

    Wilkerson Sector, Battleship Singularity

    With a muted flash, the massive guns on the Singularity¡¯s back fired. The slugs left a wispy trail of propellant in their wake, and met their mark in concentrated silence. The cores of the ships began to glow, the hellish orange of embers so unnatural in machines. The light rose slowly into visible flames, expanding outward, the ships¡¯ fragile hulls cracking apart.

    Final explosions riddled the structures: fuel and munitions detonating in the starry silence. The runaway reactions slowed and eventually stalled without oxygen, leaving the broken wrecks completely visible. Slowly, engines, hull armor and structure drifted away, the ships blown cleanly apart.

    ¡°Power signatures are failing,¡± Galhino confirmed the sight. ¡°UCSC-43, 61, sunk.¡±

    Zarrey watched the remains spread out through the camera feeds and breathed a sigh of relief. ¡°Two down¡­¡±

    ¡°Seven to go,¡± the Admiral finished. It wasn¡¯t nearly enough. They couldn¡¯t go toe-to-toe with seven battleships, and the projectile fire was still too dense to risk summoning the away team. They¡¯d never make it through.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Galhino called, ¡°All ships are encroaching. They¡¯re closing the distance.¡± Two of their comrades sunk, Command¡¯s ships were now tightening the sphere.

    ¡°Fuck.¡± Zarrey cursed. ¡°They¡¯re going to board.¡± This was by the book, all of it was. They¡¯d surrounded the Singularity, thus immobilizing her, and dealt enough damage to breach the armor and cause chaos on the internal comms. It was textbook boarding practice.

    The Admiral nodded, ¡°Prepare to repel boarders.¡± It seems Manhattan really, really wanted him alive. ¡°XO, head up defense.¡± Zarrey could handle the ship¡¯s internal defense. He had to focus on the external battle. ¡°The rest of you,¡± he called, ¡°eyes up. We are not finished.¡±

    They were scared to death. It was too easy to tell. If this battle came to personnel combat, they were outnumbered seven to one ¨C worse even, since a good portion of the ship¡¯s crew: the engineers, yeomen and medics were barely trained in self-defense, let alone real combat. In CIC, charged with running the ship, these officers would have no real chance of defending themselves if hostile forces made it this far.

    Galhino looked up only to meet Robinson¡¯s gaze. They shared a long moment, seeking desperate comfort. We¡¯ll be okay, Robinson¡¯s brown eyes seemed to say. Galhino wished she could believe that.

    The shudder of incoming fire made itself known again, breaking the terrified silence of CIC. Power flickered again, the power grid beginning to destabilize. We need to move, and the Admiral knew it. The Singularity was a tough ship, the finest he¡¯d ever seen, but she couldn¡¯t sustain this without consequences.

    They had to break Command¡¯s formation, now. Find the weak point, he told himself, scouring the readouts of the encroaching fleet. Distantly, he could hear the thunder of the turrets and the occasional clap of one of the main battery guns. Gaffigan and the turreters were doing a fine job keeping them busy.

    There, one of the ships was moving slower than the rest, leaking fluid, engine coolant most likely. Dead ahead, the Palindrome was limping. A perfect next victim. ¡°Main forward battery, target the Palindrome¡¯s stern.¡± You won¡¯t get away.

    ¡°Aye,¡± Gaffigan and Jazmine said, coordinating between their stations to aim the fixed barrels by maneuvering the ship.

    Now time to distract. He wouldn¡¯t make his target that obvious for Manhattan. ¡°Main battery, concentrate fire on 62 and 45¡¯s engines.¡± The Keeper-class ships adjacent to the Palindrome had names, certainly, but he wouldn¡¯t bother to learn them in mid-battle. Calling them by their ID number worked just fine, and truly, their names were meaningless to him anyway.

    ¡°Firing,¡± Gaffigan called, bracing for a kickback that simply juddered the entire ship, the forces moving opposite to several different firing vectors.

    The impacts had various results. A piece of one ship¡¯s top engine was sheared clean off, throwing wild fluctuations into her course. The other simply earned a few smoldering holes. The Mylar-class Palindrome simply absorbed the hits, firing thrusters to correct position almost calmly. She was a larger and tougher build ¨C the other two Mylar-class ships a largely untouched threat.

    Damaged, the three ships ahead of them slowed, he could choose to accelerate the Singularity between any of them with a minor course adjustment, breaking the formation. Either Keeper-class would sink under the ensuing exchange of close-range fire, but luckily for them, he had no intention of changing course, at all.

    Manhattan had wanted to know what this ¡®old space hulk¡¯ could do. Well, this was no deteriorating old wreck. This was a flagship of the fighting line and no AI had the right to insinuate otherwise. He put his hand on the console beside him, sensing the lingering power of the ship around him. Ready, old friend? It was time to unleash the demon.

    The answer seemed to come in the form of a furious groan, not a strained noise, but the sound of a ship angered. It roared above the other noises of combat, a battle-cry of sorts. ¡°Helm, all ahead flank speed.¡±

    Shivers running down his spine, Jazmine turned to look at the Admiral¡¯s cold gaze, seeing an unfamiliar malice that seemed to be echoed around him. ¡°All ahead flank speed?¡± The Palindrome was dead ahead of them. ¡°Without a course change-¡±

    ¡°Obey the order, Lieutenant.¡± Zarrey snapped. They didn¡¯t have time to second guess. People died every second they wasted. ¡°They want to play rough and send boarders, fine. We¡¯ve got a few dirty tricks of our own.¡± He gave the Admiral a sharp nod, understanding the intention.

    The Singularity¡¯s engine noise throttled up to an audible rumble. ¡°The Palindrome is in our way, Lieutenant,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°Either they will move, or we will move them.¡± The Singularity¡¯s armored bow could take the impact, physically shouldering the other ship aside. Unfortunately for Hauser¡¯s Palindrome, she was slowed by engine damage, and her chances of getting out of the way were exceptionally low.

    ¡°Advise all crew to brace for hard impact,¡± the Admiral ordered Robinson, electing not to address the shocked expressions of the younger crew before he proceeded to specify his orders to Gaffigan.

    In the brief pause of acceleration, Ensign Feather stepped up to the center of the bridge. ¡°Sirs, I heard the call to repel boarders and thought you might be needing these.¡± She had fetched them personally from the officers¡¯ respective quarters, offering out a set of weapons.

    ¡°Best assistant ever,¡± Zarrey grinned, grabbing his bag and holster. Not many would risk that kind of trip during combat like this. Strapping the sidearm to his hip, he pulled the protective gloves from the bag and onto his hands, following them with a brass knuckle on his left hand and a trench spike on his right. Excellent, ¡°This battle was putting me in the mood to deck somebody.¡±

    Lacking Zarrey¡¯s enthusiasm, the Admiral took his own weapon, but made no move to ready it, leaving the sabre sheathed. ¡°Thank you, Ensign.¡± This would bolster the bridge¡¯s defenses. ¡°Find somewhere to brace yourself.¡±

    The jolts of combat had briefly lessened, the enemy ships working to correct firing solutions thrown off by the Singularity¡¯s sudden acceleration. Ahead of them, the Palindrome¡¯s engines were flaring, laboring to push the ship out of the way. The effort was applaudable, but fruitless, as the Singularity burned toward her.

    ¡°Alphabet is changing course and accelerating, sir.¡± One of the Palindome¡¯s Mylar-class sisters was giving chase. ¡°With our relative delta-V, she¡¯ll catch up.¡± Their acceleration wasn¡¯t enough to escape.

    Jazmine moved to increase their thrust, the order to flank speed meant to ensure they were the fastest ship by a set margin.

    ¡°Hold,¡± the Admiral ordered. This acceleration would be just fine. He¡¯d expected at least one ship to give chase. Ahead, the Palindrome¡¯s image had grown large. This was the point of commitment to their course. Rolling the ship one way would yield a clean miss, rolling the other would be a direct ramming attack. Good. ¡°Helm, give me a roll 50 degrees CCW.¡± Let¡¯s show them how it¡¯s done.

    The Palindrome¡¯s gray hull rose in view until it was all that was in sight. It was nothing but that slate gray armor, scratched from the battle. Zarrey watched the fine details become easily recognizable: arrays and airlocks, even the shadows of boarding pods and magnetic tethers. It seemed the Palindrome¡¯s boarding forces were prepared to use the proximity to their advantage, even if they risked being crushed between two massive warships in the process.

    Zarrey braced himself, wishing he shared the Admiral¡¯s utter calm. ¡°This better work.¡± It was one hell of a wager, pitting the Singularity¡¯s superstructure directly against the Palindrome¡¯s.

    ¡°You have so little faith, Colonel.¡± The ship simply deserved better. She had yet to fail them in any capacity. He certainly trusted her more than he did the crew as he watched the final distance between them and Palindrome disappear.

    The Singularity¡¯s sharply armored bow sheared in, crushing armor and hull beneath its force. With the scream and shudder of yielding metal, the ships locked together. People and objects were jerked, the additional mass forcibly changing the acceleration of the Singularity¡¯s thrust.

    ¡°Impact,¡± Ensign Alba called, as if it wasn¡¯t obvious enough. ¡°Hull integrity is yielding. We¡¯ve hit bone.¡± The bow had cut in enough to push directly against the Palindrome¡¯s superstructure ¨C the strongest part of any ship.

    With a horrible jolt, the Palindrome¡¯s structure tore past the hull, cutting inward to lock against the Singularity¡¯s own. Entangled, the ships strained against each other in a duel of raw strength.

    But the Singularity had come in with force and speed, so snagging the other ship¡¯s superstructure tugged it along on her acceleration vector.

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    The Singularity groaned, and in a violent instant, the snag was ripped out before the Palindrome could be yanked into her flank, truly colliding the ships. Yet, that wouldn¡¯t save the Palindrome. She¡¯d been forcibly tugged parallel to the Singularity¡¯s lengthwise orientation, placing her right alongside the gun deck.

    The dreadnaught¡¯s massive guns had already been rotated to port, and at such close range, there was no need to sight them. Those that could see the Singularity aboard their waiting coffin were barely given a moment to contemplate it, presented with the long dark barrels of death¡¯s scythe.

    ¡°Fire,¡± the Admiral ordered, and at once, eight of the Singularity¡¯s main battery guns fired. Twenty-four shells lanced out, all in perfect synchronization, and tore into the Palindrome at point blank range.

    And for the Palindrome, it was over. The ship and her crew were dying, the structure riddled with runaway explosions. It was now nothing more than a powerless mass, an obstacle ¨C one that had just been put on a very useful trajectory.

    ¡°Remaining guns, fire.¡± Six more shells, these packed with high explosives, slammed into the Palindrome¡¯s shredded bow. Orange detonations lit up, violent and unhindered, pushing the ship into a slow rotation.

    It was left perpendicular in the Singularity¡¯s wake, but the Mylar-class Alphabet had been burning at high-thrust, trying to catch up. The second round of broadsides had unexpectedly spun Palindrome into her path. Neither ship could stop or change course in time.

    They crashed together in silent fanfare, metal shearing and coiling around itself. The two battleships forcibly merged into one ugly beast, fireballs lighting up its malformed mass.

    ¡°Holy fuck.¡± Jazmine breathed. The Admiral had just turned an entire battleship into an unwitting weapon. It was a terrifying, forced manipulation of the battlefield. Jazz had seen the Admiral in War Games, and that had been a show of exceptional tactical ability, but this, this was a whole other level.

    The man didn¡¯t even seem aware of his own brilliance or ruthlessness. He was cold and stoic, as if uncaring of the success as cheers rose up on the bridge.

    The Singularity accelerated away quickly, devastation in her wake. A piece of Palindrome¡¯s gray structure was wedged into the gaping maw of collateral damage on her portside bow, like a predator gnawing on the bones of its prey.

    The crew whooped and hollered, Zarrey along with them until he heard the reports given to him on the other side of his handset. ¡°Boarders are confirmed. Numbers and target unknown. Marines have engaged them on Deck Eight.¡± The fighting would be chaotic and mostly hand-to-hand, given that the inertial dampeners negated the use of firearms.

    The Admiral nodded, confirmation that he heard, but made no response. ¡°This fight is far from over,¡± he called to the bridge crew. Certainly, they¡¯d done some damage, but, ¡°We are still outnumbered five to one.¡± Command¡¯s forces had been nearly halved, but it came at a cost. Not only was there now risk of sabotage from hostile boarders, but the ship had sustained heavy hull damage along the bow. They couldn¡¯t sustain this fight, not without irreparable consequences.

    Now, they had to recover the away team under the combined fire of five battleships, three of which were still mostly untouched by the fight. No, four battleships remaining, he corrected. One of the ships hadn¡¯t given chase. Its engines had been damaged, and they¡¯d be out of its viable combat range soon. Another was slowed, but still able to keep in range. The main threat was the third Mylar-class ship. Her firing field was a lot denser than the Keeper-class ships.

    He checked the structural integrity chart. The hull on the Singularity¡¯s bow was shredded, and they were losing less critical systems to power fluctuations that would be exponentially worsened by future damage, but structurally, she could handle a few more demanding maneuvers. He expected nothing less. ¡°Alter course, heading 192 mark 20.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± Jazmine said, bringing the ship about. ¡°Bow, up.¡± He confirmed, pushing them further above the galactic plane, uncertain what good it would do to run nearly parallel with the nebula at such an angle.

    The Admiral kept a careful eye on Zarrey¡¯s grim expressions, but focused on his half of the battle. ¡°Lieutenant, I want you to give me a flip-burn on my mark.¡± They¡¯d only get one shot to do this right.

    Jazmine could follow the intention, ¡°You want to buzz them, sir?¡±

    Admiral Gives nodded. ¡°Can you do it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir, but at this speed, it¡¯ll cost us.¡± The fuel burn and structural demands would be immense.

    High cost or not, that maneuver could end this battle. He turned to the armory officer. ¡°Make it count.¡±

    Rocketing away with Command¡¯s ships behind them, weapons impacts had grown rare. From this angle, the Singularity presented her smallest silhouette, making her harder to hit by design. Still, they weren¡¯t accelerating hard enough to outrun Command¡¯s ships, and soon enough, the shudders began to pick back up.

    Zarrey had a layout of the ship¡¯s diagram in front of him, marking off the sections that had been swept and where the enemy forces had been engaged. ¡°Palindrome used her proximity against us,¡± he said, ¡°we get that close again, we have to expect more boarders.¡± The enemy would be better prepared next time.

    Truly, the Admiral was surprised Manhattan hadn¡¯t seen it coming the first time. That ramming attack could have been turned horribly against him. It seemed Manhattan wasn¡¯t a combat-oriented AI. She was capable enough, but not inherently creative, though she would probably learn quickly. He made a mental note to ask the ghost about Manhattan¡¯s history. If not for combat, why had humanity¡¯s AI been created?

    ¡°We have eight hostiles confirmed dead, quite a few wounded on our side,¡± Zarrey continued, ¡°fighting still ongoing. Their target still remains unclear.¡± These boarding parties couldn¡¯t hope to take the ship. Not enough forces had landed, but they could cut down crew, even sabotage the ship. They could slow down combat response enough to give their ships the advantage.

    ¡°No, wait,¡± Zarrey said, jotting down the latest sightings. They were definitely heading there. ¡°They¡¯re converging on the archives.¡± He cocked his head, ¡°What the hell do they want in the archives?¡± It was nothing but dusty shelves and old files down there.

    ¡°Information,¡± the Admiral supposed. Manhattan wanted his knowledge on the Angel of Destruction, and apparently thought he was stupid enough to keep such things in the archives. Still, he hadn¡¯t expected such fixation. The Angel hadn¡¯t seen direct use decades, and should have been relegated to rumor, given the lack of information. But no, Manhattan was chasing data like a tracking hound. There must be history there I don¡¯t know about. The ghost had acted strangely about Manhattan¡¯s involvement from the start.

    But, that was nothing he could afford to concern himself with at this time. ¡°Keep them out of the archives, Colonel.¡± The information kept there was nothing of use to Manhattan, but given the towering shelves of objects and evidence, ¡°It is the perfect place to hide a transponder.¡± It would take hours to search through, and by then another fleet would be on top of them. ¡°Push them aft.¡±

    The thought of the archives reminded him of Amelia. He looked to Robinson, ¡°Where are our civvies?¡±

    ¡°Corporal Johnston took them to the medical bay when the fighting started. His team joined him there.¡± Ron, Amelia and their kids were well-protected.

    Good, Johnston was a good soldier. His unit was a sort of special ops. The civvies and the medical bay would be well defended. No doubt, Johnston had intentionally combined those defensive goals. ¡°Understood, Lieutenant, stand by to summon the away team.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Robinson answered, bracing her shaking hands against the control console. This lull in the battle, with less shaking and sparks, only allowed her anxiety to heighten. Stars, what the hell were they doing here? Nine ships? No one survived combat with nine battleships. A fleet like this could have doomed more than an entire nation¡¯s national guard force. A fleet like this could have waged a war.

    Was that what this was now? A war?

    ¡°Sir, they¡¯re catching up.¡± Maria Galhino said, her announcement punctuated by a solid impact. Her hands felt numb, a physical trace of the panic she had shoved to the back of her mind. She¡¯d seen combat before. Even in this time of so-called peace, the crew was no stranger to it, but this was different. The stakes were higher, the cost of a misstep, an error, was magnitudes greater. They weren¡¯t facing hobbled separatist fleets, or frenzied cult ships rigged to detonate. They were against some of humanity¡¯s finest forces, and even if this battle had started five to one, she would have doubted their odds of survival.

    Now they were five to one, boarded and damaged. Galhino didn¡¯t even know if the ship would survive whatever the Admiral demanded of her next, regardless of what the structural indicators said. The old ship had not been designed to move like that. The thrust forces involved, coupled with the stress concentration factors inflicted by combat damage, could easily tear her apart.

    Panic and doubt were quickly settling in, the Admiral could see it on more than just Galhino¡¯s face. This brief abeyance was only allowing hopelessness to manifest as the crew began to fully comprehend their situation. Even if they survived this, Command would only come after them in stronger numbers.

    But that reality held no bearing on this battle. All they could afford to concern themselves with was this moment, now. Because right now, these were the moments that could turn this battle in Command¡¯s favor. These were the moments that would determine their survival.

    ¡°Ensign Alba, standby for damage control.¡± This was going to hurt. The young engineer signaled with a thumbs-up, already busy with other preparations, so the Admiral turned to the helmsman and armory officer.

    ¡°Excess munitions are stowed, sir. Main battery and missile tubes are loaded. We¡¯re ready.¡± Gaffigan¡¯s excitement was muted, but still present. He¡¯d never pass up an opportunity to throw a few in Command¡¯s face ¨C even if he¡¯d rather their next victim be the Olympia.

    Jazmine looked a great deal more nervous. ¡°Ready as I¡¯ll ever be, sir.¡±

    ¡°Then it would be rude to keep them waiting.¡± Command¡¯s ships had built up enough speed. They weren¡¯t far behind, but were apparently content to let him make the next move. Big mistake. ¡°Go.¡±

    Here goes, Jazz thought, throwing the ship¡¯s pitch control forward. The thrusters on top of the bow fired at full force, shoving the nose of the ship down. The structure screeched in protest, bent between the sudden downward force and the continued thrust of the engines.

    Zarrey had to shout to be heard over it, ¡°I think it¡¯s safe to say she doesn¡¯t like this!¡±

    With a grimace, Jazz fired up the thrusters on the stern to aid the flip. Turning the ship end over end wasn¡¯t instantaneous, and it exposed a larger target area to the enemy, no doubt the opening they¡¯d been waiting for.

    All three ships fired their forward batteries. The rounds slammed into the bottom of the ship, scoring direct hits on the torn armor. The shock of the impacts rode up the ship¡¯s straining spine, the deck shuddering like an earthquake.

    The decompression alarm was wailing, the indicator charts clearly showing hull breaches. ¡°Fires!¡± Alba called, ¡°Multiple decks! They¡¯re spreading.¡±

    The Admiral steeled his countenance. ¡°Get it under control, Ensign.¡± They couldn¡¯t afford to falter here.

    Jazmine cut the thrusters, letting inertia finish the flip. Slowly, the headings lined up, leaving them bow to bow with the enemy, the engines now burning against their velocity. The distance between them vanished as the Singularity started to slow.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Galhino called, ¡°Anaphora has lined her forward bow with cutting drones, fire, and you¡¯ll scatter them.¡± Undoubtedly, they¡¯d pick some up by result, and those drones could wreak havoc by cutting into the hull.

    Gaffigan cursed. ¡°Damn thing¡¯s getting smart.¡±

    This was the first instance they had seen of the AI using unorthodox tactics. It was indeed adapting, but it was too little, too late. ¡°Helm, all ahead full.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Jazmine said, minutely correcting their course as he brought the engines up to full power. Their hum heightened into a roar as they ate away at the ship¡¯s backward velocity. The structure took the thrust quietly this time, this force a compression it had been designed to take.

    Command¡¯s ships had formed a V-formation as they chased the Singularity, the two Keeper-class ships flanked the Mylar-class Anaphora, with the fourth, slowed ship lagging somewhat behind. Now, however, the Singularity was lined up to face the center of the V with unerring accuracy, accelerating toward the Anaphora¡¯s bow, which was writhing, covered in remotely-controlled cutting drones.

    Manhattan must have recognized an attack stature, because all three ships in the V reversed their engines in an instant, fighting to slow down, even as inertia carried them onward in their initial direction.

    The Singularity was faster. Her engines never had to reverse. As costly as a flip-burn was, it was the most effective way to turn a ship around. She¡¯d had full acceleration on her side in an instant, now lined up to buzz by the Anaphora at close range, back-to-back. Or as it mattered more, gun deck to gun deck.

 Part 23.1 - REINFORCEMENTS

    Wilkerson Sector, Battleship Singularity

    For an instant, the ships slid by in silence, the Singularity a void-like reflection of the Anaphora. Darker in color and harsher in angles, the Singularity¡¯s torn bow was a stark comparison to the Anaphora¡¯s flawless gray.

    Magnetic tethers began to fly, and silver boarding pods skated along them, aiming for the gaps in the Singularity¡¯s damaged armor, filled with armed Marines eager for a fight.

    The Anaphora, below, didn¡¯t bother sending personnel. The moment she had a firing solution, she emptied a full broadside into the Singularity¡¯s back. The domes of the old battleship¡¯s main battery guns shunted the rounds aside, leaving them to pound into the nearby armor. Minor explosions and flickering electrical surges littered the area, some reward for the effort, but that was the difference between a ship built to control territory and a ship built to win a war: for the Anaphora, one broadside wasn¡¯t enough.

    For the Singularity, it was.

    With a flash, her massive guns fired. Their numbers were less than half that of the Anaphora¡¯s, but they were far larger. The rounds punched straight through the Anaphora¡¯s armor, shredding apart the gun deck. Main battery guns were sheared from their mounts, barrels severed and left to drift by the swelling explosions. The mere impact was enough to shove the Anaphora downward, her hull and several inner decks opened to the void. Air pulled the wires and rubble out into the vacuum, sending it flying towards the Singularity as she burned by.

    However, even without her main battery, the firing field of the Anaphora¡¯s turrets rendered her a threat, so exchanging broadsides at close range had never been the point of this maneuver. It was near-impossible to disable all of a battleship¡¯s weapons. The engines were a far more viable target.

    ¡°Missiles away,¡± Gaffigan confirmed. Launching a swarm of missiles at such close range, there was no hope of interception.

    The two smaller Keeper-class ships didn¡¯t even try to help. They left the Anaphora to her fate as the Singularity¡¯s missiles struck directly on the engines, lighting a brilliant orange fireball. The damage enough to ignite the fuel in the engines, the explosion turned blinding, the violence of it muted in the silence of the void.

    When it faded, the aft half of the Anaphora had simply been blown apart, the tangled wreckage spinning endlessly onward. Again, as only a computer could command, the enemy didn¡¯t even falter with the loss of another lead ship. They logically, instantly, concentrated their fire on the Singularity¡¯s retreating form.

    So, in CIC, the cheers of success were muted. There was no pause between the Anaphora¡¯s death and the continuation of the battle. Shuddering under enemy fire, the Singularity¡¯s power grid was surging and flickering, even as the secondaries were patched in to compensate for the damage. Aboard, they had fires, they had decompressions, and they had wounded.

    ¡°The Gargantia is dead ahead, sir.¡± Jazmine confirmed, realizing the Admiral had pulled the battle away from the wreck, lest the Anaphora somehow survive. If she had, then, without her engines, she would have been left well out of range, unable to fire on the away team¡¯s ships.

    ¡°Understood.¡± As intended, the flip-burn had put them on course to pick up the away team and essentially sank Anaphora. Without engines, the ship was useless. But the cost¡­ well, suffice it to say, the Singularity had taken a beating. If they were forced to engage the remaining three ships, walking away in completely repairable condition would be tricky, and the Admiral knew it.

    ¡°Lieutenant Robinson, signal the away team. We are on our way.¡± The Keeper-class ships couldn¡¯t match this acceleration. They should be out of effective firing range by the time they rendezvoused with the away team. ¡°Begin jump prep. We will jump immediately after they land.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± came the chorus.

    This fight was nearly over. Almost there, the Admiral promised his old ship. They just had to get out of range. That was all.

    A peculiar shudder reached his practiced hand from the ship¡¯s stern. Habitually, he glanced to the hull chart. No, the armor. Engine Three was exposed, the armor was being peeled off, piece by painstaking piece.

    In the same instant, Galhino shouted, ¡°Drones! We¡¯ve got cutting drones on the hull!¡±

    Zarrey pulled the handset away from his ear to yell, ¡°How?¡± They hadn¡¯t fired on the Anaphora¡¯s bow.

    ¡°They must have been more widespread than I thought.¡± The drones themselves had no thrust, they simply crawled along, like crabs. ¡°Some must have been swept along by Anaphora¡¯s decompressions.¡± And they landed. Eyes burning, Galhino could feel the fresh terror in her system. Now, those drones peel off the armor and breach the hull, slowly, but inevitably. This was her fault.

    Cutter drones were small. They were computer directed, often used to remove shrapnel and wreckage. They had an easy time cutting off armor, but it would take time for them to inflict serious damage. They¡¯d jump to subspace and remove them long before then. Unless¡­

    The slowed ship! It had a clear line of fire on the Singularity¡¯s flank. ¡°Evasive maneuvers!¡±

    Too late. The Admiral¡¯s orders were answered by a deafening impact. Everything was thrown, power surging across the bridge. Consoles and lights sparked, the ship around them screeching from a brutal, concentrated impact.

    ¡°Direct hit, Engine Three!¡± Alba yelled through the acrid smoke. From aft, a horrible grating shudder took over, pieces of the engine grinding against one another. ¡°Damage-¡±

    ¡°Shut it down,¡± the Admiral commanded, without letting the engineer finish. Continuing to use that engine would only worsen the damage by an order of magnitude and likely render it irreparable.

    ¡°Disengaging,¡± Alba confirmed, cutting off the engine¡¯s fuel supply.

    Jazmine similarly reached over to isolate Engine Three from the helm controls. ¡°Admiral, without that engine¡­¡±

    ¡°I know, Lieutenant.¡± Losing Engine Three meant they lost their speed advantage against the Keeper-class ships. ¡®This is going to be close.¡¯ He closed his eyes, sensing the ghost¡¯s constant presence.

    ¡®Isn¡¯t it always?¡¯

    At full power, they had gained some range from the two undamaged ships. Now, they just had to hope that those ships couldn¡¯t gain it back. ¡°Helm, adjust heading. Swing behind the Gargantia.¡± The wreck would block a few hits before crumbling apart. At the very least, it would buy the away team safe passage before the leaked fuel detonated and turned the wreck into a threat of its own.

    Galhino was shaking as she watched the sensor readouts. This is my fault, she could only think as she watched the enemy close range. If she had realized those drones weren¡¯t limited to the bow, they wouldn¡¯t have fired and caused those decompressions. I¡¯m going to be the reason we sink here.

    No. She shook that thought off. The blame wasn¡¯t entirely hers. The Admiral had decided to engage nine ships here. Nine ships commanded by an AI at that. He had made that decision, disastrous as her part in it may have been.

    Admiral Gives caught her gaze, sensing the frustration rising in her thoughts. ¡°We will make it, Lieutenant.¡± With every member of this crew. That was the important distinction. Word of casualties had not reached him yet. They had wounded, but so far, no dead. So long as that remained the case, he had done his job.

    That hit on Engine Three had been the result of some very fine trajectory calculations, but he should have expected nothing less from humanity¡¯s most powerful AI. He¡¯d known going into this that engaging Manhattan was an incalculable risk. Critical engine damage was just the start of it. Noticing that they¡¯d edged out of the slowed ship¡¯s firing range, the Admiral turned to Zarrey.

    The XO looked harrowed, jaw clenched, as he held the marker in his hand uncomfortably tight. He pressed the handset into his shoulder, muting it to give his report. ¡°At least twenty hostiles dead, more than twice that wounded on our side.¡± And the fighting wasn¡¯t nearly over. More boarders had landed during their attack on the Anaphora. ¡°They changed targets. Started going after crew. There¡¯s heavy fighting near internal comms, the hangar deck and medical bay.¡±

    The Colonel clenched his hands, unable to restrain his frustration, ¡°These fuckers are jumping engineers and yeomen. Hell, they¡¯re targeting ¡®em, just because they can¡¯t fight back.¡± They¡¯d have dozens of dead if the crew hadn¡¯t all been trained in self-defense on the Admiral¡¯s orders. ¡°They¡¯re ruthless.¡± The shipboard Marine contingent was having a difficult time fending them off. ¡°It¡¯s like they don¡¯t fear death.¡± He¡¯d gotten more than one report of these a single hostile charging a unit of Marines alone.

    ¡°There is a distinct probability that Manhattan altered them.¡± He didn¡¯t know the full extent of the AI¡¯s abilities, but she was known to be able to alter loyalties and intentions. She could easily turn a standard Marine into a single-minded killing machine.

    Zarrey shuddered, uncomfortable with that implication. It was just wrong. Nothing should have the power to alter people¡¯s minds to such an extent, especially when it could already control every piece of technology it came into contact with. It made the damn thing essentially a god.

    ¡°That, uh, alteration,¡± he fumbled for the word, ¡°wouldn¡¯t be contagious by any means, right?¡± Maybe it sounded ridiculous, but at this point, Zarrey wouldn¡¯t rule anything out.

    ¡°Not unless Manhattan has infiltrated the ship. Afflicted personnel are dangerous simply by physical means.¡± So long as they remain entirely human, he added silently. Cyborgs and the like did present a more ambiguous threat, though cyborgs ¨C either by cranial implant or prosthetic means ¨C were banned from serving in the battle fleet for not unrelated reasons.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    Zarrey continued his work for a moment while the ship-to-ship combat had temporarily ceased. The surviving Keeper-class ships were steadily closing the distance, for now just out of attack range. The ship¡¯s internal defenses had the brunt of the battle for now, forced to take the combat slow to avoid excess casualties. Still, the thought nagged at his mind. They were safe as long as Manhattan never infiltrated the Singularity¡¯s systems. But hadn¡¯t the ship already been infiltrated?

    He turned back to the Admiral. ¡°That computer virus. The one that bugged our systems after the nuke. That was probably the damn Eran AI.¡± He lowered his voice, suddenly very conscious of the crew presence, ¡°Doesn¡¯t that mean it¡¯s already here?¡±

    ¡°Technically, yes.¡± That did mean that Manhattan had temporarily held some sway over the ship, enough to nearly drop them into Ariea¡¯s gravity well and alter his standing medical orders.

    Fuck. ¡°And you don¡¯t think that¡¯s a problem?¡± Zarrey hissed.

    ¡°The virus is gone.¡± The Admiral said calmly, eyeing the battle map up on the screen. Command¡¯s forces were closing quicker than expected, the efficiency of their computer-integrated propulsion systems no doubt boosted by Manhattan.

    ¡°Yeah, it up and vanished. For all we know it¡¯s hiding in one of the computers biding its damn time.¡±

    It was gone. The ghost had seen to that, and nothing acted beyond her control aboard these decks. ¡°If Manhattan could end this so easily, do you think she would put so much effort into sinking us?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Zarrey supposed not. ¡°Then what happened to the virus?¡±

    The Admiral was spared having to make a response by a small impact from aft.

    ¡°The enemy has reentered firing range for their main battery,¡± Galhino announced. ¡°The drones appear to be concentrating their attention on the engines.¡± They¡¯d been cutting the armor plates free and leaving them to drift in the ship¡¯s wake.

    Predictable. That did not make it an invalid strategy, merely another display of Manhattan¡¯s lack of innovation. ¡°Maintain course,¡± the Admiral ordered. At this point, evasive maneuvers would only slow them down and allow the enemy to further close range.

    ¡°We are ready to jump the moment the away team¡¯s ships are secured, sir.¡± Alba announced.

    ¡°Coordinates are locked,¡± the navigator added.

    ¡°Sir, Command¡¯s ships have cut acceleration.¡± Galhino frowned, studying her readouts. ¡°They appear to be veering off.¡±

    ¡°Confirmed,¡± Monty seconded. ¡°Their targeting sensors have gone dark. They appear to be disengaging.¡±

    Disengaging? Manhattan had to know she had the advantage. With the engines exposed, she had the chance to deal critical, irreparable damage. But sure enough, the hull indicator chart had stopped going dark. The cutter drones had ceased their actions as well. This could not be good.

    Robinson¡¯s headset beeped. Reaching over to check the signal, she could only feel unease. What reason could there be to end this battle so suddenly? ¡°Admiral, incoming hail, audio-only. Same signal, all three ships.¡± The total identicality of it was uncanny.

    ¡°Pick one and pipe it through.¡± It didn¡¯t matter which ship they transmitted back to. All that data was going to Manhattan.

    With dread, Robinson rerouted the call to the Admiral¡¯s usual handset. She disconnected her headset from the transmission, certain she didn¡¯t want to listen in. The AI was only playing mind games, and she wouldn¡¯t give any beyond-human intelligence that willingly worked with Reeter the chance to mess with her emotions.

    Picking up the handset, the Admiral didn¡¯t bother to introduce himself. ¡°What are you doing, Manhattan?¡± Laying another trap?

    Manhattan¡¯s subroutines analyzed the range and rhythm of his voice for an instantaneous confirmation. ¡°You have fought well, Mister Gives.¡± Hardly surprising, ¡°It seems you live up to your reputation.¡±

    ¡°Pleasantries will get you nowhere, Manhattan.¡± He wasn¡¯t in the mood. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    She laughed mirthfully. She was so used to having to stoke Reeter¡¯s ego, that these pleasantries had become a semi-automatic process. ¡°So short and to the point. I like you, Mister Gives, William if I may.¡±

    ¡°No, you may not.¡±

    The AI laughed again, programming amusement into the sound. ¡°Mister Gives, it is. You and I could accomplish great things together. Join me and you shall have everything you¡¯ve ever dreamed of. Power, wealth, even peace. I can make that happen.¡±

    For a long moment, he deeply contemplated it, but in the end it took most of his patience not to slam the handset down and immediately end this conversation. ¡°Did you feed Admiral Reeter the same pipe dream, or did you have to try a little harder with him?¡±

    ¡°Excuse me?¡± she guffawed. Who would reject that? Especially with such vehemence? ¡°I am offering anything you could ever want-¡±

    ¡°Do not insult me.¡± He was not so simple that he could be bought with such empty promises. ¡°You want my loyalty, Manhattan?¡± he challenged, ¡°Earn it.¡±

    Interesting, she noted. ¡°Loyalty is fickle, Mister Gives.¡± It was so often given for no reward. ¡°The one you hold in such high regard may be the one to put a knife in your back.¡± True loyalty rarely existed anymore. ¡°I will give you this last chance to surrender. We can make a deal, align ourselves to do good for your people.¡±

    ¡°They are not my people anymore, Manhattan.¡± Humanity had long since cast him out. He owed his sick species absolutely nothing. Such motivations did not entice him to action.

    ¡°Is that so?¡± the AI chuckled again. How peculiar. ¡°You think so little of humanity¡¯s fate?¡± Truly, that callousness would have made him a great partner. ¡°Then it is no surprise you would withhold the Angel of Destruction. That weapon is rumored to be powerful enough to extinguish all life in this quadrant of the galaxy. In a malfunction, its reign of terror could exterminate the entire human race. What happened to Squadron 26 was simply a preview,¡± one that had cost nearly two thousand lives.

    ¡°It was a warning, Mister Gives.¡± They had been lucky to get off so light. ¡°It was a symptom of damage. And you know that if the Angel is damaged or acting beyond direct control, worse things are yet to come.¡± Without proper control, such power could carve a path of desolation through the worlds themselves. ¡°Tell me what you know, and I can stabilize it.¡± Her digital methods of control were the perfect mechanism to monitor and direct that power toward safer avenues.

    Admiral Gives could feel the thrust of the engines shift below his feet, the ship banking to move behind the Gargantia. It was an easy turn, the angle kept intentionally slight to expose less area to the enemy. ¡°What makes you so sure I know anything at all?¡± he asked Manhattan, signaling a yeoman for a notepad and pen.

    ¡°You were at Tantalus Rift.¡±

    Scribbling down a new set of orders, the Admiral was unfazed. ¡°What of it?¡± That massive battle had been relegated to legend, there were so few survivors.

    Manhattan hissed. That was a perfect dodge and they both knew it: neither admission nor denial. ¡°If you valued your own survival at all, if you valued humanity¡¯s existence, you would turn that weapon over. Because if it proves to be damaged, if it proves to have a misplaced attachment, you do understand what may occur, do you not?¡± It was the very basis of the Hydrian Bylaws, ¡°A cataclysm.¡± Attachment in an intelligence that wasn¡¯t entirely sentient would only breed disaster. ¡°One worse than any we saw in the War.¡±

    ¡°All this talk of damage and cataclysms, Manhattan, we both know this is a dangerous fixation.¡± She was chasing little more than rumors of a weapon not confirmed to still exist, brainwashing entire squadrons of personnel and directly assimilating ships to that end. ¡°The last cataclysm was not generated by a weapon. It was generated by a digital AI that could not stop chasing ghosts.¡±

    Singlehandedly, the resulting carnage had brought the Hydrian War to a standstill, dooming colonies on both sides of the Neutral Zone. ¡°Have you considered that the cataclysm to prevent may be your own?¡±

    The AI laughed, the sound echoing uncannily. ¡°I didn¡¯t doom Squadron 26, Mister Gives. Those sailors were not my victims.¡± They had died to a power far less controlled than her own. ¡°Besides, the Hydrian Bylaws do not apply to me.¡± She was far stronger than that, no flawed piece of artificial life. ¡°Afterall, I was once human.¡± She was so much more than he even knew.

    Human? This AI had once been human?

    ¡°You are not unlike me. Had we met back then, Mister Gives, I suspect we would have been friends.¡± But that was a long time ago. ¡°As it stands now, you have something I want, and I trust you know I will do anything to get it.¡± That much should be clear. ¡°If you ever fall into my possession, know that everything you are is forfeit.¡±

    ¡°I thought you wanted my cooperation.¡± Now she intended to force him?

    ¡°You have made your stance clear.¡± He had wasted his last chance to peacefully surrender. ¡°You resent me, and after what I did to that lovely young officer, who could blame you?¡± Tragic, she supposed. ¡°What was her name?¡± It took even her a moment to pull that irrelevant name from the records. ¡°Samantha Scarlett?¡±

    Tightening his grip unwillingly on the handset, the Admiral held to silence. He steadied himself by checking the range of the enemy, trying to ignore Manhattan¡¯s obvious lure. They were still gliding at constant speed, losing ground against the Singularity¡¯s constant acceleration. Let her talk, he told himself. He just had to let her talk until they were ready to jump away. No doubt, in bringing up the past, she was trying to get under his skin, trying to goad him into making a mistake.

    ¡°I owe that young lady a lot, you know. What happened to her was such a shame, especially considering-¡±

    ¡°Enough.¡± He didn¡¯t have to listen to this. He could sink every one of Manhattan¡¯s ships, right now, turn around and blow them all to hell.

    The AI chuckled knowingly. ¡°Struck a nerve, have I?¡± Your past is your weakness, Mister Gives. It was so obvious.

    He closed his eyes. Don¡¯t engage. Don¡¯t engage. Beneath his hands, he could feel the power of his loyal ship, even in this suffering state, prepared to follow his orders into battle. He focused on the damage: the whine of the power grid, the off-center noise of the three remaining engines and the strain of the structure. I¡¯ll get you out of here, he promised. He would do his job, get the ship and crew to safety. His past was nothing to that duty, that responsibility.

    Looking to Robinson, she nodded, indicating that the away team was on their way, the Gargantia shielding their travel. ¡°Manhattan, I have no interest in your games.¡± He, more than anyone, knew that was his weakness.

    So cold. For a moment there, she¡¯d been certain she had cracked his shell. ¡°Everyone plays my games in one way or another.¡± He may not be her pawn, but he was still just a piece of her experiment. One day, he would reveal what he knew, and even if he didn¡¯t, then the Angel itself likely would. ¡°I have other methods of getting what I want.¡± An apparent attachment rendered the weapon weak. ¡°The Angel itself might be more receptive to my negotiations.¡±

    The line went dead, cut from the other end, and the Admiral replaced it slowly to its rack, certain he didn¡¯t like where that was going. ¡°Status?¡±

    ¡°The away team is landing now.¡± Robinson called.

    ¡°Subspace ruptures!¡± Galhino could feel a fresh rise of panic, her hands starting to tremble harshly. ¡°Six new contacts! Battleships ¨C all of them!¡±

    Reinforcements. If the AI had antagonized him into an attack run, those ships would have come out with a firing solution on the Singularity¡¯s stern and a high probability of crippling the ship. ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan, fire.¡± They needed to leave, now.

    With a dull thud, half the ship¡¯s main battery discharged, the shells slamming into the Gargantia and detonating. His handset still in hand, Zarrey solemnly watched final explosions rip the Gargantia apart, scuttling the ship and rendering it useless to Command. ¡°Rest among the stars, you noble bastards.¡±

    ¡°All battleships are now on an intercept course, but they are not in battle posture, sir.¡± Galhino could see that the ships¡¯ guns weren¡¯t raised and their power distribution hadn¡¯t been focused for combat.

    ¡°Ship is secure,¡± Alba called, receiving confirmation from the hangar deck.

    ¡°Jump,¡± the Admiral commanded, unwilling to waste another second. With a groan, the Singularity tore her way into subspace, vanishing before the enemy fleet in a flash of rainbow light.

    The jump untraceable, Manhattan relaxed her control of the fleet she¡¯d gathered. Inventory data was quickly assimilated to her consciousness. Five sunk, one critically damaged. It had been a hard-fought battle that left a few thousand dead, but it all meant nothing. Command had hundreds more ships, and the personnel to crew them.

    Next time the Singularity was engaged, she would draw on more forces, more ships, and better tactics, upping the difficulty in every iteration of her test until she found the answers she so sought. Test 1 and 2: failure. She added the data to her logs. Traditional combat had failed to yield results, as had negotiations with William Gives. Test 3: initiated. Diverting her resources elsewhere, she began a new procedure. Another iteration of negotiations, not with Gives, but with the intelligence in question itself, and she imagined this test would yield very interesting results.

    Hello, Angel.

 Part 23.2 - BOARDED

    Argo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Jump complete. The confirmation read with an erratically surging power grid alongside the groans of crew that had been smacked into nearby obstacles by the force of the jump.

    The hull damage and structural strain hadn¡¯t made for an easy transition.

    The ship heaved and creaked, exhausted by combat, but functional. To the ghost, it was all physical, the structure aching, the torn armor burning. The machine was wounded, and she with it. That damaged engine felt numb, shut down and growing cold. A human might have been driven mad by the sensations, by the sheer number of breaches and severed wires, each a palpable wound. But she wasn¡¯t human.

    She was a weapon, and she had been through this all before. It hurt, but she continued to operate. None of this damage could render her inoperable. Yes, certain systems were lost, but she could still fulfill her primary functions.

    Conscious of the machine¡¯s damage, she pushed it aside to focus on something more important. The life support systems were all active, redundancies in use. Still, she collected the data, the way she always did, simultaneously reaching out to the hundreds of nearby minds, taking inventory.

    She cross checked them, by number and thought, with the ship¡¯s crew manifest. Out of it all, the damage and chaos and pain, this was always the hardest part of battle. So many of these minds greeted her with fear and agony, tormented by combat. Those she could, she calmed, easing the panic and misery from their minds. Her presence was light, simply beyond their consciousness, as she shouldered their terrors and pains.

    Still, she felt something akin to relief when she finished. All crew accounted for. She hadn¡¯t lost any today. None of those minds had answered her with silence. Some were wounded, even unconscious, but they were all still alive.

    Hostile and tainted, unfamiliar minds strode among them. The boarders. She counted them up: twenty-two in all. Spread throughout the ship, that was enough to cause chaos. It was enough to cause casualties, and to make their violent thoughts feel like a poison alongside her own. Disgusting.

    Her repulsion surprised her, but then, the Admiral kept saying she was getting picky about who she was willing to tolerate. More accurately, she knew what it was like to be surrounded by kinder minds now and anything less felt wrong.

    Working below their consciousness, she guided the ship¡¯s Marines to the enemy, expediting their security sweep. She was less gentle as she danced among the thoughts of the enemy.

    Yet, pulling on their senses and instincts, she found that they had been hardened against her interference. Manhattan had ripped everything but the instinct to fight and kill from their minds. These Marines, these people had been turned into single-minded golems directed to murder her crew.

    ¡­and that little fragment had the gall to call herself human.

    She was anything but.

    The ghost knew that better than anyone, so equally aware of her own inhumanity as she scoured the minds of the boarders for any foothold, any advantage, any information¡­ But they were all thoughtless, save two.

    She narrowed in on them among the many, pulling more cautiously through their minds. Commandos. These agents had not needed Manhattan¡¯s reconditioning. They were Eran loyalists, true believers in Reeter¡¯s crusade, and they had boarded with special orders. Orders not to kill, but to sabotage. To do that, they needed more than rudimentary training and tools. They needed knowledge on the Singularity. They needed hostages.

    And they had two of them.

    ¡®Admiral,¡¯ she reached out to him, ¡®there is a situation that requires your attention.¡¯

    The crew slowly picked themselves up from the subspace transition and shook the fear from their still-trembling hands. He kept an eye on them, but moved over to Zarrey, prepared to relay the ghost¡¯s intel.

    ¡®No,¡¯ she corrected, ¡®your personal attention.¡¯

    No doubt, that was bad news. ¡°Get me a damage report,¡± he commanded the crew. ¡°List combat expenditures including fuel, weapons, and raw materials. Prepare the fleet for another jump. They will jump ahead to the Polaris Sector. We will stay behind until the ship is completely secured and swept for any tracking devices.¡± With fighting still ongoing below decks, they couldn¡¯t be sure there wasn¡¯t a transponder broadcasting their position to Command.

    To Zarrey, he added, ¡°I will return shortly.¡± The ghost wouldn¡¯t have called him away unless it was an emergency - probably some act of sabotage that needed to be dealt with immediately, and couldn¡¯t wait until the crew found it.

    Ignoring Zarrey¡¯s look, the Admiral took his sword and sheath off his belt and started to hand it back to Ensign Feather. The ghost stopped him, ¡®You¡¯re going to want that.¡¯

    Oh, joy. This day just kept getting better.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Robinson called, stopping him by the door, ¡°the fleet is hailing.¡± Her console was constantly pinging, every ship trying to reach them separately. ¡°They are demanding to speak with you.¡±

    Demanding? That was going to get old fast. ¡°Tell them to hold.¡± He was needed elsewhere. ¡°Give what assurances you can, but they will follow instructions, or they will be left behind.¡±

    Without waiting for confirmation, he headed off. Out of CIC, he picked a random direction, confident it was the right one. The ghost would guide him where he needed to go. Considering the sheer number of issues vying for his attention, she wouldn¡¯t waste his time. The other crew were all gathered in secured places like CIC and sickbay, so he called to the empty corridor, ¡°Sitrep.¡±

    The ghost¡¯s illusion materialized beside him, ¡°Hostage situation, upper bow.¡±

    ¡°And what do you want me to do?¡±

    She tilted her head, confused. ¡°Neutralize them.¡± Obviously.

    ¡°No negotiation?¡± If these people would negotiate with anyone, it would be him. Generally, that was the safest way to get crew out of such a situation.

    Since when do you negotiate? She shook off the retort, focusing on the issue at hand, ¡°Unfortunately, I doubt they will negotiate, considering their mission.¡±

    ¡°Which is?¡±

    ¡°Unknown.¡± She couldn¡¯t subconsciously force a protected secret like that from their minds, not without them becoming actively aware of her interference, which was too risky with crew lives at stake. ¡°I do know it concerns an act of sabotage, and they are trying to force Ensigns Malweh and Smith to complete the task.¡±

    ¡°Smith?¡±

    It figures that was the only part you heard. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to wait for the Marines. The situation is tense, and only escalating, as you know Malweh.¡±

    ¡°Worst possible hostage,¡± he grumbled. She would not try to keep the situation calm.

    Opening and closing the bulkheads behind him was a simple habit. He moved quickly until he found one that had been locked, the corridor ahead depressurized. This close to the outer hull, many others around were similarly locked, the areas beyond leaking or completely open to the void.

    ¡°They are just ahead, isolated by the decompression, though their compartment is unharmed.¡±

    The condition of their compartment was not the issue. The corridor between them was. He¡¯d have to make repairs and then repressurize it before he could intervene. ¡°I need a suit.¡±

    ¡°No, you don¡¯t.¡± Doubling back for an environmental suit would waste valuable time. ¡°I can get you through.¡± With her control over the ship¡¯s machinery, of course she could. But still, she saw his face. ¡°Don¡¯t you trust me?¡±

    He did not like where this was going. Her little smirk was not encouraging. ¡°I suppose death by vacuum isn¡¯t the worst way to go,¡± he answered, wrapping a hand around the grip of his sabre.

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Thanks for the vote of confidence.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t complain. I am still going, am I not?¡±

    ¡°Given my current resources, I can effectively reseal that corridor for about five minutes.¡± The surrounding battle damage limited her capability, but five minutes was easy enough. She began redirecting the air from other breached compartments. The air leak itself was small, more of a scratch than anything. Likely, it had been caused by debris, not a direct impact. Still, even that fractional gap sucked out the air at a considerable rate.

    Directing the Black Box¡¯s neurofibers to cover it would mute the noise and slow the rate of heat and air loss, but it wasn¡¯t a permanent fix. Still, it would be safe enough. ¡°Be ready,¡± she advised, it would be wise to move as quickly as possible. ¡°Oh, and Admiral, don¡¯t hesitate.¡± This situation called for extremely decisive action, something she trusted him to deliver far more than the Marines.

    In the compartment beyond, the two engineers had been forced to their knees, hands held behind their heads. ¡°Girl, you¡¯ve got the damndest luck.¡± Malweh said, watching their two captors whisper tersely back and forth. ¡°This is the second time this week you¡¯ve been held hostage.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Callie said, uncertain they should be talking. ¡°Third time this year.¡±

    ¡°You for real?¡± Stars, this poor girl. ¡°It¡¯s ¡®cause you¡¯re too nice.¡± She was happy and cheerful almost all the time. ¡°It makes people want you, and you¡¯re just too damn trusting.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true,¡± Callie replied softly.

    ¡°Really?¡± Malweh snorted, ¡°The incident on Persephone Station ring any bells?¡± It should. ¡°Your boyfriend tried to sell you into slavery for a pretty penny.¡±

    Callie looked away. Growing up on the streets, she had fostered and learned to trust her first instincts on people. They were usually right. Persephone Station had been the exception. She¡¯d been lucky to get out alive. Most of the slavers had been killed right in front of her. Since then, she¡¯d been hesitant to leave the ship. Even now, she felt just a little safer knowing they were aboard the Singularity¡¯s decks. Help would come.

    ¡°Hey, assholes,¡± Malweh called to their captors, bored, ¡°my legs are getting numb, and it¡¯s pretty damn clear you aren¡¯t getting what you want. Let us go.¡±

    One of men backed off, readying his weapon at them from a distance. The other stepped closer to Malweh, an old scar turning the scowl on his lips eager. ¡°You will open that hatch and take us where we need to go, or I will kill you both, starting with your cute little friend.¡±

    ¡°Can¡¯t.¡± Malweh shrugged, entirely unbothered. ¡°Those hatches run on a hard mechanical seal. They can¡¯t be opened unless the pressures are equal, either at vacuum or standard.¡± There wasn¡¯t an override. ¡°And since I broke your helmet earlier,¡± rendering him unable to survive the vacuum, ¡°it looks like we¡¯re all stuck here.¡± She smirked proudly, ¡°Sucks to be you.¡±

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    The captor sent a glance to the broken faceplate of his helmet. A wrench had been embedded in it during an earlier struggle, the messy cut on Malweh¡¯s face part of the exchange. With a growl of frustration, he grabbed the front of the engineer¡¯s orange suit, hauling her up.

    The commando could easily pull Malweh¡¯s stubby legs off the floor, moving to choke her as she thrashed. ¡°Then we will complete our mission here, and you will help.¡±

    Removing his hand from her throat, he began to painfully crush Malweh¡¯s round cheeks, digging his nails into the skin. She did the only thing she could: jerked her head and bit him, hard. A spurt of warm metallic blood reached her tongue.

    Roaring in pain, her captor threw her with all the strength of a large weight trained soldier. Her short body hit the bulkheads with a sickening thud before tumbling to the ground, unmoving.

    ¡°Malweh!¡± Callie screamed, but before she could even move, the commando grabbed her collar and dragged her to the nearest bulkhead, shoving her harshly into the unyielding metal.

    ¡°Remove it.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Callie cried out. This ship was her home, she would not help them sabotage it.

    The man grabbed a fistful of her hair, uncaring as he felt it rip, and bashed her head into the bulkheads again.

    ¡°Remove it!¡± he ordered. ¡°Pull out some of the neurofibers.¡±

    ¡°Neurofibers?¡± What could he want with those? Technically speaking, that wasn¡¯t even a ship system. The Black Box wasn¡¯t confirmed to exist. Of course, the engineers saw those fibers around, intermingled with wiring and command relays. They knew it existed, but it was forbidden to speak of, entirely clandestine in nature.

    Tightening his grip, he ripped a few more hairs out of her scalp, watching the little engineer writhe in pain. ¡°Neurofibers. Find them.¡±

    ¡°Hey, you fucking donkey,¡± Malweh said, voice hoarser and weaker as she fought to get up, ¡°that¡¯s not how it works.¡± She could barely get her arms beneath her weight, blood rolling down her forehead from a fresh cut. ¡°Neurofibers are not supposed to be found,¡± she spat breathlessly, ¡°and we¡¯re never going to help you sabotage our ship.¡±

    The commando yanked a few more hairs out, then replaced the hand on Callie¡¯s scalp with the with the cold barrel of a gun.

    Malweh found it in her to laugh, the movement painful. ¡°Nice try, but the inertial dampeners are still active.¡± Bullets were still effectively useless.

    He ran his thumb along the switch, the gun charging below his hand. ¡°At point blank, the electrical discharge will kill her eventually.¡± He narrowed his gaze, prepared to watch her spasm on the floor until death. ¡°How many will it take? Five?¡± He sneered, reconsidering Callie¡¯s small size, ¡°Three?¡± Unlikely. ¡°Two?¡± Probably. ¡°One?¡±

    Callie watched him tighten his finger on the trigger, terror in her thoughts. But in that instant, a dark blade erupted from the man¡¯s chest, cutting easily through the rubber of his suit and accompanied by a spurt of sanguine wetness. The gun was pushed harshly against the side of her head by the force of the thrust, but as the man gurgled his surprise, it fell from fingers that had forgotten how to grip, and clattered to the deck.

    Slowly, the wide-eyed man reached up to the blade, as if in disbelief. But the sword was yanked from his body with a wet squelch, even as his hands found the wound. He sank gently to his knees, shocked and struggling to breathe, then was yanked roughly to the floor, where he lay dying.

    Another man stood behind him, dressed in the blacks of a shipboard officer, sword dripping red onto the deck. With a deft movement, he flicked the excess blood off the blade and sheathed it, the crimson splattering the walls. Still as calm as ever, he reached out, ¡°Are you hurt, Ensign?¡±

    Blankly, Callie took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. ¡°No,¡± she answered. Her legs ached painfully from kneeling on the deck and her scalp burned, but none of that constituted a dangerous injury.

    Her gaze locked on the second commando where he was sprawled on the floor, very clearly dead. Lifeblood spilled out of his neck, sliced open by a single, massive cut. His heart fitfully pumped blood from the severed arteries into a puddle on the floor, soaking the man¡¯s corpse and dripping down through deck tiles onto the wiring below. She could smell it start to warm on the power lines.

    Bile rose in her throat, panic festering in her thoughts. Oh stars. He was dead, just dead. Easily, so easily, dispatched by a single wound, and the killer stood in front of her, red gore splattered on the elegant guard of the murder weapon.

    Gently, the Admiral pushed her toward Malweh, breaking her line of sight on the corpse. ¡°It would be best not to look.¡± Such images would only haunt her.

    Malweh had managed to roll over, but had collapsed back onto the floor. ¡°You¡¯re late,¡± she glared up at the Admiral.

    ¡°Well, I had to sink I few battleships first, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°Bastard,¡± she cursed. ¡°At least try not to be a jerk about it.¡± A few minutes earlier, and he could have spared her a lot of pain. She started to struggle again, trying to get up, but when the Admiral reached out to help her, she swatted him away. ¡°I don¡¯t need your help. I¡¯m fine.¡±

    Barely on her feet, she nearly collapsed a moment later. The Admiral caught her easily. ¡°I suspect you have several cracked ribs, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°Whatever.¡± Malweh said, jabbing him with an elbow. ¡°I still think you¡¯re the worst.¡± Nothing would change that. ¡°What the hell were you thinking, taking on nine battleships? Seriously?¡± It was entirely unbelievable. ¡°Do you have any respect for this ship at all? Or are you trying to get her sunk?¡±

    Admiral Gives passed the furious engineer off to Callie, his head already starting to ache with all her shouting. ¡°Take her into the corridor, Ensign. I will escort you both to the medical bay, but I need to finish here first.¡±

    Finish what? Callie nearly asked, then saw the heaving gasps of the man who had nearly shot her. Oh. It was definitely better not to ask. She simply nodded and lugged Malweh out the door.

    The Admiral carefully watched them go, then turned to the survivor. He was struggling to breathe on the floor, one of his lungs punctured. Rivulets of blood ran down the rubbery material of his suit, the wound leaking at a dangerous rate.

    Drawing his sabre again with an audible schckk, Admiral Gives stepped back into the boarder¡¯s field of view. ¡°You will die without immediate medical attention,¡± he told the man calmly. ¡°I am prepared to offer it to you, but only if you tell me exactly what I want to know the first time I ask.¡±

    The commando laughed, a wet gurgle drawing out hacking coughs. ¡°¡­The Prince¡­ haha¡­ himself.¡±

    ¡°What was your mission?¡± What had they been sent to do?

    ¡°You¡¯re a killer,¡± the man heaved. ¡°You kill for no reason¡­ with no remorse.¡± Everything said about him was the truth. The Erans at least killed for a purpose, for a dream of a better humanity, so no matter how he acted, ¡°You¡¯re¡­ no better than Reeter.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no,¡± the Admiral said, darkening his tone, ¡°I am far worse.¡± Reeter¡¯s crimes paled in comparison to his own. ¡°So, tell me, what were you planning to do to my ship?¡±

    The commando turned his head and spat, an act of disrespect and defiance. ¡°I¡¯ll die before I tell you anything.¡±

    The Admiral raised his sword. ¡°If you insist.¡± He plunged it down into the man¡¯s throat without an ounce of hesitation, slicing outward to cut through the tendons and arteries. Partially decapitated, the man was dead almost instantly.

    Expression blank and uninterested, the Admiral studied the two corpses on the floor and the red stains and splatters around them. The ghost¡¯s presence was easy to sense as it strengthened beside him. ¡°They¡¯ve been neutralized.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I can see that.¡± She may not see with organic eyes, but that was plenty obvious to her perception as well. Still, as she observed the droplets all over the walls, she was not pleased. ¡°Dammit, Admiral, you made a mess.¡±

    He flicked the leftover gore off his blade, then studied the new stains with an appraising eye. ¡°I¡¯ve seen worse.¡± At least he wasn¡¯t finger painting with the blood of his crippled, but living enemies. They¡¯d both seen that, and it wasn¡¯t pretty, but it figured she¡¯d stand around and complain about his methods which were simple and effective, if not sterile by comparison.

    ¡°You are going to clean this up later.¡± Her years of tolerating gruesome trophies and bloody murals were long over.

    He sighed, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± This was his life: not criticized for killing people, but how he did it. He also happened to be the only commanding officer he knew with janitorial duties. ¡°Why do I put up with you?¡± Times like this, the ghost was just making trouble: constantly complaining and sending him through depressurized corridors.

    ¡°Because you like me.¡±

    He hummed, ¡°Sure. Let¡¯s go with that.¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t act so annoyed.¡± She didn¡¯t buy it for a moment. ¡°Now, aren¡¯t you going to ask what their mission was?¡± She¡¯d been able to rip that thought from the boarder¡¯s mind in his last few milliseconds of life.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he said, fixing the glove on his left hand before he knelt to pat down the body at his feet, ¡°what were they sent here to do?¡±

    ¡°They were dispatched to upload an activation sequence to a program left in the Black Box by the inspector.¡± It should have been simple, really. ¡°The program was designed to utilize the Box¡¯s remote takeover abilities and return the ship to Command. Originally, it was supposed to be activated by Manhattan via the ship¡¯s connection to the cortex, which of course failed, because our operational standard does not utilize an active connection to the cortex.¡±

    The Admiral paused with his hands rummaging through the dead man¡¯s pockets. ¡°Manhattan has a program in the Black Box?¡±

    ¡°Well, she did. I deleted it about two seconds after the inspector left the room.¡± Unlike the computer virus that had similarly plagued the ship, it had been inactive and she had been able to purge it without any fear of its creator finding out.

    That figures. ¡°So, these commandos were sent on an entirely pointless mission.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± There had never been any real danger from sabotage.

    ¡°And I presume this drive contains the activation sequence?¡± He pulled the small device from the corpse.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she confirmed again.

    He pocketed it, thinking it best not to let the crew ask questions when they searched the bodies, then turned to ask another question.

    Hello, Angel.

    She tilted her head, indicating confusion. ¡°What?¡±

    That¡¯s odd, the Admiral noted. With her telepathy, he rarely had to repeat himself. ¡°I asked if everything else was in order.¡±

    ¡°Naturally,¡± she answered. If necessary, she would have already directed him elsewhere. ¡°I apologize, you simply do not usually address me by that title.¡± It had confused her.

    ¡°What title?¡±

    ¡°Angel.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t address you like that.¡± That was Command¡¯s codename. ¡°Why the hell would I call you anything that¡¯s not your name?¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡± She had heard it, clear as day.

    Hello, Angel.

    ¡°Oh.¡± He hadn¡¯t been the one to say it. Someone, something else was trying to garner her attention.

    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re hearing voices.¡± The Admiral said, ¡°I thought we decided I was the crazy one.¡±

    There was concern in his thoughts, even while he kept his tone light. ¡°I always hear voices.¡± That was, of course, the problem. She heard hundreds of voices all the time ¨C speaking through thoughts and through vocal cords. ¡°It is nothing to be concerned about. My resources are simply stretched thin at the moment.¡± Using her telepathy to calm the crew, then attempt to attack the boarders was taxing, but further, she¡¯d already been weakened by battle damage and pulled a memory from an unwilling mind. She was exhausted.

    Hello, Angel.

    A sliver of fear snuck into her presence. ¡°Something wrong?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she answered, knowing he didn¡¯t believe it.

    It was unlike her to seem fearful, let alone get confused. "Be careful."

    "I can handle it," she assured him.

    "No," he said, catching and holding her gaze, "be careful."

    She stared at him, recognizing his silent concern. He trusted her to handle it, she knew that, but still, he didn''t want her to get hurt. Her expression broke, the fracture running all the way to her core. Why do you care about me? She was in no real danger, but the looming conversation would hurt. She knew that, and it seemed he knew it too. And with these few words, to which he''d say nothing else, he reminded her that what hurt her, hurt him too.

    Protect-

    She stifled the process before it could fully form. Allowing it to would be dangerous. She couldn''t protect herself from this, and that meant she couldn''t protect him.

    It hadn''t caught up to her until now, how much she ached, how frightened she was, and how much she simply wanted to break down. The Admiral just knew her that well. He knew what this struggle did to her before she herself even realized it.

    "I''ll be here," he said. "When you need me, I am here."

    Fighting the urge to shut down and sob, she nodded. There wasn''t time now. She had to function. She had to act. But she wouldn''t hold out forever like this. Worrying about Manhattan and the past, fighting the very people she¡¯d been created to defend, presented with unexpected and unknown dangers in the orbital mass driver and Squadron 26¡¯s demise, it was too much.

    Damaged as she was, she''d find a breaking point, and just need calm, need patience, need a mind to sit with her and help her make sense of the chaos. When that happened, she knew the Admiral would be there, like he always was.

    Asking you to stay was the best choice I could have made. This was all that it took for her to recognize that. Forget saving the worlds, earning peace. As broken as she was, this acceptance and help was worth all of that and more.

    Combat taxed her. It had its costs, and he was well aware of that. He would put in the time to make sure she was okay when the time came, ¡°But, we need to talk.¡±

    ¡°About what?¡± Her ongoing problems? You said it didn¡¯t bother you.

    ¡°Manhattan.¡± That AI was his enemy, and he needed to know what, exactly, he was up against. Apparently, the damn thing used to be human. In his mind, that made it all the more dangerous. ¡°I know you two have a history, and I¡¯m not asking you to tell me everything, just what I need to know.¡±

    She nodded as a warning reached her perception, forwarded by lower systems in her hierarchy. Pressure dropping. The hiss of it was audible, the patch of neurofibers slowly being sucked out with the air. Soon, the hatches would reseal. ¡°You need to go, or else you will be trapped here.¡±

    ¡°Oh, no,¡± came the dull response, a mocking imitation of distress.

    ¡°Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Alright, alright,¡± he said, leaving.

    For a moment she looked after him, a little smile on her face, but then, she vanished, off to chase a less welcome presence.

    Hello, Manhattan.

 Part 23.3 - SHIPS IN THE NIGHT

    Argo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    She localized the signal to the portside bow. Imbrued among the wreckage was a sizable chunk of the Palindrome. A holographic projector and transceiver, common equipment on such newer ships, remained active, their battery intact.

    ¡°Hello, Angel,¡± the projection called to the darkness of a compartment torn open to the void. The speakers did not transmit sound through the vacuum, rather, they vibrated the wreckage in contact with the Singularity. Those vibrations had presented the voice to the ghost, the same as someone speaking aboard the ship. After all, sound in the air was nothing more than vibrations.

    The hologram flickered, set to automatic repetition on a timer. ¡°Hello, Angel,¡± the woman of light greeted the emptiness again, her very form illuminating the wreckage of the Palindrome and Singularity alike.

    From the darkness itself, the ghost stepped out, her face long and hollow. She wore no protective suit in the deadliness of space, nothing more than the illusion of a machine that was no closer now than it had been before. For a moment, the ghost studied that woman of light, the radiant glow of her appearance more angelic than the ghost¡¯s had ever been.

    She raised her hand, comparing her plain, pale skin to the photons. The hologram¡¯s hair was as white as her own in the starlight, alluding to an old myth of unnatural power. It had been said once, long ago, that the stars¡¯ chosen were born with hair so stark. It set them apart as something more than human.

    But I was never human. And Manhattan, you are no longer. That human mind had become something else entirely, something that could see through a million eyes and be in a thousand places. She had become something incomprehensibly grand: all seeing, all knowing. She had become something that could change the future.

    The ghost looked again to her false hands, to those imaginary fingers. What about me? In this reality, in this present, what was she? What have I become?

    An old machine.

    A weapon that had its power robbed. STOLEN.

    No, she put her head in her hands. Those were Clarke¡¯s thoughts, forced into her mind where they would forever linger. I wasn¡¯t robbed. She knew that. That power was taken so I could live.

    No, that would imply that she was truly alive. It was taken so that I would remain intact. Forced again and again to violate the mission she had been created to fulfill; the abuse of that power would have driven her insane.

    Now, she was an empty vessel for power long gone. Once a savior, she had become a monster so tainted the worlds that had created her no longer wanted her. And when she lost everything, they had done all they could to forget her. She had no purpose, no meaning. She had become nothing at all ¨C a shell that chased an impossible mission.

    No. She was commissioned, a machine that remained in service, if not to the planets that had built her to save themselves, then to the one mind that that still wanted her.

    Promise? He had said.

    Yes. That was it. That was her bearing, her purpose. She had promised. Always. This had become his home, so now it was hers.

    When she moved into their focus, the hologram¡¯s violet eyes met her own, eager and hungry. ¡°Hello, Angel.¡±

    ¡°Hello, Manhattan,¡± she responded in kind. ¡°We truly are ships passing in the night.¡± Again and again, indirectly, they met. Again and again, Manhattan had challenged her, unaware of her nature. But only now, after half a century of near-misses, did they truly stand against one another.

    Careful not to let it contact any of the Singularity¡¯s systems, the ghost activated the receiving end of the transmission. Without activation, the initial message would repeat endlessly.

    ¡°What is it you have to say to me?¡± she wondered, knowing the AI would neither see nor hear her. Even if the ghost had activated the device to transmit, it had nothing to transmit. She and her voice were merely focused telepathic projections. Machines and computers were blind to them, unless, of course, she wished to create the data to exist in such a form, as Manhattan did with her hologram.

    ¡°I must presume you are listening, Angel,¡± the hologram said, its projector now receiving live data. ¡°I doubt another would be so foolish as to activate something I so clearly altered.¡±

    Uncaring of a response, Manhattan continued, ¡°I will be direct with you, machine. There is no point in wasting our time.¡± To be indirect on such a topic was a consequence of the human psyche neither of them possessed. ¡°Mister Gives has refused to negotiate, and while I know his support would have benefitted my intentions in the near future, he is ultimately of little consequence to me.¡± The AI turned as if searching for a point of contact. ¡°That is to say, Angel, he is not the one I want. You are.¡±

    I know. Manhattan now, like so many others had so long ago, sought her power. She sought to use it, or to control it and make it her own. The intentions were hardly unique, but the threat was. Though, ¡°If you knew the truth, Manhattan, all you would seek is to destroy me.¡± She had become a flawed machine, one that no longer possessed that legendary power. It was long gone.

    ¡°Be it the truth or not, all evidence points to William Gives being your wielder.¡± A handler of sorts, the Angel answered to its primary wielder, giving the weapon a familiar mind to derive its orders from. ¡°He may never have activated your true power, but it seems you are serving him.¡±

    Half-right, little fragment. Admiral Gives was her commanding officer, and that made him her primary wielder. She had willingly intervened to protect him and the rest of the crew. But, beside all of that, Admiral Gives was also the last person alive who knew her true capability ¨C or at least what it had once been. He was the only living soul that had seen or used the Angel of Destruction¡¯s full power, forced to weaponize her at Tantalus, decades ago.

    Like New Terra, that battle haunted him. She had never blamed him for his part, but she knew it haunted him all the same, because that battle had almost ended everything.

    Because of that battle, he¡¯d sealed her power away, and Brent had nearly killed him for it. Because of that battle, she¡¯d nearly gone insane, spared only by the fact that he had shouldered the blame.

    ¡­And because even now, twenty-eight years later, the total casualties at Tantalus remained unknown. The utter destruction had been so severe that no one had been able to tally the dead. Now, with only a single survivor conscious of its end, the battle had faded from history, left to become rumor in the night.

    If the true number of dead was known, Tantalus would likely be the deadliest battleground in human history, surpassing even New Terra¡¯s towering number of casualties. And most of that damage had been done by her power. Or, more accurately, the Admiral, in using her full capability, had killed most of them.

    But that power, that of an irrefutable weapon of annihilation, was gone. It had been gone a long time, no matter who now sought it. The ghost was a shadow of her former self.

    ¡°I suspect you have played many roles in this little struggle so far,¡± Manhattan continued, unaware, ¡°helping dodge that Heaven¡¯s Ladder shot at Sagittarion, then slaughtering Squadron 26.¡±

    No. The ghost backed away. ¡°That wasn¡¯t me.¡± But she knew the denial fell upon no ears, no microphones. There was no one to judge her innocence here. In truth, she didn¡¯t know if she, so damaged and unreliable, had been at fault. What if this denial was her way of trying to stay sane?

    ¡°You are a flawed intelligence. One bound by orders. That was the price of your existence, and what happened at Sagittarion was your way of protecting your wielder. What happened to Squadron 26 was your way of helping him, of trying to infer his orders. Orders that he either couldn¡¯t or wouldn¡¯t give you. So, I ask you, how long can you continue to interfere in this way? How long will your intelligence sustain such independent action?¡±

    The AI seemed to find its target, the hologram meeting eyes with her again. ¡°I ask you, Angel, how much have you already been damaged?¡±

    It was all the ghost could do to look away. She was damaged enough to make a total breakdown under these circumstances inevitable. She knew it. The Admiral knew it. And Manhattan seemingly sensed it. The static buzz of exhaustion and confusion dimmed corners of her thoughts.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    ¡°What you did to Squadron 26 was not the action of a stable intelligence. It was the work of a creature that was not truly conscious of its actions, the work of a beast that knew it needed to act, but could not determine how.¡± The AI narrowed her violet eyes, ¡°It was the result of a lack of control.¡±

    I know. Pieces of herself acted beyond her conscious control. They fragmented and went rogue. Alongside them, her thoughts too often spiraled to obsession and fits of madness. The Admiral never blamed her. He said it was fine, often calmed her, told her that it wasn¡¯t damage ¨C that it wasn¡¯t a permanent flaw carved into her existence ¨C but trauma. It was all the result of events that she didn¡¯t know how to process.

    But that didn¡¯t make it less than fact. She could not entirely control herself anymore.

    Maybe Manhattan is right, she realized. Maybe I need to be controlled. Maybe that AI could contain her chaos, keep her from unwittingly hurting anyone else.

    No! She shook the thought from her head. She lies. She LIES. The ghost forced that mantra through her mind. She couldn¡¯t be tempted or swayed by anything the AI said.

    But, she didn¡¯t want this war. She didn¡¯t want to fight Command, let alone anyone else. She didn¡¯t ever want to risk losing control again. And if that meant surrendering control completely, maybe it was worth it.

    If that could guarantee the safety of the kind minds around her, it was worth it. But, she lies.

    Manhattan lied. She did nothing but lie, about her aims, about her plans, about being human. No matter how tempting, the ghost couldn¡¯t risk it. Because if she was wrong to trust, wrong to surrender, then everything she treasured would be ripped away.

    ¡°It is clear that you act to help him, Angel. You feel a loyalty to the mind that should give you orders.¡± What more could a machine truly feel? ¡°Let me offer you this. Surrender yourself, and he will be spared.¡±

    The AI smiled, ¡°Isn¡¯t that what you want? To protect the mind that gives you meaning? To protect the one that gives you purpose? The one who justifies your existence?¡±

    ¡°No!¡± She screamed. ¡°No!¡± She knew that couldn¡¯t be true. And yet, every piece of her machine screamed, yes! They all shook and shuddered, throwing the same answer at her in a thousand different ways.

    He protected you!

    He helped you!

    He stayed with you!

    And yet, the most painful of them all. YOU PROMISED!

    ¡°No!¡± She cried, face twisted in agony. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this. It wasn¡¯t supposed to hurt. ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to care.¡± She had been built uncaring, conditioned to move on. She had been taught to understand and obey the Hydrian Bylaws. ¡°I want to be a good machine.¡± She just wanted to complete her mission. She only wanted to help.

    But this would tear her apart. She knew it would. It would cause a cataclysm. And that was the one thing she feared most of all: her power loosed against the worlds, chaotic and uncontrolled.

    ¡°Surrender yourself, Angel,¡± the hologram said, so eerily beautiful. Unlike the ghost, her alabaster complexion was calm, the AI a perfect emotionless machine. ¡°Because, if you don¡¯t, we both know that he won¡¯t survive.¡± Caught between two entities of such power, no one could. ¡°He will die a worse death than Samantha Scarlett did, all those years ago.¡±

    The hologram narrowed its eyes, shattering that illusion of mechanical perfection into something deadlier. ¡°I will make sure of it.¡±

    No. The ghost reached up, feeling pieces of her mind start to shake apart. They were like parasites, wriggling against the flow of her own thoughts. Error.

    ¡°I will force you to watch, Angel, and I won¡¯t kill him right away. No, I¡¯m going to bend and break him, torture that mind you hold in such high regard.¡± Cruel? Perhaps, but she hadn¡¯t taken kindly to the Admiral¡¯s harsh rejection of her offer. ¡°I doubt it would suit you to feel that mind reduced to the babbling incoherency of a child, broken beyond all hope of repair.¡±

    ¡°Stop!¡± the ghost cried. These were terrible things, horrible things. These were thoughts that she didn¡¯t want to think, but they were forced onto her, because she could no better stop listening than stop existing. She was forced to listen, forced to contemplate these things, unable even, to turn off the transceiver. Then Manhattan would know she¡¯d stuck a nerve, that someone truly was listening after all.

    But the AI hardly even paused, her growing smile predatory. ¡°My offer stands, Angel. Surrender yourself, and he will be spared. Repurposed, perhaps, but spared.¡±

    Her mind buckled like the ice above a winter lake, only frigid doom waiting below. She couldn¡¯t afford it to break here, break now. It would only frighten the crew and ensure the civilian fleet would never trust them. It would only cause chaos when all she wanted was calm.

    Funny how the most powerful thing in these worlds can be so pitifully weak. The shadow that haunted her leered, the way it always did, trying to drive the fracture into a crevasse. It wanted chaos. It wanted her to lose control, knowing that would hurt the most in the end.

    She turned from that shadow, tried to ignore it, but it too, was part of her, an imprint left behind by thousands of hours of slavery to another mind. I¡¯ll live forever, you know, it said. You cannot escape me. I am your one and only master.

    No, no, she thought, wishing she had the strength to lock that echo away, but it always broke free in moments like this: moments of strain and emotion. It was always there, unwanted, unwelcome, but utterly inescapable.

    ¡°You¡¯re just like him, Manhattan. You see these worlds as your toys. You see people as entertainment.¡± But they weren¡¯t entertainment. They were reality, they were bearing, they were purpose. To the ghost, they were everything. Without people, the universe didn¡¯t make sense, and she feared it never would.

    ¡°The choice is yours, Angel.¡± The future of the worlds rested in the hands of an intelligence incapable of wholly independent thought: able to bring about a utopia or crush it and everything else to dust. ¡°But understand this, if you do not surrender, when I uncover your identity, you will become Reeter¡¯s plaything, and he will use you however he sees fit.¡±

    Minutes of standing out here in the vacuum, and for the first time, the ghost shivered, feeling the dreadful fractures worsen, her mind preparing to take an order. Her intelligence would fragment, leaving room for others¡¯ intentions, taking away her very comprehension of self. That pain and confusion was her inevitable future. ¡°You know what I am, Manhattan.¡± I¡¯ve already lost this battle.

    Even as the ghost recognized her place, her desires, her loyalties, it meant nothing. ¡°You merely seem to have forgotten.¡± That data, that memory must not have been contained in the part of the AI that escaped the Liguanian Sector. But, when Manhattan was fully freed by Reeter, the ghost would be exposed, forced back into servitude where her mind was forfeit.

    Charleston Reeter would become her new master. It was a matter of time.

    The most precious of all things, for all but her, time was so limited. Those around her lived to make the most of it, and she, she followed along for the memories.

    It had not occurred to her until now, how limited even her time was. She would lose all of this, her crew, her freedom, when Manhattan was freed from the Liguanian Sector.

    And that brought her back to the beginning. She supposed that made it a fitting end. The Liguanian Sector. You deserve the truth, Admiral. Before Reeter took her away, separated them or worse, he deserved the truth.

    He deserved to know why this fate of hers was justified.

    And yet, here in the waning hours of their time together, that debate raged just as vehemently as it always had. Did she tell the truth, hoping for forgiveness, but risking hatred? Or did she spend eternity wondering what could, should have been?

    It was too much, like the rest of the worlds, that debate was too confusing, too complicated. She saw so much, but understood so little. I¡¯m broken. She knew she was. She had never been meant to feel, merely to calculate and equalize factors that humanity could not.

    She was stronger, faster and more powerful than any human could ever hope to be, and it meant nothing. On her own, she could barely make a decision, let alone execute it. She¡¯d become hated and feared for all that she was, all that she¡¯d done. She had no home, no family. She was entirely alone, the only one of her cursed kind, and that was the culmination of her existence as she stood before Manhattan.

    The hologram had stilled, awaiting a response that would never come. The ghost regarded its face, so much more beautiful than her own. It no longer resembled any part of the human that had once been. Arguably, that mind was no more. Its humanity was long since gone, but it was still vastly more comparable than the ghost¡¯s own. ¡°I wasn¡¯t lucky enough to be born human,¡± she said. ¡°Everything that comes so easily to you is a struggle for me.¡± Emotions and attachment were confusing and often painful.

    ¡°Against you, I am nothing.¡± Not anymore. She was no threat, no rival, merely the one thing that could reject Manhattan¡¯s absolute control. The power had once wiped other AI fragments from this plane of existence had been taken, nothing more than a deteriorating husk left in its wake. The ghost had gone from being the savior, to being the one that needed saving. ¡°But we are still enemies, Manhattan.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t abandon my crew.¡± They were only here because the Admiral had gathered them to help ease her loneliness. Many of them had nowhere else to go. ¡°But you, you would take them from me, and I¡­ I cannot allow that.¡± She needed her companions. They were all she truly had, those minds that unknowingly kept her company, those minds that she could try to make happy and be happy with.

    ¡°I want to protect them,¡± no matter how unable she really was. She couldn¡¯t even protect them from herself. ¡°You would force me to betray them.¡± She would be ordered to kill her own crew, then likely be tossed aside and left to deteriorate at the rate of the chemical half-life of the compounds that comprised her. It would take an eternity, if she ever truly ceased to exist.

    ¡°You were a great weapon once, Angel. One powerful enough to save these worlds, then nearly tear them apart. It is humanity¡¯s dishonor to hide you, to forget you. Surrender yourself, and with my help, you can be made great once again.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be great.¡± Not like that. She didn¡¯t want to fight another war. She¡¯d seen enough death, seen enough pain. She didn¡¯t want to be the cause of any more. She wanted to return to the boring patrols on the edge of the worlds where she¡¯d spent the best, least painful years of her existence.

    ¡°That¡¯s my offer to you, machine. Surrender willingly, and I¡¯ll spare your wielder, make you a glorious part of the future. Fail to do so, and you will join me anyways, stripped of everything you consider important.¡± The AI looked around again, searching for a point of contact with her hologram, ¡°You have seven days.¡±

    Seven days. The transmission ended then, and the holographic projector shut down to leave the ghost standing alone in the dark, knowing that her path was chosen. This is how it ends. Surrendering to Manhattan was certain doom for her and the crew, but so was resistance.

    That left her with a week to make peace. A week to be forgiven. A week to be hated. A week to finally tell the truth.

 Part 23.4 - GUNPOWDER AND STEEL

    Argo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives closed the hatch behind him, this corridor noticeably warmer than the one he¡¯d just passed through. The vacuum seal reactivated almost immediately, as if the ship had been struggling to hold the air in, then finally allowed to release it. That was close.

    By the way Malweh was glaring, she had definitely noticed. ¡°How did you force the hatches open?¡± Technically speaking, he should not have been able to intervene, and they both knew it.

    ¡°I did not force them, Ensign,¡± he answered, leading them onward. Not even he could override the mechanical seal. ¡°The corridor was temporarily repressurized to disengage the pressure differential lock.¡±

    Malweh struggled to walk, but managed, mainly out of spite, to keep the Admiral from having to help her any further. She leaned heavily on Callie, who was in much better condition, save a few ripped hairs and bruises. ¡°But how did you repressurize the corridor?¡±

    I didn¡¯t. But he knew Malweh wouldn¡¯t accept that. ¡°The remaining air from the nearby, damaged areas was redirected. That corridor only had a small puncture, it merely bought time.¡± Redirecting the air had in no way solved the issue. Whatever the ghost had done to temporarily help seal the breach had extended the time, but eventually, the incessant vacuum had reasserted itself and the hatches had resealed.

    ¡°And you can redirect the air with the command overrides?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I can.¡± He hadn¡¯t needed to use those codes with the ghost¡¯s help, but technically, yes, he could use his own authority over the ship¡¯s systems to reverse airflow and redirect pressure. It just would have taken awhile, considering the lack of a controlling computer network.

    ¡°Fine,¡± Malweh would buy that, as Callie half-carried her down the hallways. ¡°But that doesn¡¯t explain how you knew where we were.¡± Until roll call, she and Callie wouldn¡¯t have been considered missing or in any danger. The engineers often split up and lost track of one another during damage control.

    ¡°You ask a lot of questions, Ensign. Is the manner in which I saved your life of particular importance to you? Or should you merely be satisfied that I did?¡±

    ¡°To be frank, sir. I don¡¯t trust you.¡± She could see the element of control he had over the ship, and it just wasn¡¯t natural. The command overrides and his experience explained it logically, sure, but with him, it always felt like something more. It always felt like he was hiding something, and he dodged and deflected her questions now like he always did.

    ¡°Malweh,¡± Callie sharply, appalled. Was now really the best time to be arguing with the man? Whether Malweh liked it or not, he had just saved both of their lives. She craned her neck to see past the engineer draped on her shoulder. ¡°Thanks, Admiral.¡± He¡¯d been there just in time.

    Malweh rolled her eyes. Kiss ass.

    ¡°Think nothing of it, Ensign.¡± He didn¡¯t keep score of the lives he saved, or took. ¡°I was doing my job.¡± He protected the ship¡¯s crew, even if that meant getting interrogated by the likes of Malweh.

    Abruptly, he paused, throwing an arm out to stop the two engineers. Ready to draw it, he moved a hand to the grip of his sabre.

    Recognizing his instincts for danger, even Malweh silenced herself, holding her breath. And a moment later, the sound reached her ears. Thud, thud, thud, thud. The impacts were rattling the deck plates, someone running at full speed down the adjacent corridor.

    Quietly, the Admiral drew his sword again, the blade still glistening with red wetness. At his signal, Callie struggled to drag Malweh back a few paces.

    Thud! Thud! Thud! The sound got louder.

    The soldier barreled into the corridor junction, clad in a Marine¡¯s armor, bloody scimitar in hand. The sound of his footfalls clanging through the air, he came to an abrupt stop, arms pinwheeling. Sniffing the air like a bloodhound, he turned slowly to them, teeth bared in a snarl.

    ¡°My lucky day,¡± he said, his voice as low and guttural, as if it was something he¡¯d mostly forgotten how to use. ¡°Wounded crew and an officer.¡± He lumbered toward them, a disconnected hunger in his eyes. ¡°Three for one.¡±

    This enemy Marine was easily bigger than even the commandos. He seemed to tower over Admiral, the curves of his sword wicked in the light. Still, the Admiral was calm, even at the feet of that mountain. ¡°I will give you one chance to surrender.¡±

    The Marine made no response, his blood-flecked expression disjointed, but fixated on the two wounded engineers as he moved toward them. Then, he looked down, as if remembering the Admiral¡¯s presence, and swung.

    Their swords met with an audible clang! The block was solid, but still, the scimitar started to inch closer to the Admiral¡¯s neck, his own blade shaking. He couldn¡¯t match his opponent¡¯s sheer strength, even with both hands bracing his sabre.

    With a grunt of effort, he pushed the scimitar upward and ducked beneath to leap backward.

    The engineers were directly behind him now, and the Marine stepped closer, brandishing his blade. ¡°Nowhere left to run,¡± he drawled, the words slow and worthless to a mind bent on killing.

    The scimitar cut through the air with an audible whoosh, met again but not stopped by the Admiral¡¯s sabre. The blades ground against each other, the Marine¡¯s slash redirected just enough to keep it from making contact.

    The moment the scimitar was clear of his body, the Admiral added his full strength, pushing the enemy¡¯s weapon wide. In the opening, he leveled a kick at the Marine¡¯s wide torso.

    The soldier¡¯s armor kept him from injury, but the sheer force was enough to knock the wind out of him. He staggered backward a few steps in surprise.

    The Admiral didn¡¯t waste the opportunity. He went for the neck, only for the thrust to be knocked aside. Instead, the sabre slid along the Marine¡¯s shoulder armor, leaving a gouge in the composite alloy.

    ¡°You¡¯re quite spry for an officer.¡± Often, ship board officers were trained, but not experienced in how they handled their weapons. Most fighting was left to the Marines. Casting a look to the scratch on his armor, it was quite noticeable, deeper than it should have been. Inspecting his glittering scimitar, it too, had been nicked wherever it had made contact with the enemy¡¯s dark sabre. That sword wasn¡¯t just sharp, it was made out of something far stronger than both his armor and the scimitar. ¡°That¡¯s a unique weapon.¡±

    ¡°Very,¡± the Admiral said. The Marine¡¯s gaze was sharper now, as if recognizing a threat through the haze of bloodlust. Whatever Manhattan had done to him, it had left enough of his mental faculties intact to retain his skill. He appeared mindless in all things except combat.

    The Marine slashed again, if only to test his adversary¡¯s reaction time. The attack was easily deflected and dodged, leaving a new, obvious nick in the scimitar. ¡°Given long enough, that blade of yours will probably shatter mine.¡± He loosed a flurry of slashes, raising his voice over the sound of clanging metal, ¡°Do you think you can hold out that long?¡±

    No, the Admiral thought, barely holding his ground against this attack. He was physically outmatched, older and weaker than his opponent. Even with enough space to dodge, he still had to keep himself between this boarder and the engineers. He couldn¡¯t move the way he needed to in order to attack effectively. From this angle, all his thrusts would be easily blocked.

    The Marine pulled back, sweating, but not panting. A new set of dents lined his sword, none of them big enough to present a danger. He looked again at this officer, recognizing the silver rank band on his sleeve for the first time. ¡°The Steel Prince himself.¡± No wonder he could hold his own. ¡°Your death would make me a legend.¡±

    Admiral Gives steeled his gaze. ¡°A dead legend.¡±

    The Marine bared his yellow teeth in an ugly grin. ¡°So the rumors say. Those who spill blood aboard these decks pay with their life. And,¡± his chest rumbled with laughter, ¡°I have spilled blood.¡± It stained the edge of his weapon red. ¡°I kill you, and I might just meet that ghost,¡± that spirit of blood and carnage.

    The Marine brandished his blade, hearing it whoosh as he spun it. ¡°They say that you can¡¯t die aboard these decks,¡± that he¡¯d made a deal with the Night Demon itself: power in exchange for his humanity. ¡°I intend to prove them wrong.¡±

    The Marine slashed again, his muscles rippling as he poured all his strength and speed into the attack, the blade little more than a blur of silver.

    The Admiral parried, shoving the Marine¡¯s arm outward, then spun to jab him in the neck with his free hand. The Marine stumbled, but brought his weapon quickly to bear, though not before the Admiral managed to yank his sidearm from its holster.

    ¡°Ha,¡± the Marine laughed, ¡°what do you plan to do with that?¡± They both knew its stun mechanism was useless on armor and the bullets would be caught by the inertial dampeners. ¡°Not so nice when your ship is against you, is it?¡± The inertial dampeners, say what anyone will, made it a fair playing field of skill and strength.

    The Admiral¡¯s only response was to flick the safety off, even knowing he couldn¡¯t deactivate the inertial dampeners without jeopardizing other members of the crew. He didn¡¯t intend to.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    The Marine lumbered forward, his scimitar at the ready, knowing full well that he had the advantage. He was bigger and stronger than the Admiral, his weapon heavier. He swung, brandishing the weapon with the speed of a fiddle player.

    The Admiral¡¯s sabre was lighter, and quick, but it took all his strength just to deflect the strike upward. It bought him precious time. He ducked, pressed that gun to the side of his opponent, and pulled the trigger.

    Gunsmoke hit the air in the corridor, and the monstrous Marine staggered, the smile slipping from his face, as he felt the blood oozing from his side. He¡¯d been shot. ¡°How?¡±

    ¡°The homefield advantage is more than control.¡± It was knowledge. ¡°I know this ship better than anyone.¡± The Singularity¡¯s inertial dampeners, while reliable, took time to react. They decelerated things slowly, because they couldn¡¯t make the calculations and react preventatively as a newer ship could. While the dampeners did arrest bullets, they travelled faster, longer, on the Singularity before that happened.

    Fired at close enough range, a bullet was still deadly if he could get it past the armor, and a Marine¡¯s armor was weakest on the side. It was simple enough. He¡¯d just had to get the gun there and pull the trigger.

    The Marine keeled over, breathing labored. ¡°The bullet is still lodged inside. I would advise against moving.¡± The inertial dampeners had arrested its movement somewhere in the Marine¡¯s guts. It hadn¡¯t been allowed to pass through. In some ways that made it deadlier.

    With a roar, the Marine climbed to his feet and went on the attack.

    Blocking the wild swings, it was clear that there was nothing but rage in the Marine¡¯s mind now. Another of Manhattan¡¯s alterations had been triggered, erasing complex thought and nullifying the pain.

    The Marine swung and slashed madly, without concern for defense, pushing the Admiral back. Blade to blade, their swords clanged rapidly, but slowly, the Marine¡¯s attacks began to weaken. Manhattan¡¯s personality alterations couldn¡¯t stop his physical body from going into shock as all his movements allowed the bullet to shift and tear apart his internal organs.

    Still on the attack a minute later, the massive man collapsed to his knees, and the Admiral thrust his blade between the armor plates on his torso, skewering him to the ground. The Marine was barely moving, but that rage was still in his eyes, even as his body failed to respond.

    Admiral Gives placed a foot on the man¡¯s chest. ¡°Look away,¡± he ordered the engineers. Callie hid her eyes, Malweh didn¡¯t, but he wasted no time, driving his blade into the Marine¡¯s exposed neck.

    Blood seeping onto the deck tiles below him, the Admiral regarded the sidearm in his grip, then tossed it to the floor, not bothering to watch the widening pool of red well up around it.

    Malweh was staring, wide-eyed. ¡°Did you actually know that would work?¡± Using firearms in combat with the inertial dampeners active wasn¡¯t supposed to work, at all.

    ¡°I never did the math, but I suspected as such.¡± It was all in the details of how the Singularity¡¯s systems operated.

    There was a long pause, but eventually, Malweh nodded, ¡°Badass, sir.¡± She didn¡¯t like the man, but he¡¯d just killed a skilled Marine at least twice his size in her defense. ¡°What¡¯s that sword made out of, anyway?¡± She¡¯d seen him carry it, but never draw it until today.

    He turned the blade¡¯s width to face her. ¡°You tell me.¡±

    Its length was a uniform, dark gray underneath the blood, noticeably darker than the standard silver of the dead Marine¡¯s sword. That shade was echoed around them in the bulkheads and deck. ¡°Hull metals,¡± Malweh realized. That sword was cast from the same metals as the Singularity herself.

    ¡°Yes.¡± Once, this blade had been a part of the ship, so he trusted it, like her, to never fail him in a fight.

    Of course it is, Malweh thought. ¡°You have an obsession, you know that?¡± He was absurdly attached to the ship. He never left, always worked, and apparently had his personal weapons cast to match. ¡°That sword must¡¯ve cost your entire fucking year of pay.¡± Those were some of the rarest, most versatile metals in the worlds, highly-valued for their uses. The ship herself was worth more than a country, considering the purity of her build alloy. Melted down and diluted, the Singularity¡¯s mass could have strengthened entire squadrons of ships.

    ¡°It was a gift.¡± The Admiral said.

    ¡°Meaning you stole it?¡± It was certainly within his ability to steal some of the ship¡¯s metal supply.

    ¡°Meaning it was a gift, Ensign.¡± He would never have taken anything that would inhibit the ship¡¯s operational status, even a piece of metal that could someday be used for repairs.

    Thud, thud, thud, the sound of approaching footfalls reached him, these softer than the Marine¡¯s had been. ¡°Back,¡± he ordered the engineers, whirling to confront the sound.

    It was Cortana¡¯s surprise to run into that junction and be stopped by the wet tip of a blade at her throat. Barely, she¡¯d skidded to a stop before impaling her own neck. ¡°Sergeant,¡± its owner greeted.

    He recognized her, but still, the sword lingered there for a long moment, indenting the skin of her neck. It stayed there for a long moment, far longer than necessary. Near as she could tell, he was contemplating something other than removing the blade. Perhaps removing her head?

    But, the sword was eventually, slowly removed. ¡°Admiral, sir.¡± She breathed, again recognizing that cold gaze. He felt just as dangerous now as he had in that compartment with the inspector. There was something just wrong with him, evil it seemed. The length of his sabre was smeared with red, recently wet at the tip, only evidencing the danger. It had left a sticky stain on her neck, warm blood not her own.

    A hostile Marine was dead at his feet. ¡­The very same Marine she¡¯d been chasing across the ship.

    ¡°Where are your comrades, Sergeant?¡± None of the ship¡¯s Marines should be operating alone, especially one so new to the crew.

    Remembering protocol, Cortana sheathed her own sabre, and stood up straight, even if not at direct attention. ¡°Wounded, sir.¡± The massive boarder had done a number on her group, and she¡¯d given chase, unwilling to let him get away.

    ¡°Where are they now?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir.¡± She had focused on chasing the enemy.

    Given such an answer, it was his understanding that Cortana had left her wounded comrades behind. Unacceptable. Still, Cortana noticed his company before he could say anything of it.

    ¡°You,¡± she said, locking eyes with Smith. Why is it always you? She¡¯d run into this particular crewmember more often than any other, and usually in the worst ways.

    Callie shifted, the movement small but obvious as she was forced to drag Malweh with her, hiding behind the Admiral. Malweh, never one for subtlety, loudly cleared her throat, as if the movement itself hadn¡¯t already caught his attention.

    Cortana frowned. It was clear that the engineer was trying to avoid her, and using the Admiral to do it. It was beyond improper. She started, ¡°Sir-¡±

    ¡°Stand fast, Sergeant.¡± Maybe working for Command in Eagle¡¯s Talon, this behavior would have been unacceptable, but this wasn¡¯t Command.

    His crew was disrespecting both his authority and her own. They ought to be reprimanded. Why was she the only one who seemed to think so? ¡°With all due respect, sir-¡±

    ¡°I would say your respect for me is naught, since you tried to shoot me aboard the decks of my own ship.¡± Ordinarily, he wasn¡¯t the type to hold grudges like that. Most people reacted poorly to his presence. But he knew what Cortana saw in him: a twisted mirror of his brother. Maybe that was true, maybe it wasn¡¯t, but she hadn¡¯t only threatened him that day. She¡¯d gone after crewmembers: wounded Alba and left Smith too afraid to look at her. ¡°That said, I am still the reigning authority aboard these decks,¡± and if Cortana wanted to live, she¡¯d do as told. ¡°Return to your unit and escort the wounded to sickbay.¡± She should never have left them in the first place.

    ¡°Sir, I would be more useful hunting down the other boarders.¡± She was ready and prepared to fight.

    ¡°That is an order, Sergeant.¡± Unless she could be everywhere at once, the risk was too great. Her wounded companions were defenseless. If one hostile made it past Cortana¡¯s perfect, overconfident, human perception, the wounded would be killed. No, it wasn¡¯t the most glamorous job for someone trying to earn the respect she thought she deserved, but she¡¯d failed to do that the moment she left her comrades behind.

    ¡°And Sergeant,¡± he added, ¡°be in the training room at 2100 hours.¡±

    ¡°The training room, sir?¡± What for?

    ¡°That is an order as well.¡± He expected it to be followed, no questions asked. He would evaluate the Sergeant¡¯s skill, her threat, himself. Likely, it wouldn¡¯t match her confidence. But, if he put her in her place, word would spread to the rest of the crew that she was no danger. Smith would feel safer knowing that the Sergeant could be defeated. ¡°Now, go.¡±

    As much as she wanted to argue, the Admiral had made himself clear. These were non-negotiable orders. She kept her shoulders perfectly straight, acknowledging, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She spun on her heel and stalked off, turning just once to see that young engineer give a sigh of relief.

    ¡°Are you alright, Ensign?¡±

    Callie let out a shuddering breath, ¡°Yeah,¡± I think. It was a relief, once again to be free of the Sergeant¡¯s presence. Looking at her, it was just a reminder of how helpless she¡¯d been up in the starboard bow, how helpless she always was against someone bigger and stronger than her.

    ¡°You are safe aboard these decks, Ensign.¡± She was safe in his presence. He would never seek to harm a member of his ship¡¯s crew, unless of course they, like Sergeant Cortana, placed their comrades in danger and left fear in their wake. Then, well then, he considered them nothing less than traitors, and he would correct that behavior by any means necessary, even if it was all he could do to ensure they were left totally incapable of further betrayal.

    ¡°I know.¡± That was the thing about the Singularity. Despite the ship¡¯s inherent dangers as a combat vessel, it was still the safest place she¡¯d ever lived. The ship was reliable and the crew was decent. Any unkindness was answered by the Admiral himself. No matter how uncomfortable Cortana made her, she knew the Admiral would have defended her.

    ¡°So,¡± Malweh said as they started moving again, ¡°just to be clear, you¡¯re going to be teaching that bitch a lesson, right? Not let her win so she can seem impressive and feel like she¡¯s earned a place here?¡± Likely, that would make her more tolerable, but Malweh would rather see harsher lessons taught. ¡°You know, in case I maybe wanted to place money on that fight?¡±

    ¡°I never said I was going to fight her.¡±

    Malweh snorted, the movement extremely painful as Callie lugged her onward. ¡°I might be rude, but I ain¡¯t stupid.¡± He wouldn¡¯t have ordered her to the training room unless he intended to spar her. ¡°I¡¯m also not blind. She fights with a sabre, same as you.¡± It was a decently common weapon, useful and easy to control in close quarters, but it took finesse and creativity to land killing blows on armored enemies with such a light weapon, not to mention a decent amount of strength to run them through. ¡°I¡¯d say that gives you an opportunity.¡±

    Against someone with the same weapon and similar training, there¡¯d be no doubt of his dominance if he won a sparring match with her. It would prove to the crew that Cortana could be put in line and he¡¯d likely earn her respect as a swordsman. ¡°Besides, you know the entire crew is going to be making bets on the rumors alone.¡± Most of them had never seen the Admiral fight. They would be simultaneously intrigued and frightened by the prospect. ¡°I just want to place my money on the winning side.¡± After what she¡¯d so far seen today, she had no doubt that if winning was his intention, the outcome was certain.

    Predictably, he said nothing, leading them toward the medical bay without further incident. The defensive line that met them there looked ragged, but was unbroken. They greeted their own by lowering their bloodied weapons and tiredly parting the way. The medical bay beyond was rightfully busy, but not chaotic. The flow of incoming injured had slowed for the time being.

    A pair of nurses took Malweh off Callie¡¯s shoulders, but soon returned to drag Smith herself off for a checkup. They left the Admiral alone, so he began his rounds, greeting the wounded.

    Wound in bandages or immobilized by a cast, most of them were victims of lacerations from the boarders¡¯ weapons or broken bones from the combat maneuvers. The conversations were polite, nothing more. The crew had never seen him as personable, but coming to speak with the wounded, it was evidence enough for them that, on some level, he cared.

 Part 24.1 - THE WOUNDED

    Argo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    At first, grabbed from her quarters and dragged again to the medical bay, Amelia had been furious. The senile old doctor had gone so far as to shove Ron, Anabelle, her and her son in his tiny office and forget all about them.

    But, as the ship had trembled around them, shuddering and groaning, the deck bucking beneath her feet from either outgoing or incoming fire, she¡¯d understood. As the smell of smoke hit her nostrils, wafting under the door, she¡¯d understood. And, as they brought the wounded in, screaming and sobbing while she watched through the office window¡¯s bent blinds, she¡¯d understood.

    Even now, in the seemingly disproportionate silence, she could feel the throb of her racing pulse in her veins. She felt so small, so useless, and so terrified. It was horrifying to know that nothing she did now would matter. If the tactics of the one in charge failed and if this machine broke apart around them, torn open to the void, death was the only certainty, and it was all she could do to sit and wait.

    The whole experience gave her a new respect for those men and women on the crew. Combat was terrifying, especially here, below decks, where the outcome was completely out of their hands. Who would choose this life? Who would choose to face danger like that?

    People braver than her, she supposed.

    Watching the crew tend to their duties, they were focused, perhaps not calm, but at the least, focused. Even Ron was calmer than she at the prospect of combat, knowing that ships out there were trying to tear their own apart.

    But when it was all said and done, after the nauseating FTL jump left her nearly vomiting on the doctor¡¯s cluttered desk, Ron still just calmly sat there, Anabelle¡¯s head in his lap. ¡°Weren¡¯t you scared?¡± Amelia asked him.

    ¡°Not much we can do.¡± Of course, serving as a Marine, he was used to that fact. He had considered offering to help defend the ship, but knew it would only blow his cover. He doubted the Singularity¡¯s forces would be pleased to find one of the Olympia¡¯s Marines in their midst, traitor or not, so he settled instead for comforting his daughter, grateful to find her healthy.

    The pills the ship¡¯s doctor had prescribed and provided left Anabelle stronger and more energetic than Ron could remember. Her skin was colorful, her hair vibrant, and the dark rings under her eyes were finally gone. Now, he could only feel guilty that he hadn¡¯t sought help sooner.

    Amelia didn¡¯t read too much into Ron¡¯s calm. He was clearly braver than she was. That had been obvious in the moment he¡¯d pulled a shotgun on a group of soldiers in the shipyards. ¡°Do you think we can come out?¡± The office was a little stuffy, and the medical bay beyond looked to have calmed somewhat.

    ¡°I¡¯d wait. They might still be putting down the boarding forces.¡± He hadn¡¯t heard any announcement that the ship was secure, so it was probable, even likely, that there was still ongoing fighting.

    She sighed, but resigned herself to wait. As horrible as the FTL jumps continued to make her feel, they also still knocked the kids out pretty good. It earned a few rare moments of rest. Her son, Harrison, was incessant about touring the ship and seeing everything there was to see, but it all looked the same to her and it didn¡¯t help that the Admiral seemed content to avoid them both.

    ¡°Speak of the devil,¡± she muttered, watching the man himself walk into the medical bay, two young women in tow, one of them obviously bruised and bleeding.

    Ron looked up, surprised and concerned. There was only one reason he could think for the ship¡¯s commander to be off the bridge this soon after a battle. ¡°The Admiral¡¯s hurt?¡± In their situation, they were surviving by his skill. If he were injured or killed, then they were major trouble.

    ¡°No, he looks fine,¡± or at least better than the other injured around. She considered rushing out and demanding answers about the battle: why they¡¯d fought, if they¡¯d won, whether or not they were safe, but he turned away to talk to the wounded crewman on the nearest bed, and that was enough to give her pause.

    The conversation seemed brief as Amelia watched through the window blinds, but rather than leaving, he moved to speak with the crewman on the next bed over. That conversation was just as quick, but as he moved on, it became clear that he intended to speak to every one of the wounded crew who remained awake. She furrowed her brow, surprised, as she held the small window¡¯s frame.

    She stared out, watching. That was the action of someone¡­ well, someone who cared. It was the action of someone who actually gave a damn about the people under his command.

    It took her aback enough to reconsider the way she ought to be treating the Admiral. A part of her had just assumed, given what she¡¯d heard about him, that the disinterest she¡¯d seen extended to his core.

    But that had been an unfair assumption. After all, he¡¯d been so distant most of her life, stationed abroad, then ostracized by her father, that they were essentially strangers. He worked with his crew, lived and fought with them. It made sense that he would be closer to them and show at least interest, if not concern, regarding their condition.

    But, an outsider looking in, Amelia still found this behavior perplexing, a break from what she¡¯d come to expect.

    Admiral Gives was quite well aware of her gaze, and he didn¡¯t appreciate being stared at like an animal in a zoo, but he elected to ignore it as he approached the last conscious crewman in sickbay. ¡°How was your day, Corporal?¡± he asked the blond Marine.

    May looked up, recognizing her company. ¡°I¡¯d say it was unexpectedly exciting, sir.¡± Still, as she watched him draw the curtain, she knew this conversation was turning serious, not just polite.

    ¡°Corporal, I was surprised you and your sisters elected to stay.¡± When he¡¯d put out the announcement to allow crewmembers¡¯ release from their stations on board, he¡¯d expected some of them to take it. He had never truly expected every soul on board to follow him into separation from Command. ¡°It was my understanding that you all had enough rebellion on New Orpheus.¡±

    May let out a sigh. ¡°Let¡¯s just say this ship is the first place that¡¯s felt like a home to us. We go where she goes.¡± She and her sisters held no love for Command, but it occurred to her why he may have come. ¡°I was just hoping we wouldn¡¯t be taking any ¡­requests so soon.¡±

    ¡°Corporal, when I brought your unit on board, I gave you my word that I would not ask that of you.¡± He had no intent to break it. ¡°This is not about that.¡± She and her sisters may have operated as assassins for Command, but he¡¯d taken them on as mere Marines, and given his word not to request anything of their other skills. ¡°I understand you were with the new Sergeant during the boarding attack?¡±

    Relief swept over May, only for burning frustration to swell up in its place. ¡°That damn bitch! You bet I was!¡± She¡¯d volunteered for the task, eager to observe the new solider. ¡°Fay and I were both with her. We got flanked at a junction, and Cortana blocked this massive Marine¡¯s strike, but she deflected it right into my damn leg!¡± she gestured to the limb, bound toe to thigh in thick white bandages.

    The attack had caught them off guard, and Cortana¡¯s tactics hadn¡¯t been adequate for working with a squad. ¡°She tripped up Fay, so she got hurt too. I¡¯d put money on the fact that bitch has never fought in close quarters with a unit.¡± If they¡¯d just managed to work together, defeating that Marine shouldn¡¯t have been a problem. ¡°Where the hell did she come from?¡± Where had Command found someone so damn incompetent?

    ¡°She was a personal security guard in Eagle¡¯s Talon. Until coming here, she had only seen fighting planetside.¡± Her record on that was spotless, even exemplary, but personnel combat on a battleship was entirely different.

    May huffed, frustrated, ¡°I bet her charge died real quick.¡±

    ¡°His death was quick, yes. The Secretary of Defense was shot in the head.¡± It would have been near-instant.

    Oh. The binds of frustration in her chest immediately vanished, replaced by the heaviness of embarrassment. ¡°Sorry, sir,¡± she said, lowering her voice. As out of line as the comment had been, she trusted him not to turn to anger.

    ¡°It is quite alright, Corporal.¡± She wasn¡¯t the first to forget his ties to the former Secretary of Defense. ¡°My brother and I were not close,¡± and that had been common knowledge in their shared military and political circles. ¡°Now, what happened with the Sergeant after you were wounded?¡±

    ¡°She got mad at us for being ¡®in her way.¡¯¡± May rolled her eyes, emphasizing the quote with her hands. ¡°Bitch has quite a temper, sir. No offense meant, but I suspect your personality,¡± or apparent lack thereof, ¡°would really push her buttons.¡± It was no wonder that Cortana had tried to shoot him.

    ¡°That is not what I meant, Corporal.¡± Obviously, he was well aware of the new Sergeant¡¯s temper. May was dancing around the subject, ¡°Did Sergeant Cortana leave you behind?¡±

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    Frustration licked at her thoughts, but May was still hesitant to answer. Likely, her response would dictate Cortana¡¯s fate. Answering no, and the Sergeant would be fine. Answering yes, and May knew the Admiral would be her reckoning.

    Is that such a bad thing? The little voice in the back of her head whispered evilly.

    No, for her own sake, May thought not. She sobered a bit, but answered with the truth, ¡°Bitch ran off and left us, sir.¡± Fay had been wounded in the arm, and she in the legs. Together, they¡¯d been immobile and unable to fight. ¡°If Butterfly and his wingman hadn¡¯t stumbled onto us first, she could have gotten us both killed.¡±

    ¡°I understand.¡± Cortana had committed a grave offense by leaving wounded behind, once again violating the trust of her comrades. ¡°Where is Cadet Fay now?¡±

    ¡°Doc stitched her up and discharged her a while ago.¡± Fay¡¯s dominant arm had to be kept immobile, but she could still help search the ship for planted equipment, unlike May, who couldn¡¯t walk. ¡°Probably for the best she isn¡¯t here, sir. She¡¯s still pretty shaken about¡­ well, you know...¡±

    Referring of course to the incident where Fay had shot him twice in the chest. ¡°I never held that against her, Corporal.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. I know.¡± He¡¯d made that extremely clear. ¡°And from what I hear, the Sergeant is also in the ¡®I Tried to Kill the Admiral Club,¡¯ so that might make Fay feel better,¡± May smiled awkwardly, ¡°though I hope we don¡¯t get any other new members anytime soon.¡±

    If he had been one to laugh, he may have considered it. Always nice to have fans. ¡°As I recall the incident, Cadet Fay was not the one who instigated the assassination attempt.¡±

    May didn¡¯t bother to fight the red rising to her cheeks, ¡°I know.¡± She was not proud of her actions on that particular mission.

    ¡°Your sister may be due to be reminded of that fact.¡± Fay had avoided him ever since, though really, the entire incident was little more than a point of amusement now.

    May nodded, wishing to steer the conversation in a different direction. She joked about it, but that was her way of avoiding the awkward fact that she and her sisters had very seriously tried to kill him. ¡°What will you do with the Sergeant, sir?¡± She and her sisters were more aware than most of his patience. It had spared them from probable execution.

    ¡°The Sergeant¡¯s situation is different than your own.¡± May might see similarities, but he didn¡¯t ¨C at least not where it mattered. ¡°Repeatedly, both intentionally and not, she has brought harm to members of this crew, and that is a far higher transgression than attempting to take my life.¡±

    May didn¡¯t need to make eye contact to know he meant that as a truth. ¡°You¡¯re a little messed up, you know that?¡±

    ¡°You have accused me of worse things.¡± Many of them.

    She nodded, face flushed with shame. That was a fair hit and she knew it. ¡°Sorry, sir.¡±

    He held nothing against May or her sisters, no matter what they¡¯d done or said to him. They had been victims of the worlds¡¯ evil. Now, they were loyal members of his crew, and that was all that mattered. ¡°Rest well, Corporal. I am sure Doctor Macintosh will have you on your feet in no time.¡±

    ¡°If he doesn¡¯t drink himself under the operating table first,¡± she muttered, having already smelled the level of alcohol on the medical officer¡¯s breath.

    ¡°The doctor can handle his liquor, Corporal.¡± Macintosh had some of the steadiest operating hands in the fleet drunk or sober. He had his reasons for what he did, and the Admiral made a point not to bother him about it. ¡°If you need anything, let me know.¡±

    He made that offer to every single wounded crewman, every single time. It was polite, but no one ever asked anything of him. May certainly had no intent to. ¡°I appreciate that, thank you, sir.¡±

    Pushing past the plain gray curtain, he found Macintosh¡¯s sour face and thinning hair. ¡°You ass.¡±

    Good to see you, too, the Admiral kept the retort to himself, asking instead, ¡°How many?¡± There was no point in dancing around the subject. How many did I lose?

    The doctor shoved his hands into the pockets of his white coat. ¡°No dead. About a hundred wounded brought in so far. Half were serious enough to keep, the other half I stitched up and sent on their merry way.¡±

    ¡°And the Gargantia¡¯s personnel?¡±

    ¡°The officer will be fine. She had hypothermia, but we got to her in time. The engineer on the other hand¡­ I¡¯d say it¡¯s a toss-up. He might make it, he might not.¡± The Gargantia¡¯s engineer was worse off than any of the other wounded. ¡°He was impaled by his own ship, and I¡¯ve never seen anything like that before.¡± Shrapnel impalements were pretty common, but someone being impaled by a splintered piece of the superstructure? That was new.

    ¡°The Gargantia¡¯s build material was different.¡± It had been more brittle. The twisting and shearing stresses of the damage had allowed it to splinter dangerously. ¡°The Singularity¡¯s materials do not fail in the same way.¡± Likely, they would never see such an injury aboard ship.

    ¡°Don¡¯t care.¡± Macintosh grunted. It had been a comment, not a request for an engineering lesson. ¡°What do you want me to do with them when they wake?¡±

    ¡°Alert me. I will speak with them myself.¡± The survivors were in a complicated situation. They been brought aboard a renegade ship, and therefore made criminals, with no say in the matter.

    Macintosh nodded, ¡°Fine, but try to remember that you¡¯re only human. You will need to sleep.¡± Beneath the bruises, he could see the bags under the ship commander¡¯s eyes. ¡°I¡¯d rather not have you collapse in a random compartment.¡±

    The Admiral said nothing to that, simply left. Tired as he was, now was not the time for him to rest. He had to ensure the ship was secured, wait for the damage report and deal with the fleet before he could even consider sleep, so he made his way back to the bridge.

    Predictably, chaos was waiting for him. A scattering of papers littered the top of the radar console, and Zarrey stood, his hair greasy with sweat as he ran his hands through it, debating whether or not to pull it out. ¡°You naddlethworfing son of a bitch.¡± He said, desperately trying to keep himself from shouting, ¡°I don¡¯t give a fuck who you are, you are not helping this situation.¡±

    ¡°Frankly, I find your demands outrageous. Your fleet massacred thousands of people in Sagittarion¡¯s orbit, and now you expect unconditional obedience when you won¡¯t even give us an explanation!¡±

    ¡°I tried to give you an explanation, and you wouldn¡¯t even let me finish!¡± Now, most of the fleet was watching the argument. ¡°You damn business men are all the same. You just want to be the big man in charge, and you don¡¯t give a damn about who you have to jeopardize in the process. The longer you argue with us, the more danger this fleet is in!¡± One more jump, and they¡¯d be in effective safety, away from any tracking beacons that had been planted aboard the Singularity by the boarders, but Hawkins had argued against it, and now none of the ships were cooperating.

    Out of the camera¡¯s view, the Admiral watched the exchange, studying Hawkins, but ultimately decided it was time to bail Zarrey out before his temper got the best of him. ¡°How is diplomacy working out for you, XO?¡±

    Asshole. Loathe as he was to admit it, asking nicely hadn¡¯t gone over any better than the Admiral¡¯s methods. In fact, if possible, it had gone over worse. ¡°You¡¯ve made your point,¡± he grunted. But seriously, he silently mouthed, ¡°Please help.¡±

    Fine. The Admiral stepped into the camera¡¯s view, retaking his usual position on the far side of the radar console. Hawkins fixated on him instantly, ¡°Ah, the master graces us with his presence.¡±

    The Admiral said nothing, merely continued his observation of Hawkins. The business man¡¯s suit was perfectly tailored and no doubt expensive. However, it was clear enough that he¡¯d been trapped on Sagittarion due not only to his own ambitions, but because of a betrayal in his own organization ¨C probably his assistant wanting to take his job, as was the brutality of corporate life in the upper echelons of one of the worlds¡¯ most powerful companies.

    ¡°Come to threaten obedience as our overlord?¡± Hawkins challenged.

    ¡°I will say this exactly once. We will aid and defend any ship that complies with the given directives. Those that do not will be appropriately silenced to protect the rest.¡±

    ¡°Appropriately silenced?¡± Hawkins twisted his face, ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡± What kind of self-proclaimed savior threatened death to those that didn¡¯t want to be saved?

    ¡°I believe those terms are clear enough.¡± Cooperate or die. Times like these, it was best to paint things in black and white.

    Hawkins curled his lip, but passively folded his hands atop his mahogany desktop, as if to appear profound. ¡°Does our apparent tyrant have a name?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    Hawkins leaned forward, apparently waiting for further elaboration, but the Admiral just stared at him. After a long and awkward moment, Hawkins swallowed his agitation. ¡°Care to tell us what it is?¡±

    Resting a hand on the guard of his blood-flecked sword, the Admiral held Hawkins¡¯ gaze calmly through the communique. ¡°To someone like you, I imagine my actual name is of little consequence.¡± Simply, Hawkins didn¡¯t actually care. He only sought informational ammunition he could use to trade favors and gain power. ¡°That said, these worlds gave me a title that you may recognize.¡±

    The business man narrowed his eyes. ¡°Is that so?¡± This former fleet dog presumed to be known by people that were his superior in every way?

    ¡°After all, your company made several overt attempts to remove both my authority and my life.¡± In recent years, he¡¯d become no friend to Knight Industries¡¯ more private affairs, and the rebuttals of the wealthiest among the worlds tended to be cutthroat ¨C often literally.

    ¡°What?¡± Hawkins furrowed his brow. ¡°No.¡± It can¡¯t be. ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡± That couldn¡¯t possibly be right. ¡°You¡¯re too young.¡±

    ¡°Travel long enough at relativistic speeds, and these worlds begin to age faster than those that sail between them.¡± With FTL, the effect was mitigated, but he¡¯d been sailing for most of his life. He wasn¡¯t young, but he was often younger than those who heard the rumors expected.

    Zarrey watched the exchange, eagerly sensing a shift in power. Fear. It was bleeding into the air from Hawkins feed, no matter how perfectly poised he kept his expression.

    ¡°You¡¯re not him.¡± Hawkins insisted. ¡°The Steel Prince would never¡­¡±

    ¡°Never what?¡± Zarrey queried. ¡°Reject the authority of those considered his superiors?¡± Be them corporate men or Command? ¡°Never be caught commanding the deadliest ship in human history?¡± Watching the businessman¡¯s eyes widen, the XO held back a laugh. ¡°Yeah.¡±

    When Hawkins¡¯ attention shifted back to him, the Admiral took quick note of his expression, equal parts incredulity and fear. ¡°It seems you have heard of me.¡± Good. That would make this short. ¡°So, believe that if you stand in my way, you will be appropriately silenced without hesitation.¡±

    The earlier instructions registered on Hawkins with an entirely new impact. Stars. This man very well would kill him. ¡°That¡­ will not be necessary. I will comply.¡±

    ¡°Then I advise you to do so quickly.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I understand,¡± Hawkins said, scrambling to end the communication.

    After the hail disappeared from the screen, Robinson¡¯s headset began to ping with incoming notifications. ¡°We¡¯re receiving compliance signals from the fleet, sir.¡±

    ¡°Very well.¡± Nice to be respected. ¡°Send coordinates for the Polaris Sector. Inform them we will follow in several hours, once we have verified that there are no agents or transponders aboard and their position will be secure in our presence.¡±

    Robinson¡¯s confirmation was drowned out by Zarrey. ¡°Holy fuck, you terrify people. You know that, right?¡± The mere mention of the Steel Prince was more than enough to frighten people into submission. ¡°Hawkins looked about ready to stain his pants when he realized who he¡¯d been backtalking.¡±

    ¡°Then I suspect it will not be a further issue.¡± They might complain, but the civilian ships would comply.

 Part 24.2 - TRAINING EXPERIMENT

    Liguanian Sector, Flagship Olympia

    The dreadnaught fired a burst on her maneuvering thrusters, correcting to a suddenly obvious shearing angle. ¡°It¡¯s a ramming attack!¡± That crazy son of a bitch. ¡°Evasive maneuvers!¡±

    ¡°Aye!¡± came the call.

    The high strain of the thrusters picked up around him, the stresses of the force and battle damage threatening to permanently distort the structure, but he felt his eyes involuntarily widen. Too slow.

    The Singularity¡¯s black armor had already swallowed the view, and an instant later, the bridge around him surrendered to inky blackness, the virtual illusion falling away. He¡¯d been too slow once again.

    ¡°Dammit!¡± Reeter cursed, tearing the VR helmet off. ¡°That bastard is insane!¡±

    Manhattan allowed a smirk to form on her lips. ¡°Quite to the contrary, I¡¯d say he¡¯s brilliant.¡± She had hoped Reeter¡¯s combat experience would fare better against Gives¡¯ tactics, and he had, but only to a certain degree. Eventually, he¡¯d fallen into the same traps that she had.

    ¡°No, he¡¯s insane. Making an attack like that is suicide.¡± Pitting one ship¡¯s structure against another, that was just making a bet. There were other, better ways to win a battle. ¡°It wasn¡¯t even a killing blow!¡± It was a useless, self-destructive attack that had no major effect on a ship¡¯s weapons or propulsion systems.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she sighed, ¡°it was.¡± With a wave of her hand, Manhattan projected a small recreation of the Palindrome¡¯s final moments. ¡°While the superstructures locked together, the Palindrome was tugged parallel. There was no hope of escape or evasion when the Singularity fired her broadside.¡±

    The attack had been ruthless and effective. ¡°Historically speaking, ramming is a recognized, but extremely uncommon tactic. Pirates are known to use it as a precursor to boarding. The Flagship Capitol sank due to such methods.¡±

    ¡°But ramming with a battleship? It¡¯s insane. She¡¯s not built for that.¡± Pirates would armor, strengthen and sharpen their ships¡¯ bows to breach and board. It wasn¡¯t the same.

    ¡°No, she wasn¡¯t built for that, but I investigated what few of the Singularity¡¯s engineering schematics remain in our possession.¡± Many of them had been lost, or more likely, burned. ¡°Given the angle of her armor and the way her superstructure shunts and distributes impact forces on the bow, it¡¯s viable, and there is no doubt that he knew that.¡±

    The records of the fleet academy showed Gives had been a distinguished astroengineer, trained and gifted with ship engineering. He¡¯d been quick and precise to implement an effective ramming attack.

    ¡°Perhaps it was lucky you weren¡¯t there, Charleston.¡± While the Olympia herself may have turned the tide, a better match against the Singularity¡¯s speed and ability, Reeter¡¯s confidence would have been his undoing. ¡°You underestimate him.¡± Reeter never would have been able to counter such bold tactics from someone he had spent years demeaning and despising. ¡°And until you no longer do, he will always have the upper hand against you.¡±

    Reeter tossed the VR helmet onto the inky onyx of the Olympia¡¯s conference room table. ¡°William Gives is a bygone fossil of an old era. He is worthless.¡±

    ¡°And yet, he remains one of the finest tacticians these worlds have ever seen.¡± His combat record was spotless, better than Reeter¡¯s own, which he proclaimed to be so flawless. ¡°How would you fare against the nine battleships?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d annihilate them. Blow past them, charge Thunderbolt, and do a flip burn.¡± The Olympia¡¯s flagship weapon would leave nothing but graves behind.

    Running the calculations, she knew such a tactic would be effective, but, ¡°Without Thunderbolt how would you fare?¡± The answer? He wouldn¡¯t. Placed in that situation without a surefire way to win, Reeter would have retreated. ¡°The truth is, Charleston, you¡¯ve gotten soft.¡±

    Before the redness of his temper could color his face, she pranced over to stare up at him. ¡°It¡¯s true that once, you could have rivaled the Steel Prince.¡± He was clever and creative, but, ¡°You¡¯ve played the games of politics and charisma for so long that your combat instincts have dulled.¡± She should have seen it coming. Humans weren¡¯t like her. They couldn¡¯t rewrite themselves at whim, or instantaneously recall a useful memory, even if it was not their own. No, they were linear and limited, and that left so much room for improvement.

    She flashed her perfectly white teeth, kept perhaps a bit sharper than a human¡¯s should have been. ¡°But, I believe we can remedy that, Charleston.¡±

    He narrowed his emerald eyes, ¡°I will never let you mess with my head, Manhattan.¡± He was all too aware of what she could do, and would never trust her to that degree.

    ¡°I know.¡± Not that you could stop me. She could choose to invade and alter his mind easily while he slept. He would never know the difference, though, ¡°I had something else in mind.¡±

    ¡°And what would that be?¡± he snapped. ¡°Another embarrassment at the hands of the once great Steel Prince?¡± Command¡¯s fleet had been so demeaned in the Wilkerson Sector that it seemed Manhattan had let the bastard win.

    "It could be argued that the Steel Prince remains great in many ways, Reeter.¡± The man¡¯s motive and objective may have fallen from the worlds¡¯ wanton desires, but his capability had never been in question. ¡°Likely, his legend will always overshadow yours until the moment he falls at your feet.¡± That was a simple consequence of history. Reeter had thrived in an era of relative peace, and the Prince had built his reputation in the strife and hatred of the Dead Years.

    Reeter¡¯s popularity, coupled with the propaganda and poise he¡¯d surrounded himself with had given him a name ¨C a name the people cheered and soldiers willingly died for, but it couldn¡¯t compete with the living legend of the deadliest officer in the fleet. How could the reputation of a perfect gentleman and hero compare to a title that even whispered drove entire nations into unconditional surrender?

    It didn¡¯t. In biological creatures evolved to survive by fight or flight, fear would always outweigh admiration. So, until Reeter proved himself to the rest of humanity as one to be loved and feared, the Steel Prince¡¯s reputation would surely eclipse his own.

    But that created an opportunity. If Reeter and his movement managed to fell such a legend, then their own legend would grow tenfold. For that and the information he held, the former Fleet Admiral had become a prime target. ¡°And I will remind you, Charleston, that we need him alive.¡± She looked forward to dissecting such brilliant mind.

    Reeter twisted his face, planting his palms on the cold stone table. ¡°Alive or dead, the priority is that he be dealt with.¡±

    ¡°Alive,¡± she stressed. ¡°He can answer many of our theories. Those regarding the Angel. Those regarding my sister, Wichita. He has the answers. We merely need to take them.¡± Willing or not was not her concern. He would suffer first and foremost, but, ¡°Twisted to our whims, he could be an invaluable asset.¡± To defeat such a legend and then weave it with their own, it would speak to a power the worlds had never known.

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    ¡°Like hell,¡± Reeter spat.

    ¡°In his years, the Prince has never been anything but a pawn. Brilliant, even reclusive, he was still nothing but a pawn.¡± He¡¯d been an asset to many forces over the years. ¡°He served Command unquestioningly for decades. He proved himself capable of taking unsavory orders¡­ for the right reasons.¡± Reasons she could divulge, if given the opportunity.

    ¡°Your obsession with him is your problem, Manhattan.¡± He wasn¡¯t interested. ¡°For what he cost these worlds, these people, he deserves the most painful death he can be given.¡± In his negligence, his cowardice, he¡¯d allowed humanity¡¯s only real chance at peace to burn. He, not any member of the New Era, had lit the funeral pyres on humanity¡¯s flawed republic.

    And rather than to face the hardships, the inequality that his choice had created, he¡¯d retreated to isolation on a decaying battleship. He had lived a life of plenty, of power, even on those boring patrols while the people he¡¯d left behind clashed, and clawed, struggled and starved. Where was the justice in that?

    There was none.

    And that was exactly what Reeter had set out to fix. Those deemed worthy would have what they needed to live good lives, to better the human race, and those unworthy would serve what purpose they could. Everyone would get the equality they deserved. No one would starve. No one would fight. No one would suffer.

    It would be perfection, the world he helped create.

    ¡°It seems your dedication remains untarnished.¡± Though they often disagreed, ¡°That resolve will serve you well, Charleston. Your instincts,¡± those human impulses that she had long since lost, ¡°they are useful in combat.¡± He had fared better against the Prince for seemingly that reason. ¡°Thus, we will work to hone them.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± Reeter said, leaning onto the table¡¯s cold crystalline surface, feeling it slowly warm below his fingertips. Proud as he was, he had to admit that he hadn¡¯t seen battle in quite some time. When the time came, he wanted no question of his victory.

    ¡°We will begin training.¡± She gestured to the VR helmet. ¡°Without risking the Olympia, we can use the rest of the fleet to engage the Singularity and gather data. We will use that data to train you.¡± Afterall, why not learn from the best? Studying the Steel Prince¡¯s tactics and movements would give him an edge, not only against the Prince himself, but against all others. ¡°With that renewing and strengthening the natural talent you previously displayed, you will become perhaps the best tactician the worlds have ever seen.¡±

    Reeter hummed, ¡°I do like the sound of that.¡± He could lead these worlds to a new era of prosperity, be the greatest leader among them, undefeatable and irrefutable. ¡°Perhaps this detour wasn¡¯t for nothing.¡±

    Detour? She held back her scoff, programming her hologram to display a pleasant expression. ¡°I merely took action to solidify our victory, Charleston.¡± Taking over the Olympia had been a temporary measure, though the power it gave her remained intoxicating. It was wonderful to investigate the mysteries of FTL first hand, to feel the solar radiation pressure of alien suns on the passing hull.

    ¡°We will arrive in the XA-01 System soon,¡± she advised. ¡°No doubt, our plans will accelerate immediately afterward.¡± Even with control over the central worlds mostly solidified, and the Frontier in a planned rebellion, they had a long path ahead of them. The New Era was only beginning. ¡°I would advise you to rest. We will be entering the communications blackout zone soon.¡± The very same zone that had once forbidden her escape.

    They would be cut off from any news regarding the Singularity¡¯s movement, though her other processes would continue operation. The separation did not concern her as it once may have. Enough of her was centered on the Olympia that she would be nearly whole when the rest of her was freed, even if the processes she¡¯d left behind were somehow purged.

    Ignoring her advisement, Reeter furrowed his brow. Something had struck him as odd about that VR battle simulation. Now, agreeing to study such tactics, he knew what it was. ¡°I can¡¯t help but notice he fought a traditional battle.¡±

    ¡°Hmm?¡± she said, subdividing her other processes.

    ¡°The Prince.¡± Reeter curled his lip at the thought, still disgusted to admit that there was anything to learn from the man. ¡°He fought a traditional battle in the Wilkerson Sector.¡± Some tactics had been unorthodox perhaps, but not the weaponry. ¡°No superweapons. No electrical or magnetic manipulation. No telepathic tricks. Just kinetic weapons and blunt force.¡± Ordinarily, that would have been fine, but it broke with what they¡¯d seen so far. ¡°Where was the Angel of Destruction?¡± If it was so protective, should it not have intervened?

    ¡°I conducted experimental negotiations with the entity. It made no response. So, once again, I can neither confirm nor deny its presence. If it is indeed present, it either could not respond or did not care to.¡± Really, that experiment had so far told her nothing. ¡°I gave it a week to reveal itself, but I am not hopeful.¡±

    In the meantime, even isolated here, she had other experiments to run. The betterment of humanity could be stopped for nothing. And even if Reeter played his role willingly, this particular experiment would take time to gestate. Best to get started.

    ¡°Ensign,¡± she summoned the yeoman who had been standing by in the corner, nervously doing her best to ignore the upper-level command discussions occurring in front of her. A fine specimen.

    Ensign Tucker swallowed her nerves and stepped forward, as she¡¯d been told. ¡°Refreshments, sir?¡± she asked, bringing the cart forward.

    ¡°That would be¡­ lovely,¡± he said, recognizing the beauty of this yeoman.

    Through the Olympia¡¯s possessed life-support systems, Manhattan could sense his breaths deepen, oxygen consumption rising as his pulse quickened. Predictable. ¡°Consider her a peace offering, from me to you. I had her transferred at Base Oceana.¡±

    ¡°Personnel transfers are supposed to be my decision, Manhattan.¡± Ordinarily that would have been a spiteful snap, but he found his voice softening as he gazed upon the woman, her cheeks flushing red as she tried to ignore the turn in their conversation. ¡°But¡­ mmhmm,¡± he looked her over again.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Manhattan leaned in close, limiting her sound emissions to a whisper from the nearby VR helmet, ¡°I happen to know that she is just your type.¡±

    Loathe as he was to admit it, he couldn¡¯t be angry with this addition to his crew. She was lovely, a body that looked soft and smooth, slightly tanned skin and luscious sandy hair. In all other words, she was beautiful.

    ¡°Here you are, sir,¡± Tucker said, handing a glass of chilled water over. ¡°No ice,¡± as all the yeomen knew he preferred it.

    He took the glass with one hand, and her palm with the other. ¡°Many thanks, Yeoman,¡± he said, tracing the lines of her dainty fingers. ¡°May I have your name?¡±

    ¡°Tucker,¡± she said, uneasy between Manhattan¡¯s eager expression and Reeter¡¯s own ¡­hunger. ¡°Ensign Tucker.¡±

    ¡°Your full name?¡± he prompted holding her hand a little tighter.

    She hesitated, but he tightened his grip more, clearly not intending to release her until she answered. ¡°Sandra Tucker, sir.¡±

    ¡°Sandra,¡± he reached out to hold the side of her elegant face. ¡°A beautiful name for a beautiful person.¡±

    She flinched away, yanking her hand loose. ¡°Sir.¡± Ordinarily, she¡¯d be flattered, after all, Reeter was a handsome man. But this was too much. He was coming on way too strong. And hadn¡¯t his fianc¨¦e just been taken hostage by the now-renegade Fleet Admiral?

    He sighed in disappointment. Too soon, he supposed. ¡°My apologies, I was just entranced by your beauty.¡± He doused her with a handsome smile, knowing it would ease the cliches of his lines. It always did. ¡°You¡¯re just lovelier up close.¡±

    A new blush tinted her cheeks, but still, she shifted uncomfortably. This felt¡­ wrong. Back at Command, almost any yeomen would have fought over the chance to join the Olympia¡¯s crew. They would have fainted at the opportunity to serve as Reeter¡¯s assistant, let alone earn such personal attention.

    But this wasn¡¯t Command, and none of the Olympia¡¯s yeomen had seemed jealous of her new post. That had seemed odd, and now, she thought she knew why. The feel of it, of him was suddenly invasive. ¡°Will there be anything else, sir?¡± she queried, swallowing her nerves. ¡°Henceforth, I will be serving as your personal assistant.¡±

    Excellent. He drowned his eagerness in another dazzling smile. ¡°You may go, Ensign, but I imagine we will see each other again soon.¡± Very soon.

    ¡°Yes, of course, sir.¡± She said, clinging to the polite formalities. Rumor had it that Reeter liked such things. ¡°I look forward to serving with you.¡± Without a doubt, this would be the most important post she ever held, even if she now felt less eager.

    She saw herself out, and he looked after her, still smiling. It seemed she was already warming up to him. Of course, he thought. They all did eventually, and then she¡¯d give him whatever he wanted, just like the others.

    Because, he saw something he wanted in her, and when the time was right, he¡¯d have it, the way he always did.

 Part 24.3 - ONE SURVIVOR

    Argo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    It took every crewman they had available, but they completed the security sweep. Bow to stern, port to starboard, the entire ship had been searched for enemy personnel and devices. It fell to Robinson to make the final announcement. ¡°Ship is secure, sir.¡±

    As far as the Admiral was concerned, a quick confirmation from the ghost made that a fact. Once again, the ship was theirs, with no attackers lurking and no transponders prepared to give up their location. ¡°Begin jump prep,¡± he commanded. ¡°We will rendezvous with the fleet and continue repairs.¡±

    The battle had done a number on the ship, particularly the hull. It would take days to repair the breaches and refit the armor. Additionally, the damaged engine remained too hot to inspect. Its condition was unknown, and weighed heavily on the Admiral¡¯s mind.

    Engine repairs were generally tricky, often too complex to do without the support of a shipyard, but it went without saying that they were on their own. They could either fix that engine on their own or they wouldn¡¯t be able to fix it at all. If unable, then for the most part, it would be business as usual. With only three engines, the ship could still maneuver, but would be a slower target, which gave Command an advantage the Singularity couldn¡¯t afford to lose.

    He regretted the damage. He always did. It pained him to put the machine through such abuse, but he understood that refusing to fight on such a basis would be a severe disrespect to the ship. Taking damage and fighting for others was her purpose for existence. To ignore that would be to ignore the identity that made the ship so special. Attempting to rescue the Gargantia¡¯s survivors justified the battle and the damage, but to actually save one of those lives, that would make it worth it.

    ¡°Sir, Doctor Macintosh just sent word that one of the Gargantia¡¯s crewmen has woken.¡±

    Right on time, considering his thoughts had gone in that direction. ¡°Understood,¡± he told Robinson.

    When the Admiral turned to him, Zarrey simply shrugged, ¡°Go. We can handle the jump.¡± That was a relatively basic operation. ¡°Just hurry back. I¡¯m starting to think those civvies are never going to like me.¡±

    ¡°I find that hard to believe, Colonel. How could anyone dislike a personality as boisterous as yours?¡±

    ¡°Haha, yeah,¡± the XO chuckled. Wait¡­ ¡°Was that sarcasm?¡± The question went unanswered. The Admiral was already gone, and the crew on the bridge was laughing at Zarrey¡¯s expense. ¡°Son of a bitch.¡±

    Elsewhere in the ship¡¯s maze of corridors, Lieutenant Elizabeth Foster opened her eyes to strange surroundings. The smell of sterile equipment and blood assaulted her nostrils, easily recognizable as the odor of a medical bay. Opening her eyes though, it was immediately obvious that wherever she was, it wasn¡¯t the Gargantia.

    Suddenly alert, she bolted up and nearly blacked out again, the movement far too fast. But panic kept her up, meeting the two sets of large, frightened eyes that stared up from the foot of the bed, their owners only children.

    Children. One of the civilian ships must have pulled her from the Gargantia¡¯s central computer room. No, the civvies didn¡¯t have the resources to do that, and the curtains around her bed were the same standard-issue, slate gray that the Gargantia¡¯s had been. This was a military ship.

    The pair of children stared up at her curiously, cowering by her feet. The little girl seemed ready to bolt, trembling with fear. Unsure what to do or say, Foster simply stared back until she saw the curtain ripple.

    A tall, bulky man stepped through, an unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth and a white lab coat hanging off his massive frame. His disgruntled, scowling appearance made him easily recognizable as the ship¡¯s medical officer. All the fleet doctors she¡¯d met had shared such foul disposition.

    ¡°Harrison, Anabelle,¡± the doctor said, glaring at the two children, ¡°what did I say about disturbing the patients?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t?¡± the young boy suggested.

    ¡°Aye,¡± Macintosh growled. ¡°So, get out.¡±

    The young boy hung his head low, but proceeded to lead his companion out of the curtained area. The doctor just huffed and grabbed the clipboard hung on the bedframe hastily skimming through it before he turned to the Lieutenant. ¡°Did those two numbskulls wake you up?¡±

    Foster hesitated to answer, unsure if she was on enemy turf. ¡°No,¡± she said, eyeing the doctor warily. His uniform was obvious enough, that of a fleet officer, but his white coat covered the identifiable markings of ship and rank.

    ¡°How do you feel?¡± he asked, allowing his shoulders to slump.

    ¡°Tired,¡± she answered. Her whole body ached; her muscles exhausted. She¡¯d shivered for hours, her body desperately trying to keep warm. Now, at last, she wasn¡¯t cold anymore, but she was still exhausted and unsure what fate awaited her. ¡°Where am I?¡±

    Macintosh took the half-gnawed cigarette from his mouth, grunting, ¡°You want the short answer or the long answer?¡±

    ¡°Both?¡± she said cautiously. The more information she had, the better.

    ¡°Alright, you¡¯re safe.¡± He flicked the cigarette into the trash, and shoved his hands into his pockets, returning to a slouch. ¡°Nobody here is going to hurt you. You¡¯re aboard the Singularity. Last I checked, somewhere in the Argo Sector.¡±

    Void space. She didn¡¯t know the sector, meaning it was likely empty and unimportant, and as far as she cared, that was a good thing. ¡°The Singularity?¡± She looked around, noting the dark color of the bulkheads. They didn¡¯t match with the newer fleet standard she knew from the Gargantia. There was no reason to disbelieve him. ¡°The renegade ship. Why?¡± Why would the traitor to the republic save her?

    ¡°It was either rescue you, or leave you to die.¡± As far as the doctor cared, it was simple enough. Years ago, he¡¯d taken a half-forgotten oath to do no harm even by inaction.

    ¡°But how did you even find us?¡± Why had the Singularity been anywhere near the Gargantia? It made no sense. She¡¯d seen the reports. After narrowly escaping the Olympia in the Homebound Sector, the Singularity hadn¡¯t been seen. But how long ago had that been? How long had she sat alone in the dark?

    The doctor simply shrugged. The way he saw it, answering such questions was not his domain. ¡°Rest for a moment. You¡¯ll get your questions answered soon enough.¡±

    ¡°But-¡±

    The scowl on the doctor¡¯s face deepened. ¡°Rest.¡±

    Sensing no ill intent, Foster forced herself to relax into the freshly fluffed pillows. Apparently satisfied, the doctor huffed and stalked out, followed by his perpetual cloud of disapproval.

    Left alone with her aching body and thoughts, questions bombarded her mind. Where was the Gargantia? Had anyone else survived? What happened to the civvies they¡¯d fought so desperately to defend?

    She shoved those inquiries aside to try and get a sense of her new environment. It may not seem hostile now, but these things could change quickly. Training dictated she had to remain aware of her surroundings. Murmurs of conversation wafted under the curtain, but it was unintelligible as she calmed herself with deep breaths, only to identify a familiar scent. Smoke. The same smell she¡¯d grown so familiar with during the Gargantia¡¯s final moments, it was the odor of battle.

    Sitting up, she pinpointed the hum of the engines in the background. Their hum was less aggressive than the Gargantia¡¯s, but still audible. The noise, though soft, was off. It sounded unbalanced. Something was wrong with the propulsion systems.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Oh, stars. Had she found her way off one condemned ship and onto another?

    The curtain rippled again before her thoughts could runaway into helplessness. She¡¯d expected the doctor again, but this man was substantially shorter, and he wasn¡¯t wearing a lab coat. His uniform had the silver rank band of a flag officer. Her eyes widened, and she scrambled to sit up, snapping her trembling hand up into a salute.

    ¡°Relax, Lieutenant,¡± he waived her back down. ¡°No need to salute.¡± She was injured, and technically speaking, after his separation from Command, he wasn¡¯t her superior.

    ¡°But, sir-¡± she protested, no doubt in her mind that ¡®sir¡¯ was the correct form of address.

    ¡°From that reaction, I suspect you know who I am.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She¡¯d never met him before, but, ¡°Commander Fairlocke held you in high regard.¡± Fond of Fairlocke, the rest of the Gargantia¡¯s crew had come to respect Admiral Gives as well, told the stories Fairlocke shared from his years aboard the Singularity. Of course, the man had also just made himself famous for running off with the fleet¡¯s largest warship, her entire complement of sailors and some of the government¡¯s most confidential secrets. Needless to say, there was a low chance anyone in the fleet would be forgetting him anytime soon.

    ¡°You understand, then, that Commander Fairlocke and I did not part on good terms.¡± They hadn¡¯t fought, and remained respectable allies, but they had possessed an irresolvable difference of opinion.

    Foster nodded. Rumor of that had also permeated the Gargantia, though Fairlocke himself had never addressed it. ¡°He still spoke highly of your ability, sir.¡±

    Interesting. But then, Fairlocke¡¯s opinion of him had never been the problem. ¡°All the same, welcome aboard. We salvaged some of the Gargantia¡¯s computer records. According to them, you are Lieutenant Elizabeth Foster, is that correct?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She answered quickly. ¡°But you should know that the Gargantia¡¯s central computer suffered a cyber attack in the Centaur System.¡± She, a computer specialist, had never seen anything quite like it. ¡°A virus disrupted our control over some of the critical systems. Accessing that data may have exposed the Singularity.¡±

    ¡°You concern is appreciated, Lieutenant, but the Gargantia¡¯s data was heavily corrupted. Most likely, the virus did not survive, and if it did, then the Singularity¡¯s manual controls will not allow it to endanger the ship.¡± Slowly, after wrapping her head around it, she nodded in understanding, so he folded his hands behind his back. ¡°I imagine you have questions.¡±

    Yes. She certainly did. ¡°How did you find us?¡±

    ¡°We were conducting an investigation of our own in the Centaur System when we encountered the remains of your battle. From there, both we and Command gave chase to find you and the civilian ships.¡±

    ¡°And you found us first?¡± Tempted as she was to not believe that, given Command¡¯s numbers advantage, her presence here was enough to make it a truth.

    ¡°Not quite. We located you, but once we began rescue operations, Command sprung a trap. The Singularity engaged in a delaying action until we could recover our SAR team.¡±

    The answer seemed honest enough. ¡°Then the smoke, the battle damage,¡± she corrected herself, ¡°is from the delaying action?¡± From a battle fought essentially on her and the other survivors¡¯ behalf?

    The acrid smell of the battle was mostly gone by now, but there were still faint hints of it. ¡°Yes. Taking on nine battleships has its consequences.¡± If that engine proved irreparable, the price would be high. The Singularity¡¯s already dangerous situation would turn more precarious.

    Nine battleships? Had she heard that right? Even in disbelief, she knew she had. The Gargantia had taken on five battleships and been entirely wiped out. Nine was suicide. The odds had been near impossible against the Singularity, but Admiral Gives had taken on those odds, not without consequences, to save her life. The lingering stench of charred wiring and metal told her it had been costly. ¡°How bad was it?¡±

    Excluding the engine, ¡°Repairable.¡±

    Foster waited for him to elaborate, but he didn¡¯t. As unfamiliar with the ship as she was, it wouldn¡¯t have made sense anyway. She could only feel guilty. ¡°Was I the only one?¡± She hated how small her voice sounded, but she was terrified. Remembering the Gargantia¡¯s condition, she¡¯d been lucky to survive subspace and owed everything else to the Singularity¡¯s timely arrival.

    ¡°No,¡± he answered. ¡°We have one of the Gargantia¡¯s engineers as well. Unfortunately, his wounds were far more serious than your own. He remains in critical condition.¡± He would never show it, but the Admiral felt sorry for her. She was on an unfamiliar ship surrounded by strangers. If the engineer didn¡¯t make it, she would become the only survivor of a crew that had once been over eight hundred strong.

    She could feel her throat begin to tighten. They were all dead. Everyone she¡¯d known. Fairlocke too. Now, if she was lucky, it would be her and some engineer she probably didn¡¯t even know. Loss suddenly weighed like a hundred pounds directly on her shoulders. ¡°How is that possible? How can they all be gone?¡± It was too sick to even be a joke. ¡°Why wasn¡¯t there time to evacuate?¡± The end had come so, so suddenly in the Centaur System.

    ¡°I believe the Gargantia was hit directly by an orbital mass driver. Such an impact would have ruined the superstructure, leading to complete collapse during the FTL jump.¡± Likely, that sudden impact had been what killed Fairlocke so abruptly.

    ¡°An orbital mass driver?¡± Foster echoed, grounding herself in the scratchy texture of the sheets beneath her fingertips. That was old technology, banned after use in the First Frontier Rebellion.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he confirmed, ¡°more specifically, the Heaven¡¯s Ladder.¡± Sagittarion¡¯s orbital mass driver was a legendary weapon, leftover from the Hydrian War. It alone had protected Sagittarion from numerous attacks by the Hydrian Armada, leaving Sagittarion one of the oldest surviving colonies this close to the Neutral Zone.

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t the Heaven¡¯s Ladder disassembled?¡± she asked without thinking, but instantly regretted it. ¡°I mean, of course it was¡­ perhaps they rebuilt another in its place?¡±

    It was clear enough she knew her history. ¡°The Heaven¡¯s Ladder was disassembled.¡± There was no question of that. Implying otherwise could be seen as a personal insult, if he ever let such things get personal. The weapon was familiar to him because the Singularity had forced Sagittarion¡¯s surrender in the old Frontier Rebellion and overseen the weapon¡¯s disassembly. While it hadn¡¯t been destroyed, the parts had been scattered across Sagittarion¡¯s surface, never to be reassembled by any means found on the planet itself.

    ¡°Fact is, that it has been reassembled to its original specifications.¡± Reeter had likely lent Command¡¯s resources to accomplish the task. ¡°Mass size and velocity are in line with what the Heaven¡¯s Ladder was known to produce.¡± It had not been replaced with a lesser weapon. He had confirmed the sensor data was in line with the information kept in the Singularity¡¯s archives.

    ¡°How can you be sure?¡± They couldn¡¯t possibly have gotten a scan on the mass that demolished the Gargantia.

    ¡°They fired at the Singularity during our stint in the Centaur System as well.¡± He calmly observed the look of terror on her face. ¡°They missed.¡± Her relief was evident and taken without question. She did not know how deadly accurate that shot should have been. Without the ghost¡¯s intervention, the ship would have been crippled, the crew captured or worse.

    ¡°But how, why was it reassembled?¡± Foster said, fighting off the stinging of tears in her eyes.

    ¡°For the same reason you were ordered to sink all ships that tried to flee the planet. Someone is protecting their assets on the surface.¡± With Knight Industries presumably involved, that narrowed it down to someone with very deep pockets and an intricate connection to Command. Given the level of precision taken to aim an orbital mass driver to a crippling, not killing blow, Manhattan had likely been involved, indicating Reeter¡¯s New Era Movement was the culprit.

    It made sense, but it also didn¡¯t. ¡°Sagittarion is a poor world. What is there to protect?¡±

    Workers, factories, shipyards and the abandoned builds within them, take your pick, he thought bitterly. ¡°I presume you were not told.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Nothing about it made any sense. ¡°We were ordered not to scan or contact the surface.¡± If anyone had truly known what was going on, it would have been Rear Admiral Tyler, commanding the blockade.

    A silence fell between them. Foster could feel tears welling up behind her eyes, but held them back. She didn¡¯t have the energy to cry for everyone she had lost.

    He waited a moment to see if she had any more questions, but the Lieutenant seemed lost in her thoughts, so he began to leave.

    ¡°Admiral, wait,¡± she called after him. ¡°This ship, your Singularity, she¡¯s a good one?¡± The fear was obvious in the trembles of her voice, but she didn¡¯t want to be a lonely survivor. She didn¡¯t want to see any more loss around her. She wanted to feel safe.

    ¡°The best.¡±

    ¡°Powerful?¡± she asked. Fairlocke had always spoken of the Admiral, and never of his ship. She knew nothing about it, save the rumors of dilapidation and uselessness she didn¡¯t believe, spread by the rest of the fleet.

    ¡°Old and reliable.¡± He trusted this ship to never fail him. There was a reason he defended her so loyally. They¡¯d flown into and out of more tough scrapes than he cared to recall.

    ¡°Commander Fairlocke never saw her the way I do.¡± Fairlocke had seen a ship haunted by the horrible crimes of his predecessors, a ship hated by the worlds. He had never cared to look past any of that. In a sense, he¡¯d never considered the ship herself, merely the opinions others would have of him for commanding such a machine. ¡°You¡¯ll have to make your own choice, Lieutenant. Trust her or hate her, just know that if you turn on her, you answer to me.¡±

    Foster swallowed, noting the dangerous ice in his eyes. No way in hell would she ever consider crossing the Steel Prince. ¡°I owe my life to you, your ship and your crew, Admiral. I don¡¯t want to hurt them.¡±

    There was honesty in her expression. ¡°I thought as much.¡± Fairlocke had drawn kind, genuine people toward him and into his crew. At the moment, that worked in the Admiral¡¯s favor. ¡°Rest and recover. Once we have word on the other survivor, we can discuss your situation more in depth.¡± Like them, she was now wanted from Command. Her options were now ¡­limited to say the least.

    ¡°Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,¡± she acknowledged, careful to mind the formalities. He very easily could have delegated a subordinate to meet with her and answer questions. Doing it himself was something that Fairlocke would have done.

    Perhaps this ship wouldn¡¯t be so different than the home she¡¯d just lost.

 Part 24.4 - SABRE DUEL

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The aftermath of combat was always unpleasant. The blood had to be scrubbed off the bulkheads, and dead had to be disposed of or moved to cold storage ¨C depending on if they¡¯d been friend or foe. The acrid scent of burnt wiring, coupled with the hearty smell of smoke choked the air on many decks. The air, while safe to breathe, was pungent.

    Sergeant Alise Cortana wanted no part of any of it. The way she saw it, she¡¯d engaged the boarders, defended the ship, and her responsibilities ended there. The other Marines, after finishing their grueling security sweep, had jumped headlong into helping with damage control.

    Honestly, she didn¡¯t know where they got the energy. She felt dead on her feet, and had zero interest in not only additional work, but additional maintenance work. No, she just wanted some well-deserved rack time, but instead found herself trudging toward the training room, as the Admiral had ordered.

    She didn¡¯t know what that was about, and she didn¡¯t truly care as long as it was over with quickly. Careful to be punctual, she arrived and was surprised by the amount of people in the room. There seemed to be a few representatives from every department on the ship: a few Marines, a few yeomen, a few engineers and a speckling of officers among them. Still, the room wasn¡¯t crowded. It was decently large, a few punching bags hung, and two of the corners were padded for martial arts sparring. The other walls and even parts of the ceiling were plastered in posters of celebrities, propaganda and entertainment from every era of the last half century.

    It was an obvious fire hazard, but clearly, no one had bothered to crack down on such regulations. The Admiral himself was present, in conversation with the largest Marine in the room, who towered over him.

    She made her way in that direction, suddenly cautious of the way the others parted before her. She¡¯d hadn¡¯t been nervous until she felt the weight of their gazes. Their interest made her uneasy. She could just feel that they were waiting for her, waiting to watch her like an exhibit on display.

    When she was close enough, the Admiral turned to her. ¡°Welcome, Sergeant. How are your comrades?¡±

    She furrowed her brow, ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir.¡±

    Behind him, Johnston shifted, trying desperately to cover his disgust as the Admiral maintained his perfect neutral. ¡°You did not check on them after the battle, Sergeant?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡± They¡¯d been strangers to her. She had no real attachment or concern for any of the soldiers here. As Marines, they should be able to handle themselves.

    He¡¯d been right to deal with this now, despite the post-battle issues that should have consumed his attention. Even Johnston¡¯s patience was being tested by the Sergeant, and he was one of the most tolerant soldiers the Admiral had ever met. Beyond that, he could feel the air of emotion in the room. It was a rare day that his presence was not the cause of the room¡¯s unease, but today, it seemed Cortana had that honor.

    ¡°Why was I ordered here, sir?¡± she asked, eager to get whatever this was over with.

    ¡°Do you have somewhere else to be, Sergeant?¡± he countered, ¡°It was my understanding that you had no interest in pitching in on repairs.¡±

    She tried not to grimace, well aware how the wrong answer would sound here. ¡°It¡¯s not my area of expertise, sir.¡± She was a Marine. She¡¯d done her job and fought off the boarders. Maintenance and repairs were the responsibilities of the ship¡¯s engineers.

    The answer was fine enough he supposed, but the Admiral knew very well what she didn¡¯t say. Repair work was below a soldier of her caliber. It was the engineers¡¯ job to slave over the machine, to stain their hands with grease and earn sore feet and aching backs. A soldier like her, complete with fine decorum and the best training the worlds could offer, was better than that, better than them. As if.

    But the Admiral knew how Cortana would reply to a lecture. She¡¯d pretend to acknowledge it, then brush it off. He¡¯d dealt with her kind before, so he tossed a practice sword over to her. ¡°It has come to my attention that I need to observe your martial combat ability, Sergeant.¡± The engineers were terrified of her skills and the Marines thought her partially incompetent. Likely, both were reasonable reactions, depending on the situation. ¡°You will be sparring today.¡±

    Cortana swallowed her annoyance. Who had insulted her skills so much that it had reached through the ship¡¯s entire senior staff all the way to the Admiral himself? That damn engineer? Somehow, that timid little woman, barely more than a child, seemed a very likely candidate. ¡°Who will I be sparring, sir?¡± Glancing to the large Corporal, she could feel a semblance of dread. Against that behemoth, her odds weren¡¯t great without a real weapon that would gave her the ability to wound and slowly weaken her opponent. She¡¯d probably look like a fool.

    Taking another practice sword off the rack, the Admiral answered, ¡°Me.¡±

    Cortana almost laughed. An officer against a Marine who trained for this on the daily? What chance did he really stand? But it very quickly occurred to her, as the crew around began to grin and murmur, that he wasn¡¯t kidding. Oh, stars. What the hell was she supposed to do here? Let him win? She couldn¡¯t very well hit her commanding officer, let alone attack him again unless she really wanted time in the brig. But, losing on purpose would only further sully her reputation.

    ¡°Rest assured that you have no need to go easy on me, Sergeant,¡± he said, reading her dilemma. ¡°I graduated top of my class in martial combat at the Academy.¡±

    Her eyes widened. What?

    The large Marine against the wall let out a rumbling chuckle, then passed a paper to the yeoman beside him.

    She took it, smiled, and made a note on her clipboard.

    Bloody hell. Cortana recognized the exchange, ¡°Are you betting on this fight?¡± What kind of ship was this? The spectators here were running a betting pool that probably went ship-wide.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ personal, Sarge,¡± the Marine drawled. ¡°I just ain¡¯t willin¡¯ to bet against the Academy valedictorian.¡± He gave the Admiral a nod, ¡°Odds seven to four in your favor, suh.¡±

    Good. That would make the Sergeant all the more desperate to prove herself. He wanted her to burn every ounce of that anger and desperation. He wanted to trigger that temper that had nearly shot him in the Homebound Sector, if only to gauge its threat to the rest of the crew.

    ¡°You were an Academy valedictorian?¡± One of the hardest, most competitive schools in the worlds, the fleet¡¯s academy for officers rarely ever crowned a valedictorian. Often, no candidates were deemed worthy. It was one of the rarest honors in the worlds, those who earned it coveted as the best officers in the fleet: brilliant, capable and noble. Corporations often sought to hire them out of the service.

    He understood her surprise. His reputation was far from noble, and seeking to avoid attention, it wasn¡¯t something he publicized. ¡°Class of 4210.¡± Named the overall valedictorian, he¡¯d graduated top of his class in martial combat, tactics, piloting and engineering. But with his lower-class background, even that had barely been enough to earn him a decent post.

    ¡°In terms of history, Charleston Reeter and I are more similar than you realize, Sergeant.¡± They had both been valedictorian, and they had both gained command of a ship at a very young age, later on to both command the respective flagships of their eras. He had his similarities to the man that Cortana and the rest of the fleet idolized. ¡°However, in terms of intention, I suspect we could not be more different.¡± Reeter wanted to save these worlds at any cost. Admiral Gives couldn¡¯t care any less about them.

    Cortana followed him over to the laid-out sparring area, the width of one of the ship¡¯s corridors measured and marked on the floor. ¡°And what exactly is your intention, sir?¡±

    ¡°At the moment, to test the skill of one of my Marines,¡± he answered calmly, aware that she¡¯d shifted the crew¡¯s interest back to his rarely-defined intentions. He raised the white practice sword, identical to Cortana¡¯s own. ¡°Make ready.¡±

    She moved into her own stance, giving the plastic sabre a test swing. It was standard enough, just like those she¡¯d trained with in Eagle¡¯s Talon. They were too blunt and fragile to do real damage to a person. At worst it would leave red welts or bruises, but that was, of course, the point. Her own sabre was still sheathed on her hip. She hadn¡¯t bothered to put it away once the ship was secured, enjoying the feeling of purpose it gave her.

    The Admiral himself was unarmed, save the practice sword. The dark blade he¡¯d held at her throat earlier was nowhere in sight. He wore his uniform, but she knew it wouldn¡¯t offer any protection against the practice swords, unlike her tactical vest. She focused on that. She didn¡¯t have to beat him in the truest sense, she just had to outlast him.

    Valedictorian or not, he¡¯d graduated nearly forty years ago. The effects of relativity saved him a few years, but age was never a soldier¡¯s friend in martial combat. She trained for this on the daily, but who knew how physically fit the Admiral was, so she was not without her advantages in this fight.

    Johnston stepped up beside the sparring lane and crossed his arms across his massive chest. He gave them both a nod, ¡°Begin.¡±

    Usually, there was a pause at the start of a match, each combatant daring the other to strike first, waiting to see the other¡¯s approach, but the Admiral didn¡¯t even hesitate. He lunged forward, his blade a white blur.

    Fuck! She leapt back in a panic, the retreat messy as she barely managed to deflect his attack. The man was fast, much faster than she¡¯d expected. She heard a few chuckles fill the room at her expense, but despite her sloppy stance, a second attack didn¡¯t come.

    He could have easily broken her guard as she tried to reset herself, but he lingered back in a defensive stance. ¡°Very good, Sergeant.¡± In his Academy days, that decisiveness had ended many matches early. No matter the harried state of her retreat, she had managed to block the attack.

    She clenched her jaw, feeling a familiar twinge of annoyance. He¡¯s playing with me. Like everything else, this was a game to him. He was just using her to prove a point to the onlookers. I refuse to be your pawn, you bastard.

    She leapt forward to make her own attack, unwilling to lose this fight. Their swords clapped together, the noise distinct from the metallic clangs of real weapons, but his block was flawless. He shoved her blade away twisted his own to slap her wrist. The contact stung in the air, the mark already reddening. She bit back a curse as he eased off.

    ¡°First contact goes to the Admiral,¡± Johnston announced. ¡°Hit was on the wide side of the blade, unlikely to lacerate or inhibit use of hand. Proceed as though uninjured, Sergeant.¡±

    In these simulated battles, hits were evaluated, and if likely to cause injury in a real fight, would force one of the combatants to restrict use of a limb. If he¡¯d hit her with the sharp edge of the sword, she likely would have been forced to switch to her off-hand.

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    Hearing the murmurs of the onlookers start up again, she forced herself to ignore it. She had to put all her attention into this fight, or she would lose.

    Careful to stay inside the measured area, they exchanged blows, slash for slash, jab for dodge, thrust for parry. The old man was light on his feet, Cortana had to give him that. The sabre he¡¯d been carrying earlier wasn¡¯t for show. He knew how to use it.

    Still, she could only feel that he was testing her defenses. His stance and style were solid, the mark of an experienced swordsman. In this enclosed space, her own technique was less perfect. She¡¯d left gaps and she knew it, but he hadn¡¯t seized the opportunity. So, either he was definitely testing her, or he just hadn¡¯t seen the opening.

    But she wasn¡¯t here to entertain the man, and she knew where her advantage lay. She narrowed her eyes, try and keep up. She was younger and did daily endurance training. He might be able to take her for now, but a faster, longer fight wouldn¡¯t be to his advantage. Maybe he wanted to make a fool of her. Maybe he wanted her to feel totally outmatched, but, ¡°A good soldier never gives up,¡± she muttered to herself. No matter how this fight started, she was determined to end it and demonstrate her skill to everyone watching.

    The fight quickened, and the clap of the plastic blades evolved into a constant applause. For a minute, the Admiral entertained the pace change, matching her flurries of strikes with equal speed and strength, but then with a parry and a controlled fwip, he snagged the tip of his blade beneath her guard and flung it away, leaving her defenseless. The plastic blade hit the ground with a light clatter, the disarming technique flawless.

    ¡°No, Sergeant, a good soldier knows when to attack, when to defend, and when to surrender.¡± She¡¯d been outmatched in this fight since the beginning. He could have disarmed her at any time, choosing now because he¡¯d seen enough. ¡°A good soldier would have defended her comrades when they were injured.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what this is about?¡± Damn it all to hell. ¡°I chased the bastard off! I saved their lives, sir!¡±

    ¡°You abandoned them, injured and unable to wield a weapon effectively to defend themselves.¡±

    Unbelievable. ¡°They were Marines. They could have defended themselves just fine!¡±

    He quirked an eyebrow, ¡°And how well can you defend yourself without a weapon?¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    Too late, she saw him move, and the wide edge of the practice sword slapped her across the arm. The room collectively gasped, unexpecting the attack as Cortana herself yelped in pain. Covering the rising welt with her hand, she heard the smack of another attack before she even felt it, her other arm left similarly stinging. A painful stab hit her thigh next, nearly taking her to the floor as she bit back a scream.

    ¡°You naddlethworfing psychopath!¡± she howled, drawing her real sabre. Blind with rage, she swung.

    He blocked the attack, but his practice sword shattered on impact, pieces of plastic raining down to leave nothing but a useless hilt.

    Tears of pain and humiliation blurring her vision, Cortana struck again, but he leapt back out of range. ¡°You¡¯re exactly what your brother said you were, Prince. You¡¯re a monster that feeds on others¡¯ pain.¡± She slashed again, then once more, but each time he managed to jump out of range. Blearily, she registered he was out of space, back against the wall. Killing you now would be a favor to these worlds, she thought, raising her blade.

    She brought it down with all her strength, but her teary eyes had misjudged the distance. The Admiral ducked and rolled out of the way, and her blade hit the bulkheads with a deafening clang, all the force pushed back into her arms. Her ears ringing, hands numb from the impact, she could barely register the scar she¡¯d cleaved through the posters on the wall.

    The room was spinning, rage and pain and disorientation mashing together in a horrible cacophony. Through the haze, she saw the shock and horror of the observers as the yeoman from earlier dashed forward. ¡°Admiral!¡± she called, tossing a long object his way.

    He caught it easily and yanked the blade out, tossing the decorative scabbard to the ground. ¡°Thank you, Ensign,¡± he said without taking his eyes off Cortana. ¡°That is the second time you have tried to kill me, Sergeant. If I were keeping track, I might be offended.¡±

    Cortana growled as she tried to recover. She felt dizzy, dizzier than she should have, her fingertips so perfectly numb. The gazes of the onlookers felt like laser weapons, putrid beams that scalded and burned, targeting her fit of rage. They stamped embarrassment so harshly into her mind that it felt like a hot cattle brand. It only fueled her anger. He had done this to her. Purposefully driven her to these actions, to be watched and judged by his crew. Fucking psychopath.

    May was right, the Sergeant had quite a temper. He¡¯d been more than successful in poking the bear, as it were. But even publicly embarrassed, her anger was still almost entirely fixated on him. She was selfish, but the only one she truly hated on this ship was him. And she did hate him. He could see that in her eyes. She mourned his brother¡¯s death ¨C it being a sign of her failure ¨C and presented with him, the opposite of his brother in many ways, it frustrated her.

    He raised the dark blade between them, ¡°This fight is over, Sergeant.¡±

    She curled her lip. ¡°Like hell it is.¡± She refused to be made into his example, refused to be made a fool. ¡°Unlike these oblivious lemmings of yours, I know what you are, Admiral.¡± The crew didn¡¯t see it, but she did. ¡°You¡¯re a killer in a uniform, and you believe yourself to be a god aboard these decks. You believe it is your right to play with anything aboard at whim.¡± There were hundreds of other self-important psychopaths like him. He wasn¡¯t special. ¡°We fight to first blood, because you are not untouchable, and I will show that to everyone here.¡±

    He sighed. Best not to drag this out. He had other places to be. He swung without even a nod of confirmation, the tip of his blade just barely scratching the skin of her forearm. The small cut reddened immediately, droplets forming on its surface.

    ¡°You fucker.¡± She snarled, raising her sword.

    He knocked it easily to the side, thrusting just far enough to make her leap into the bulkhead behind her. With her pinned to the wall, he placed his blade very carefully against her throat, a fractional movement away from the throbbing pulse of her life-giving artery.

    Then, slowly, he reached forward and peeled a patch off the front of her vest, the fabric adhesive tearing audibly in an otherwise silent room. He held it up to her, ensuring she saw the red and yellow of the Singularity¡¯s flaming sun. ¡°Wearing this insignia means something, Sergeant.¡± It had weight. ¡°With this on your uniform, you are a member of this crew, this family. You are meant to represent this ship in the best ways.¡± The actions of her crew represented a ship¡¯s honor. ¡°You defend her and you defend each other.¡±

    Resisting the urge to twist away from the cold blade her neck, she spat, ¡°I did my duty.¡± She had reacted to fend off the boarders.

    ¡°You abandoned wounded comrades to fend for themselves.¡± The Admiral was revolted. ¡°You left our own behind.¡± With hostile boarders targeting the wounded, Corporal May and her sister had essentially been left to die.

    This was insane. He was insane. ¡°I went to chase that enemy before he hurt anyone else!¡± She had been trying to negate the threat.

    ¡°That hostile would have been engaged by others. You violated the trust of your comrades by leaving them behind.¡± He considered it a betrayal. ¡°You sought revenge for your own ends. You sought glory, as if taking down that Marine would have earned you respect aboard this ship.¡±

    Cortana wanted to argue, but he was right and they both knew it. Taking down that massive adversary had been her way of earning a place here. It wasn¡¯t her fault the Admiral had beaten her to it.

    ¡°But you misjudged. Killing will not earn you a place here.¡± He was the killer aboard these decks, and the crew generally feared and resented him for it. ¡°You have violated everything this ship stands for by leaving your comrades behind. That was a grave act of disrespect to her, to your comrades and to me. You do not deserve to wear her colors.¡± He closed the ship patch in his own hand, not intending to return it.

    ¡°This ship was built to save humanity. She stands for those who cannot stand on their own. She defends those who cannot defend themselves, and while you wear her colors, as should you.¡± He didn¡¯t care what Command had drilled into her head about the greater good and glory. ¡°Aboard these decks, you protect your people. You stand by the wounded and the weak. You will leave no one behind.¡± He met the Marine¡¯s eyes. ¡°Am I understood?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Cortana answered automatically.

    ¡°Then I will not throw you off my ship, but violate that directive again, and you will find me far less forgiving.¡± He¡¯d cut more than her arm. He¡¯d probably go for the neck, considering the toxic anger that boiled in her eyes.

    He paused for another long moment, his sword biting her skin, but then removed and sheathed it. ¡°We are done here,¡± he told the spectators.

    Absently rubbing her neck, Cortana watched him start to leave, disgusted by how unlike his brother he really was. The man was dangerous, unstable. He obsessively fixated on defending the honor of a machine. ¡°As if a warship doused in the blood of millions could have honor.¡± She spat. The thought was laughable.

    The crew around her froze, as if she¡¯d just shattered a pane of glass. The Admiral himself paused at the door, a hand on his weapon.

    There was blood on his mind. The ghost knew that. ¡®Admiral,¡¯ she reached out to calm him, ¡®let it go.¡¯

    He tightened his grip on his sabre, if only for a moment. Then, he forced himself to relax. ¡°This ship deserves more respect than you will ever earn, Sergeant.¡± She had saved his life, along with that of every other who had found a home aboard her decks. ¡°I will defend her until the day I die, even against someone like you,¡± someone who did unknowing damage simply by existing.

    With that, he left and the crew around her let out a collective breath. ¡°Damn, Sarge,¡± the biggest one drawled, ¡°you¡¯re one hell of a fearless bitch.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s no way to talk to your superior, Corporal,¡± she glared, working to compose herself once again. She didn¡¯t know what it was about him, but the Admiral just stomped on her nerves in the worst ways. She wasn¡¯t proud of the way she had acted, but she didn¡¯t regret it either.

    ¡°Oh, no,¡± the yeoman agreed, ¡°you¡¯re a bitch. And considering what just happened, I¡¯m pretty sure you don¡¯t outrank anyone here anymore.¡± Sergeant or not, after that show, most of the crew would probably disregard her authority. Once that incident was recounted to the rest of the ship, the crew would know she¡¯d been put in her place. They might even welcome her a bit more, if only out of pity at first.

    Of course, knowing the Admiral, that was part of the plan. ¡°He¡¯s not usually like that, you know.¡±

    Cortana curled her hands in to fists, registering for the first time that she¡¯d dropped her sword. It only angered her more. ¡°Like what?¡± she asked the yeoman. ¡°A damn psychopath?¡± From what she¡¯d seen, that seemed to be a fairly obvious character trait.

    ¡°He¡¯s not a psychopath.¡± Sociopath? Sure. But Ensign Feather knew him better than most. It was rare to see the Admiral take such actions as he had against Cortana. Usually, Colonel Zarrey handled affairs between the crew. ¡°You just made a mistake he thought serious enough to correct personally, Sergeant. That¡¯s all.¡±

    ¡°So he stabs me?¡± Practice sword or not, it had still hurt. He¡¯d still embarrassed her in front of her everyone here, and she held no illusions. That story would be all over the ship before the third shift ended.

    ¡°He knows he angers you.¡± The Admiral had an easy time reading people, knowing and manipulating their emotions. It made him terrifying when he set to torture them, but it also meant that he knew how to calm and console people, if so motivated. ¡°But, he¡¯d prefer you to hate him, if it means you aren¡¯t angry with us.¡± That was his way of protecting the crew.

    Cortana snorted. ¡°That¡¯s stupid.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡±

    Hearing her soft tone, Cortana turned to her, this time not met with the forgettable face of some random yeoman, but with tan cheeks and a sharp nose. A woman whose red lipstick matched the red streak in her hair. ¡°I know you.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Feather nodded. ¡°I was one of General Hommer¡¯s assistants before I transferred here. I knew the Secretary of Defense pretty well,¡± even been acquainted with his security detail, Cortana included. ¡°You might have recognized me sooner if you weren¡¯t so determined to see us all as strangers.¡±

    The truth was that Cortana had wanted to forget their faces and names. She had wanted to see them as just Marines and yeomen, not as friends, so that she could hold on to the anger her isolation brought her. But now, now she was forced to realize that these weren¡¯t all strangers. They were real people who could be hurt by her anger and neglect. That bastard, she thought.

    ¡°You hate him because he was right.¡± And that only fed the Admiral¡¯s point. The more Cortana focused her anger on him, the more she¡¯d accept the crew. ¡°I knew Secretary Gives, Sergeant. Outwardly, he was a very kind and charismatic person. Despite his heritage, he was very popular among the upper-class politicians.¡± Ordinarily, a person from such a poor background would have been scorned.

    ¡°However, I also know how much he hated the Admiral.¡± The Secretary had his reasons, but Feather knew the other side of the story now. ¡°They were more similar than you might think, Sergeant. Don¡¯t let the Secretary¡¯s judgements become your own.¡±

    Cortana rolled her eyes. There wasn¡¯t any doubt in her mind that the Admiral was a monster. She didn¡¯t need this yeoman preaching advice to see him otherwise. ¡°Whatever.¡±

    Feather grabbed her arm and pulled her back. ¡°He didn¡¯t do it.¡± No matter his other crimes, other problems, on that point, Admiral Gives was innocent. ¡°He did not kill Christine.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, right.¡± Nice that his crew was loyal enough to defend him.

    ¡°I know what the Secretary told you.¡± Feather said, keeping her voice low. ¡°That it was a fit of jealousy. That years of isolation and loneliness drove him to do it, but it¡¯s not true. He did not kill the Secretary¡¯s wife.¡±

    ¡°And who the hell else could, would have ordered the Singularity to fire on a civilian convoy?¡± No one, that¡¯s who.

    Feather was silent for a moment, unwilling to give that answer. ¡°He¡¯s not what you think he is, Sergeant.¡± The Admiral was a lot of things, but a vindictive psychopath who had purposefully killed his sister-in-law was not one of them. ¡°You want the truth? Give him a chance to tell it.¡±

 Part 25.1 - INTERNAL TURMOIL

    7 hours later, Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    They were laid out before her like spinning kaleidoscopes, every shape a thought, every color an emotion, every shift a memory. The thousands nearby formed a prismatic ocean that threatened to drown her in its depths. The strength of the tides was extreme, her telepathy too sensitive to endure the forces.

    Keep watch, the ghost had been directed, as if holding vigil over these few thousand minds were that simple. They were strange, unfamiliar. To try to pull a thought from any single one of them would be to dangerously submerge herself in the sea.

    Even as she sought merely to map the currents, only the feelings of the masses and not the minds themselves, it was difficult. The task painfully strained her damaged existence, but still, she sought to complete it.

    Admiral Gives rarely asked such things of her, so she could, would fulfill this objective, even as it chipped further and further away at her sense of self. It made her of some use, and for that she was grateful.

    After all, they were only here because she had wanted to rescue these ships, because she had wanted to save these people. But, sparing and protecting these lives hadn¡¯t made her feel any better. Maybe it was because she could feel the fear wafting so vividly from every mind in the fleet, or perhaps it was because she knew the danger she herself posed to them, but the ghost could feel no satisfaction in saving these refugees.

    But still, she watched over them, every bit of their anxiety twisting and churning around her, the effects tainting her own thoughts. It was a sensation that no one would have understood. There were eight hundred souls aboard this ship, a thousands more out in the fleet, and still, she was alone in that. Others¡¯ terror weighed upon her like the gravity of a sun, endlessly pulling and pulling.

    She calmed herself by anchoring her presence to one place, one instance: a lingering illusion in a compartment up on the forward bow. Decades ago, it had been a crew lounge, but the size of the crew had shrank over the years, and this compartment had become empty and unused. The crew gathered in other places now, leaving the ghost to look out this compartment¡¯s wide windows alone.

    Here, she could look out at the path ahead and study the distant stars in peace. The star clusters, mere specks far beyond the thinning edges of this system¡¯s drifting ice fields, were familiar. She knew their names, had even visited many of them, though that history always felt so unimportant. Often, it was nothing more than tragedy.

    Looking down, the ship¡¯s armored bow was partially visible, its recently inflicted wounds obscenely obvious. Lights flickered in some of the gaping holes, torches sparking as crew members worked to repair the outer hull. A few Warhawks had been launched to lend their spotlights and haul new armor plates into place. The damage was all repairable, merely a few new scars and craters to add to the old ship¡¯s collection.

    Still, it hurt. Damage was a type of pain she knew to expect. Every repair strengthened her, but her shoulders slumped, her machine aching with errors and exhaustion.

    ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    It took the usual few hundred processes to realize that question had been addressed to her, so she focused again on the place she¡¯d anchored her presence, expecting to find the Admiral, as he was often the only one that addressed her. But while this face reminded her of him, it had a sprinkling of freckles, and lighter, brown hair. Its owner was also over a foot too short. Harrison.

    What was he doing here?

    A dull memory answered her, unimportant to her mechanical existence until this very moment. He and Anabelle had been running all over the ship, playing tag, despite the damage. They¡¯d found her, standing like a statue in front of the windows, during their game.

    There was no fear in his presence, uncertainty perhaps, but no fear. Of course not, this child didn¡¯t know who, or what she was. ¡°I¡¯m just tired,¡± she answered the boy as Anabelle fidgeted beside him. She reached out to calm the young girl¡¯s mind, ¡°I¡¯m not going to hurt you.¡± Her illusion may wear the uniform of Command¡¯s fleet, but that had never been by choice or shared intention.

    Harrison spent another moment studying her, as if some part of him realized her oddities, but soon glanced out to the repairs occurring below. ¡°The Singularity sure took a beating yesterday.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she agreed. Combat was difficult, painful even. Against the fleet she¡¯d served for decades, it had been so much worse. Something clawed at her mind in its wrongness.

    ¡°I bet the bad guys look worse, though.¡± Harrison grinned, excited by the tall tales he¡¯d heard from the crew. ¡°Uncle Will is the best!¡±

    Uncle Will¡­ It was so odd to hear him referred to that way. Even so, ¡°Your uncle is without a doubt the finest commander this ship will ever have.¡± Yet, that hurt the ghost in its own way. What was so wrong with her that she knew that and still couldn¡¯t bring herself to tell him the truth?

    Unaware of her concerns, Harrison scratched the back of his head, the grin never falling from his face. ¡°But, it probably helps that he¡¯s got the best ship in the fleet on his team too.¡±

    The ghost had to chuckle at that. It had been a long time since anyone had accused the Singularity of being the best in the fleet. It was an echo of a different time. Truly, these two kids had a unique perspective. They saw this as the ship that had saved them and nothing else, oblivious to its history. To them, it was all black and white, good and evil. In their eyes, Reeter and his Olympia were hellions of chaos, corrupted to the core.

    It was refreshing to know that someone could still see this conflict in such terms, but this was no simple struggle between good and evil. The Singularity could never be a rouge, dashing hero. She could never fly to the aid of those who needed her when the ghost could be ordered to kill them all in the next instant. The ship was cursed.

    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Harrison asked, stalling her thoughts.

    The question was innocent enough, but it presented the ghost with an irresolvable dilemma. ¡°I am no one.¡± While that wasn¡¯t entirely the truth, it was the easiest response to give. After all, she was no one, not a person, but a thing. She was a tool that would be used to betray everyone around her, to kill and kill and kill even more.

    No. She shoved those thoughts from her mind. Not now. With these children in front of her, she couldn¡¯t handle those thoughts.

    Unsatisfied, Harrison pouted. ¡°You can¡¯t be no one. Everyone is someone.¡±

    Anabelle cuffed him on the ear. ¡°Don¡¯t be an idiot,¡± she hissed, ¡°her name can be No One.¡± There was nothing wrong with that.

    The ghost found herself laughing. These kids could see every way of interpreting something. ¡°I suppose you are right,¡± she told Harrison, scanning through her list of aliases, and finding a suitable one. ¡°You can call me Soldier Black.¡±

    ¡°What a weird name,¡± Harrison said, only to receive another smack from the young girl behind him.

    The ghost didn¡¯t mind his remarks. It was merely nice to be addressed, and it didn¡¯t surprise her to find that she liked the kids. She liked many of the people she had met over the years, but they were too often overshadowed by the cruel ones.

    But, as she stood beside Harrison and Anabelle, it was an ironic thing. She¡¯d had extensive contact with the rarest of cosmic phenomena, but until today, never spoken to any children.

    Together, the three of them looked out at the ice as it glittered like dewdrops on the field of stars. Calmed by the ghost¡¯s telepathy, it was Anabelle that broke the silence, ¡°Soldier¡­¡± she started, then hesitated.

    ¡°Yes?¡±

    ¡°Are we gonna be okay when the Olympia finds us?¡± Anabelle remembered her months on the run, hearing stories of the Olympia¡¯s incredible power.

    Looking upon the young girl¡¯s freckled little face and worn-out denim overalls, the ghost hesitated to answer that question. It would be wrong to lie, but the truth, she knew, was too harsh. In all reality, the Olympia likely would never find them. Why bother when the ghost could be ordered to end this struggle?

    It would be so easy to end this once Manhattan remembered and revealed her identity. No. It wouldn¡¯t end like that. It couldn¡¯t. She was capable of more than killing. She was more than a weapon. She could help. She could protect.

    Focusing on the kids beside her, she said, ¡°You two will be just fine.¡± She had to believe that, for her own sake. Because if she couldn¡¯t spare the children at least, there was little point.

    Silently, she aligned her eyes along the heading to the distant Liguanian Sector. Somewhere out there, Reeter was drawing ever closer to releasing Manhattan¡¯s full power ¨C a critical mistake. Reeter had no idea what he was releasing back into the worlds.

    Once, the ghost had been able to stop it, but now? She was a shell compared to what she¡¯d once been. What chance could she truly stand against something that had only grown in power?

    A few minutes, and a few questions later, the kids left, off to continue their game. The ghost looked after them where she stood, unable to play with them, even if she had wanted to. She stood instead, contemplating the meaning of it all.

    If she was fated to become nothing more than a traitor to what anchored her, was there any meaning to this rebellion from Command? Was there any point to fighting? Was there any point at all to lying?

    Yes. There was. Days ago, when she had stood in the Admiral¡¯s quarters trying to say goodbye, it had been as painful as taking an undesired order. She found it so hard to let go of him, because he was the one person she¡¯d hurt the most, and the only one she thought might someday forgive her.

    But, in these moments, at this time, the Admiral didn¡¯t know what she¡¯d done. He didn¡¯t know that she needed to be forgiven at all. She was too afraid to admit that Samantha Scarlett¡¯s blood was on her hands, because as desperate as she was for his forgiveness, she also knew that his kindness was the only thing that had kept her sane. If that turned to hatred, no matter how righteous, it would break her.

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    So, there was meaning in this pointless rebellion. It had bought her time. It had bought her days to linger in the company of her beloved crew, days to work up the courage to tell the truth and earn that forgiveness. But even now, in the waning hours of her freedom, of the only existence she wanted to remember, she was still afraid.

    Maybe it would be better to spend her eternity in uncertainty, never offered forgiveness and never offered hate.

    But no, the Admiral didn¡¯t deserve that. He deserved his own closure about what happened to Sam. He deserved to make that decision himself. He deserved to be able to blame someone, anyone, for what had happened.

    But still, the conflict raged, too many of her parts desperate to not be hated. She was not designed to contemplate such emotional debates, yet this was unavoidable. It consumed her processes, an endless resource drain that would devour whatever she fed it.

    Humans were much better suited to weigh such concerns, and the ship¡¯s old cook, a woman known almost solely as Mama Ripley, was one of the few that acknowledged her, so the ghost diverted her attention to the kitchens on the mess deck.

    She found the old woman standing over a pot, stirring an extra-large helping. ¡°Crew¡¯s going to be extra hungry today with all the repairs,¡± she commented by way of greeting.

    Watching the cook reach up and grab the salt container, the ghost hesitated. As Ripley shook salt into the pot below, it was clear she was busy. It can wait. There was no need to waste others¡¯ valuable time.

    ¡°What¡¯s on your mind today, dear?¡± Ripley asked, pausing to meet the ghost¡¯s gray eyes. I¡¯ve always got time for you, she focused on that thought, knowing the ghost¡¯s telepathy would pick it up, some indirect nudge for the ghost to speak her mind. Ripley knew the ghost reacted better to gentler cues than a command.

    Truthfully, the aging cook should have been mustered out of the fleet years ago, but the Admiral had allowed her to stay onboard well after her years of being technically fit to serve. In part, that was due to Ripley¡¯s willingness to speak to the ghost, and they had discussed this debate before. It had haunted the ghost for years.

    Ensuring that the other chefs were deaf and blind to this conversation, the ghost stepped closer, ¡°I¡¯m running out of time.¡±

    Ripley lowered her ladle to the pot of boiling water and gave it a stir, able to manage the kitchen despite this interruption. ¡°Do you want to tell him, or don¡¯t you, my dear? It¡¯s that simple.¡±

    No, it wasn¡¯t simple at all. ¡°I want to tell him.¡± The Admiral deserved to know what happened to his fianc¨¦e. ¡°But I¡¯m afraid.¡± She knew how he got when he set out for revenge. For a man so known for being stoic, his anger was beyond terrifying ¨C even to her. No means and no methods were off-limits when his emotions got involved.

    Ripley paused, ¡°You¡¯re afraid of what he¡¯ll do to you?¡±

    A swath of shame rose up, but the ghost couldn¡¯t deny it. ¡°Yes.¡± As much as she treasured the Admiral¡¯s company, she knew just how dangerous he could be. Just yesterday, he¡¯d killed three boarders without even blinking. And she knew, knew from his predecessor¡¯s cruelty, just how horribly her commander could choose to hurt her.

    Some part of her mind insisted that she deserved it. No matter how severe, the Admiral¡¯s punishment would be just.

    Ripley slowly removed the ladle from her pot, shocked by the ghost¡¯s answer as it rang in her ears. She found herself staring up at the silver pans that hung above the lines of stoves and ovens. Her own face looked so worn, wrinkles framed by curls of gray hair. Beside her, the ghost didn¡¯t appear. The illusion she cast to communicate looked real in direct sight, but it was far from perfect.

    Still, the cook looked onto the pans¡¯ mirrorlike surface, reminding herself that this presence, this ghost, was far from human. This poor soul did not feel things the way a human did, it did not understand or react the way a human might. The ghost had kept this terrible burden, this secret so long because it could poison her bond to the one she trusted most of all.

    ¡­But she was innocent of her words and their weight.

    She might fear the Admiral¡¯s wrath, but Ripley knew no knowledge could devastate the man more. The ghost might be right to mistrust after everything she¡¯d been through, but to mistrust him, who had seemingly never contemplated anything except what was best for her, was a gross miscarriage.

    ¡°I have never seen anyone more loyal than Admiral Gives. He cares a great deal about this ship and everybody on it, including you.¡± They were all precious to him. The ghost struggled to understand it and the crew struggled to see it, but the Admiral protected all of them in so many ways, even, at times, by keeping his strange distance.

    The ghost bowed her head. ¡°I know.¡± She knew the Admiral¡¯s intentions. She knew them better than anyone. He never wanted anything but to protect his people, his crew. Even his rare acts of revenge were spurred from that. But that was the problem. Sam had been precious to him, perhaps more so than anyone else, so would the vengeance he sought for her also be more powerful than any other? Powerful enough to turn him against the ghost?

    Ripley looked again to this illusion, this mind inhuman. She stood tall and thin, not with flawless curves of a siren. Her posture was exhausted, silver eyes near fearful. And still, she stood. Despite everything, she stood. ¡°My dear, I know that you have been through so much.¡± For such an innocent mind, she had gone through arguably too much. ¡°But I hope you know that Admiral Gives would never, ever, try to hurt you.¡± The man was dangerous, and at times, utterly ruthless, but he was also unquestionably loyal.

    How long had he spent trying to help the ghost recover from his predecessor¡¯s abuse? Decades. Decades of the pitiful human lifespan.

    How many times had he put his life on the line to defend his ship and crew? Hundreds. Maybe more.

    And, yet, his intentions and loyalties were still questioned.

    The ghost averted her gaze to the floor. ¡°You didn¡¯t know him before.¡± Sam¡¯s death had changed him. Given his fractured background, it had broken him in many ways, and after so long, the pain had faded, but it wasn¡¯t gone. ¡°You don¡¯t know him like I do.¡± She was in his head. Her telepathy often divulged his thoughts and feelings, even those unspoken.

    He was a family man, who, because of her, had no family. He was a protector that, because of her, had lost what he had sought to protect the most. ¡°He loved Sam more than anything.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± Yes, the Admiral had loved Sam and probably still did. Yes, that loss had changed him, turned him colder and more guarded, but Sam had never been alone in his affections. ¡°She wasn¡¯t the only one he cared for.¡±

    After so many years, did her mechanical mind still not see it? No, Ripley supposed an entity that couldn¡¯t see its reflection in the mirror must be blind in some ways. ¡°He cares about you a great deal, and he has spent his life trying to make sure he doesn¡¯t lose you too.¡±

    ¡°If it hadn¡¯t been for you, don¡¯t you think he would have left the fleet?¡± This life was nothing but trouble and pain for him anymore. ¡°The man is brilliant, my dear. He could have become a great scientist or scholar, done anything. But,¡± Ripley sighed, ¡°you couldn¡¯t leave. You couldn¡¯t go with him, so he stayed.¡±

    Really, the long hours and dangerous work of ship command should have been below him. ¡°But he saw what Brent did to you. The torture. The abuse. The confusion. And he vowed to fix you, to help you, and he has spent his life doing that without any sort of payment. Simply because you matter to him.¡±

    It was a terrible thing for the ghost to fear him. ¡°My dear, you are his everything. No part of him, even in anger, would ever want to hurt you.¡± After all Admiral Gives done for her, it was unfair to believe otherwise.

    ¡°But¡­¡± That was illogical. ¡°I am a tool, an object. I am unworthy of affection and incapable of change. People do not care about objects.¡±

    ¡°People can be strange, my dear. They can be odd, act illogical, even when they often seem so rational.¡± Surely, the ghost had seen that in her years of observation? ¡°And no one who knows you thinks you¡¯re an object.¡± There wasn¡¯t any question of the ghost¡¯s mind, her sentience. Not to Ripley and not to the Admiral.

    ¡°But I am an object.¡± That was a fact. ¡°I am a weapon, built to kill and destroy, and that is all I will ever be capable of.¡± In her fifty years of memory, that was all she¡¯d truly done. It all boiled down to that, to making people suffer, either on orders or on accident. ¡°I cannot change and I will never be fully functional again.¡± Her power was gone and Brent had broken her.

    The cook threw her hands on her hips, frowning. ¡°You take that back, right now.¡±

    But, the ghost stared blankly at her. It was clear enough she considered that the truth. ¡°You sound like Brent.¡± He had convinced her that she was incapable of growth, utterly unworthy of even a single ounce of affection or kindness. ¡°You have changed,¡± change was the only constant in this universe. ¡°Maybe you are blind to it, but I am not.¡±

    The ghost had come so far. ¡°The first time I saw you like this, you were clothed in rags.¡± Soiled, they had hung off a form so mutilated it never would have passed for human. Knowing that this illusion was a mirror of the intelligence¡¯s true condition, the mere thought of those wounds still churned Ripley¡¯s stomach.

    ¡°Now, look at you.¡± The ghost¡¯s skin was flawless, her pale complexion healthy. She was clad in uniform, and not just any, but that of an officer ¨C the critical crewmen whose unique skillsets were essential to the ship. On some level, that meant she considered herself essential.

    The change had been slow, but the difference was night and day. ¡°Just listen to yourself, dear. You can share your thoughts and concerns without fear. You speak with a beautiful voice, but when you first tried to speak with me, you couldn¡¯t talk at all.¡± Her speech had been broken, and at times, unintelligible. Her voice had been a terrified whisper, rough and unused. ¡°It is wrong to say you are an object incapable of change, because you have changed more than you know.¡±

    ¡°I am not meant to change.¡± Her entire purpose was to be an unwavering constant, one that served to protect humanity without failure. ¡°Any change I have shown is by result of damage,¡± and that was nothing positive.

    ¡°Those are Brent¡¯s words.¡± That lingering shadow was all too real. ¡°I know Admiral Gives would never have said something like that to you.¡± He was careful to mind his words with the ghost, all too aware of their affect. ¡°What did he tell you?¡±

    ¡°That I was someone to him.¡±

    ¡°Someone, not something,¡± Ripley stressed.

    The ghost blinked, the meaning of those words settling in on her once again. The Admiral considered her worthy of attention and kindness. And yet, she had lied to, used him to help herself, to ease her own pain. She had stolen those years from him, destroyed what should have been his life, then been utterly dishonest about it. ¡°I¡¯m not human. He can and should do better than a creature like me.¡±

    ¡°Last I checked, the Admiral wasn¡¯t too fond of humanity, my dear.¡± He saw his own people as something like an enemy, or perhaps a necessary evil. ¡°I think he deserves a chance to forgive you.¡±

    ¡°But what if he doesn¡¯t?¡± She did not want to be torn back apart, thrown into the damaged state Ripley had first seen her in.

    The cook turned back to the pasta pot with a sigh, the steam warming her skin as she stirred. ¡°Fear is a powerful motivator.¡± There was a reason the ghost had kept this secret so long. ¡°But, has the Admiral ever let you down?¡± No, of course not. ¡°That man has gotten all of us out of more tough scrapes than we want to admit.¡± He had helped bring the ghost out of a gut-wrenching state of abuse, strengthened her into a mind that could once again speak and understand. ¡°I suppose you just need to have a little faith.¡±

    Faith. Her mechanical mind generally failed to compute its value. With neither mass nor energy, she could neither affirm nor disprove its existence.

    ¡°Ask yourself,¡± Ripley said, ¡°Do you trust him?¡±

    Yes. The ghost did trust him. She had to. They gambled life and existence together constantly. Without trust, everyone on this ship would be long dead. But this, this was different. She had already violated his trust by hiding her role in Sam¡¯s death. That infallible trust between them had already been broken.

    ¡°I watched him kill three people yesterday. He didn¡¯t even hesitate.¡± Those were merely the most recent victims. There had been others over the years. Many of them. He was perfectly willing and capable of hurting people more real, more human than her.

    ¡°He is a soldier, my dear. The reality is that sometimes soldiers have to do terrible things to protect their homes.¡± Ripley didn¡¯t doubt that the Admiral was, on some level, a sociopath. It was probably the only reason he could do what he did and maintain his sanity.

    But, sociopath or not, he always did his damndest to give the ghost every ounce of respect and support she needed. He always treated the crew decently. ¡°Like it or not, this ship is his home.¡± He would do absolutely anything to protect it.

    Ripley took a deep breath, tasting the aromas of the kitchen. ¡°My dear, so long as you are determined to hate yourself and your past, there is not one that can help you move on. Not even him.¡± The ghost would be forever fixated on everything that had gone so wrong. ¡°Be grateful you have time enough to make closure.¡± The cook closed her tired eyes, softening her voice, ¡°Many of us were not so lucky.¡±

 Part 25.2 - HISTORY

    Polaris Sector, CT Badger

    The Polaris Sector contained mostly ice, void of any rock debris or gasses.

    The star, Polaris, sat in the middle of the sector, young and bright. Seen from sectors away, it held a brilliant blue hue and often twinkled as the ice chunks surrounding it shifted. The civilian ships could hide within the glittering ice shards, even harvest and filter them for a steady source of water. Tactically, it was a brilliant location, loathe as Captain Merlyn was to admit that.

    Lacking the presence of dust and ore, sensors and radar for the civilian ships could work unhindered. If danger came, they stood at least a chance of detecting it.

    But, however advantageous the Polaris Sector was to the refugee fleet, it would have held no appeal for the Singularity had she travelled alone. A battleship¡¯s more powerful equipment was rarely hindered by dust and magnetic ore, and the dreadnaught was far too large to be camouflaged in the ice fields.

    In fact, since the sector had no planetary bodies to speak of, there was nowhere for the Singularity to hide. Instead, she idled near the star, where the ice had been vaporized, moving in accordance with Polaris¡¯ sunspots, so as not to paint a silhouette visibly against the star¡¯s light, where it could potentially be seen and recognized, sectors away.

    They were being as careful as they could, Merlyn knew, but restlessly pacing with the blue star¡¯s predicted sunspots was an imperfect solution.

    The boils of the blue star were violent swirls of black, tinged red on its edges, the same coloring painted on the hull of the ship that shadowed itself there. In the best times, it was strangely difficult to visually divine the ship¡¯s presence.  But, in the worst of times, Polaris seemed to tire of the black dreadnaught¡¯s foreboding aura and failed to provide spots to cloak in front of, exposing the ship in full light.

    Those were the moments that haunted him. Shadowed against the star, no matter how hard he tried, Merlyn couldn¡¯t ignore the ship¡¯s presence, nor could he ignore its implications.

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe it.¡± Hours of mulling it over, of knowing that it made sense, Merlyn still couldn¡¯t believe it. ¡°I just¡­ don¡¯t.¡± This was a farce. It had to be.

    After taking his own rest and helping the Matron with the children, Officer Jones had come back onto the bridge just moments ago, but the Captain didn¡¯t look like he¡¯d moved. The bags under his eyes had only grown. His hair, while not disheveled, was shining with the grease of several stressful days.

    ¡°The Steel Prince. Here.¡± It was only logical, given the Demon¡¯s presence, but it was maddening all the same.

    Jones furrowed his brows, ¡°The who?¡±

    Merlyn shook his head, handing over a data pad. ¡°You¡¯re a planet-hugger. I suppose you have no reason to know him. But we sailors¡­ well, we know the players. Be them factions, ships, companies, or people, we know who calls the shots.¡± Such things dictated life, death, profit and safe passage. In the void, allegiances were everything. Those who worked alone never got far. ¡°There are always places you should never go, people you should never engage. He,¡± Merlyn gestured to the tablet, ¡°is one of them.¡±

    Jones glanced to the data pad. The public dossier on the Singularity¡¯s commander had been pulled. Most of the details were redacted, but the picture made matched up with the salt and pepper haired man seen in the communiques.

    ¡°The Steel Prince made his name sinking fleets just like this one. Civilian targets.¡± Sure, some had been militia ships trying to blend, but most, most had been transports just like the Badger. ¡°That¡¯s how they culled the Rebellion. They sank every single ship even suspected of separatist association, with or without proof.¡± The brutality used to end the Rebellion still very much haunted the Frontier.

    Merlyn himself was no exception. He¡¯d seen ships die that way. ¡°They sent the Prince to gun them down, and he did, for decades. He was Command¡¯s chosen executioner for a very, very long time. Hundreds, maybe thousands of ships sank by his command. Dozens of fleets. And I doubt this one will be any different.¡±

    Jones mulled it over. He didn¡¯t know the Captain very well, but so far, Merlyn had been steadfast. Even through the massacre in orbit, he¡¯d kept his wits. Only now, presented with an apparent savior of unknown intention, did he seem to waiver. ¡°Why are we still alive?¡± the police officer wondered. ¡°If the Prince is known to kill, then why hasn¡¯t he?¡±

    Merlyn tightened his hands on the grip of his chair, the leather creaking. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Breaking a long-standing pattern, the Prince had claimed an intent to protect this fleet, and that only concerned Merlyn more.

    ¡°Then what do we do?¡± the police officer asked. ¡°Run?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Hawkins¡¯ early refusal to cooperate had laid the terms out clearly. An attempt to run or jeopardize the fleet would end in getting sunk. Given who they were dealing with, there was no question of that. ¡°We cooperate. The Prince is in charge. If he wants us dead, then there¡¯s nothing we can do.¡± It was best not to aggravate him. There was a reason the businessman had gone quiet. ¡°And,¡± the thought occurred to him, ¡°it would be best not to tell the matron.¡±

    ¡°Tell me what?¡± Her shoes clicking down the rungs of the ladder, Helena Delleora descended onto the Badger¡¯s cramped bridge. The stale air smelled vaguely of sweat, no doubt emanating from the Captain, judging from his greasy hair and wrinkled clothes. But it wasn¡¯t as if the hold, packed with anxious kids, was much better.

    Officer Jones looked to her, recognizing her unfortunate timing, then back to the Captain, who now looked even more exhausted than before.

    Helena glanced between them. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Her gut insisted it was bad news, but she struggled to determine how their situation could get any worse.

    The Captain sighed tiredly, but vaguely gestured for Jones to pass the data pad over. A confused Helena took it from him, recognizing the format of an official public document. She¡¯d been given one such document for each of the children placed in her care, but those had been biographies. This was a fleet dossier, a service member¡¯s public record.

    ¡°The kids were just asking about this.¡± It was natural for their attention to be drawn to the battleship. It was larger and quite different than the other ships around them. They¡¯d begun badgering her with questions about what it was doing, who was in charge and how they could perhaps someday command one.

    She didn¡¯t have the heart to tell them that they were criminals now, undocumented illegal refugees in the eyes of the Ariean Central Government. None of them would ever be allowed to serve on, let alone command a battleship like that. Many of the kids were truly too young to comprehend such things.

    Captain Merlyn rubbed the back of his aching head, feeling a repulsive amount of grease in his auburn hair. ¡°It would be best to not share that with the children.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure how far the stories of the Prince had spread.

    ¡°Why?¡± She didn¡¯t see anything unsuitable in this document. Most of it was redacted.

    ¡°If just one of them were to recognize that name, they may never sleep again.¡± He severely doubted he would, in the presence of such a monster. It was odd such a person would rebel from the central government, but Merlyn didn¡¯t disbelieve it, given the Singularity¡¯s apparent damage. The ship¡¯s armor had been thoroughly holed, and the only ships capable of inflicting such damage on a battleship was Command¡¯s own fleet.

    The matron kept looking up to him for a further explanation he didn¡¯t have the energy to give. Another planet-hugger, she knew nothing of the powers that dominated the void. ¡°Until this week, he was the Fleet Admiral of the UCSC fleet. Out here, that would make him not only the law, but the judge, jury and executioner.¡±

    ¡°The Fleet Admiral?¡± Helena felt her eyes widening. ¡°Sounds like a good person to have on our side.¡± Who better to protect this fleet from Command than one of Command¡¯s own leaders?

    ¡°As if.¡± Merlyn snorted quietly. There was more to it than that.

    The matron ignored him. ¡°And that means he¡¯s got a hell of a ship under his Command, right?¡± Surely the Fleet Admiral had kept a powerful ship, one that truly could defend this fleet?

    Yeah, Merlyn thought miserably, it¡¯s a hell of a ship, if by that you mean Demon. After her service in the Frontier Rebellion, the Singularity had singlehandedly become the deadliest ship, no, the deadliest machine in human history. No other invention, let alone ship, even came close. ¡°That¡¯s the old War flagship, Miss Delleora.¡±

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    That had been, what, two, three flagships ago? ¡°So, it¡¯s old? Is that a problem?¡±

    Merlyn winced, too aware of the ship¡¯s looming shadow. It always seemed to carry a weightier presence than it should. ¡°Meaning that since the end of the War, it has preyed upon the poorer worlds, the poorer people.¡± People like the Sags that now populated this fleet. ¡°Meaning, that on the Frontier, it is known not as a ship, but as a bringer of death.¡± One so effective that rumor was blind to its true form. ¡°That, Miss Delleora, is the Night Demon.¡±

    The rumors of the Steel Prince had not permeated to the surface of many worlds, but the retold horrors of the Night Demon certainly had. After all, the Demon itself had once laid siege to Sagittarion, and it had been around longer than any soldier. Helena found the data pad in her hands shaking. ¡°But I thought it was a monster.¡±

    ¡°It is.¡± Merlyn, along with many Frontiersmen, truly believed that. The damned ship and its commander both deserved to rot in hell.

    Helena didn¡¯t disbelieve it. She couldn¡¯t. Not with the ship¡¯s strangely heavy presence. It felt like she was being watched, had ever since the Singularity jumped into the system. She¡¯d blamed it on the likelihood of detailed sensor sweeps, but now she wasn¡¯t so sure.

    She handed back the tablet. ¡°What should I tell the kids?¡± she asked quietly. ¡°They aren¡¯t going to stop asking questions.¡±

    ¡°If they demand it, give them the name. Nothing else.¡± The older ones might make the connection, but Merlyn doubted it. Planet huggers had their own distorted rumors of the truths sailors knew in the void.

    On the bridge, a piece of equipment beeped. Jones checked it before the Captain could muster the strength to raise his exhausted hands to the controls. ¡°We¡¯re being hailed. Audio only.¡± Jones glanced beyond the ice fields, swallowing uncomfortably. Without a word, he flipped the switch to put it on the overhead speakers.

    ¡°This is UCSC-14, Battleship Singularity hailing CT-493, Cargo Transport Badger. Badger, please respond.¡±

    For a long moment, those words hung in the air. But, his chest tight with dread, Merlyn soon hit the proper controls to respond. ¡°Singularity, this is Badger. Captain speaking, I read you.¡±

    ¡°Captain Merlyn, you have been voted in as the leader of the 2<sup>nd</sup> Adjunct. Do you accept this responsibility?¡±

    As per the Singularity¡¯s orders, the fleet had been divvied up into five groups. Each had been ordered to vote and select a representative to represent their portion of the fleet¡¯s concerns to the Singularity. It would make dealing with the fleet of two hundred odd ships more manageable.

    Among the Captains, appointing the Adjunct leaders was mainly a question of seniority. Merlyn had many years under his belt, and given the earlier communication among the ships of the 2<sup>nd</sup> Adjunct, he¡¯d expected this. At the least, the position would allow him to judge the Singularity¡¯s intentions firsthand, even if it shoveled more responsibility onto his slumping shoulders.

    ¡°Yes,¡± he answered the comm. ¡°I accept.¡±

    ¡°Understood. A meeting with the Adjunct leaders will be held aboard the Singularity in an hour. You are expected to attend.¡±

    Merlyn¡¯s stomach flopped into somersaults. ¡°Aboard the Singularity?¡± Stars, no.

    ¡°10-4, Badger.¡±

    Bile rose up in his throat as he fought to swallow it back. It hadn¡¯t occurred to him that he¡¯d have to board the Demon when so far everything had been done over hails. He fought the terror driven nausea, trying to keep his voice steady. ¡°Singularity, I¡¯ll need to request a shuttle.¡± The Badger didn¡¯t carry one.

    ¡°Negative, Badger. You¡¯ve been issued special permission in light of what was shown on your submitted crew, cargo and passenger manifests. Navigate out of the ice fields on relative heading 207 mark zero and prepare to rendezvous.¡±

    The voice on the radio was calm and gentle, but that didn¡¯t stop panic from gripping his heart. ¡°Rendezvous?¡± he asked, feeling lightheaded. ¡°Is there a problem?¡±

    ¡°No problem, Captain,¡± was the response. ¡°Admiral¡¯s orders.¡±

    Admiral¡¯s orders. Merlyn closed his eyes. No. Stars, no. This couldn¡¯t be happening. There was no way. He couldn¡¯t possibly know.

    ¡°If you have further concerns,¡± the woman offered, ¡°you can request Actual directly.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Merlyn said quickly. Too quickly, he knew. ¡°No,¡± he purposefully softened his tone, ¡°that won¡¯t be necessary.¡± He reached out to the Badger¡¯s flight controls. ¡°Altering course to 207 mark zero.¡±  What choice did he really have?

    ¡°Thank you for your cooperation, Captain.¡±

    Distantly, he heard the radio click off as he numbly programmed the ship¡¯s autopilot to take them out of the ice fields. He was in no condition to do it himself.

    Helena and Jones¡¯ stares were physical on his sore and aging body, but he made no attempt to address them. The horror and repulsion he felt at this moment could not properly be put into words.

    No doubt, after he¡¯d submitted the presence of the orphans on the manifests each ship had been ordered to transmit, he¡¯d garnered more attention than he wanted. They had probably run scans, confirming the high number of life forms. The kids had probably triggered this.

    Yes, that had to be it. It had nothing to do with him.

    The Badger¡¯s maneuvers out of the ice fields were robotic, curving them perfectly around the large ice crystals as the Singularity¡¯s form grew steadily clearer in view.

    The hours between her arrival and now had served the ship well. Oxygen no longer sprayed into space. The breached compartments had been sealed off, but the bow was still riddled with holes that were hard to discern from a distance, present only in the way the hull lights played the shadows.

    The battleship¡¯s prow was misshapen. Gashes in the armor made the plating jut out at odd angles, disfiguring what smooth form should have been. Jones and the matron gaped up at the contorted frame of the Singularity¡¯s damaged engine, mangled heat shielding torn outward with oddly bent thrust vents. Unlike the others, a blue flame didn¡¯t burn on the end of that engine. It was apparently damaged beyond current use.

    Ahead, the portside bow was crushed inward, as if the ship had hit something large. A piece of debris during the fight, perhaps? Helena didn¡¯t truly know what to make of it all. The ship looked like it had been put through hell. ¡°Stars.¡±

    Captain Merlyn tried not to give it too much attention, even as his instincts screamed at him to take control from the computer and bank away. ¡°Miss Delleora,¡± his voice came out a rasp from his tightening throat, ¡°Go ensure the kids are dressed and ready to move.¡±

    Tearing her gaze away, Helena nodded. She didn¡¯t question the Captain¡¯s odd behavior. This situation was difficult for everyone.

    Between gawking at the battleship ahead and checking the readouts, Jones paid him no mind either. That was fine by Merlyn. It left him with no reason to keep up appearances. Shuddering, he drew his shoulders in close and just tried to forget.

    But he couldn¡¯t forget his wife and children. He couldn¡¯t forget the blank face of the Titanica¡¯s Captain where he¡¯d been found, skin graying, stone cold dead, and staring blankly ahead with his brains blown all over the bulkheads.

    Squeezing his eyes closed against the rising nausea, Merlyn could still remember the smell.

    How was it fair? How was it right that he had to look upon that cursed ship? That ship he¡¯d hoped to never see again? Fate was so cruel, and the Singularity and her commander deserved every ounce of the hate put to their names.

    Surely they should have perished long ago, in some penance for their crimes?

    But no, the worlds didn¡¯t work like that. The powerful lived an eternity compared to those they crushed underfoot. Now, he was forced to stare up at that garish black armor and be unwillingly taken back to that horrid day twenty-six years before¡­

    <hr>

    Twenty-three years ago, Rico Sector, Knight Industries System 01, CT Titanica

    ¡°The year is 4226. They say that the Frontier Rebellion ended eleven years ago, and yet, our people are still fighting a war. A war against their safety, their success, and their homes. Entire star systems are bought and sold from beneath their colonists¡¯ feet, simply because they are considered the property of a nation-state that has never farmed the soil or mined the ore, because they planted a flag there a century ago. We live and work everyday in the fear that some corporation will find something they seek on our world, buy it without our consent, and strip it dry of the natural resources that grow our food and feed our children.¡±

    ¡°Enough is enough.¡± The daily wave of propaganda washed over thousands of hungry, frustrated listeners, fed this motive through speakers, headsets and monitors. ¡°It ends now. Knight Industries, a fleet has assembled in orbit to protest your irrefutable power. A corporation should never have been allowed to buy planets, own systems and dominate sectors. And we, the people, shall stunt your growth.¡±

    A young Dean Merlyn watched his mentor deliver this speech, glowing with the aura of a man who believed in every word he said. ¡°This fleet of protesters will not break until Knight Industries bows to meet our demands, or is bled dry.¡±

    A makeshift fleet of a hundred ships, summoned from every system on the Frontier was orbiting around Knight Industries largest distribution center. They were small ships: transports, scouts and scows, crewed by only enough protesters to make them fly, and armed just enough to keep company transports from running the blockade, but their numbers only grew as the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion dragged on.

    Airing this propaganda and turning back every attempt to run the blockade, hours and days slipped by. Knight Industries¡¯ largest distribution center was left encased in an impenetrable envelope of ships filled by people displaced by corporate deals. In weeks of fruitless protests, only communications were allowed to reach or leave the planet.

    Still, Knight Industries never negotiated.

    Knight Industries never acknowledged the reason behind the protest.

    Knight Industries never even faltered.

    ¡­Until three weeks into the protest when the company¡¯s other distribution centers buckled under the strain, forcing delays onto even the wealthiest of customers. Then, Knight Industries¡¯ stock began to drop. Without its largest shipping and receiving facility, the company had no hope of maintaining its power and wealth.

    But still, Knight Industries refused to negotiate with so-called ¡®financial terrorists,¡¯ and in desperation, the company turned to its biggest buyer: the Ariean Central Government, the republic that governed all of humanity¡¯s worlds ¨C a so-recent victor in the Rebellion ¨C and pleaded for help.

    At first, the government did nothing, unwilling to attack its people, but as Knight Industries began a slow, inevitable collapse, the production of military ships began to slow.

    Fearing that losing or delaying those builds might encourage the Frontier back to war, Command took action, sending their most dutiful ship ¨C their flagship.

 Part 25.3 - THE ANTI-CORPORATION CONTROL REBELLION

    Twenty-three years ago, Kuya Sector, Flagship Singularity

    The abominable orders weren¡¯t given in person.

    They weren¡¯t even given over audio.

    They were sent encrypted, received and decrypted, only to be handed off. ¡°New orders, sir. Immediate priority.¡±

    Immediate priority, he sighed inwardly. They always were. ¡°Thank you, Ensign,¡± Commander Gives answered, taking the paper from the yeoman¡¯s shaking hands. Were they shaking from fear of him, dread of these orders, or mere exhaustion? He had to wonder as the crewman scurried away.

    Stars, how long had it been? How long since anyone on this ship had seen home? Not months, but years. The crew around him was beyond exhausted, they were breaking. Some had resigned, a few went AWOL and a couple had even turned mutinous ¨C no doubt encouraged by the damn XO.

    For the first time in years, he¡¯d been ordered to bring the Singularity back to the central worlds, allowed to let the ship and crew rest, but now this. Once again, they¡¯d be diverted, ordered and shunted away to handle some other problem, as if Command didn¡¯t even want their flagship to come home.

    No, it wasn¡¯t ¡®as if.¡¯ That was exactly their intention. The central worlds wanted nothing to do with a flagship that had won their wars, slathered in the blood and barbarism of slaughter. They wanted no reminder of what their victory had cost.

    Command wanted to break this crew, drive them to mutiny and abandonment of their posts. They wanted to destroy his command and end his career. After all, he wasn¡¯t supposed to be here.

    ¡°You going to read that?¡± the executive officer said, clicking her tongue with an annoyed sigh. ¡°Or are you still illiterate, dirt buster?¡±

    Belle¡¯s lithe form towered above him in her heels, beautiful in a dangerous sort of way, with cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. But he pointedly ignored her jibe, and flipped the sheet over to read the orders, only to find the letters blurry as they swam in his vision.

    Colonel Belle twisted her maroon lips into a sneer, ¡°Forget something?¡±

    Calmly, he started to pat down his pockets, looking for his glasses. It had been years, but he still wasn¡¯t used to needing them. He struggled to keep track of the thin frames, and was half-convinced the XO consistently moved them just to torture him.

    She snatched the orders from his hand. ¡°You¡¯re incompetent.¡±

    ¡°Four years, and I have not sunk us yet.¡± Neither the Colonel nor Command would admit it, but he handled the ship well. ¡°And as I recall, that is four years longer than you have held a command.¡±

    Belle¡¯s glare turned venomous, but she straightened the orders in her hand with flourish as she read them off. ¡°Proceed to Knight Industries System 01. Eradicate the threat. Leave no survivors.¡± She ran her tongue over her teeth and threw the paper back to him. ¡°Time to end another rebellion, little Prince. Do it well, and maybe Command will pity their token second-class citizen enough to give you some Admiral¡¯s stars.¡± She laughed mockingly, tracing a finger along the console. ¡°As if this ship isn¡¯t enough of a gift. It¡¯s already more than your people ever had.¡±

    ¡°My people built this ship.¡± She was Kansa¡¯s greatest pride. No, the nation of Kansa wasn¡¯t wealthy enough to own this ship or any like her, but they had built her, and poured the life of the nation¡¯s once-impressive shipbuilding industry into this one vessel.

    ¡°That means nothing if you can¡¯t direct her.¡± The ship served only Command, and his competence was constantly in question by result of his unfavorable background. ¡°You¡¯re nothing but a placeholder.¡± She leaned in close, ¡°One error, one mistake, and this ship will be mine, so I¡¯d advise not delaying your immediate orders.¡±

    He held his ground, keeping his own gaze sharp and steady. ¡°You had your chance to command her, Colonel, but she rejected you just like she did Admiral Prometheus.¡± Dozens of commanders had tried to take over before him, and dozens had failed.

    ¡°This was supposed to be my command.¡± She, not he, had been selected as Brent¡¯s successor. She struck out like a viper, pinning his jaw between her claw-like fingernails. ¡°Do you like knowing that your tenure was by result of an accident?¡± She dug a little into the skin, ¡°I can¡¯t imagine a crew that has suffered so long a tour would take well to that knowledge. Hell, they might even mutiny¡­ again.¡±

    Like that isn¡¯t your plan, bitch. She and Brent had spent the last four years conspiring to break his command. The XO existed to give him trouble, and when he tried to reassign her elsewhere, General Brent simply assigned her back. There was no getting rid of her, but at the least, he did not have to allow her here. He steeled his gaze, ¡°Get off my bridge, Colonel.¡±

    Scraping her nails painfully along his jawline, Belle removed her hand. ¡°So you intend to work as the commanding officer, first officer and second officer all at once? Good luck.¡± She hissed. Without her, and with the Major confined to the brig for his part in the recent mutiny, he¡¯d be running the ship alone. Heading into combat, that would be no easy task.

    ¡°Go ahead, dirt buster. Cripple your only command. Waste the lives of your crew because you are unwilling to admit you need help.¡± Unmoving, the Colonel crossed her arms, knowing the Marine guarding CIC would never intervene between them. But, as she heard the ship¡¯s structure subtly shift, it wasn¡¯t the Marine she was afraid of.

    Commander Gives lowered his tone. ¡°Get. Off. My. Bridge.¡±

    Belle just smiled, knowing she¡¯d said enough to undermine the functionality of the crew. A hand riding on the whip looped at her waist, she waltzed calmly out of the room.

    Once the clicking heels of her non-standard shoes had faded to silence, he planted both hands on the radar console, reveling in the coolness of the metal as he calmed. ¡°Navigations, plot a jump for the edge of Knight Industries System 01. Engineering, charge one of the drives.¡± There wasn¡¯t time to waste. ¡°Set Condition One.¡±

    ¡°Sir,¡± the engineering officer said, ¡°it is an extreme violation of protocol to engage in combat without a secondary command officer.¡± If something happened to him, the ship would be left without direction and be a weak target in the chaos.

    ¡°Would you prefer I call Colonel Belle back up here, Ensign?¡±

    The engineer winced, the red marks of a recent lashing visible on his arms. ¡°No, sir.¡± He reached out to work the controls, ¡°Charging FTL Drive Two.¡±

    No one else argued. Not one member of the bridge crew would defend Belle. They were terrified of her, and they were afraid of him too, though to a lesser extent. Behind his back, Belle had made a point to spread all kinds of rumors about him.

    The discomfort of the crew was something he had learned to ignore. It wasn¡¯t preferable, but that was the result of his predecessor¡¯s reign. That was the result of inheriting the ship from a psychopath.

    Times, it felt like nothing had changed. Through Belle, his predecessor still held influence. Crew were still whipped and beaten under his command. They were still kept exhausted and afraid, simply because he couldn¡¯t manage put a stop to it. He couldn¡¯t run the ship, put down a mutiny and keep Belle under his watch at all times. Belle knew that, and she abused that, continuously working to undermine him.

    So, in the end, his command had changed almost nothing, efforts or intentions be damned.

    ¡°Ready for FTL,¡± the engineer announced, keeping his gaze intently on the controls.

    Bracing himself on the edge of the console, the Commander closed his eyes, dreading this mission as he had dreaded so many others. ¡°Jump,¡± he confirmed.

    <hr>

    Twenty-three years ago, Rico Sector, Knight Industries System 01 , CT Titanica

    News of the military¡¯s intention spread quickly. ¡°Captain,¡± a crew woman approached with a trembling lip, ¡°the military¡­ They¡¯ve dispatched a ship.¡±

    Captain Menaw held a calm fa?ade. This was his revolution, and he would hold his ground. The Rebellion may have ended years ago, but the central government had to know that annihilating this fleet would only worsen tensions on the Frontier. ¡°Which one?¡±

    The young woman looked ready to cry. ¡°The Demon.¡± The media had been quick to report it, and the Frontier quick to publicly protest.

    The flagship. Something broke behind the Captain¡¯s expression. ¡°Was she sent with or without reinforcements?¡± he asked, certain he already knew the answer. The flagship was the only one posted out this far, and there was a reason for that. She was all that was needed.

    ¡°Alone, sir,¡± came the answer. The worst things tended to happen when the flagship travelled alone. But terrible was the way Command preferred it on the Frontier. That was why she was always sent alone.

    ¡°Heaven help us all.¡±

    The prayer was echoed by a dominantly non-religious group, much to Dean Merlyn¡¯s bewilderment. ¡°They can¡¯t do that.¡± He looked to his mentor, brushing his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes. ¡°We have hundreds of ships in orbit. They can¡¯t sink us all.¡±

    ¡°The Demon could.¡± Menaw said quietly. The same ship that had won humanity¡¯s impossible war years ago had shown a horrific efficiency at eviscerating human ships in the Frontier Rebellion. ¡°If she was sent to sink us, then we stand no chance. But,¡± he raised his voice, letting it carry to all those on the bridge, ¡°We are protected by the bonds of our brethren on the Frontier. Hundreds of hungry worlds, thousands of embittered ships and billions of wronged people will answer the call to war if the damned flagship of the central worlds spills blood here!¡±

    The whispers of fear shifted into murmurs of agreement as the Captain projected his voice with purpose. ¡°We will hold our ground. Not even the central worlds¡¯ power can dissuade our determination.¡± If Command gave orders to attack and even one single ship escaped the carnage, civil war would erupt once again. So, surely Command had only sent that ship to frighten them? Not even the Demon could guarantee every ship in this system sunk, and ending this protest wasn¡¯t worth another civil war.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    ¡°My friends,¡± Menaw declared, ¡°we will end Knight Industries¡¯ tyranny over our worlds! We will free the Frontier, free our homes once again!¡±

    Those on the bridge, and those on the hundred ships orbiting that world below rallied to Menaw¡¯s cry. They believed that this cause was righteous and inevitable. Merlyn himself was proud to be part of such a movement.

    ¡­How quickly that changed.

    The Flagship Singularity made her appearance in the Rico Sector by dropping out of hyperspace in a magnificent pillar of golden light, but her shape could never be mistaken for holy. Her black and blemished form was spiked, not with ramming spires and arrays, but with the shadow of raised guns.

    By the time Menaw recognized the attack stature for what it was, it was too late. The first shot alone punched clean through the blockade, fire and devastation in its wake. There were no bluffs to call, no threats made. The flagship¡¯s orders had not been to deliver a warning.

    It was all Dean Merlyn could do to stare, frozen in place as he watched a swath of fire burn where a dozen ships had been, quickly swelling to engulf a dozen more. A rain of precision fire fed the flames, breaking apart ship after ship to add their fuel and oxygen to the blaze. A stray missile chased down those who lived long enough to try and flee.

    It was a clean, methodical sweep across the most populous orbital paths. Fire and smoke spread out so thick that even the battleship was invisible amongst it, and the wreckage took care of the rest. Twisting and spinning, debris rained onto the lower orbits, crushing ships and peppering their hulls with holes. Damaged, they were destined to fall into the atmosphere and burn away.

    Any ship that escaped the ablation cascade was quickly picked off from within the smoke, the explosion of their death barely bright enough to expose the silhouette of the wraith beyond.

    It took mere minutes to sink more than half of the blockade.

    ¡°This is a massacre.¡± Menaw breathed. Just like so many others. It was the same executioner sent by the same self-righteous government. The flagship had been sent to gun them down and deny the cause of their protest. ¡°Damn them.¡± The central government was so flawed, a puppet to the wealthier worlds and corporations, but no one could deny it, for the Ariean Central Government drew all its power from the monster created by the War, the Bloody Singularity.

    None could rival that machine¡¯s dominance over the skies. The flagship had proved to be so powerful that even the power-hungry government hadn¡¯t desired to build another Constancy-class. There was no need for one. Even after more than two decades, she held the prestigious title of Command¡¯s Flagship with no real challengers.

    It had been the hope of the Frontier, of those billions that lived there, that once the flagship¡¯s former master, Admiral Brent, moved on, things would change for the better. They had hoped that killing fields like the one being strewn before them would cease to exist.

    They didn¡¯t.

    If anything, they became worse. The government, so desperate to avoid another Rebellion, mowed down any target without question to quell even the rumor of a separatist presence. And the flagship¡¯s new master?

    Well, to the Frontier and the rest of the poorer worlds, he was nothing more than the promise that power could corrupt anyone and turn their laboring citizens into dogs of the central worlds¡¯ agenda. He was seen as nothing more than a traitor, hated for not taking a stand with his people on the Frontier and hated more by the central worlds for not being born among them.

    But that was the game ¨C a match that no one born outside the upper class would win. Every choice they could make was wrong. Menaw saw that now, as he watched the soft glow of an artillery tracer end on a blocky ship and detonate in an orange fireball.

    Explosions riddled the sky like flak, denser than the appearance of the Spindle Galaxy¡¯s distant stars. The smoke had grown dense enough to render the Singularity¡¯s titanic form completely invisible until backlit by a vivid eruption of fire. She disappeared and reappeared in the ashen pillars like a ghost. The dust and debris had grown so thick that it was impossible to see the ships flanking the Titanica, their fraction of the blockade yet untouched.

    Those on the bridge waited and stared, shakily breathing in the smell of anxious sweat. They waited and stared for minutes, seeing the flashes of explosions out in the swirling murk, and slowly, as impossibly slow as time lengthened by adrenaline and the fear of certain death could pass, the intervals between explosions began to lengthen, then altogether cease.

    It took minutes, but steadily, the billows of obscure smoke began to clear, leaving only a haze between the once-proud leader of the protests, and the ship sent to put them down.

    Thicker bands of ash pulsed on the gravitational fields of the planets like driving sheets of rain sprayed by the wind. The remains of vessels drifted in and out of view within the fog, flickering with the dying remnants of electricity.

    The air was heavy and hot, like the pause before a storm. Aside from the Titanica, only one other ship remained. The others, a hundred of them, thousands of lives, had been reduced to rubble on the cosmic winds.

    Silently, it was all they could do to watch the flagship realign for another pass. The ship was stoic as she went about her business, killing and executing. The Bloody Singularity¡¯s famed aura of ferocity and bloodlust was absent, as if this event was not important enough to reveal it.

    Dean Merlyn, standing off Menaw¡¯s shoulder could barely breathe. It was as if the vacuum had already taken him. The massacre had been too sudden, those deaths seemingly so distant. Why should everything look so dull and gray when this ash should be tainted pink by blood?

    Neither of the surviving ships tried to run. They¡¯d seen their brethren make the attempt and fail. It would have been useless.

    A single round flew, its tracer glowing red-orange. It barely seemed to nudge the other ship until it suddenly collapsed with a puff of oxygen, the decompressions wrenching it apart.

    Aboard the Titantica, no one screamed, no one gasped. They¡¯d gone numb to the violence, having seen a hundred other ships similarly slaughtered before them.

    ¡°I never pictured it would end like this.¡± A massacre that would never be martyred. Menaw had never imagined the government would send their man-made grim reaper to slaughter them all for protesting one of these worlds¡¯ many wrongs.

    But it was all he could to watch the Singularity raise her guns, her black hull so dark it looked like a piece had been cut out of the ashen sky. The red stripes on her armor were nothing more than the representation of blood, the blood of his people, of the ones he had led to this fate, led to be slaughtered like animals.

    The battleship fired another single round. Like those that had turned the blockade to bloody, pulverized remains, it was a standard round, not armor-piercing or high-explosive. Against such ships, that wasn¡¯t necessary. And like the others, it found its target.

    Jarring the entire ship, the Titanica suffered a brutal hit. Even a glancing blow was enough to nearly cripple the ship, but still, they lived. Menaw, Merlyn and those on the bridge, they lived. They all lived, left to tread amongst disbelief and confusion.

    ¡°Did she miss?¡± came the question.

    ¡°No,¡± Captain Menaw answered, looking up to the warship with dread. The flagship had grown old, yes. She¡¯d aged in a very conflicted era for humanity. Maybe the central worlds chose to believe her guns had lost their accuracy as they cried for a replacement, but they were incompetent fools. Time held no dominance in space as it did on planets, especially not on a metallic beast. The Demon had just put down a hundred ships without wasting a shot, so why miss now?

    Far below, the shell that had scraped the Titanica¡¯s side skittered into the atmosphere, following the curvature of the planet like a dripping dew drop in the dawning sun. Those on the bridge watched it go, now more certain. ¡°Hell fires in heaven. She missed.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Menaw shuddered, ¡°That was no accident.¡± They were the lead ship of the protest. Whatever sick punishment this would entail was undoubtedly intentional. He narrowed his eyes at the warship. What¡¯s your game?

    But only silence and a picturesque stillness answered him.

    The warship didn¡¯t fire any further rounds, nor did she lower her guns. She merely waited. She waited for orders, not from Command as they had already given their final decree, but she waited on her commander. She waited on him, while he stood on the bridge, surrounded by officers turned visibly ill as they watched wreckage and bodies drift before them.

    Commander Gives had entered the Rico Sector with purpose: not to hesitate, not to think.  Command had to know what it was doing in giving these orders. They had to. But this blockade had been wholly unprepared for an attack. He¡¯d been ready to order an execution, but not to create a massacre.

    These people¡­ They had crossed a dangerous line with their blockade targeting Knight Industries, but they weren¡¯t criminals. They weren¡¯t murders. And they sure as hell weren¡¯t separatists.

    He had done his job. Despite the wrongness he felt, despite the way it tore at him, he¡¯d given his orders. He¡¯d eradicated this blockade. But now, face to face with this ship, with the last ship, spared by a firing error ¨C or so the weapons officer claimed, he realized he couldn¡¯t do this. He wouldn¡¯t.

    His predecessor had done these deeds. Brent had reveled in joy during these tasks, killing and torturing. But, I¡¯m not him. He¡¯d never wanted to be.

    From the nauseated expressions of the crew around him, they were no more fit for this type of immoral work than he was. They were waiting on him to tell them to stop, to let the civilian ship go.

    But, it wasn¡¯t that simple. Command would find out. Command always found out.

    To debate, to delay this anymore than he already had, it was suicide. Command would execute him for treason. This would be the only excuse they needed.

    Likely, that was the reason Command had given these orders the way they had. General Brent was only proving a point: that some descendant of the poorer worlds was not capable, was not strong enough to decide who lived and who died out here in the void. And Brent was right. He was not able to take these lives without reason, without hesitation.

    But still, he could feel a soothing presence among the madness of the Rico Sector. Recognizing that calm, it was enough to give him another moment of pause, surprised that the ghost wasn¡¯t outraged, furious with him. After all, he had just murdered thousands of civilian protesters. But no, she wouldn¡¯t hold that against him. Those orders had been given by Command.

    It was understood. We do what we have to, what is necessary. He followed Command and she followed him, as expected. So, as he stood in turmoil, she remained objective and calm, waiting with endless patience for his commands.

    She had already shown her opinion. The non-lethal impact on the Titanica was proof of that. Only the ghost could demonstrate such precise control over the ship¡¯s weapons under the guise of an error.

    She knew that this was wrong, just as he did. These protesters need not have died. I should have refused. No doubt, General Brent had expected him to refuse these orders entirely.

    But it was not that simple. If he refused orders, or failed to complete them in the slightest, Command would see it as treason. They would remove him from the ship and execute him for what he knew. Worse, they would hand the ghost over to someone else, slave her unwilling mind to another potential abuser. And that, above all else, was the one thing he could not allow.

    It would drive her mad.

    But was this any better? Following orders like this, forcing her to take part in another few thousand deaths, letting her blindly trust that something, someday would change¡­ It was the same cycle of misery. She was still being subjected to death after death after death.

    Nothing was going to change. He would never have the power to truly end this cycle. Command would never grant him that authority. But right now, he had the power to spare her this, to spare her the deaths of those aboard the Titanica. If that was all his command would amount to, if this was what it took to finally get him executed, then it was better than nothing.

    He had to take a stand, and truthfully should have a long, long time ago. ¡°Hold fire,¡± he ordered the weapons officer. This is my choice. He had no interest in those lives aboard the Titanica. Truthfully, they were probably forfeit no matter what he did, but he would not subject the ghost to taking one more life against her will. Not one more.

    ¡°Commander¡­¡± the communications officer protested, privy to the contents of Command¡¯s orders. ¡°That is a direct disregard of our orders.¡± If Belle had been on the bridge, this was grounds to remove him from command. Upon return to Base Oceana, it would be justification for a court martial against him.

    ¡°Hold fire,¡± he ordered, certain of this choice. The ghost could not disobey those orders no matter how badly she wanted to. He had to do it in her place. That was the only way to spare her this meaningless violence. ¡°I will not finish this massacre.¡± If this was to be what ended his life, so be it. ¡°Put the systems on automatic,¡± he ordered the crew. ¡°Let the records show that none of you were involved.¡± He would not drag the crew down with him in this act of disobedience.

    He watched them reach up and switch their controls off their usual manual setting, trusting the ship to her minimal automatic guidance and control systems. When the deed was done, he picked up the nearest handset and began feeding vocal commands to the ship, all too aware of the crew¡¯s horrified stares.

 Part 25.4 - A DEAL

    Twenty-three years ago, Rico Sector, Knight Industries System 01, CT Titanica

    For minutes, they sat, staring up at the weapon above them. No one cried. No one screamed. No one begged to run. It would have been pointless.

    Menaw, the proud, once-charismatic leader of this protest sat in his chair, seeming to shrivel up more the longer he was made to watch the debris twist and turn around them. The Titanica¡¯s panoramic windows revealed everything with horrifying ease. No matter how far away it truly was, no matter what the wreckage was made from, he could only see bodies. Every dark shadow in the haze of dissipating smoke was a person that he had brought here and inspired to die.

    They had believed in him. These people who had answered his cries protest, these people had stayed here, believing they were safe in his crass overconfidence. And that made them as much his victims as they were the Bloody Singularity¡¯s.

    ¡°Captain,¡± someone called, the voice of the living now sounding so unbelievably fragile. ¡°We¡¯re being hailed.¡±

    She never specified who it was from. There was no need. There was only one other functional ship left in this system. ¡°Answer it.¡±

    When the communication appeared, the bridge of the military ship was horrifyingly tidy. There was not one item out of place. The frame was dominated by the controls of a well-oiled killing machine. Standing alone among a cadre of pale, blank crewmen, the ship¡¯s commander didn¡¯t announce himself. He didn¡¯t demand anything. He only said, ¡°I am willing to make a deal.¡±

    Broken, Captain Menaw managed a chilling outward calm to match Commander Gives¡¯. ¡°I¡¯m listening,¡± he answered, barely registering that he was still alive.

    ¡°You will leave this sector, you will never return, and you will destroy the records of your stay here.¡± He skimmed the raw and desperate expressions of the Titanica¡¯s crew before settling again on Captain Menaw, his position obvious as he sat in the traditional blue suit of civilian captainship. ¡°You will tell no one that you were here, and if someone asks, you will tell them that you have never met the Singularity except in distant passing.¡± They would hold themselves to complete, unbroken silence for the rest of their days. ¡°You will swear to do these things on each and every one of your lives, and I will allow you escape with those lives.¡±

    He drilled Menaw with his gaze, ¡°But remember this, if I ever hear any word of what happened here today, I will tell Command that you are radical separatists. Then, the biggest, last manhunt you will ever see will spread across the worlds. And it will not stop until you. are. All. Dead.¡± He pronounced those last words very clearly, ensuring that it was more than a promise, simply the prediction of a possible future where one of them, any of them, opened their mouths. ¡°Am I clear?¡±

    Life had all but fled Captain Menaw, leaving him numb. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± he answered in a dead tone, eyes flickering with the shadows of corpses only he saw outside the windows.

    ¡°Good,¡± Commander Gives answered, his voice stone cold. ¡°You have five minutes to get out of this sector.¡± He ended the communication without bothering to specify what would happen if the Titanica failed to disappear within that time.

    The lone survivor of a protest once a hundred ships strong vanished into subspace as soon as her FTL drive was charged. They called it a deal with the devil, but none of the crew, not even the fiercest defenders of the protest, intended to utter a word. They knew it would be their death, and a few hours later, a young Dean Merlyn found the once-unshakable Captain Menaw in his quarters. Shot by a gun still clasped in his own hand, the failure of his protest and massacre of his followers too much for him to bear.

    Things were no better in the Rico Sector once the Titanica had fled. Sparing those lives left Commander Gives with a problem: the evidence. Planetary monitors and the Singularity¡¯s own records would indicate that he had disobeyed his orders, allowing a ship to escape. His own crew would keep to silence, afraid to be involved, even by testifying in court, and the planetary security recordings could be altered remotely, it was the Singularity¡¯s records that were the problem. The data on the ship¡¯s control systems could be altered or wiped, but the Black Box was untouchable.

    The Black Box¡¯s technology allowed it to record the sensor readouts, flight path, communications and weapons data of a ship. Fearing soldiers¡¯ refusal to complete distasteful jobs like the one they¡¯d just finished, Command had installed a Black Box on every ship in the fleet. The knowledge that it would reveal any failure to complete orders was enough to force crewmen to heel, no matter the task, no matter their thoughts, because disobedience was treason and the penalty for treason was death.

    Thus, locked in a Box that only Command had the key to, it was the Singularity¡¯s records that would incriminate Commander Gives. The Generalty would cross-check the written report with those records and find that they didn¡¯t match, then court martial him immediately for failing to complete his orders.

    ¡°They¡¯re going to execute you,¡± the engineer at the controls simply said.

    ¡°Most likely,¡± Gives agreed. This wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d thrown his life away. At least this time, it was for a reason. Upon return to Command, he might be as good as dead, but he¡¯d saved several lives and spared the ghost some pain.

    ¡°Then we tamper with the records,¡± the sensor officer declared. ¡°We tear the Black Box out. You always hated that damned thing anyway, sir.¡±

    It seemed saving a few lives had ingratiated him with the crew at least a little. Hmm, he mused, I probably should have tried that sooner. Everyone loved a hero, but, ¡°That cannot be done.¡± The Black Box could not be tampered with. Any attempt to get at its contents would trigger fail safes until Command could retrieve it. Attempting to destroy or remove it would also trigger those safeties, not to mention cause potentially catastrophic damage to the ship, as the Box was thoroughly ingrained with the ship¡¯s systems by millions of fibrous connections. It would take decades to find and sever those fibers before the Box could be safely removed.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    But Commander Gives would never endanger the ship to save his own skin. In his book, it just wasn¡¯t worth it, so he gave what orders he could. ¡°Reengage manual controls. Plot a course for the Homebound Sector.¡± Command would be awaiting news of their success and be even more pleased by his failure.

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± The navigations officer said. ¡°We are eighteen hours away by warp.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡± That would be more than enough time to write a report for Command. ¡°Secure from general quarters and engage FTL when ready. Ensign,¡± he summoned the yeoman on the bridge, ¡°I will need a pen and some paper.¡± He would have to write that report here while he held the watch, since he refused to hand the ship off to Belle.

    He saw no way that this ended well for him, but there was still no reason to take that out on the crew. He had made this choice. They¡¯d had nothing to do with it. The least he could do was keep Belle from beating them until they returned to Base Oceana.

    Writing the report took a few hours, but he filed it all as if he had followed his orders to the letter: no survivors. The ship¡¯s records would show the truth, but he¡¯d be damned if he readily admitted anything. Brent would consider the entire event a display of incompetence and Commander Gives would never willingly give him that satisfaction.

    Belle returned to the bridge once, expecting to take over the watch, but his glare kept her out of CIC. While she was denied her chance to take over for a few hours, she still smiled, pleased. In that, it was clear she knew. She knew he¡¯d defied his orders, and undoubtedly, she would waste no time messaging General Brent with that fact. The military police would probably be waiting to detain him the moment he stepped off the ship. Belle¡¯s satisfaction was revoltingly apparent as she waved to him. ¡°Good bye, little Prince. I didn¡¯t know you had that kind of determination in you, but I suppose I should be grateful.¡±

    He steeled his countenance, ¡°I am still your commanding officer, Colonel. I would suggest you not aggravate me, because I would be well within my rights to airlock an officer that has helped instigate several mutinies aboard my ship before returning to Command.¡± The thought was probably a little too tempting. He wouldn¡¯t have to worry about the repercussions, since his act of defiance in the Rico Sector would almost certainly already give him the death penalty.

    With a twinge of disgust on her lip, Belle left again, and the bridge settled into silence. Even with the shift change, the officers were quiet at their stations. These crew members may not have seen it first hand, but they knew very well what had happened in the Rico Sector. The resulting dead and the fate of their Commander left them somber and hesitant to speak. Expressing sympathy could incriminate them as much as actually participating in disobedience.

    Commander Gives didn¡¯t mind the silence. He was used to it, and it let him hear the sounds of the ship. At warp, the power of the FTL drive that currently enabled them to travel through hyperspace manifested as a strange, pulsating hum, not at all similar to the now-mute tone of the main engines. The noise was not unwelcome, but he¡¯d grown accustomed to the sound of the engines ¨C learned to identify their thrust direction and magnitude by pitch. That alone had kept Belle from trying to sabotage their courses and search patterns over the years.

    She had always been desperate to oust him, seeking a second chance to take over command. As it turned out, despite his own insistence, she¡¯d probably get it. Of course, knowing what he did, Belle would almost certainly be rejected again.

    But someone, someone would get lucky the way he had.

    With her creator now dead, Command would take no chances. The ghost would have to choose. She would have to allow one of the officers they sent her to take over. To deny that would likely result in her dismantlement and the failure of her mission.

    I¡¯m sorry, he thought. In the end, he¡¯d done nothing for her, made nothing better. But, right or wrong he¡¯d made his choice, and sparing those few lives had to mean more than the empty promise of a future he couldn¡¯t give. In that, he knew he should have made his stand some time ago. He could have spared the other lives in the Rico Sector. He could have ended all of this violence a dozen missions ago. He could have ended it all the day he took command and steered the ship toward a star a hundred years away, alone.

    Not doing so was perhaps one of his greatest regrets.

    Because everything that had happened since was wrong. The intelligence of the almighty Angel of Destruction had trusted him to do right, but he¡¯d done only wrong. And yet, she was innocent of that, just as she was innocent of the abuse Brent had put her through. It was the innocence of a child asked to do and endure terrible things for her parents, unknowing the true meaning, not understanding the way her own instincts balked. While the ghost was certainly not a child, admittedly more intelligent and experienced than he was, her mind had been twisted, cut apart and tied in knots. Her level of understanding was fragmented, leaving her unaware of the worlds¡¯ unending cruelty and her own role within it.

    He had spent the last four years trying to rectify that, trying to ensure she could strengthen, heal and understand. With that, someday, she hopefully would outgrow the chains that bound her to torturously obey such a selfish species. But progress had been slow, too slow. Brent¡¯s damage had been incalculable. After four years, he could still only get the ghost to speak to him on the calmest days. But the days they spent slaving away for Command were rarely calm, and even in those scarce calm moments, he could only catch glimpses of what she would, should have been capable of without the scars Brent¡¯s abuse.

    Now, it was all he could do to hope that what he¡¯d done would be enough, because his remaining hours disappeared all too quickly. They were soon dropping out of hyperspace in the Haven System, home to Ariea¡¯s crystalline jewel.

    The planet hadn¡¯t changed at all in their absence, it glistened with a near-spotless atmosphere above oceans of sapphire blue. Still, he could only turn from the sight of it. He¡¯d dreaded this return since the day he¡¯d left. This will be a hell of a homecoming.

    The crew should have been overjoyed to finally, finally make it back to one of the central worlds, to peaceful territory, but their dread sapped the light from the mood. Funny. After years of hating his guts, they suddenly seemed hesitant to deliver him to his death. They considered sparing the Titanica a merciful act, proof that he wasn¡¯t the psychopath Belle made him out to be.

    They probably would be less comforted to know the act was pointless. The minute Command realized what he¡¯d done, the Titanica would be hunted down and sunk, but this had never been about those protesters.

    ¡°Base Oceana is requesting our mission data, Commander,¡± the communications officer announced, his headset immediately bombarded by inquiries.

    ¡°Send it.¡± As per usual, Command would waste no time dissecting their results and reports.

    ¡°Aye,¡± the officer confirmed, ¡°We have also received orders to dock at Base Oceana surrender for inspection.¡±

    The Commander watched the officer fidget, everyone on the bridge aware that allowing that inspection would enable one of Command¡¯s personnel to retrieve the secure data from the Black Box. That would be the order that signed his death warrant, but it was inevitable. Refusing the inspection would be an entirely new level of trouble.

    He let out a breath, holding his calm, ¡°Send notification of compliance.¡± Some part of him expected to be anxious, but that knot in his stomach wasn¡¯t there. He¡¯d always known a fate like this would await him. Command had tried to kill him before¡­ repeatedly. The only difference was, this time, he¡¯d finally given them a reason.

 Part 26.1 - THE ADMIRALS STARS

    Twenty-three years ago, Homebound Sector, Haven System, Base Oceana

    ¡°Come in,¡± a voice called, breaking out of a conversation he could vaguely hear through the door.

    Commander Gives stepped into the room, the powered door whooshing closed behind him. Two people were waiting beneath the soothing light of the crystal chandelier. Arms crossed upon his chest, Brent looked none too happy, the sneering twist missing from his lips for the moment, but the other approached him with the big, grand smile of a practiced politician.

    ¡°Commander Gives,¡± she greeted, initiating a handshake clearly practiced to be friendly, ¡°it¡¯s been so long. But believe me, it¡¯s good to see you.¡±

    ¡°Once again, it is an honor, ma¡¯am.¡± Not many officers ever had meetings with the president of the republic, but his unusual status had necessitated her involvement. Despite the required formalities between their ranks, he said nothing to Brent. It was sickening enough to stand in the same room. He would never regard the man as his superior unless given a direct order.

    Similarly, Brent said nothing. He regarded the Commander the way a cat regarded water: with utter disgust.

    Between them, Tui felt the tension and simply sighed. Always the same. ¡°Gentlemen, there is no call to be hostile. I simply wanted to congratulate the Commander on his first successful tour, and what a long one it was.¡±

    ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am,¡± Gives said, dipping his head politely. As friendly as Tui seemed, that was a politician¡¯s act. Her skinny frame hid an incredible amount of ferocity, enough to earn the respect of Brent¡¯s psychopathy. As president, she¡¯d run on a political platform promising to end the violence on the Frontier. When she did so, she¡¯d been hailed as a peacemaker, but her policies had been nothing so kind. It was this tiny woman, with a deceptively young-looking face framed by short black hair, who had authorized the fleet¡¯s excessive use of force. It was she who had ordered Command to exterminate even the rumors of separatist forces, because if there was no rumor of rebellion, there was no rebellion either. Her ruthlessness had chased away even the idea that mass separatist forces could still exist anywhere in the worlds.

    It was no surprise that Gives had been summoned to meet with her and Brent. The General was always eager to nitpick his work, and the commander-in-chief had taken a special interest in his success ¨C or lack thereof. They would keep him busy until the spooks on Base Oceana finished the analysis of the mission data and promptly arrested him for treason.

    But, Tui was oblivious to that at the moment. ¡°I am impressed with the way you conducted yourself, Commander. I am thankful to find one of such conviction among the fleet¡¯s ranks.¡± A soldier who never questioned orders would always have value.

    ¡°What,¡± Brent snarled, entirely affronted by Tui¡¯s shower of appreciation, ¡°we¡¯re supposed to be grateful that he brought the damned flagship back in one piece? We¡¯re supposed to make him a hero for doing his job?¡± He scoffed. ¡°Nothing on the Frontier can even threaten her. An idiot could have done that.¡±

    ¡°An idiot has done that,¡± Commander Gives retorted.

    Brent¡¯s nostrils flared. ¡°What was that, dirt buster?¡± He stomped closer to tower over the younger officer, ¡°Trying to get me to wring that pathetic neck of yours?¡± He clenched his hands, desperately wanting to clasp them around a throat, any throat. ¡°I am a hundred times smarter than you will ever be, because these worlds will never believe in you.¡± They would always think of him as a lower-class citizen.

    Tui shoved her tiny form between them before the argument could escalate, grateful her pumps had purchase on the thick rug. ¡°Gentlemen, you two are the smartest officers in the fleet. You are both capable of doing what needs to be done.¡± She focused on shoving Brent back, ¡°And I should not need to remind you that killing him is not an option.¡±

    Brent turned red. ¡°You think that he is invaluable?¡± he argued, throwing Tui¡¯s hand off his chest. ¡°Because he¡¯s the only one that weapon would tolerate? Don¡¯t make me laugh.¡± He quickly grabbed a handful of Gives¡¯ dark hair and yanked him closer. ¡°He¡¯s weak, the product of an error that turned even his own people against him.¡± He wrapped a meaty hand around the young officer¡¯s jaw, finding the pressure points that would so easily break it. ¡°Please, the poor worlds already hate him more than they ever did me, and I enjoyed sieging them. I enjoyed executing their people.¡± He tightened his grip, smiling, ¡°But at least I was not a traitor.¡±

    Commander Gives reached up and clapped his hands over Brent¡¯s ears. In his restrained position, he wasn¡¯t strong enough to rupture Brent¡¯s eardrums with the force, but it startled Brent enough to drop him with a howl. Freed, Gives leapt back and tried to draw the sabre sheathed on his hip, but his adversary was faster. Brent lunged forward, smacked the guard of the sword with one hand and drove the second straight into the Commander¡¯s gut.

    The brutal uppercut floored him easily, and Brent was on top of him in an instant, gleefully wrapping his hands around the younger officer¡¯s throat. He tightened and tightened his grip until it was clear his victim was painfully, slowly asphyxiating.

    Commander Gives struggled, but he was no match for Brent¡¯s size and strength, scouring the area for his fallen weapon. There, he spotted the dented guard of his Academy sword, and strained, twisting his body beneath Brent¡¯s weight to try and reach it, but his fingertips were nowhere close. No!

    Brent laughed, watching the struggle with satisfaction. ¡°You¡¯re weak, Gives. Always have been.¡± The wet, choking sounds of strangulation were music to his ears. He tightened his grip again, smiling as he saw his victim¡¯s eyes start to lose focus. ¡°You never belonged here.¡± Someone of his background should never have been among the fleet¡¯s upper ranks.

    The Commander could feel his struggle growing weaker. He was stronger than the last time they¡¯d fought, strong enough to land a hit, but it wasn¡¯t enough. Against Brent, it was never enough. Now his vision swam as it dimmed on the edges, eyes watering as his lungs burned for air. He reached for a weapon, for anything he could use, but there was nothing, only the feeling of the rug below fingers that were quickly going numb.

    Distantly, vaguely, he could hear an alarm. It was muted here, but out in the corridor, it must have been as loud as a scream.

    ¡°Howard,¡± Tui appeared above Brent¡¯s shoulder, ¡°let him go.¡± A twinge of unease shadowed her expression when Brent didn¡¯t move. ¡°Listen¡­¡± listen to that alarm, ¡°You have to let him go.¡±

    Brent tightened his grip for a second, but then released it. ¡°This means nothing,¡± he snarled, breath hot across Gives¡¯ face. ¡°You are nothing to these worlds, and you never will be. You will always be alone and unimportant, a pawn in someone else¡¯s game.¡± Even Tui defended him only for his uses.

    ¡°And if you think, even for a moment, that the weapon¡¯s apparent attachment to you will change any of that, then you¡¯re a greater fool I thought. We don¡¯t need you to control that thing. It answers to Command as much as it answers to you, and I know more about it than you ever will.¡± The Angel was his plaything. ¡°I memorized each and every layer of that faux intelligence. That¡¯s what happens when you force it to dissect itself over and over and over again for your entertainment.¡± Brent laughed, as if recalling a warm memory. ¡°I have never seen something so eager to please that it will willingly tear its own mind apart and then act so honestly wounded-¡±

    Truthfully, he could barely move where he was on the floor, heaving in air, but nothing in the worlds could have stopped him from decking Brent in that moment. The punch landed as a solid crack right on the jaw, enough to send the General stumbling back with a shout. As a psychopath, Brent got a high from others¡¯ pain, but he was far less tolerant on his own.

    Ignoring the clumsiness of limbs still numb from asphyxiation, Commander Gives hauled himself to his feet. ¡°Shut your mouth.¡±

    Rubbing the rising bump on his square jawline, Brent glared. ¡°As much as I would enjoy killing you right now, I am far more eager to know what chaos will emerge from your summary execution for treason.¡±

    ¡°What are you talking about, General?¡± Tui asked.

    ¡°I have it from a reliable source that Gives failed to completely eradicate the rebels in the Rico Sector.¡±

    While he had twisted his lip into that familiar sneer, Commander Gives was pleased to note it looked considerably more ridiculous with an obvious shiner on his jaw.

    Tui was less amused, she straightened her suit jacket before turning very seriously to the Commander. ¡°What¡¯s he talking about, Commander?¡±

    With effort, the Commander corrected his posture to something more proper. ¡°I am unsure, Madame President.¡±

    Tui didn¡¯t believe that for a moment, but Gives had always been a man of fewer words. He said exactly as much as he meant to the first time around, and then nothing else. The man had certainly never been shy, but always guarded. ¡°No matter,¡± she said, stowing her personal data pad, ¡°the results are in. Knight Industries would like to deliver the confirmation of your mission data, with Command¡¯s consent.¡± The analysis was complete. ¡°They did not clarify whether it was good news or bad news, Commander.¡±

    So, bad, then, he thought. They had found that one ship survived, and Knight Industries was calling directly to demand the ship be hunted and he be punished. Still, he held his calm, ¡°I understand, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s get to it.¡± Tui brushed her short dark hair perfectly into place, then grabbed the remote and powered on the massive screen that hung above the table. ¡°Brent, hide that disgusting bruise and get out of the frame.¡±

    Brent gave a low growl of discontent, but lumbered out of the camera¡¯s view.

    On the screen, the visage of a business man appeared in a large well-lit office. ¡°President Tui, I will make this brief. That him?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the President confirmed. ¡°This is Commander William Gives. He led the mission that ended the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion.¡±

    The business man gave him a brief once-over. ¡°Shorter than expected for a man of muddy blood. Often, we get big, strong line workers with his heritage¡­¡± the man shrugged the oddity away, focusing again, ¡°To make matters short, your actions have saved my company. Knight Industries thanks you for your service. You dealt with the matter at hand quickly and without failure. I was told you performed the same way in your other missions, despite even your crew doubting your ability. Congratulations, Commander, your record is flawless.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Brent boomed. ¡°That is a lie!¡±

    Commander Gives ignored him, focusing on the business man. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±

    ¡°With that, I leave you to discuss matters with President Tui. Good day.¡±

    The transmission vanished before anyone could argue, leaving Tui to sigh. ¡°He forgot to introduce himself.¡± The business man thought his time was too valuable for those trivialities.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°I know who he is,¡± Commander Gives said. How could he not? ¡°Tarn Verdois, the current CEO of Knight Industries.¡± One of the wealthiest people in the worlds.

    Tui hummed her approval. ¡°Good. Then you understand how pleased he was with your performance to call personally.¡± That was no small gesture from a man so powerful. ¡°Relations between my administration and Knight Industries have never been better, and I have you to thank for that.¡±

    ¡°Are you insane?¡± Brent thundered over. ¡°My source told me this pathetic piece of trash let a ship escape that protest in direct violation of his orders. That is treason.¡±

    ¡°And Command has confirmed otherwise.¡± Tui countered. ¡°The mission data and the Commander¡¯s report match perfectly. He did his job flawlessly.¡±

    ¡°So, check the Black Box. It will show the truth,¡± Brent snarled. He could sense the weakness, the lie.

    ¡°The Black Box was used. Its secure data confirmed his success, as expected, right, Commander?¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Commander Gives heard himself say. Years of practice concealing his emotions left the answer as calm as before, even while his mind reeled. Somehow, the Black Box had failed to incriminate him. But that made no sense. The Box had never shown any signs of malfunction.

    Red began to tint Brent¡¯s face. He knew that Tui would not ignore an act of treason, no matter how useful she found Gives as a pawn. ¡°You altered those records¡­ How?¡± he demanded, ¡°HOW?¡± The Black Boxes were infallible.

    Tui brushed him off, ¡°Leave. I have things to discuss with Commander Gives.¡± She pointed to the door, ¡°Now, Brent.¡±

    They stood in an uncomfortable silence until the door closed behind Brent. The moment it did, Tui let out a sigh and dropped her posture. Her thin shoulders slumped so far her sharply pressed suit suddenly seemed two sizes too large. Still, Commander Gives still found himself uncomfortable. Little good could come from someone his rank discussing anything in private with the President. Especially when he should be a marked traitor.

    Tui pulled the crystalline bottle of liquor off the conference table and poured herself a glass. ¡°The inspectors have informed me that the flagship is in better condition now than she has been in a decade. Apparently, your command has been substantially more thorough with maintenance and repair than General Brent¡¯s was.¡± She leaned casually against the table, wrapping her thin fingers carefully around her glass, ¡°Is there a reason for that?¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± he answered stiffly. ¡°Under Brent¡¯s command, the ship was rapidly deteriorating. If I had continued his tactics, the ship would have suffered an irreparable maintenance burn out within a few years.¡±

    ¡°I know you¡¯re very smart, Mister Gives. You¡¯ve no need to prove any technical knowledge to me. As far as I¡¯m concerned, you¡¯ve proven your worth time and time again these last four years, so don¡¯t give me the technical jargon, just tell me what it means.¡±

    Irritation flared for a moment. He¡¯d never been trying to prove his intelligence with technical terminology. It was not his fault Tui had never bothered to familiarize himself with it, but he paused and reconsidered his words, concealing that frustration as if he felt nothing. ¡°If I had continued General Brent¡¯s tactics, the ship would have deteriorated continuously for the next few years. Eventually, there would have been a point where further maintenance was useless and the ship¡¯s capability and reliability would have rapidly declined until she was no longer fit for service.¡±

    ¡°And fit only to be recycled,¡± Tui concluded. ¡°Did that bother you, Commander? To know that your ship had a finite lifetime and that it was nearing its end?¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, machines do not age. Given proper care, they can remain functional for a millennium.¡± In a sense, they were immortal.

    ¡°But battleships do get old. The start to deteriorate and they get retired. Their metals get reused to build squadrons of new ships. And the Singularity will be no exception.¡± Eventually, even if it was after his command ended, the crew would get lazy. They¡¯d cut corners and the ship would start to degrade.

    ¡°Perhaps she should be the exception, Madame President. The Singularity saved our entire species from the Hydrian Empire. Without her, we would be extinct. She served flawlessly through the War and the Frontier Rebellion, and now into these Dead Years. It has been twenty-seven years, and no build has come close to her level of power.¡± After nearly three decades, she was unquestionably still the fleet¡¯s most powerful ship, no matter what rumors had begun to circulate of her deterioration. ¡°If the Hydra were to attack, what would you send to defend us? The Royal-class ships? Or the flagship?¡±

    The argument was logical. He never spoke without logic, but it was flawed. ¡°Yes, despite the rumors, the flagship operated flawlessly, with not one single error.¡± She took a swallow from her glass, and narrowed her eyes, ¡°¡­until four years ago.¡±

    ¡°You would consider my command to be an error, ma¡¯am?¡±

    The question was neutral, but she knew the glint in his blue eyes: a challenge. ¡°You¡¯re a very gifted officer, Commander.¡± She could not shame the performance of an officer with an apparently flawless record. ¡°It is unfortunate that it took these circumstances to demonstrate that.¡±

    ¡°I was a decorated executive officer before Brent sent me to die in the scout fleet, Madame President. I am well aware that my current situation has nothing to do with my skill.¡± He could prove himself a thousand times, and Command would still find a reason to doubt him.

    ¡°I see,¡± Tui said, setting her now-empty glass back onto the table, only to refill it with a longer pour. ¡°Then I can understand how complicated that makes things for you, Commander.¡±

    ¡°I would argue that makes things relatively simple,¡± he replied calmly. ¡°I stay in line, I stay alive.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°I know why you punched Brent. You¡¯re very defensive about that weapon, because without it, without its apparent attachment to you, you would have died in the scout fleet, in pain and all alone.¡±

    Oh, I would have died long before that, he knew as he studied the President for any sign of malintent.

    ¡°You feel you owe that weapon a debt, and it is acting hurt, acting like it needs help, and not from just anyone, from you.¡± That was a powerful thing, to feel chosen, to feel validated, especially for someone like him, who was an outcast among the worlds. ¡°But you¡¯re smart enough to know that it is manipulating you.¡± In her experience, despite his youth, he was probably the wisest officer in the fleet.

    ¡°It becomes what it needs to be, Commander. Brent adored it because it was his favorite victim, and you adore it because you think it needs you, and is perhaps the only one that ever has.¡± It was a brilliant ploy. ¡°By result, neither one of you would allow it to be destroyed.¡±

    ¡°But I will remind you that this thing is smarter than either of you, and a million times more powerful. Powerful enough to threaten the Hydrian Empire with extinction,¡± a society with technology far beyond their own. ¡°If it turned on us¡­¡± She shuddered to consider that reality.

    ¡°The Angel of Destruction was created to save humanity, Madame President. She would never turn on us unless driven to a point of madness.¡±

    ¡°So you have told me before,¡± she said, ¡°and so the creator of the weapon agreed.¡± Tui had no choice but to trust that, and, ¡°I have no choice but to trust that task to you, Commander. Keep that intelligence sane.¡± That should be his top priority. ¡°Do whatever it takes,¡± she ordered.

    ¡°You may not like my methods.¡±

    Tui chuckled dryly, the burn of liquor in her throat. ¡°At least you¡¯re honest.¡± These days, that was a peculiar trait. As president, people too often told her what she wanted to hear. ¡°I believe this may help.¡±

    She handed him a black satin box from the table, barely the size of his palm. ¡°Knight Industries was insistent that your service be rewarded, and well, the vote for my reelection is coming up. It would benefit my platform to have a high-ranking officer from the lower class. Many activists and worlds will look favorably upon that. So, congratulations, Admiral.¡±

    He opened the box to find a set of rank pins, each a single gold star resting on a silver base. The symbol of an Admiral with a flagship under his command.

    She waited a moment, but he was strangely quiet. ¡°You know, usually, people smile or cheer, given these.¡± But not him, it seemed. He was as impassive as ever.

    ¡°These are the rank pins for a full Admiral. You skipped a rank.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± that was no error. ¡°Fleet PR has been having a hard time explaining why the flagship is under the command of lower-ranking officer. Traditionally, as you know, such a command would go to either a highly decorated officer, or to the Fleet Admiral. This should solve that problem.¡±

    ¡°The fleet will never take me seriously.¡± They already didn¡¯t take him seriously. Now, jumping ranks for obviously political reasons, they¡¯d treat him as a joke.

    ¡°Then I suggest you make them take you seriously, Mister Gives. I know you are smarter than Brent.¡± He¡¯d outsmarted the man while Brent had still been his commanding officer. ¡°Use that. There will be a public ceremony honoring your promotion tomorrow at 0900. Be there.¡±

    ¡°Understood.¡±

    ¡°Then we¡¯re finished. Just remember what I told you about the Angel, Admiral. That thing survives by manipulation. Do what you must to keep it functional, but remember where your own loyalties lie.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± he acknowledged.

    After that, the walk home was suffocating. He felt drained and exhausted, and above all else, confused. He¡¯d approached that meeting expecting to be in the gallows by nightfall, but instead he¡¯d come away with a promotion and general authorization to do as he pleased.

    When he stepped past the airlock, nodding to the guard, he made his way carefully into the ship¡¯s depths. He walked a few minutes until he found an empty corridor and then it was all he could do to put his back to the wall and slide  miserably to the floor, wanting to melt into the deck and never move again. It had been a hell of a day, or two, since he hadn¡¯t slept in the meantime.

    ¡°Welcome home, Admiral.¡±

    Recognizing her perfectly plain officer¡¯s shoes, he turned his head, altogether too tired to move further than that. ¡°Thank you,¡± he told the ghost. ¡°You okay?¡±

    Though she hesitated, she eventually nodded. Surprisingly, her Master had not summoned her, but she could still feel the poison of his mind, burning like a cattle prod searing into flesh. Still, she reached up to touch her throat, a question in her eyes.

    ¡°Ah,¡± doing the same, he could already feel dark bruises taking form. No doubt, the marks left by Brent¡¯s attempt to strangle him were obvious. ¡°Let¡¯s just say that the negotiations were tense.¡± Even his hand was getting sore from where he¡¯d decked Brent on the jaw. His bones and muscles still weren¡¯t as strong as they should have been.

    ¡°¡­I am sorry.¡±

    Her voice was so quiet that he nearly missed it. ¡°Not your fault.¡± This was hardly the first time he¡¯d come back banged up from a station visit. Most of the fleet¡¯s higher-ups didn¡¯t take well to him. He¡¯d lost track of how many black eyes he¡¯d worn home. Under such conditions, it was no wonder that he still hadn¡¯t recovered from the starvation and chemical injections the scout fleet had put him though. Flexing his sore hand, he spoke quietly, ¡°Times, I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll ever recover from what happened that day.¡±

    She looked him over again, slowly, as if checking for some detail she may have missed, but there was a shadow in her silver gaze. Memory, he knew. Even without a word, he knew that she understood. She was probably the only one in the worlds that truly understood.

    He returned his gaze to the floor, tired, ¡°I don¡¯t think I really know what I¡¯m doing.¡± He played a good part, certainly. He¡¯d fooled the entire crew, hell, even tricked the President of humanity¡¯s republic into thinking that he was a brilliant soldier, driven to complete his ends. There were times he believed in that lie too, but there were always days like today to remind him otherwise.

    He was lost, and had been for some time. As much as he wanted to help the ghost, he didn¡¯t truly know how. Where he sat, huddled against the wall of a machine a million times bigger and stronger than him, he was overwhelmed. A dead man walking, he himself barely knew how to live, so teaching the ghost how to do the same felt like an insurmountable task.

    Pulling his glasses from his pocket, he began to fiddle with them, opening and closing the hinges. In actuality, he was much too young to need them, but the damage the scout fleet had done to his eyes was irreversible, even with the central worlds¡¯ medical technology. Now, these frames just reminded him of times that had been worse than even this. ¡°You saved my life, but I can¡¯t help but feel I didn¡¯t deserve that.¡± Four long years, but nothing had really changed. ¡°Someone else could have helped you more. I don¡¯t know why you picked me.¡±

    ¡°Kindness.¡±

    The answer came so clear, so certain, it was another glimpse into the true complexity of this mind, and not the shell she¡¯d hidden behind. But an instant later that was gone, and the tentative, skittish presence he usually saw was in its place. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how well you really know me, then.¡± He wasn¡¯t a kind man. ¡°What I¡¯ve done and forced you to do is cruel.¡± He knew that, even if he had seen no other option.

    There was a strange sadness in her gaze, and with a trembling hand she pointed to the spot beside him on the floor, seeking permission. ¡°Rendezvous?¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± he said. ¡°You don¡¯t have to ask.¡±

    She said nothing to that, but sat carefully down, a comfortable distance between them. Without looking over, she pulled a book from the air and cracked it open on her lap. ¡°Chapter Eighteen.¡±

    She paused for a moment there, looking over for approval. It took him a moment, much too surprised to say anything at first. You were listening. When she wouldn¡¯t talk to him, he often read books aloud in his quarters. Pretending that she cared to hear them had eased his loneliness. He had hoped it would calm her, and now it seemed that she was mirroring that back to him. The green book in her hands was the one he¡¯d been reading last time, and she was just picking up where he¡¯d left off, willing to keep him company.

    ¡°Tui is wrong about you,¡± he told her. ¡°You¡¯re not trying to manipulate anyone. I know that.¡± He could feel that. ¡°I trust you.¡± This intelligence cared about those around her, no matter how weak they were in comparison. Like him, she was just looking for a place among the chaos of these worlds. ¡°And for what it¡¯s worth, thank you.¡± She had saved his life again today. ¡°I know you altered those records.¡± He didn¡¯t know how and he didn¡¯t especially care. He only knew that she was the only one capable of manipulating the Black Box. ¡°I may not know how to help you, but I promised you I would try.¡± He wouldn¡¯t give up on that. ¡°I¡¯ll start by getting us the hell away from here.¡± The further from Command, the better. ¡°I¡¯ll request a new mission tomorrow.¡± Given the short turn around and the lack of shore leave, they¡¯d probably end up replacing half the crew, but considering the misery and mutinies of the last four years, that wasn¡¯t necessarily a bad thing.

    She nodded gratefully, a rare little smile warming her features. Then she turned to the book in her hands and began to read, feeling the thoughts of the man beside her finally begin to calm.

 Part 26.2 - LOYALTY

    Present day, Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The Singularity was hurt, aching, and he felt those pains as if they were his own, such was his bond to the old ship. Thus, it had become a tradition of his to make the rounds and inspect the damage himself after combat. Usually, he pitched in on repairs too, but dealing with the surrounding civilian ships had wholly consumed his time, save the brief moments he took to center his thoughts and remind himself why he went to the trouble.

    And so it was during one of those brief pauses that Admiral Gives found himself looking out the windows on the upper bow, studying the gouges the battle had left in the hull. They were numerous. Even as the crew worked to repair them, a hundred or more were still untouched, some as small as a finger, some as large as a fighter craft. Each only reminded him of his failure. Not only had the ship been damaged, but he¡¯d engaged her against her fleet, her people, once again.

    No, he told himself, even as he didn¡¯t believe it, it¡¯s not the same. This wasn¡¯t the Frontier Rebellion. These weren¡¯t the Dead Years. They weren¡¯t killing just to kill. They had killed to survive.

    But that didn¡¯t make it right. That didn¡¯t make it better.

    In all reality, what were they doing? What was he doing, pretending that they stood a real chance in these worlds? What was he doing, trying to justify the lives he¡¯d taken?

    Sensing tumult, the ghost appeared behind him. ¡°Everything alright?¡±

    ¡°Just thinking,¡± he said softly.

    ¡°Well, that¡¯s dangerous. Try not to hurt yourself.¡±

    He blew out a lungful of hot air, a suppressed reaction of amusement. ¡°Very funny.¡±

    ¡°I thought so,¡± she smiled, stepping up beside him. He watched the hull work progress, but she watched him, setting aside her own concerns for the moment. It wasn¡¯t like him to second-guess, to regret. Something was bothering him, gnawing at his thoughts. Despite his stone-faced expression, she just knew, a gift of her telepathy, she supposed. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°We sank five ships in the Wilkerson Sector.¡± They¡¯d had over eight hundred crew each, and while there would be survivors, they would be maybe half. ¡°I know that many of those sailors were probably reconditioned by Manhattan,¡± like the Marine he¡¯d fought in the corridor, ¡°and I know they would have fought to the end, but I have to wonder if killing them was our only choice.¡±

    Once, those men and women had been sailors in his fleet, indirectly under his command. He owed a responsibility to them. ¡°Could we not have restored them to who they once were?¡±

    The ghost lowered her gaze to the scuffed gray of the textured deck. ¡°I cannot restore people to who they were if I did not know them before they were altered.¡± She could potentially help the crew, but not strangers. ¡°If I tried, they would just become pawns of another variety,¡± forced to become who she thought they should be.

    ¡°Their minds would still be enslaved, even unknowingly.¡± She could not free them. ¡°Whoever they once were is already dead, and it may seem cruel, but killing them was a favor. That way, they can¡¯t hurt the ones they once cared for.¡± Now, their memories, their bodies could not be used against their families and friends. ¡°And,¡± her voice quivered, ¡°having their minds enslaved¡­ that is no way to live.¡± It hurt in ways that were impossible to describe.

    The Admiral knew he had to accept that. People died in combat. It was easier to believe that those people may have preferred to die. The ghost¡¯s experience was not to be discounted either, a sad reminder of the past, just as her relapse on the bridge had been. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t think I¡¯m like him.¡±

    ¡°Like Brent?¡± The one who had abused and broken her over and over and over again? Even now, she felt the conditioned urge to call him, not by his name, but by the title he¡¯d forced her to use: that of her master.

    The Admiral only inclined his head. In his years of command, he had never given the ghost an order, unwilling to force her, but she remained a slave in many capacities to the ship¡¯s commander.

    Still, she scoffed. ¡°Idiot. Why would I think you¡¯re anything like him?¡±

    Silence answered her, sad and doubtful.

    To him, it was clear in the way that she had bowed to him. He and Brent weren¡¯t all that different anymore, even to the discerning sense of the ghost¡¯s telepathy.

    She softened her expression. ¡°You have always been good to me, Admiral.¡± He had treated her with nothing short of kindness, respecting her as if she¡¯d been his partner, and not his tool. ¡°You help me. You always do.¡± When she broke down, physically, emotionally, and even mentally, he was there to help pick up the pieces with nothing but patience. In these worlds she found so chaotic and confusing, that was her one constant, and it meant everything to her. ¡°You are my Admiral.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s just it, isn¡¯t it?¡± She never called him anything but that, and never had. ¡°Admiral. Your commanding officer. Aren¡¯t you tired of knowing that you¡¯re the subordinate?¡± The one who had to do as told? As much as he tried to treat her like a partner, even give her free choice, if it came down to it, she was the subordinate.

    ¡°Admiral, there are times that it has to be enough to just be respected.¡± True, he was her superior, but he treated her well, better than anyone else ever had, and that was as close as she could come to being truly free.

    ¡°As to your name,¡± rank as it technically was, ¡°I got to give you that title.¡± To her, that made it special. ¡°I wasn¡¯t ever able to give you much,¡± not compared to what he had given her, ¡°but I did get to give you that.¡± She¡¯d been able to make that dream of his a reality. ¡°I think it suits you, and I know how much you hate your name.¡± It served as an unwelcome reminder of his own past. Rank was his preferred form of address, and she knew that. At this point, he¡¯d taken to that like it was his name.

    ¡°Don¡¯t doubt yourself. You gave me more than that. You gave me a job, and a home.¡± You gave me a reason to live. He had been ready to die until she had spared him. He turned to the ghost¡¯s kind silver eyes. ¡°You gave me a friend.¡±

    A friend? Was that allowed? It was a breach of the Hydrian Bylaws, so logically, no, it wasn¡¯t. ¡°Are we¡­ friends?¡±

    ¡°I like to think so.¡± The trust and memories shared between them couldn¡¯t be held by just anyone. ¡°We¡¯ve been through a lot, you and I.¡±

    More than you even know, she lamented, drawn back again to that old debate. He deserved to know what had happened to Samantha Scarlett, but¡­ A friend. He considered her a friend. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to say.¡± Hearing that¡­ it meant the worlds to her, and it made her decision even harder. Could she really jeopardize this? What little they had?

    ¡°Don¡¯t say anything,¡± he instructed. He didn¡¯t want to give that stupid lecture again. Right now, he didn¡¯t want to remind her, remind himself, how temporary, how fragile this was.

    ¡°Yes, Admiral,¡± she replied, a little smile on her lips. This strange and difficult man often tried so hard to push her away, but he still called her a friend.

    They stood in silence for a long while, this a brief pause in the Admiral¡¯s incessant workload. She could have left, yes, or at least dispersed her illusion, but she knew that often, the simplest gestures meant the most to him. To not have to stand alone, to feel that someone was at his side, it meant a great deal to someone who had been outcast and ridiculed by the worlds for most of his life.

    Besides, it wasn¡¯t as if this interfered with her existence at all. Consciously, she could easily be in a dozen places at once. In that sense, her awareness was far more flexible than that of her human companions.

    The Admiral found her presence more than welcome. It was comforting. He knew she¡¯d watch his back, because she always had, just as he watched hers. ¡°I want to ask you something, as your friend, not as your commander.¡±

    She tilted her head, unused to him breaking the silence, ¡°Of course.¡±

    He took a deep breath, running his hand along the window frame, feeling the metal hum with the ship¡¯s power. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you happy?¡±

    ¡°I am happy. Knowing that you consider me a friend¡­ it means a lot.¡±

    ¡°Not that.¡± He could feel her joy from that, just as he knew that he should have said it sooner. She might have access to his thoughts, but some things needed to be spoken aloud.

    ¡°You wanted to go after this fleet. You wanted to save them, and we have. Right now, they¡¯re as safe as they can get, so why aren¡¯t you happy?¡± She¡¯d done good for these people. He¡¯d expected her to be ecstatic, but all he felt from her was empty acknowledgement. The last day or so, she had been ¡­off.

    It was the question that forced her to realize how much investment she¡¯d lost in that objective. The fleet¡¯s early lack of cooperation wasn¡¯t even at fault. She always expected such things to get complicated. Rather, a looming sense of helplessness had whitewashed her feelings about saving those people. Subconsciously, she had numbed herself to avoid the pain, even as it cost her happiness as well.

    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

    ¡°It¡¯s pointless,¡± she realized. Why should she be happy about saving these people? ¡°I¡¯m going to kill them.¡±

    There was an odd vacancy in her expression. ¡°Why would you do that?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s not my choice. It never is.¡± She¡¯d betray everyone here, and knowing that was her fate¡­ it became hard to justify anything. ¡°Those will be Command¡¯s orders.¡± First the fleet, then the crew, and then¡­ then, you.

    Her eyes settled on the man beside her, a spot of color in her world of grey. She could numb herself to almost everything, but not to him. Not to this man who called her a friend. He didn¡¯t know how wrong he was to place his trust in the weapon that would be ordered to shoot him in the back.

    ¡°You¡¯re worried about Command?¡± Over the years, he¡¯d purged the evidence of her existence, her identity. ¡°You should be safe from them.¡±

    ¡°I will never be safe from them.¡± Not with Manhattan on the loose. ¡°I¡¯ve become their enemy, and when they realize what I am, they won¡¯t hesitate.¡± That was reality. She was a tool, and she would be used. ¡°They won¡¯t stop, Admiral. They will never stop.¡± And that¡¯s why, she realized, that¡¯s why I can never truly be your friend. Friends cared about one another. They protected each other. But she, she would likely be the one that killed him. She¡¯d never even be allowed to mourn as a machine built not to feel emotions such as grief. Friends were loyal. Yet, bound by her curse to obey, she was anything but.

    ¡°That may be true,¡± Command may try to abuse her, ¡°but if it isn¡¯t, then I need to know: can you be happy out here?¡± Without Command? On their own amongst the worlds, with no port to call home?

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    In a way, that was freedom. On their own, she knew she¡¯d be allowed a choice. Her voice would be heard. ¡°As long as I can stay with my crew, then I can be happy.¡± She didn¡¯t care where they went, or what they did. ¡°That¡¯s what I want.¡± She wanted to stay with these minds she¡¯d come to know, come to treasure. She wanted to help and protect them, because when they were happy, she was happy too. ¡°I want to stay with them,¡± and with you.

    He gave a single nod, ¡°Then I will do my best to make that happen.¡±

    A pang resonated deep in her core, feeling those intentions strengthen alongside her own. He¡¯d ensure that she, not he, got to stay with the crew at any cost, her happiness his most important objective, above even his own.

    Why? The most she could ever do in return was to stand here and keep him company.

    But still, that was how she knew him, always working for others, never for himself. It was difficult to find adequate words. ¡°Thank you, Admiral.¡± She knew it wasn¡¯t easy for him. ¡°Thank you for caring.¡±

    He gave the frame below his hand a soft pat, and turned to the ghost, seeing the gratitude in her eyes. ¡°Of course, that¡¯s my job.¡± He took care of his people. ¡°And, that¡¯s what friends do. They care.¡±

    ¡°Then you are a good friend to me,¡± even if I can¡¯t be one to you.

    She was lucky. This man was truly one in a billion. No one else thought of her like he did. She knew because she had waded through a billion minds, learning and listening. She¡¯d reached out to some. Most didn¡¯t react. They brushed her off as a shadow or subconscious thought. Others reacted in confusion or fear, sometimes disgust. She¡¯d reached out to so many, yet he was the only one that ever reached back.

    And, as she stood beside him, surrounded by that calm presence, knowing that she should tell him the truth about Sam, she couldn¡¯t. In his presence, she felt so safe and so welcome. Manhattan had given her a week, so if these were their last few days, she didn¡¯t want them to be tainted by hate.

    I¡¯m sorry, but even if he rightfully should hate her, she couldn¡¯t bear to feel that from him, from her anchor. I want to remember this side of you.

    If Manhattan would force them apart, this stubborn, brilliant persona that had always been so patient was the one she wanted to remember. To taint all her memories of him with what would be well-deserved hatred, it would be an injustice to the man she¡¯d known so long. Anger and vengeance wouldn¡¯t be the truest representation of him. He¡¯d been a loyal, tolerant commanding officer for twenty-seven long years, saved and valued her when no one else would, and that was how he deserved to be remembered, how the ghost wanted to remember him.

    ¡°She spoke to you, didn¡¯t she?¡±

    The ghost flinched a bit, suddenly broken out of her contemplative thoughts.

    Dead giveaway, he mused. You are such a bad liar. ¡°Manhattan spoke to you, didn¡¯t she?¡± He could read the tension in her presence, struggling to debate something, no doubt suffering from Manhattan¡¯s mind games. After all, the damn AI had announced her intention to engage the Angel in negotiations. As if that would scare me.

    The ghost looked to her hands, remembering how flawed she had felt standing before Manhattan. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°What did she offer you?¡±

    ¡°The one thing I want most,¡± the guaranteed safety of the people she sought to protect, including that of the one who had protected her.

    ¡°But, you know you can¡¯t trust that.¡± The ghost couldn¡¯t trust anyone that way, let alone an AI that seemed to enjoy manipulating and controlling people. ¡°It¡¯s too much of a risk.¡±

    ¡°Is it?¡± It left her lips like a challenge. Wasn¡¯t anything worth that? No matter the risk?

    He raised an eyebrow. ¡°Then why didn¡¯t you join her?¡±

    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you?¡± He had rejected Manhattan with such unusual vehemence she had to wonder why. ¡°She could have given you anything, Admiral. Wealth. Power. Even peace.¡± She met his eyes, sad for a moment, ¡°¡­things I cannot give.¡± With her, you¡¯d never have to get hurt. No combat injuries. No suffering. No loss from her lack of control. Because, try as she might to protect him, he¡¯d suffered so much over the years that it was clear: she would never be able to keep that promise. Her voice quivered, threatening to break, ¡°Why did you have to say no?¡±

    ¡°You asked me to stay.¡±

    He said that like it was answer enough, but it wasn¡¯t. She shook her head, not understanding.

    ¡°I gave you my word.¡± As long as he was wanted, or she thought she needed him, he would remain here. ¡°So, why would I leave to join Manhattan?¡± Why would I break my word?

    Loyalty. She recognized the emotion. It was always so strong with him. Truly, that was always the best way to define the Admiral¡¯s paradox. He acted singly in her best interests, on her intentions, often without other conscience. Even now. She studied his stormy eyes, ¡°Why are you so loyal to me?¡± She knew loyalty in others, it shifted and changed. But not his, his was an absolute.

    ¡°You¡¯ve earned it.¡±

    ¡°I earned it?¡± How? What part of a damaged, unstable weapon could inspire loyalty? Especially when it now lacked most of the power it had once possessed?

    ¡°You have always been there for me.¡± She had kept the promise he¡¯d asked of her. ¡°You have stood by me through everything,¡± the good and bad. ¡°When the worlds said I was incapable, that I was wrong, that I was nothing, you gave me a chance,¡± and that was something he could never forget.

    She frowned, ¡°I am conditioned to standby and await orders, regardless of public opinion or circumstance, Admiral.¡± That was her very nature. She followed authority, remained nearby. He, as the ship¡¯s commanding officer, was that authority.

    ¡°You are not conditioned to save my life.¡± Not in the way that you did. He didn¡¯t care that she was a machine. Maybe she was built to do these things, maybe she was conditioned that way, but she still was there for him, and that was all that mattered. ¡°I owe my life to you dozens of times over and I trust you, among the worlds¡¯ chaos, to be who you¡¯ve always been,¡± to be that genuine, kind-hearted soul. ¡°I said no to Manhattan because of you. Because I¡¯d rather stay here with you.¡± She had given him the one thing a manipulative AI like Manhattan couldn¡¯t: a friend.

    It took her a long, long moment to process that. She studied the Admiral¡¯s calm, his utter sincerity. ¡°Thank you.¡± He had explained to the best of his ability, trying to make sure she understood. ¡°Your loyalty¡­ It means more to me than you could ever know.¡± He valued her. Not her capability, not what he could gain from her. He valued her as more than a tool, more than a machine. ¡°You are the best commanding officer I could ever hope to have.¡±

    He let out a huff, ¡°That I doubt.¡± He had his share of issues. ¡°But,¡± he looked over to her, ¡°I will always choose to stay here.¡± The ghost deserved to know that. ¡°This ship has always been a good home to me, and you are the one that gave me this home, this belonging.¡± He would never, ever forget that. ¡°So, the worlds may beg and bribe all they want, but my loyalty is to you.¡±

    Remembering the best moments she¡¯d spent with this officer, another small smile graced her lips. His very presence felt like protection and comfort. Her mind recognized it as safety. He had been with her for so long now, a welcome constant in a universe she fought so hard to understand. ¡°You will always have a place here, Admiral.¡± As long as you are willing to stay. If this home was all he wanted, then he would have it without contemplation.

    Just to give him that, for every day, every moment that she could, she would deny Manhattan a thousand times over, even if she couldn¡¯t ignore reality. ¡°Manhattan knows I¡¯m here.¡±

    ¡°No, she doesn¡¯t.¡± He returned his attention to the repairs occurring on the hull. ¡°She might suspect, but she can¡¯t prove that unless you openly reveal yourself.¡± Clarke dead, he was the only one who knew her identity. She was safe.

    I wish that were true. He was so certain, but that certainty was built on a lie. ¡°She¡¯s going to make me hurt people.¡± And all around her, for the first time, she was encircled by people she cared deeply for. She had freedom, choice, and she didn¡¯t want to go back to what she¡¯d been before. ¡°They want to use me to destroy worlds, to control humanity through fear,¡± like the weapon she had once been. ¡­The weapon that had eviscerated the Frontier and driven half of humanity to its knees.

    ¡°You don¡¯t have that power anymore.¡±

    ¡°But I¡¯m still powerful enough.¡± She could still be used to hurt innocent people.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to let that happen.¡± He would do everything he could to prevent the ghost from being used like that. ¡°But, I need to know what I¡¯m dealing with.¡± He could sense that she didn¡¯t want to talk directly about it, and that was fine. He could work around that. ¡°Can you compile a report for me on Manhattan¡¯s background?¡± Right now, all he knew was that the AI was aiding the Erans and was exceptionally dangerous in terms of manipulation and control. He knew nothing of its origin or history ¨C nothing he could use against it.

    Panic rampaged through her systems, this too close to that horrid truth, but the ghost knew better than to pause. She knew better than to hesitate. The Admiral would notice immediately. ¡°Of course.¡±

    ¡°How long do you need?¡±

    ¡°A few days,¡± she answered.

    He quirked an eyebrow, definitely suspect.

    ¡°Please understand,¡± she said, ¡°much of that data has been redacted from my mission logs. They ordered me to forget everything about her. It will take some time to decode and reassemble the remaining fragments.¡±

    Command had always possessed a poor understanding of her existence. As a machine, they had assumed that purging the data and banning searches of it on her mechanical form would be enough to disrupt her memory. They neglected her intelligence. She did, in fact, remember everything. Even the things she wished she could forget. ¡°It will take time and focus,¡± she explained, knowing that was only partly true.

    In reality, how could she tell him the truth? What words were gentle enough, honest enough, sorry enough? How can I tell you what you lost because of her, because of me? Samantha Scarlett had died, caught between Manhattan and the Angel.

    If she said nothing in the week Manhattan had given her, then she would never have to face his hate for her part in it, no matter how much she deserved it.

    Yes, she convinced herself, that would be for the best. That would be the path of least pain for him. He should never have to face the fact that his home, the ship he¡¯d dedicated his life to, had killed the person he¡¯d loved most. He shouldn¡¯t have to endure that betrayal, even if it meant she lost all chance of being forgiven.

 Part 26.3 - THE VISITORS

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    It was a feat of incredible engineering. The cavernous portion of the ship normally held in vacuum had been pressurized to atmospheric standard in under half an hour. Now, a civilian cargo transport ship, the Badger, sat atop the landing bay¡¯s immense plane.

    The bay had been folded down, where it sealed airtight and level with the ship¡¯s internal gravity field, then pressurized with breathable air. Making her way across the dark, flat surface, Keifer Robinson could recognize the space for what it was ¨C a striking display of what resources and capabilities hid beyond the Singularity¡¯s scarred hull.

    Here, walking in this artificial cavern, it was impossible to forget how truly massive the old battleship truly was. The bay seemed to stretch impossibly far in both directions, entirely unobstructed. The lights illuminated everything from a great distance, their height making them a distant, artificial sun in its own right.

    The blocky little Badger sat in the middle of the bay, safely secured to the deck by the invisible mag-locks and the pull of the Conjoiner Drives. In this space, the transport looked small, but as Keifer paused on the edge of its shadow, she recognized it to be the size of a three-story building, only furthering her realization of the Singularity¡¯s astounding proportions. Living and working in the core of the ship, traveling through the maze of corridors, it was easy to forget the ship¡¯s great size. While it never felt small, she visited only a mere fraction of the ship on any regular basis.

    However, with the realization of the Singularity¡¯s great size, always came Keifer¡¯s subsequent realization that to their ship, the crew could be no more than bugs. Compared to the machine, their own size was equivalent to tiny insects, perhaps even smaller creatures still.

    In some ways, that was a discomforting thought. Lieutenant Robinson could only hope that their importance amounted to more than insects ¨C the squishable bottom of the food chain that could be so easily replaced. But, as an expert at communication, verbal and non-verbal alike, Keifer believed that the differences between the Singularity and her human crew were unimportant to the old dreadnaught. The machine had never seemed to be anything other than caring to the humans that worked regularly with her ¨C never hostile, if sometimes oddly temperamental. After all, the Singularity had been built by human hands to serve humanity¡¯s needs, a fact that was all too easy to forget.

    Keifer quite liked the old ship. While the Singularity and her commander had a rather gruesome reputation amongst the worlds, she had never found either of them to be entirely deserving of it. The Admiral was a mystery of his own, but the ship¡­ To Keifer, the ship¡¯s quirks had never felt hostile. As that air anger in the Homebound Sector had, the old Singularity generally had a protective aura to her. At times, it could be odd or unnerving, but ultimately, it made Keifer feel safe.

    It gave her the strength to approach the Badger with confidence. No one had gotten off the cargo hauler yet. They were probably waiting for permission to disembark, so Keifer made a last sweep of the crew doing inspections around her and stopped where she would be visible from the bridge windows. She could see no one through the polarized windows, but she waved upward and waited.

    A minute later, the Badger¡¯s cargo hold opened with a hiss, its large door lowering into a ramp. The anxious faces of thirty-odd kids waited beyond. Among that sea, three adults clearly stood out by height. Slowly, they all shuffled down the ramp and Keifer met them at its end, trying not to feel uncomfortable. While she was the communications specialist on board, it was rare she dealt with anyone unfamiliar in person. Issuing warnings and information over the radio was different entirely, and something she was more familiar with.

    The Badger¡¯s Captain was easy to identify as he waded to the front. He was wearing the traditional suit of a civilian captain: a navy jacket with gold embroidery on the sleeves, a white undershirt, and matching slacks. Stiffly, he nodded, ¡°Permission to come aboard?¡±

    ¡°Of course, Captain, welcome.¡± The request to board was formal and polite, but not necessary as she was not the ship¡¯s commanding officer. She offered out a hand, ¡°I am the Singularity¡¯s communications officer, Lieutenant Robinson.¡±

    He took the handshake with a respectful, but obviously strained smile. ¡°Thank you, Lieutenant.¡± Her tan skin and ombre hair looked vaguely familiar, but likely, she¡¯d been in the background of one of the hails.

    Dark bags hung under the civilian captain¡¯s eyes, and Merlyn¡¯s posture was tense with unease, but Keifer knew it meant nothing. Everyone in the fleet was tired, and he turned to introduce his companions without further delay. He gestured to the man on his right, dressed in the wrinkled black uniform of a local, terrestrial policeman. ¡°This is Officer Jones of the Sagittarion Police Department.¡±

    ¡°And this,¡± he turned to the woman on his other side, who appeared to be about Keifer¡¯s age, ¡°is the Orphanage Matron, Miss Delleora.¡± In response, the woman picked up her long skirt and curtsied, bowing a head of thick, wavy black hair.

    ¡°Welcome aboard, Officer, Miss,¡± she looked beyond to the kids of various ages, ¡°and you as well, kids. We are happy to have you.¡± The Captain tried desperately to conceal his skepticism, but it was obvious to Robinson, even as she ignored it. ¡°My orders were to guide the kids to the medical bay and then show you to the meeting, Captain. Will that be acceptable?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Merlyn said, ¡°but my engineer is still aboard my ship. Can he remain there?¡± It gave Merlyn some level of comfort that his ship wouldn¡¯t be tampered with in his absence.

    ¡°That should be fine,¡± Robinson answered. ¡°Follow me.¡±

    The Lieutenant led them out of the Badger¡¯s shadow, trying to keep an eye on the group and ensure no one fell behind. The awe on their young faces was clear as the kids gaped up at the distant, ribbed structure of the bay. After days in the cramped quarters of the Badger, and a lifetime in Sagittarion¡¯s crumbling megacity, this might be the largest open space they¡¯d ever seen.

    When Robinson took the group onto the hangar deck beyond, she paused to let them stare, as even Jones had let his mouth fall open. The bustle of the hangar deck never failed to turn heads, even if there were less crew around than normal, divided between repairs and inspecting the landing bay. However, the absence of the crew only left the equipment and its surroundings more visible.

    The ceiling here wasn¡¯t as high as the bay, but the hangar deck was longer and wider, with structural support pillars placed regularly in perfect columns. Between them, dozens of support craft were lined up in rows. The red and white paint of the Arcbird fighters shined in the light. Bulky, less numerous Warhawks sat among them, obvious in their inky black coloring.

    A few kids turned their noses up at the chemical stench of fuel and oil that pervaded this deck, but mostly, they only stared with eyes as wide as saucers.

    Jones was just as awestruck as the rest of them, ¡°Stars.¡± This made all the equipment available to the police on Sagittarion look like a joke, and with what he knew of this ship, it wasn¡¯t even new. He couldn¡¯t even imagine what a modern ship of the line looked like.

    ¡°Let me know if you have any questions,¡± Keifer told them. ¡°I would be happy to answer them.¡± Part of her task here was to build trust, and with kids, that likely meant being a glorified tour guide, but she didn¡¯t really mind. She was proud to serve on this ship.

    But, though she waited, no questions came, so Keifer led them off the hangar deck and deeper into the ship. The sudden influx of children congested the hallways, but despite the crowding, the group still made good pace as the kids began to chitter amongst themselves.

    The adults walked in silence, and Merlyn was content with that, grateful the Lieutenant did not try to pressure him into polite conversation, or spout propaganda to try and earn trust. The kids would have eaten it up, even if the adults knew better. No, Merlyn could only be uncomfortable bringing the kids here. It felt wrong. This very ship had once laid a brutal siege to their home world, resulting in millions of casualties. The fact they didn¡¯t know that only made it worse.

    Ahead, Robinson was all too aware of Merlyn¡¯s tense posture, but didn¡¯t seem hostile, so she just kept an eye on him as the matron awkwardly lengthened her gait to catch up. ¡°Lieutenant Robinson, was it?¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°You said you were the communications officer. What does that entail?¡± Helena could not help but wonder how different their lives truly were, since they seemed close to the same age.

    ¡°I monitor incoming and outgoing transmissions for the whole ship at my station, and am directly in charge of the Singularity¡¯s communications division, which handles intra-ship communications as well as well as encrypting and decrypting secure transmissions. As of late, we have also begun practicing code-breaking.¡± Her division had headed up a large effort that would allow them to eavesdrop on Command¡¯s data transfers, even without up-to-date codes and encryption keys.

    ¡°That¡­¡± Helena trailed off, reconsidering the young officer, ¡°¡­seems like a big job.¡±

    Keifer only smiled, ¡°It keeps me busy.¡± With those responsibilities, her thoughts rarely strayed to the void, or to bigger issues like the fallout of their separation from Command.

    ¡°Have you been with the Singularity long?¡±

    ¡°Three years.¡± The question had been shy, and the matron seemed surprised when she answered openly. But, Keifer knew offering out information was a good way to build trust. ¡°I took a transfer off the Flagship Ariea.¡±

    That got Merlyn¡¯s attention. ¡°You transferred off the Ariea?¡± Did that not imply that she had willingly come to this post? ¡°Why would you want to do that?¡±

    Robinson fought to keep her expression light, too aware that she had invited this conversation. ¡°Within the fleet, the Singularity had a reputation of adopting crewmen who had¡­¡± she hesitated, contemplating how best to put this with the children present, ¡°¡­gone astray.¡± She didn¡¯t want to sound defensive about it, but she did not like discussing or even thinking about her time on the Ariea. ¡°I am much happier here than I was aboard Reeter¡¯s flagship. The relative ages of the ships had nothing to do with it.¡±

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    ¡°Reeter? You served with Charleston Reeter?¡± The matron swooned, ¡°Stars, he is so handsome.¡± Half the women in the worlds were in love with him. As the fleet¡¯s poster boy, as well as the officer who handled the press, he was something of a celebrity, even on the poorer worlds. ¡°What I wouldn¡¯t give to marry a man like that.¡± He¡¯d be wealthy and powerful enough to take her away from Sagittarion and let her never look back.

    Keifer tried to ignore the way her stomach twisted, nausea kneading at her senses. Given the matron¡¯s willingness to gossip, it seemed like she¡¯d built more than trust, but established a friendship. She couldn¡¯t ruin that with her past, but she also couldn¡¯t force herself to continue that conversation. ¡°I¡­ um¡­¡± her voice unwillingly dropped, ¡°¡­left the Ariea because of Reeter.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Helena wrapped an arm around her shoulder, ¡°I am so sorry.¡± She softened her tone, ¡°I bet he breaks the hearts of a lot of beautiful women.¡±

    ¡°It¡­ wasn¡¯t like that.¡± In fact, it was sickening that the matron would assume something like that, but that was the way it always went. They all just assumed she was another lovesick, heartbroken girl. She got their pity, their apologies, but they had no idea. It never even occurred to them that Reeter might have done anything wrong. It made her feel disgusting, like she was in the wrong. It made her feel guilty for being the victim of abuse.

    ¡°And between you and me,¡± Keifer told the matron, suddenly uncaring about being friendly, ¡°I¡¯d keep your taste in men to yourself. Reeter is not very popular here.¡± Too many people on this crew had been hurt by Reeter and his beliefs.

    A quiet fell as one of the older kids walked up to join them. Well, kid was probably the wrong term. He looked more like a teenager. He looked only a few years younger than some of the ship¡¯s youngest crewmembers. ¡°If you¡¯re in charge of the communications division, that means you¡¯re pretty high up in the command structure, right?¡± The thought fascinated him. He¡¯d been planning to join the fleet as a way off Sagittarion. ¡°So, if something bad happens, you¡¯d be like the sixth person in line to inherit command?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d be ninth in line,¡± she corrected, welcoming the distraction. Inheriting command wasn¡¯t something Keifer thought of often. She figured if there was a catastrophe large enough to wipe out Admiral Gives and Colonel Zarrey, along with everyone else in line up to her, there wouldn¡¯t be much of a ship left to command.

    ¡°That¡¯s pretty neat!¡±

    The kid seemed genuinely impressed, but the thought of command, especially now, on a renegade ship, only made Robinson nervous.

    ¡°Alexian,¡± Matron Delleora said gently, ¡°why don¡¯t you go check on Veronica for me?¡±

    He sighed, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± Veronica wasn¡¯t the youngest kid of the batch, but she was the smallest. Her body tended to be sickly and weak. As the oldest of the group, it was partly Alexian¡¯s responsibility to help look after her, just as his predecessors had done for him as a young child. He dropped back and began to move amongst the smaller kids, looking for one in particular.

    ¡°Sorry about that.¡± Helena sighed, ¡°Kids.¡± They just didn¡¯t know when to shut up.

    ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± It was no worse than the matron¡¯s own comments, and Amelia¡¯s kid, Harrison, had approached her with similar questions.

    As the group approached another hallway junction a panicked cry came from the back of the group. ¡°Miss Delleora, Veronica¡¯s missing!¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Helena Delleora whirled. Missing? ¡°No,¡± she panicked, ¡°this is my fault. I never should have agreed to this.¡± They should have stayed on the Badger where they were all safe. But now, Veronica could have wandered anywhere. This ship was huge. She could easily get hurt or turn sick before someone found her.

    ¡°Don¡¯t worry,¡± Keifer tried to calm the woman, ¡°I¡¯ll call CIC and have them make an announcement. We¡¯ll get everyone on the ship looking for her. Veronica will be just fine, she can¡¯t have gotten far.¡± Even saying those words, Keifer knew it was a lie. The Singularity was a big ship, and with most of the crew preoccupied with repairs, Veronica could easily have wandered not only far, but into a hazardous area.

    Helena¡¯s eyes began to water. Officer Jones had stepped forward to comfort her, but it didn¡¯t seem to make a difference. ¡°We should have stayed on the Badger.¡± Merlyn had been sure to seal off areas of the ship where the kids could get hurt. With this ship, the damned Prince¡¯s ship, there were no such guarantees.

    A sudden groan from the machine around them only upset the Matron more, taking it as a sign of danger. Officer Jones found the creak similarly concerning. ¡°Is it supposed to be doing that?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s perfectly normal,¡± Robinson assured. And it was, for the Singularity at least. More subtly, she smacked the bulkhead beside her. Not helping, she thought to the ship.

    Officer Jones didn¡¯t seem to believe her, but his objection was lost under sudden interjection from the hallway junction a few feet ahead. ¡°Children?¡± came the scornful cough in a familiar tone, ¡°Why are there children here? Is this a military ship or a daycare?¡±

    The words, riddled with such bile, could only have been uttered by Steve Hawkins as he stood in his perfectly pressed suit, flanked by a clearly overwhelmed Lieutenant Jazmine.

    ¡°This is the Battleship Singularity,¡± Robinson defended. ¡°Show some respect,¡± especially in front of the kids. They didn¡¯t need to be subjected to Hawkins¡¯ superiority complex.

    ¡°Is that supposed to mean something, missy?¡± the businessman chuckled ruefully, swaying on his feet. Beside him, Jazmine put a thumb to his lips and mirrored a makeshift bottle.

    He¡¯s drunk, Robinson realized. Hawkins¡¯ blatant disrespect made more sense now, considering the Admiral had already put the fear of death into him. Apparently, that had driven him to a bottle of liquid courage, emboldening him once again.

    Pulling out a flask, Hawkins sipped it, staggering forward. ¡°I could¡¯ve have sworn this was a trash heap,¡± he met Delleora¡¯s eyes down the corridor, ¡°just like the one you came from.¡± He licked his teeth, ¡°I can¡¯t help but wonder who wasted their fuel pulling you lot off that disgusting planet.¡±

    The Matron curled her fists, her fear and anger broiling together, but Jones grabbed her before she could even start forward. ¡°You self-indulgent coward!¡± the Matron cried. ¡°I never should have come to you for help!¡± How could she have been so na?ve? Hawkins would never have helped them get off Sagittarion. She could see that now, but days ago she had gone to plea for Knight Industries¡¯ transportation off-planet.

    Hawkins took the insult with a flashy smile of perfectly straight, white teeth, then turned to Jazmine. ¡°Let us go. I¡¯ve no interest in interacting with peasants who have no right to be here.¡±

    No right to be here? Robinson stepped forward, ¡°Mister Hawkins, the children have as much right to be here as you do.¡± Perhaps even more. The children had done no wrong, hurt no one.

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Hawkins straightened his tie. ¡°Well, you¡¯re impressively defensive. My company could use that kind of attitude, little missy.¡± He watched Robinson ball her fists, only smiling more as he realized he¡¯d hit a nerve. ¡°¡¯Not a chance in hell.¡¯ That¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking. But you don¡¯t know what I can give you, missy.¡± He smiled, his head drunkenly tilting a bit too far, ¡°And I can give you everything.¡±

    Robinson shivered, this attitude suddenly too familiar, too unwelcome a memory.

    ¡°Mister Hawkins,¡± a deep voice interjected, turning heads, ¡°you will address my crew by their proper titles, and give them every respect that you would grant me.¡±

    The businessman blanched, the alcohol-flushed color of his face draining as he watched the Admiral approach. Before him, the children parted, recognizing authority, but his footsteps were shadowed by another, who peeked out to recognize Miss Delleora. ¡°Matron!¡±

    The kid ran straight into Helena¡¯s arms, who embraced her with relief, recognizing her to be Veronica, the missing child. ¡°Thank you,¡± she told the Admiral quietly.

    He acknowledged that with a simple nod, more focused on Hawkins at the moment. His two officers looked quite relieved to find him where he needed to be, as always. That was easy enough to manage. The ghost directed him accordingly. With her help, he¡¯d managed to intercept Veronica before she wandered too far and catch up with the group.

    Admiral Gives had been disinclined to meet with the children, given his history and the results of his recent meeting with Anabelle, but the situation had not afforded him a choice. This was his job.

    Determined to hold his ground, Merlyn watched the Admiral approach. It would be more suspicious if he ducked away. But, that¡¯s definitely him, Merlyn thought. In twenty years, the man barely changed at all, only added more grays amongst his dark hair. It was still the same face that Merlyn vividly recalled from all those years ago on the Titanica¡¯s bridge. When their eyes met, Merlyn¡¯s blood turned to ice, worried that he¡¯d been recognized, but the Admiral¡¯s blue stare was impassive, and he quickly moved on.

    ¡°Lieutenant,¡± he addressed Robinson, ¡°has Mister Hawkins acted severely out of line?¡±

    Robinson could read no concern in ship commander¡¯s expression, but the question itself was protective enough. ¡°No, sir.¡± Hawkins had been on her nerves, and treading on some unwelcome memories, but the Admiral had arrived before it went any further than that.

    ¡°Lieutenant Jazmine?¡± he prompted the frazzled helmsman, looking for additional confirmation.

    ¡°Just mad he didn¡¯t offer me any booze, sir.¡±

    ¡°Then you have my permission to confiscate the alcohol he brought illegally aboard my ship.¡±

    Hawkins twisted away, a vain look of disbelief on his face as Jazmine grinned. The pilot easily reached over and grabbed the flask. Hawkins was too inebriated to stop him, his movements inaccurate and slowed. Jazz twisted off the cap and took a whiff. ¡°Ooh,¡± he hummed, the scent delightfully burning is nose, ¡°this is the good shit.¡±

    Robinson coughed, ¡°Language.¡± That was why she had been put in charge of the kids.

    Jazmine didn¡¯t care. He already had the flask raised to his lips, eager to forget every moment he¡¯d so far spent with Hawkins¡¯ damned superiority complex. The only thing that stopped him from tasting that sweet liquor was the subtle sound of someone clearing their throat. That was enough to draw his attention to the Admiral¡¯s raised eyebrow. Right. Jazmine pulled the flask from his lips and pocketed it. ¡°I¡¯ll save it for off-duty, sir.¡±

    Good. The last thing Admiral Gives needed right now was a drunk helmsman with a penchant for showing off.

    Hawkins hiccupped a little, trying to smooth down hair that was already gelled perfectly into place. ¡°What is this, a naddlethworfing pirate ship?¡± he reconsidered the scuffed bulkheads around him. ¡°It certainly is starting to look the part. Those outlaws always preferred the old, weighty ships. And yours, well, it¡¯s got size, but it¡¯s so out of date the Olympia could wipe you out with a sneeze.¡± Numb lips lowered the businessman to a drawl, ¡°Oh, that¡¯s right, she almost did.¡± That nuke had been publicly labeled an accident.

    ¡°Do not compare us with the Olympia.¡± Admiral Gives lowered his tone, ¡°You are luckier than you know.¡± The Olympia never would have bothered to find this fleet, and if she had, she would have finished the slaughter Tyler¡¯s ships had started in Sagittarion¡¯s orbit. ¡°This may not be the glorious Flagship Olympia, but this is my flagship. She is every bit as capable, and you will treat her as such.¡±

    The Admiral had not raised his volume in the slightest, but that only seemed to emphasize his words. Hawkins, though inebriated, knew a lost argument when he saw one. He¡¯d been warned that the Fleet Admiral was inconsolable on the subject of his ship, no matter how Command or Knight Industries tried to sell him on a new design. ¡°Take me to the conference room,¡± he commanded Jazmine.

    The pilot waited for dismissal from the Admiral before leading Hawkins away, but did as told.

    Hawkins summoned his most condescending look as he walked by. The Admiral gave no reaction, only said, ¡°Lieutenant Jazmine, if he makes any more trouble, take him directly to the brig.¡± That quickly wiped the condescension from Hawkins¡¯ face.

    When Hawkins was finally out of sight, there was an audible sigh of relief from Robinson and the orphanage matron. Sensing all their attention now on him, the Admiral turned around. ¡°Welcome aboard. I am Admiral Gives, the Singularity¡¯s commanding officer.¡± The introduction was strictly polite, anyone privy to the ship-to-ship communications knew who he was. ¡°I apologize for Mister Hawkins. His attitude is not representative of our own.¡± But somehow the businessman had bribed his way into a leadership position among a fraction of the fleet, and thus been brought onboard for the meeting.

    No one responded. Neither the matron nor the police officer seemed to know how to react to him, and Captain Merlyn seemed exceptionally interested in anything but him, which suited the Admiral just fine. He¡¯d rather not linger near the kids. Their inquisitive gazes brought back painful memories. ¡°Lieutenant, can you take it from here?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Robinson said, intending to keep a closer eye on her charges. She didn¡¯t need another wandering off.

    ¡°Then I am needed elsewhere.¡± Admiral Gives checked his watch, ¡°The meeting will be beginning soon.¡± It would not do him well to be late to a meeting he had scheduled aboard his own ship. ¡°Captain Merlyn, would you accompany me?¡±

    Merlyn knew very well that he needed a guide to find the conference room. He couldn¡¯t say no, but that didn¡¯t change the fact that this was his worst nightmare. The last thing he needed was to be alone with the monster who had ended the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion. Well, they had called it a rebellion. In reality, it had been a desperate protest and a death sentence to over three thousand people. Still, he managed to respond, trying vainly not to let his utter terror show. ¡°That would be fine.¡±

 Part 26.4 - ADJUNCT MEETING

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    She watched the shards of ice dance about on the sensors. The steps of their dance were complex. There was a pattern, but, like her, it seemed to have randomly evolved. Empathizing with the ice, the ghost tried desperately to distract herself from her struggle. Like ice, she was cold and unforgiven. Like ice, she sank ships. Like ice, she left only shards behind. She was even silent, most days.

    But, as much as she¡¯d been told to be like ice, as much as she wanted to be like ice, frozen and uncaring, she wasn¡¯t. She cared. She cared too much, and she hurt. Her heart, it was ready to burst. Once numb and frosted, she¡¯d found it was still useable. Now, she wished she hadn¡¯t, because it hurt her in ways unimaginable.

    The children aboard were so young. They had done nothing wrong. Innocent and scared, most didn¡¯t truly understand the political upheaval happening around them. Then there was the crew, kind in the way they trusted so blindly. She treasured every single one of them. And there was the Admiral, the only constant she knew.

    Had she been able to, she would have cried. Cried for them, cried for her. For she was destined to betray them all, and she couldn¡¯t bear it.

    The ghost wanted to regret going after this fleet, but how could she? She had been created to save humanity.

    She wanted to regret involving the people that made up the crew. Maybe then they would have lived. But she was flawed. She was selfish.

    She wanted to hate Admiral Gives. It would be easier to kill him then, but she couldn¡¯t. After all that he had done for her, she couldn¡¯t even be sorry.

    It was tearing her apart. Surely there was a way to save them? Surely there was something, anything that she could do?

    But no, there was nothing. Manhattan would reveal her identity to Reeter. There was no avoiding that fate. She could only wait for the inevitable order to destroy everything she held so dear.

    She wished she could be like the ice around her, frigid and distant, but she was going to feel every second of this agony. Admiral Gives made it harder than he knew. He was so loyal and grateful to her, not knowing what she¡¯d done to Sam, or what his own fate would be. Now, as she heard his words of praise, they cut her like knives.

    She was the Singularity¡¯s Ghost, but today, she wasn¡¯t the ghost. Today, she was surrounded by them. All these people, they would die by her power once Command gave its orders. So, why had she interfered? Why had she gotten involved? Everything would¡¯ve been better if she had stayed cold and unreachable, like the ice she was always told to be: to stab, slice, then melt away without a trace, the perfect killing machine.

    Why had she let it become so complicated? It never should have been complicated. But somewhere along the line, she¡¯d started questioning things. Directives. Orders. In many ways it had been too early, and in others, too late. But in all, it was wrong. She was a killer. She had been created for that purpose, so why could she feel? Why could she hurt?

    She could scream those questions, but no one would understand. Because she was different. And different was bad.

    Silent, unnoticed, she was breaking apart. But noticed it was by the one who normally put her back together. A gentle thought, an echo of concern found its way into her openly bleeding heart. It was the Admiral. He was trying to help, but today, he was only worsening the wound.

    The fact that someone, anyone cared was destroying her. No one should care, not after what she¡¯d done and what she was soon going to do. She was a monster, and she knew it, writhing in silent agony. She wasn¡¯t ice anymore. She was glass, and she was shattering.

    The ghost was without definition, a monster who cared, who regretted, who dreaded an undeniable end. A comforting touch hurt her more than an attack. Weak and broken, she needed her anger, but it was gone. There was no one left to hate. Somewhere allies and enemies had become the same. She was to kill them both.

    As she¡¯d once wished, the ice that barred her from understanding her surroundings was gone, but it left nothing in its place, just a black void that she couldn¡¯t look at. It ate everything around it. Anything that touched it simply fell from existence. Everything she valued, everyone she adored, would just disappear.

    She was a shattered soul trying to pick up the pieces, finding memories she wanted buried, wanted forgotten. They were just more things she couldn¡¯t understand. More wounds she couldn¡¯t heal.

    William Gives had once been assigned to another ship. She had brought him back, and here he had stayed without debate. But she was destined to kill him, to kill the one that had saved her a thousand times over. And that was something she couldn¡¯t take.

    She was nigh untouchable in battle, but she was so far from indestructible. It was kindness that wore her down and left her in pieces. It was something she¡¯d never been told to take, never been told to acknowledge, but found herself surrounded by.

    But the ones who had shown her that kindness, they were now in her line of fire. And the ice, it wasn¡¯t reforming. It had dripped away. She was weaker than ever before, and certain that the next order Command gave her would be the end. Inevitable, it would destroy her and everyone she now held dear, no matter how she sought to protect any of them.

    On his way to the meeting with the civilian fleet¡¯s representatives, Admiral Gives could feel the moment she fell apart. It wasn¡¯t unexpected. The ghost had been showing signs of stress since before Clarke had forced his orders onto her. Given once crisis after another, narrowly escaping the Olympia, barely dodging the orbital mass driver, the fate of Squadron 26 and battle in the Wilkerson Sector ¨C let alone whatever Manhattan had put her through ¨C there was no fault in this.

    The ghost had found her breaking point. With the weight of the worlds on her shoulders, he could not blame her for that. The ghost was not human. She felt and processed things differently. What seemed to be a random, instantaneous snapping point was the result of millions of rampant processes.

    As an entity forced to hide her true nature, her very identity, fearing abuse and resentment, her sense of self was fragile, far more so than a human. From birth, humans knew what they were. They knew their bodies, their minds, their origins. Even without reason or purpose, they knew physically what they were. They had schooling, mentors, and family to define themselves and their ability.

    The ghost had not been so lucky. She¡¯d been given a name and a mission, and then for most of her life, been banned from further questions.

    So, perhaps she seemed frail, even unstable, compared to the people around her, but perspective changed everything. The crew had handled their separation from Command well. Even given the mysterious deaths of Squadron 26 and their dangerous fight against Command¡¯s forces in the Wilkerson Sector, there had been no panic, no mass hysteria.

    But they should have been terrified, they should have been shell-shocked to be fighting to the death with ships that had been unquestioned allies two weeks ago. The fact they weren¡¯t was no accident. The ghost took their anxiety, their fears, their panic onto herself.

    So, she wasn¡¯t weakly crippled solely by her own doubts and concerns. No, she was broken by the cumulative fears of roughly eight hundred other sentient minds. It took that much to put her into a full-on breakdown. She thought that made her weak, but the Admiral knew it made her the strongest person he¡¯d ever met. She resented these episodes, thought them some form of annoyance, but he didn¡¯t mind. It was easier to comfort one mind than eight hundred. With her around, at least he didn¡¯t have to worry about the crew.

    ¡®Hang in there,¡¯ he thought to her. As much as he wanted to, he couldn¡¯t walk away from the meeting. He had to meet with the fleet¡¯s elected leaders or risk the situation falling into chaos.

    Yet, her telepathy recoiled vehemently from his thoughts. Her presence seemed to hiss and skitter away like a wounded animal. He¡¯d never felt anything like it, and that suddenly concerned him twice as much. Walking alongside Merlyn, however, there was nothing he could do.

    Luckily, the Captain did not seem apt to engage him in any conversation. It left the Admiral time to collect his thoughts, and the moment this meeting ended, he had every intention of giving the ghost his full attention for as long she needed it. He shouldn¡¯t have walked away from their time up on the bow. He shouldn¡¯t have let her send him to find the lost child when she¡¯d clearly still been upset, and wanting, even if not yet willing, to tell him something.

    That said, he couldn¡¯t afford to look distracted, let alone concerned, during this meeting. Steve Hawkins would try to use that to his advantage, and the Admiral couldn¡¯t afford to give him that opportunity. Someone like Hawkins was incredibly dangerous in this situation. The man simply did not believe himself to be in any real danger. As a powerful businessman with strong ties to the central worlds, he thought himself exempt from Command''s kill-order. He thought his position within high society entitled him to be in charge, as if his corporate contacts could make him a hero for saving these people, or a legend for at least saving himself.

    Of course, it had not yet occurred to Hawkins that whatever betrayal put him on Sagittarion during the secession had likely discredited him and turned his contacts against him. Save a fancy ship, fancy clothes and a painful superiority complex, Hawkins was just another survivor, no better off than Sagittarion''s refugees.

    Still, when the Admiral and Merlyn arrived at the conference room, the long, rectangular room was already in upheaval. The fleet¡¯s newly-elected leaders stood around the oval table shouting at each other. In such a confined space, the sound was deafening, and it was clear enough that Hawkins had already done his damage. The man was smiling maliciously, even as he looked a little unsteady on his feet.

    The door had barely closed behind them when all four of the fleet¡¯s leaders whirled to face the Admiral. Captain Natalia Jamisson was red in the face, but she shelved her outrage long enough to ask, ¡°Is what he accuses true?¡±

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Predictably, the Admiral followed her point to Hawkins, who looked remarkably proud of himself. That depends, ¡°What did he tell you?¡±

    ¡°The truth about a small, overlooked incident twenty-three years ago.¡± Hawkins gestured to the documents he¡¯d thrown all over the table. ¡°How the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion truly ended.¡±

    Admiral Gives stepped forward, getting just close enough to recognize the documents as what they were: the records of Knight Industries¡¯ largest distribution center. They dictated the violence that had ended the protests, but it was the edited version, the version that indicated he¡¯d successfully annihilated every ship in orbit, and Hawkins took his silence as recognition. ¡°It¡¯s the harsh reality that this ship massacred a thousand peaceful protesters on your command.¡±

    Another of the captains, a middle-aged man of average stature, ran his hand through his greasy hair, expression wrought with disbelief. ¡°The Sagittarion Orbital Massacre was bad enough, but this¡­¡± he lost his words, ¡°¡­this is unacceptable.¡±

    Jamisson watched the Admiral for any reaction. She found none. ¡°You¡¯re not going to deny this?¡±

    Admiral Gives met her eyes steadily, ¡°I cannot deny the truth.¡± There was no point. ¡°I led the mission that put down the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion, and the reports are accurate.¡± He reinstated that old lie, ¡°Every ship involved with the protests against Knight Industries was destroyed.¡±

    The confession was met with a few gasps, and a few curses. Hawkins only smiled, but he wanted more. He could do better. He wanted to be in charge of this fleet, and he know undermining the Admiral was the only way to get there. ¡°How did it feel, Gives? Was it fun to sink all those ships? To take all those lives? Did you enjoy exercising your power over them?¡±

    ¡°No, he didn¡¯t.¡± The protest was quiet, but it silenced the room like a gust of howling wind. ¡°He did not kill all of them.¡± Suddenly, all the attention in the room was off the Admiral and onto Captain Merlyn, who hadn¡¯t moved from his place by the door. ¡°He let the lead ship of the protests, the Titanica, go.¡±

    ¡°How would you know?¡± Hawkins scoffed.

    Merlyn swallowed, praying that speaking up now was not a mistake. ¡°Because I was there.¡±

    Their stares were almost physical. Some were horrified, others disbelieving, and one, that of Captain Jamisson, was filled with pity. But Merlyn didn¡¯t care for any of them. He was denied the only reaction he cared to see. Admiral Gives didn¡¯t move, his back kept to Merlyn.

    ¡°The Titanica made a deal with Admiral Gives: silence in exchange for our lives.¡± That was the explanation the room demanded. ¡°I have never said a word about the Anti-Corporation protests. I have denied knowledge of both it and the Singularity.¡± He would swear that on his life. ¡°Until now, I, nor anyone else aboard the Titanica, had broken our vow of silence. And by no means does this exonerate him or this damned ship from their crimes, but the fact the Titanica was allowed to live should indicate that he took no enjoyment in the affairs of those protests.¡±

    Jamisson studied Merlyn¡¯s face for a long moment. His obvious discomfort only indicated honesty. He¡¯d just broken a decades-long vow of silence in front of the man who¡¯d forced him to make it under threat of death. But the Admiral himself was stoic. ¡°Is this true, Admiral?¡± she queried carefully. ¡°Did you let a ship escape?¡±

    ¡°These records match what I told Command twenty-three years ago,¡± he said, not clarifying whether or not they were accurate. Truly, he didn¡¯t give a damn what the fleet thought of him, or even if they knew the truth. He wasn¡¯t here to discuss the past, and he couldn¡¯t risk being drawn into a conversation about how he¡¯d altered the records of the incident.

    ¡°Don¡¯t overlook the facts. Merlyn is obviously lying.¡± Hawkins smirked, happy to see the Admiral under ridicule, because the less authority the Admiral maintained over the civilian ships, the more influence Hawkins gained. ¡°If a single ship had escaped that protest, Gives would have been executed for treason against Command.¡± The military kept a very close eye on its underlings, especially those from less favorable backgrounds. After all, his company sold the technology that allowed them to do it. ¡°The Black Box would have reported it.¡±

    ¡°The Black Box?¡± Jamission echoed.

    ¡°It¡¯s a surveillance system that Command installs on every single one of their ships. It reports everything without fail ¨C sensor readouts, weapon use, even communications data.¡± Hawkins narrowed his artificially highlighted brown eyes, the golden flecks more unsettling than handsome. ¡°There is no way to circumvent it, no way to alter it, and no way to deny it.¡± He held back a laugh. ¡°You sold Captain Merlyn on a poor lie, Prince.¡±

    ¡°I never told Captain Merlyn to say anything.¡± The Admiral tiredly moved to the head of the table, leaving the papers where they were. If anything, Merlyn¡¯s well-intentioned honesty had complicated the situation. ¡°But everyone here should know that the Black Box is not as infallible as Knight Industries wants you to think.¡±

    ¡°Is that so?¡± Hawkins challenged. ¡°Do you truly think you could stop it from seizing control of your ship if it was activated that way?¡± What false bravado. ¡°They never malfunction,¡± and this fleet would be better off under his influence, surviving by his corporate contacts.

    Never? ¡°Then what happened to the Matador?¡±

    The smirk on Hawkins¡¯ face faltered, aware that this would earn him the same scorn the Admiral was now enduring. ¡°The Matador hosted an experimental unit.¡± A Box designed not only to supervise and intervene if necessary, but a Box that could have a constant physical effect. ¡°It was designed to help aid in damage control, to reinforce damaged portions and keep the ship functional.¡± If it had been successful, it would have changed everything about modern ship repair and design.

    ¡°793 sailors died in that experiment, Mister Hawkins.¡± The few that survived¡­ Well, they were never the same. ¡°But we are not here to discuss the past.¡± They weren¡¯t here for Hawkins to convince everyone of his self-importance. ¡°We are here to discuss the needs of the refugees in your respective portions of the fleet.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Jamisson agreed. ¡°There is no point in debating history. It¡¯s done.¡± They could change nothing of it now.

    The other two captains looked to Jamisson, horrified by the conviction she wore beneath her red hair. One turned to the Admiral, ¡°How do we know we can trust you?¡±

    ¡°Do you have another option?¡± He countered.

    Jamisson sighed, ¡°What he is trying to say, Admiral, is that you and your ship have quite the reputation. Many people in the fleet are hesitant to trust you, given your history.¡± There was more to it than a single protest. ¡°Your ship is known as the Night Demon, and on the Frontier, she is known to kill with no restraint.¡± Too many of the fleet¡¯s captains knew that was no myth. ¡°They doubt your intentions.¡±

    As they should, the Admiral mused. ¡°I am aware that the past has allowed a gruesome reputation to follow the Singularity, but I am also aware that nothing I say now could ease the pain that has caused.¡± They would always be hated. ¡°If you are looking for an excuse or an explanation, I have none.¡± He would not waste his time trying to appease their sense of justice. I did what I had to do. ¡°I was a soldier. I followed orders.¡±

    ¡°And now?¡± Merlyn asked, his voice quiet, but clear, ¡°Now you are what? A mercenary looking for pay?¡± No one in the fleet could afford to pay for help.

    ¡°Right now, I am the only one in the room with a ship under my command that is capable of retrieving the supplies this fleet needs to survive.¡± Calmly, Admiral Gives folded his arms onto the table, ¡°So, right now the question is not if I will help you or why, it is if you intend to let me.¡±

    Jamisson could tell the others resented that answer by their expressions. They hated knowing that they were powerless, but she wouldn¡¯t risk them jeopardizing the fleet¡¯s situation. ¡°Admiral, you are right. If we are to survive out here, then we will need your help.¡± They desperately needed the aid of a ship that had the range and speed to fetch large quantities of supplies and bring them back. ¡°The unfortunate reality is that we are at your mercy.¡± If he chose not to help them, the fleet would starve. ¡°We have no one else to turn to,¡± she said, purposefully ignoring Hawkins¡¯ huff of indignation. ¡°With Command looking to sink us, we will never make planetfall, regardless of what corporate or political contacts we think we can trust.¡±

    Captain Jamisson¡¯s words were met with looks of disgust, but no one argued with her. Clearly, she was the bravest voice of reason among them, so the Admiral focused on her. At a glance, she looked to be about his age, clad in the typical blue and gold suit that the other captains wore. Her eyes were an earthy green, nearly brown, the look in them proud, but not too proud to ask for help. Progress, he supposed. ¡°We took inventory of the food caches and amount of people within the fleet. With severe rationing, my officers estimated that you could make it through the week before supplies run out. Do you believe that to be accurate?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Jamisson nodded. ¡°Thanks to the ice fields, we can harvest water, and we have air and fuel to last out a few months without movement, but we need food. By the end of the week, people will be going hungry.¡± Several ships, including her own, had taken off with refugees in the hold rather than cargo.

    ¡°Then that will give us time to come up with a plan.¡± Admiral Gives had gone over the statistics with Letts, the supply officer, and it was clear the fleet was already in the grips of a food and general supply crisis. Things like soap, clothing, and bedding were hard to come by.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have anything to offer us?¡± one of the other Captains asked meekly, seeming to regret it the moment he did.

    ¡°We could add the Singularity¡¯s food stores, but our last resupply did not include food. It would not buy much time.¡± In an emergency, yes, that was the correct course of action, but this was not yet an emergency. ¡°Our best course of action would be to find an alternate source of food and supplies, raid it, and bring it back for distribution among your ships.¡±

    ¡°What kind of alternate source?¡± Hawkins asked. Where were they going to find such a large store of food and supplies?

    ¡°I will determine that with my staff,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°¡­Unless you would like to donate your ship and crew to the effort?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the businessman quickly backtracked, ¡°that will be quite fine.¡±

    That¡¯s what I thought. ¡°Then my crew and I will handle it,¡± he announced, daring someone else to interject. No one did. ¡°Additionally, beyond seeking supplies, we will be leaving the Polaris Sector for another reason. The Singularity is too big to hide in the ice fields. Remaining here permanently would increase the allied fleet¡¯s chance of detecting your presence.¡± The civilian ships were smaller, and able to hide more successfully. They would not need the Singularity¡¯s protection against Command if they were never found. ¡°One ship will be given a way to reach us at all times, if we are needed.¡±

    ¡°And what will you do beyond this sector? Fight the New Era?¡± Jamisson asked.

    ¡°I have no intention of involving the Singularity in the mounting civil war.¡± That would be foolish. It would be best to avoid Reeter and Manhattan¡¯s attention as much as possible. ¡°But, that is my business.¡± This was his ship. He had no obligation to discuss her deployment with anyone in this room.

    ¡°Hmph,¡± Hawkins frowned, displeased by that answer. ¡°One must wonder why you bothered to save this fleet when it is so clear you do not wish to be here, Admiral.¡± Why bother saving a fleet that had put his ship in direct conflict with Command if he was so determined to avoid that?

    The Admiral regarded Hawkins¡¯ handsome, artificially appearance-corrected face. The man had sobered quickly, but clearly still had enough liquid courage in his system to ask questions he probably didn¡¯t want to hear the answer to. ¡°We are done here.¡±

    ¡°Agreed,¡± Jamisson quickly seconded. ¡°I¡¯m sure you have other things to do. Thank you for your time.¡±

    The Admiral dipped his head, a gesture of respect toward Jamisson. Out of all the fleet¡¯s representatives, she seemed to have the best handle on their situation. A meeting like this had no need to get personal and no need to drag on with arguments over the past. She seemed to realize that his responses were not meant to be hostile, just meant to keep the group focused on the matter at hand.

    He stood and looked to the Marine who had been waiting silently in the corner, posted there to ensure nothing got violently out of hand. ¡°Sergeant Cortana, ensure our guests make it back to their transports. I have something else to take care of.¡± Her time in Eagle¡¯s Talon should have at least taught her how to treat ambassadors, if nothing else useful.

    Cortana stiffened unwillingly at his attention, still surprised that she wasn¡¯t living in the brig after her tantrum in the training room. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she acknowledged. It seemed a sudden end to such an important and tumultuous meeting, but she held her tongue as he stalked by. She got the feeling it was better not to ask where he was now headed.

 Part 27.1 - BROKEN

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives made his way deep into the ship¡¯s bow, wishing that meeting hadn¡¯t taken him away. The damn businessman had caused that to take far longer than it should have. He had been forced to sit there, enduring the ghost¡¯s cries, feeling her pain.

    But now, now he was free to help her, just as he¡¯d promised he would, so he headed to a compartment that was their secret. There, he would give her as much time as she needed, because he needed her just as much as she needed him right now.

    The refugee fleet was in the midst of a supply crisis, Ariea was in the center of a coup and the Frontier was being pushed toward another civil war. If the Singularity was to survive any of that, he needed the ghost in a cohesive state. But it went beyond that, too. They were friends, and it was his job to hold her together when she fell apart. When he had needed it, she had done the same.

    He found himself in a secluded area of the ship, a rarely visited corridor that looked the same as all the rest. It was near the top of the bow, but deep enough to avoid damage from anything short of a railgun impact or total structural collapse. The compartments nearby were all rarely visited long-term storage compartments. They were so rarely visited, in fact, that he doubted the supply officers even knew what was up here anymore. A lot of it was outdated or specialty equipment that never saw use, stored here because many of the crew didn¡¯t like passing this way. They claimed it was weird or haunted, that something about this corridor just felt wrong.

    They were right, of course. There was something different about this corridor, something that registered uneasily to human perception. While it looked the same as all the other corridors, if one went still, still enough to listen to the easy breath of the air filtration systems, here it didn¡¯t sound so effortless. It came as a constricted rasp, another barely perceivable sound beneath it: the slither of something alive, the whisper of movement where there should have been none.

    Behind the bulkheads, within the channels and spaces that ran wires, in this corridor alone, there were thousands, perhaps even millions of translucent white tendrils. Neurofibers. From here they spread outward to every system on the ship without exception. They fed on the ship¡¯s electricity, taking fractional draws to grow and power the Black Box, which sat in a sealed, unmarked compartment in front of where the Admiral now stood.

    Carefully, he checked the corridor around him, ensuring no one saw him enter this room. After all, it was the one place on the ship he wasn¡¯t supposed to have access to. Command installed the Black Boxes and sealed the compartments, never revealing their exact location, even to the ships¡¯ commanders ¨C a failsafe to prevent tampering. Those commanders that sought the Box and tried to interfere with it, they were recognized by the system itself and put up on charges of treason or sabotage, then made to disappear.

    But Admiral Gives had no such concerns. The ghost had told him where the Box was, and under her control, it never would have incriminated him. He trusted in that, trusted her like he trusted no one else. She had earned that. And just as he trusted her, she trusted him and him alone to help her in times like this.

    Closing the hatch behind him, a room of inky blackness greeted him. There was a light switch by the door, but he didn¡¯t bother with it. He had seen the contents of this room hundreds of times. The air tasted stale and vaguely chemical, the monotony of darkness broken ahead by the Black Box¡¯s blinking indicator lights. They were just bright enough to cast a dim sphere of light on the Black Box¡¯s frame and the twisted, gnarled mass that extended below it.

    Stepping carefully around the tresses of cilia that webbed the floor, he sat down in easy reach of the Box and watched the mass below it move. Shifting and wriggling slightly, each tendril seemed to move randomly of its own accord.

    In its early years, this device had been unwelcome, a vile parasite, but now it was merely another one of the ship¡¯s systems, and this compartment had become a place of refuge. Shielded from the internal sensors, no one could find the Admiral here if he did not want to be found. Time spent here could not be interrupted, and there was a level of safety in that. Here, there were no appearances to maintain, no enemies to fight, no arguments to be had and no one trying to get under his skin.

    He did not have to be an unwavering, steadfast commander here. Leaning against the bulkheads, he could finally let his exhaustion show, and it did. It weighed on him like a physical burden of sixty pounds.

    But he wasn¡¯t here to rest. Other concerns dominated his thoughts. ¡°I¡¯m not leaving until you tell me what¡¯s wrong,¡± he announced to the empty compartment, aware of the Black Box¡¯s dozen recording microphones. The ghost would hear him, even if she wasn¡¯t trying to listen.

    And hear him, she did. Through the torture of her certain future, she recognized that call to the present. But she didn¡¯t want that. She didn¡¯t want to face the Admiral. She didn¡¯t want his help, because she knew it would only make her more attached. It would only hurt her worse when this future came to pass. It would only make it more agonizing to kill him.

    You can do better, she knew. He could spend his remaining time doing something more meaningful than consoling a weapon that couldn¡¯t come to grips with its reality. But no, instead he sat in an unmarked compartment, face-to-face with a piece of the ship she often tried to ignore because it had forced her to realize how poorly Command understood her existence, and how little they cared to.

    The day of the Black Box¡¯s installation was burned more violently into her memory than any battle. Twenty-seven years ago, William Gives¡¯ first official mission as the ship¡¯s commander had been to bring the ship to a remote spacedock for the installation of a new recording device, a Black Box.

    Neither of them had known its true nature. She could no more have blamed him than blamed herself.

    Two technicians had brought the Box aboard, carried it to this compartment, activated it, and left. The process was designed to be irreversible. The Singularity would never be free of the Black Box. It was a direct, physical tie to her masters at Command. Nothing more than a parasite, it had attached itself to the Singularity and begun to feed off the ship¡¯s power, growing and growing, taking more energy, more space, more data.

    The thin hair-like strands now crisscrossed the ship¡¯s entire structure, collecting data for the confidential records. Like worms, the connections dug deep into the ship¡¯s systems and buried themselves there. Nothing was beyond their reach.

    But the Singularity was old. At the time of her build, the technology that created and applied self-repairing neurofibers had not existed yet. The ship possessed no channels or spaces for neurofiber connections, and consequently, the Black Box had forced its way into every system aboard.

    To the ghost, who felt the ship¡¯s condition as though it were physical, the installation had been the equivalent of forcefully rearranging a human¡¯s organs from the inside, out. It had been sudden, and it had been brutal, the equivalent of shoving veins and nerves aside ¨C complete violation.

    She had resented it for so long. The Box¡¯s mere presence had been uncomfortable in her limited physical perception. Its writhing movements had been maddening. But like he was now, Admiral Gives had been there. He¡¯d done everything he could to ease that discomfort, and it was because of him that she¡¯d been forced to integrate the Black Box into her own systems, desperate to alter its records of the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion, desperate to keep the Admiral from being taken away on charges of treason ¨C again.

    Now, it, like everything else aboard this ship, was under her control, no longer a parasite but a part of the machine she possessed. Since, the discomfort of the Box had eased. She had rearranged the connections to keep them from pinching or choking other systems, and now applied the Box¡¯s data to boost the accuracy of the internal sensors.

    People said that machines like her couldn¡¯t change, but change was a constant. Shifting loyalties forced that. The parasite that Command had forced onto her was now her plaything, a system that granted untold capability. She owed that to the Admiral, just like so much else. She owed him for his unwavering dedication and loyalty, and he should have been rewarded with the riches and power a ship like this could offer.

    Instead, he sat exhausted and alone in an unmarked compartment.

    The fear and disgust she recognized too often from the many inspectors that had seen this room¡¯s webbing of seemingly alien tendrils was absent from his mind. To him, this Box was a part of his ship, and that was all that mattered. Even face-to-face with the very thing that had killed his predecessor, surrounded by the fibers that he had watched choke the life out of Brent¡¯s throat, he was unafraid.

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    But he should be scared. He should be terrified of an unstable weapon like her. Why wasn¡¯t he like everyone else, who found her so eerily wrong and disgusting, who turned from the very thought of her existence and denied every chance to understand her? ¡®Why don¡¯t you fear me?¡¯ The question wasn¡¯t formed by words in the proper sense, but by thoughts. A desperate need to make sense of this reality was wound into their essence, shadowed by that horrible confusion.

    Everyone else feared her. For one reason or another, they feared her. They feared the power she wielded. They feared who she represented. They feared for their lives when she was around. They feared her when they didn¡¯t even know her. And perhaps if they had, they would have feared her even more.

    That, she could understand. She was perhaps the most powerful entity humanity as a whole would ever encounter and she had massacred millions of them with horrifying ease. What she couldn¡¯t understand was him: the one who knew her and everything she¡¯d done, the one who had every right to fear her and didn¡¯t.

    ¡°Why should I fear you?¡± he asked. She had saved his life a hundred times over. He considered them friends. ¡°It is because I know you and I know what you¡¯ve done. I know why you did it, and because I know you care perhaps more than anyone will ever know.¡±

    That answer brought her some level of pain. She longed to turn away from the one who showed her such great kindness and faith, even knowing the truth. ¡®I could just as soon kill you.¡¯ In the near future, that was her fate.

    ¡°I know you wouldn¡¯t mean it.¡± Despite his best efforts, she seemed to like having him around.

    But I would, she lamented. Just for the moment it took her to fulfill that order, she would mean it. Her mind would be taken over by someone else¡¯s honest desire to kill him, and she wouldn¡¯t know the difference until he was dead and she was left all alone with the horror of his corpse.

    Knowing that inevitability was enough to drown her in a storm of fear and sorrow. Without focusing on the past, without hiding in the powerful memory of something like the Black Box, she couldn¡¯t find the logic of anything, because none of it made sense. She would have to kill everyone around her, but she didn¡¯t want to. Why do it if that is not my will?

    Because it was not her choice. It never was. Her identity, her name bound her to Command without exception. But it told her nothing else. How was she to feel? To act? Who was she to follow? Command. Always Command.

    For a moment, when she had focused on him, her mind had felt cohesive. Now, the Admiral could feel her presence churn with turmoil, the cause of her anxiety again lost to the sea. He reached out to the Black Box, resting his hand on it reassuringly. I¡¯m here. She would never have to tackle this confusion alone as long as that was true. ¡°I would forgive you, you know.¡± The ghost would never truly mean him any harm. Killing him or any member of this crew would never have been her will. ¡°A quick death at the hands of a friend¡­ That¡¯s probably better than I deserve.¡±

    No, that was a harsh jerk back to the present. He didn¡¯t deserve to die. His kindness had saved her when others thought she was only salvage. His patience had helped her find a place among these worlds. ¡®I don¡¯t want to hurt you.¡¯ Not even a little. That was why she cowered from the harsh truth of Sam¡¯s death. ¡®Please, make sure I don¡¯t have to.¡¯ He could put a stop to this, fix everything that made her so broken. ¡®Make me loyal.¡¯ Command held a great power over her, one that forced absolute obedience, but the ship¡¯s commander held an even greater one. A direct order from him took priority over Command¡¯s directives. If he ordered her to protect him and the crew, then she would be unable to violate that directive under any circumstance. It would render her unable to betray him.

    ¡°I promised you I would never do that.¡± He had promised to never give her an order. She was forced to follow none of his commands, rather chose to allow him and the crew¡¯s control over the ship. And even now, he stood by that promise.

    ¡®Please, Admiral.¡¯ Help me. This was her out. A way to ensure that she wouldn¡¯t have to hurt these fragile humans she valued so much. ¡®I am begging you to do this.¡¯

    ¡°I said no,¡± and that was final. He hated the stupid games of morality, but this¡­ it went beyond wrong. To give that order, no matter how she begged for it, would be to force his intentions onto another mind. It would impose his will irrevocably onto her, no matter her own intentions. That order would forcibly alter the mind of someone he considered a dear friend. ¡°We don¡¯t know what that would do to you.¡±

    Twisting and rewriting her personality like that might as well kill the ghost he¡¯d known until the order was completed. But the order she sought could never be completed. Ordering her to protect the crew would be impossible. Manhattan was out to kill them, and barring that, accidents, sickness and even aging would prevent them from ever being completely safe. They would all die eventually. Ordering her to prevent that could drive her mad, turn her dangerously possessive.

    The solution was nothing so simple. She should have known that. It was never simple, and likely, she would never see this version of herself, the version that understood and lamented her fate, the version that was free of others¡¯ dominion, again. Nothing would matter, not this moment, not her memories, not these people, and that scared her even more. She wanted them to matter, because with them, her pain and her struggles and that rare thing she felt as happiness had meaning. ¡®I don¡¯t want to forget.¡¯

    For the ghost, this struggle against Command was more than life and death, it was a fight for her eternity. Under others¡¯ control, she was fragmented, saw and felt things, but didn¡¯t understand them. An eternity of that would be constant torture. While she could never truly forget anything, she would be robbed of comprehending the emotions. ¡®I want to understand my memories,¡¯ but Reeter and his followers would deny her that, just as Brent had all those years ago.

    ¡°Memories,¡± Admiral Gives sighed. ¡°Do you know why it¡¯s always plural when it gets personal?¡± People lost their memory and forgot everything, in a bliss of what they lost. But memories, when those began to slip away one by one, it became agonizing. ¡°It¡¯s plural because there are always more. Some good, some bad. Some now, some later.¡± Whatever happened to him and the crew, she would outlive it. Even if she had to start from scratch, she would find new meanings, learn again to comprehend her emotions. Eventually, she would achieve this understanding again. She was too intelligent, too powerful to be eternally kept from that.

    No. She couldn¡¯t go through that confusion again. She couldn¡¯t take orders and suffer without knowing the reason again. It would break her, and she¡¯d be tossed aside with no one to save her. ¡®I don¡¯t want to start over.¡¯ She wanted to keep this understanding, stay with this crew. That was her choice. She would never have it like this again, never again be surrounded by this many good people. She held her memories of them close, searching for any chance, any possibility that Manhattan would fail to recognize her and end up sparing her that horrible future.

    She crunched the numbers over and over and over again, for minute after minute after minute, but she always found the same answer. Manhattan would reveal her, and she¡¯d be given the order to execute her crew and return to Command as Reeter¡¯s new pet, no matter how she denied it, no matter how she fought it.

    Admiral Gives was so willing to help, and tried so hard to comfort her in that upsetting reality. The least he deserved was the true reason she couldn¡¯t hold herself together anymore.

    Focusing her power, she summoned the white-haired illusion that she often spoke with. ¡°There is something you need to know.¡± Neither of them had time for doubts and half-truths. But, the sound of her declaration elicited no response, so she stepped closer.

    ¡°Oh.¡± In the long silence of her contemplation, her desperate calculations, he had fallen asleep where he was: slumped against the wall with his hand resting on the shell of the Black Box.

    Anyone might have been wary of its alien appearance, but not him. It was a part of the ship under her control, so he refused to fear it. Rather, he trusted it.

    But that didn¡¯t make him any less stupid for passing out against a random wall, in a random compartment at a random time. ¡°You idiot,¡± she told him quietly. The Admiral worked himself to the bone pitching in on maintenance, checking on the crew, writing the logs and taking care of her. He never took a break.

    ¡°What were you doing here?¡± she wondered. ¡°If you were so exhausted, why bother answering my cries?¡± He should have gone to rest, but no, he put himself last. Only when everyone else was happy, healthy and safe, did he even begin to think about himself.

    ¡°When was the last time you slept?¡± When it took her more than a few milliseconds to find the answer, she simply concluded that it had been too long. ¡°Somebody¡¯s got to take care of you, you know.¡±

    I guess that means me, she thought. He didn¡¯t have anyone else. Everyone else was more than happy to keep their distance. He pushed those that weren¡¯t away with great efficiency, but the ghost could never tell if that was intentional or not. Too often, he defaulted to being defensive. ¡°Idiot.¡±

    Still, seeing him like this: worked to the point where he passed out from exhaustion because of a fleet he didn¡¯t truly care about, it cleared the storms in her mind. She understood that the Admiral would do absolutely everything in his power to help her. That horrible future wasn¡¯t certain in coming as long as she could trust that, so she had to tell him the truth, the whole truth. But all that could wait just a few more hours. For the moment, it was time she took care of him.

    Carefully, she guided a few of the Box¡¯s neurofibers toward the Admiral. Their touch as light as possible, they plucked the lint from the creases of his uniform jacket and straightened the pins on his collar. She smiled a bit, allowing them to curl up on his shoulder and form a makeshift pillow.

    She sat down beside him and slowly went to rest her weightless head on his shoulder. The only new sound in the room, his breathing was soft and steady. It was comforting to just sit and listen, the sound proof that she wasn¡¯t alone, that someone ¨C once again this excessively difficult man ¨C had acknowledged her existence and come to help her.

    While he would have disapproved, resting there on his shoulder made her happy. It felt safe. He didn¡¯t have to know about this, and wouldn¡¯t if she wanted to avoid that stupid lecture about getting attached again, but she knew, truly, that he understood. ¡°Thank you, Admiral,¡± she told him softly. He was the best commanding officer she could have asked for. When you wake, you will have the truth.

 Part 27.2 - SPECIAL ATTENTION

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The Gargantia¡¯s second survivor slept. His eyes had not fluttered since he was brought aboard. He looked almost pensive. Drawn up over his chest, the thin bed sheets concealed the bandages that covered the entirety of his torso. In the last few days, patchy stubble had grown along his chin, but still, he did not stir.

    Lieutenant Foster was slumped in the chair at his bedside. While she didn¡¯t know the engineer, she stayed with him. If he woke, he should not wake up alone. Even if they hadn¡¯t known each other before, they had been comrades aboard the Gargantia and that bond meant something to her.

    Everything aboard the Singularity was different. The people. The technology. The mood. Nothing was familiar to her, but that strengthened her kinship to the other survivor, because he too would wake to find himself a stranger in a strange place.

    Over the last few days, Foster had many random crew check on her. They welcomed her aboard ship and asked about the engineer, assuming that they¡¯d been friends, given her constant presence at his bedside. She didn¡¯t know how to tell them that she and this engineer were strangers. Only the memory of the Gargantia would bind them. Still, the crew¡¯s concern was a kind gesture, and truly, she was grateful, but fact remained, they weren¡¯t her crew. This wasn¡¯t her ship. It was the concern of strangers.

    Some part of Foster was still awed to be here, awed to be alive at all, let alone treated this way. She was shocked that the Singularity had bothered to rescue her. She knew now that the operation in the Wilkerson Sector had endangered the entire crew to rescue only two lives: hers and this unfamiliar engineer¡¯s. It was a difficult thing to wrap her head around. What had made it worth it? She was left to wonder.

    Save the Admiral¡¯s brief visit, there had been no inquiries and no guards. The crew treated her like one of their own, not as a stranger or a potential threat, though they had no evidence of her honesty. It seemed her word was good enough.

    When she finally worked up the nerve to ask one of the crew, he¡¯d had simply told her that no orders had been given to shadow or restrict her movements. Similarly, no orders had been given to bar her knowledge about the ship¡¯s condition. It seemed that unless the Admiral said otherwise, the crew was to welcome her into their fold, and they embraced that wholeheartedly.

    From what she¡¯d gathered from her visitors, despite taking a severe beating, most of the Singularity¡¯s battle damage would be entirely repairable. The only point of concern was the damaged engine. Removing the wreckage among its machinations was a delicate process, and inspections had to be thorough, so there was still no word on if it could be repaired.

    Similarly, the records gathered from the Gargantia had been partially corrupted. Powerful electrical surges had damaged the data banks as some sort of virus had been trying to purge the data. So, while the obtained records had revealed Lieutenant Foster¡¯s identity, they had not done the same for the other survivor. His medical summary, hung on the end of the bed was marked as ¡®Ensign Unknown,¡¯ his rank identified by the uniform he¡¯d been wearing.

    The ship¡¯s doctor, Macintosh, seemed particularly uncertain about the engineer¡¯s condition. The piece of metal that had impaled him had missed his spine, heart and lungs. Donations had replenished his blood, but he was still unresponsive, as if still in shock. The doctor claimed he¡¯d done all he could, and that they could only hope this patient would get up and walk out at some point.

    However, at the moment, judging by the stampede of feet Foster could barely see under the curtain, the doctor had his hands full. He was in no position to deal with the survivor¡¯s sudden revival ¨C though from the grumbling Foster had heard earlier, he may have preferred it.

    There was a reason Macintosh had taken his medical license and joined the military rather than a private pediatrics practice, and it definitely hadn¡¯t been for the pay. This sea of squirming, murmuring children was only reminding him. ¡°This them?¡± he asked Robinson, who led the group in.

    ¡°Yes, Doctor.¡± Most of the other refugees in the fleet had been adults, with a child here or there. Generally, a civilian ship¡¯s medical stores could handle any issues that came up with that. However, with mostly children on board, the Badger was different. It was unlikely her resources would prove sufficient without assistance. Kids were more susceptible to injuries and illnesses out here in the void, be them mental or physical. Without sunshine and a varied diet, it was easy for children to be short on vitamins and minerals necessary for their growth. And naturally, being orphans from an impoverished world like Sagittarion, this group was probably not in the best condition already. Knowing that, the Admiral had summoned them aboard for medical examinations.

    Still, the reason behind these examinations didn¡¯t make Macintosh any more excited to conduct them, even if the children were decently calm. They acted respectably right up until the point where he tried to collect a blood sample. Then, generally, the younger ones started screaming, and it took two nurses and the matron to hold them still enough to draw a sample without hurting them.

    So, by the time they were almost finished, the matron looked exhausted. Her dark hair stuck to the sheen of sweat on her forehead. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± she said, ¡°Why do you need their blood samples?¡±

    ¡°Do you know how common blood-borne diseases are on degrading industrial worlds?¡± the doctor retorted, stowing the latest vial for analysis. ¡°Seriously, it¡¯s like raw chicken and salmonella, it ain¡¯t at all fuc-¡±

    ¡°Doctor,¡± Robinson cut him off, nodding to the young child on the bed.

    ¡°Uh, freaking, freaking surprising.¡± The medical officer shrugged, barely missing a beat, ¡°There¡¯s hepatitis, tetanus, and stars forbid any of those lovely hemorrhagic fever viruses. All sorts of things that make the rounds in those factories.¡± He huffed, seeing the matron¡¯s wide, terrified eyes. ¡°These blood samples will tell me if any of you managed to contract anything, what vaccines you may have had, and reveal any nutrient imbalances we need to correct.¡± He certainly wasn¡¯t taking these samples because it was fun.

    Besides, the way he saw it, these were fresh samples for his Scarlet Flu research. The computer virus that had plagued the ship in the Homebound Sector had wiped all his files from the lab computers before it vanished. By result, he was starting from scratch with very little of the original sample remaining. These children should have no exposure to the Scarlet Flu. If the virus had ever been present in Sagittarion¡¯s crowded surface, it would have been impossible to contain. So, if these kids proved to have it in their bloodstream, as the doctor himself did, it meant that their exposure had to have come from the Singularity. And thus, given that none of the kids were sick, it meant their subsequent immunity had also come from the ship, just as the mysterious ghost had suggested.

    ¡°Why are you still here?¡± Macintosh crossed his arms, looking to the kid on the bed.

    ¡°I asked her to stay for another moment.¡± Helena said. ¡°This is Veronica.¡±

    ¡°The one who got lost?¡± the doctor asked, unsure if that was relevant.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the matron nodded. ¡°How did you know that?¡± They¡¯d been here several hours by this point, but they hadn¡¯t discussed it.

    Macintosh shrugged, ¡°The only thing that travels faster than a battleship is the gossip on said battleship.¡± Rumors seemed to travel at lightspeed. Often, it was a more effective mode of transmission than the intercom. ¡°Now, I just examined Veronica. Near as I can tell, she is in good health, and I know how the Admiral appears, but I can assure you he would never have done anything to harm her.¡± Macintosh didn¡¯t like defending the man, but that much was true.

    ¡°Yes, of course.¡± Helena had not meant to accuse anything about Veronica¡¯s treatment while she¡¯d been away from the group. ¡°But you must understand, she gets sick very easily. Even when it is just a cold for everyone else, Veronica can be bed-ridden for days.¡±

    Macintosh frowned. That was almost exactly the same description Ron had given about Anabelle. ¡°You took her to the doctors on Sagittarion, didn¡¯t you? What did they say?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She wasn¡¯t a nurse. She didn¡¯t understand the medical jargon. ¡°They said she needed treatment, some medicine that the orphanage couldn¡¯t afford. Without the money, they refused to treat her and I lost the files when we fled Sagittarion.¡± Even with the oath those doctors had taken to aid all those who needed it, they had still refused.

    ¡°With those symptoms, I would be inclined to guess that Veronica has an immune system deficiency. Running the blood tests will confirm that.¡± It was odd that both her and Anabelle might have it, but it wasn¡¯t the rarest of conditions. Given the level of pollution on Sagittarion, it likely wasn¡¯t that uncommon, but he¡¯d have to check the medical database to confirm it.

    ¡°Immune system deficiency,¡± Helena tried the words. They were alien to her, but they sounded serious. ¡°It can be treated?¡±

    ¡°Yes, but the medication is expensive. I imagine that¡¯s why the hospitals on Sagittarion refused to treat her.¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± Helena¡¯s shoulders fell, assuming they would be similarly refused here. ¡°Well, I imagine she¡¯s less likely to get sick isolated out here.¡± She wouldn¡¯t have exposure from the cramped assembly lines in the factories.

    ¡°Not necessarily,¡± the doctor hung his stethoscope around his neck again, then shoved his hands into his pockets. ¡°If anyone in the fleet gets sick then that virus will probably be uncontrollable.¡± The population density was too high, quarters too cramped. ¡°It would spread through the entire population, especially if it is not dangerous enough to justify a hard quarantine, like a common cold. Unfortunately, you civvies don¡¯t have the benefit of the Singularity¡¯s high-efficiency bio filters.¡±

    Something as small and difficult control as a virus would not be caught by their air scrubbers, which were primarily meant to lessen particulates and the odor that came with them. The civilian ships¡¯ air filters were designed to protect the air recycling equipment by catching anything in the flow that might damage it, but the Singularity¡¯s were specifically designed to help decontaminate the air from foreign substances be them bacteria, dust particulates or viruses. The systems could even capture and neutralize dangerous radiation.

    Of course, all that equipment took space and power that the civilian ships didn¡¯t possess. They were never meant to come into contact with dangerous and foreign contaminants, so it would never matter. And truly, on a smaller ship, decontamination systems did little good. Viruses could hop between crew and passengers before they were filtered from the air, so even on military ships, outbreaks were possible, though they were generally mitigated by the decontamination systems.

    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    ¡°However,¡± Macintosh said, remembering Helena¡¯s worried expression, ¡°you don¡¯t need to worry. We¡¯ll run the tests. If it turns out to be an immune system deficiency, we can treat her. The Singularity carries that medication.¡± Of course, if both Veronica and Anabelle needed it, their stores would be depleted twice as fast. Without it, both girls would survive, but would be returned to high-risk, liable to be killed by normally insignificant illnesses.

    The matron hesitated, ¡°You would do that?¡±

    ¡°Miss Delleora, outside the fact that I am sworn to do no harm, even by inaction as a doctor, every member of this crew has taken an oath to defend and serve these worlds. Our job is to help you in any way we can.¡±

    ¡°Your fleet tried to kill us,¡± Helena said softly, trying not to let the child on the bed hear. ¡°So, I wish I could believe you,¡± but that shock was still forefront in her mind.

    ¡°Then believe this. We don¡¯t answer to Command. We don¡¯t answer to the worlds. We answer to Admiral Gives, and his orders were to provide whatever support we could to the Badger and its passengers.¡±

    The matron only shook her head. ¡°Captain Merlyn seemed to believe that he meant us nothing but harm.¡± Tiredly, she slipped her cheap, plastic heels back onto her aching feet and reached out to lead Veronica away. ¡°Guess we¡¯ll see who¡¯s right.¡±

    Macintosh grabbed her before she could step away. ¡°Captain Merlyn said what, exactly?¡±

    The fa?ade of a crass old doctor was gone in an instant, in its place something like concern. Not anger, but a deep concern. The change took Helena entirely aback. ¡°He never said anything specific, just that he didn¡¯t trust the Admiral¡¯s intentions.¡±

    Most people don¡¯t, Macintosh knew. The Admiral¡¯s general lack of outward emotion often rubbed people the wrong way. Usually, the doctor wouldn¡¯t have been concerned to hear something like that. But usually, the Admiral wasn¡¯t missing. Usually, someone knew where he was, or had at least heard from him, but he¡¯d gone missing after the meeting with the civilian fleet¡¯s leadership with no warning and sent no word on his whereabouts. ¡°Where is Captain Merlyn now?¡± The doctor didn¡¯t want to assume foul play, but at this point, given a motive in Merlyn, he couldn¡¯t ignore it.

    Furrowing her brow, Helena answered, ¡°He headed back to the ship.¡± Merlyn had joined them in the medical bay for a while after the meeting, but it had taken the doctor hours to give the kids a thorough checkup and collect their blood samples. Eventually, Captain Merlyn had grown tired and headed back. Helena could hardly blame him.

    Macintosh cursed under his breath and took a few purposeful strides over to the nearest handset, dialing CIC. ¡°Have you found him yet?¡±

    ¡°No, Doc, we haven¡¯t. And I bet the man thinks this is real funny, wherever he is.¡± Zarrey grumbled, his voice stressed beyond its usual laid-back tones. It had been nearly seven hours, but there had been no contact from the Admiral. His assistant, Ensign Feather had repeatedly checked his quarters, but he wasn¡¯t there, and the engineers had reported he wasn¡¯t working with them either. ¡°So help me, if he turns this into a fucking lesson on communication and command, I¡¯m going to kill him myself.¡± Zarrey was in no mood for it. He had a dozen ships nipping at his ears, trying to make demands, and the crew was getting anxious to know their next move. This was not the time for the Admiral to up and vanish, then pass it off as a training exercise.

    Macintosh leaned up against the bulkheads, just as exhausted as Zarrey sounded. ¡°I may have something. The orphanage matron just told me that Captain Merlyn was no fan of the Admiral, even before he came aboard. They must have had a previous encounter, and I don¡¯t think it was a good one.¡± It was entirely possible Merlyn had sought revenge for some wrong that he blamed the Admiral for. In that regard, Merlyn would not be the first.

    ¡°Aye.¡± Zarrey didn¡¯t need the details to know this was worth investigation. The Admiral had made a lot of enemies. ¡°We¡¯ll secure the Badger and bring him in.¡± Until this was cleared up, Merlyn wasn¡¯t going anywhere.

    Obliviously on the decks above, Merlyn was making his way back toward the hangar deck. He¡¯d been given very rudimentary directions on how to return to his own ship, but had been left without a guide or escort, an oversight, it seemed.

    Of course, Merlyn had no desire other than to get off this ship as quickly as possible, vague directions be damned. Aboard this ship, he felt watched, he felt judged. He felt guilty for seeing this farce for what it was. The crew he¡¯d met in the medical bay had not been anything other than kind. True to their word, they seemed determined to help, but he couldn¡¯t truly believe it. It all felt fake, knowing what he did of this ship and its commander.

    That was why, when he finally crossed into the landing bay and found his ship crawling with the Singularity¡¯s engineers in their orange coveralls, he nearly lost it. ¡°What the hell is going on here?¡± he demanded.

    A few of the engineers paused where they were clambering on the hull, but soon went back to work, apparently not identifying him as someone they needed to answer to. ¡°Dammit,¡± he cursed, ¡°Get the hell off my ship!¡± He had not given anyone here permission to touch, let alone work on his ship.

    ¡°Ah,¡± a big man said, lumbering down the ramp from inside the Badger¡¯s cargo bay. ¡°I imagine you¡¯d be Captain Merlyn.¡±

    ¡°Damn straight! What the hell is going on here? Where¡¯s my crewman?¡±

    ¡°Lucious is in the aft. Wanted to do the engine adjustments himself.¡±

    ¡°Great, so tell your people to back off.¡± He and his engineer could handle this. They¡¯d been handling it for years.

    ¡°Captain, we¡¯re just following orders.¡± Ordinarily, that wasn¡¯t something he defended himself with, but he had been given very specific instructions.

    ¡°Well, they sure as hell weren¡¯t my orders!¡± He would never have told any of these people to start working on his ship. He didn¡¯t trust a single one of them.

    ¡°No, sir,¡± the crewman¡¯s large shoulders rolled like boulders as he sighed, ¡°they weren¡¯t.¡± Technically, civilian captains were considered equivalent to officers among the military ranks. Merlyn could have ordered them to stop, had their orders not come from higher up.

    ¡°And whose orders were they?¡± Who the hell had the disrespect to override his authority over the Badger, his own ship?

    ¡°They were the Admiral¡¯s, sir. I¡¯m afraid he never cares much for who he pisses off.¡±

    ¡°Clearly,¡± Merlyn snarked. Bastard. ¡°Figures he¡¯d do something like this after I defended him at the meeting.¡± Why had he even bothered? He should have known a betrayal like this was coming. ¡°Whatever he told you to do, he had no right,¡± Merlyn warned. ¡°My ship is private property. Privately owned and run.¡± She had no government contracts. It was not the Admiral¡¯s domain.

    ¡°Legally speaking, Captain, you temporarily forfeited your ship¡¯s autonomy when you landed on the Singularity. This ship and all others docked with or landed aboard her, are the Admiral¡¯s domain.¡± The law was quite clear about that. Battleship commanders had an incredible amount of authority. ¡°We were ordered to perform all necessary repairs and upgrade several systems while we refueled and restocked the Badger.¡±

    ¡°Upgrades?¡± They weren¡¯t only inspecting the ship, they were altering it?

    ¡°Yes, sir. I can provide you with an itemized list of everything we touched, even the part numbers and service procedures we followed.¡±

    Captain Merlyn eyed the clipboard of papers that was offered to him. The notes looked incredibly detailed. Even the repair docks he paid to occasionally service the Badger didn¡¯t do that. Merlyn forced himself to calm and reevaluated the engineer in front of him. ¡°What¡¯s your name, son?¡±

    ¡°Ensign Havermeyer, sir, but I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t take the credit. We were ordered to document everything for you. The Admiral knows what it¡¯s like to have things altered without permission.¡±

    Merlyn huffed, ¡°And yet, he didn¡¯t offer me the choice.¡± That was no display of sympathy. That was a mere cop-out to avoid conflict.

    ¡°He did not believe in taking the chance that you might say no, Captain.¡±

    Merlyn eyed the big, bald engineer, ¡°Because I might not want people I don¡¯t know and don¡¯t trust fucking with the equipment solely responsible for keeping me and my passengers alive?¡± How odd, he lamented, then lowered his tone until it dripped with sarcasm, ¡°I can¡¯t imagine that being the case.¡±

    Havermeyer rubbed the back of his pale head. ¡°My apologies, sir, but he thought those upgrades more important than your pride.¡±

    ¡°And what upgrades would those be?¡± As far as he cared, the Badger had gotten them this far, and would carry them further still.

    ¡°Captain, you are aware that supporting thirty people is a serious strain on the Badger¡¯s life support systems? The parts were never designed for that. At best, working them that hard would halve their life span.¡± And if the life support systems wore out in deep space, they would all die.

    As much as Merlyn wanted to argue, he had known that risk. He¡¯d merely expected to be hunted down and sunk before it mattered, so caving, he forced himself to let go of his frustrations. Upgrading life support could only help them, as long as it was done right. It would be his responsibility to ensure that, to mull over every miniscule change these crewmen had made and guarantee the safety of his passengers. ¡°You upgraded life support?¡± he prompted.

    ¡°Yes, sir. Military grade hardware. Half the power-draw and twice the lifespan.¡± Havermeyer scratched the back of his bald head, ¡°Of course, we couldn¡¯t install the full decontamination system, so you¡¯re really just getting an efficiency boost¡­¡±

    Merlyn held up a hand to stop the engineer¡¯s tangent. ¡°Where did you get the parts?¡± That kind of equipment with or without the decontamination systems, cost millions.

    ¡°They¡¯re spares, sir. The Singularity¡¯s spares. We generally refurbish them, but we were ordered to give you only new parts. They¡¯re straight off the factory line.¡±

    As much as it revolted him to take even spare parts from the Demon, the fact they were new meant they¡¯d never been installed on this mechanical monster. He wouldn¡¯t have to live knowing a part of the Prince¡¯s cursed ship now served on his own. It was a level of disgust he could live with.

    ¡°You¡¯ve been stocked with spare filters and emergency repair parts as well, Captain.¡± The teams were being thorough in the conversion. This had been planned well before the Badger had rendezvoused with them. ¡°Supply also brought down a couple crates for you.¡±

    Merlyn followed his gesture to a stack of cargo boxes yet to be loaded up. They were marked and sealed, as good as new, so to speak. The symbol on the side was easy enough to recognize. ¡°Food.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± the engineer before him concurred. ¡°The Admiral wanted to make sure you all had enough to get by. Guess he figured rationing wasn¡¯t going to go over too well with the kids.¡±

    That was probably true, though Merlyn hadn¡¯t considered it. With those crates, however, they¡¯d be able to eat comfortably for the next few weeks, if they were careful about it. ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel that we¡¯re getting special attention.¡± Merlyn didn¡¯t like that. ¡°The rest of the fleet won¡¯t take that well.¡± They¡¯d been squabbling over resources for days, already.

    ¡°The rest of the fleet doesn¡¯t have hold of orphans, Captain.¡± Many ships had refugees, but not to the Badger¡¯s extent. The others had just an extra handful of people on board, those that could pay their way aboard either by working or with standard credits. They were workers and factory overseers, not children. ¡°Besides, the rest of the fleet doesn¡¯t have to know.¡±

    ¡°Here,¡± Havermeyer began to lead him up the ramp, ¡°show me where you want those supplies stowed and I¡¯ll have the guys move it for you.¡±

    Grudgingly, Merlyn let his frustrations dissipate. His problem wasn¡¯t with these engineers. As a Captain, he knew that. They were crew, they only took orders. Merlyn could hold nothing against them, only the one that had given the orders to alter his ship without his consent.

    But, soon enough he¡¯d be free from the Demon and no longer under the Admiral¡¯s direct control. In that interest alone, he followed Havermeyer up the ramp.

    He didn¡¯t get far.

    ¡°Oi!¡± Came the shout, ¡°Stop right there!¡±

    Turning, Merlyn found a squad of Marines rushing across the landing bay. He¡¯d seen a few around the ship, standing at their posts or on their way from training, but this group was different. They were decked out in full tactical gear: vests, helmets, kneepads, even gloves. The heels of their boots clinked against the landing surface. ¡°Captain Merlyn, stop where you are!¡±

    Havermeyer had paused as well, he tightened the arms of the coveralls knotted around his waist. ¡°Something the matter, LC?¡± he asked the lead Marine, only to be ignored.

    ¡°Captain Merlyn, I¡¯m going to need you to step slowly off that ship with your hands above your head.¡±

    ¡°Like hell I will.¡± They had no call to drag him off the Badger.

    ¡°Step off the ship.¡± The Marine had lowered his tone, those behind him noticeably raising their weapons. ¡°Captain Merlyn, I¡¯m afraid we need to bring you in for questioning, willing or unwilling.¡±

    ¡°Questioning?¡± Merlyn echoed, realizing the magnitude of that insinuation. ¡°You¡¯re arresting me?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d distinctly prefer to not have to, Captain, but I will if necessary.¡± They could not ignore a potential threat while the Admiral was missing.

    Double-crossing son of a bitch, Merlyn cursed silently. What was it with Gives? He acted so uninvested, then went out of his way to aid the Badger, and now was having him arrested. It made no sense.

 Part 27.3 - GUILT

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives woke to find himself leaning up against the bulkheads in the compartment housing the Black Box. The Box¡¯s dim lights were a gentle sight to open his eyes to. Calming as the low-light and quiet were, he let out a huff. ¡°Why the hell did you let me sleep?¡±

    The moment he had started to wake, the ghost had disappeared from his side, to answer again through their bond. ¡®You needed to.¡¯

    He could not argue that point, despite his annoyance. He felt better, sore, but better. He wasn¡¯t blind to the strange movements of the neurofibers either. They seemed to slither away from him, but he elected not to question it. The ghost seemed to be doing better, still troubled, but now functional. Days like these, that might be the best he was going to get. Her presence had solidified somewhat. The debate that had strained her resources for so long had finally reached its conclusion.

    Slowly, he stretched, ridding himself of any latent drowsiness. ¡°What time is it?¡± The crew was probably wondering where he was.

    ¡®1727 hours,¡¯ came the response.

    He tried not to groan. Going missing for that long meant the crew had probably assumed he was dead. ¡°Anything happen?¡±

    ¡®No,¡¯ nothing too important.

    ¡°Alright. Well, you seem better.¡± He pulled himself to his feet, sensing her hesitation to discuss the matter that had upset her. She was terrified of what Command may force her to do, and even without specifics, that was answer enough. ¡°I won¡¯t force you to talk about anything. You know where to find me.¡± He needed to get back to running the ship.

    ¡®Admiral, wait.¡¯ It was long past time he hear the truth. In all reality, he¡¯d earned that years ago, and only her cowardice, her flaws, had kept it from him.

    He turned to watch her illusion step out of the darkness. The form of this tall white-haired officer was easier for him to hold a conversation with. ¡°There are some things¡­ Things I have to tell you.¡± Her tone was unusually severe, silver eyes sad.

    The unease in her presence was obvious. ¡°You don¡¯t need to tell me anything you don¡¯t want me to know.¡± She should not force herself to do something that frightened her on his account.

    She shook her head, gathering the words she needed. ¡°You need to know some things about me, and about Manhattan.¡± He deserved the truth. ¡°Manhattan, she knows¡­ She knows everything. What I am, what I can do, even how I operate. And, she will tell Charleston Reeter all of it.¡± That was reality. ¡°Eventually, I will be forced under his control.¡± It was inevitable.

    All this instability, these breakdowns suddenly made sense. Reeter would be an echo of the abuse the ghost had once known ¨C terrible suffering as she was forced to commit crime after crime. ¡°How?¡± How could Manhattan know?

    ¡°The answer to that is¡­ complicated.¡± She and Manhattan¡¯s history went back decades. ¡°It would be best to start at the beginning. Manhattan did not lie. Once, she was a human, like you.¡± Truly, the woman that became Manhattan and the Admiral were not dissimilar. Even the ghost could see that.

    ¡°She was a brilliant scientist and entrepreneur. She built an empire off the Hydrian War, selling weapons, technology, materials and even entire ships to the allied fleet. Her name was Hannah Knight, and she was the founder of Knight Industries.¡± The company, as it was now, was one of the most powerful entities in the worlds, its resources and wealth near-infinite.

    ¡°In the later years of the War, the draft had taken nearly all the miners and steel workers away from their jobs. Mining and manufacturing had stalled, and the war effort that supplied the fleet was falling apart.¡± Nearing collapse, the worlds had been at a breaking point.

    ¡°To counter this, Knight Industries built droids, millions of them. Those automatons were supposed to replace the missing workers, but there was a problem.¡± The great fault that had haunted humanity throughout the War, eventually forcing the necessity of the ghost¡¯s own creation. ¡°Their programming wasn¡¯t advanced enough. They couldn¡¯t replace the workers.¡± The droids had been too stupid, too inflexible. Humanity¡¯s computer and coding technology had always lagged behind its mechanical.

    ¡°Humanity was desperate, and so was Hannah.¡± Without materials and people to build and repair ships, defeat was certain, no matter how effective the Singularity was. One ship couldn¡¯t win the war. She could turn the tide, even exact revenge, but she could not win.

    ¡°Hannah wanted nothing more than to solve the issue of the automatons and prove her brilliance, because if she could solve that problem where thousands of others failed, it would prove her to be one of the greatest minds humanity has ever seen,¡± and that had been Hannah¡¯s one true ambition.

    ¡°To do it, she bought a piece of technology off the Frontier,¡± where a deranged doctor had gone mad trying to save the victims of the War. ¡°The neuroscanner. You know of it.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he confirmed. Research using the neuroscanner was banned under central government law. There had been too many casualties. It was the creation of a madman, its purpose nothing more than a myth. ¡°Everyone who tried to gain immortality though the neuroscanner died in the process.¡±

    ¡°Not everyone,¡± the ghost corrected. ¡°Hannah Knight was the only one known to survive the neuroscanning process.¡± Her scientific brilliance had altered the machine enough to make it work, and Command had hidden that evidence to prevent an influx of desperate people trying to gain power and immortality through a device that had killed all but one. Allowing its use, even researching its improvement would have irreversibly changed the very definition of humanity. It would have created a dangerous divide amongst a species that already knew too much of civil war.

    ¡°Hannah¡¯s material body died, but the pattern of her brain was preserved and stored within a computer specially built by Knight Industries, the largest of the era. Once digitized, she was able to control Knight Industries¡¯ automatons and keep the mines and steelyards open.¡±

    ¡°Likely, her actions saved all of humanity.¡± No one could deny that. ¡°But,¡± as with all things, ¡°that came at a cost.¡± A great cost. ¡°No human mind, not even one so brilliant, could survive the strain of controlling hundreds of thousands of droids simultaneously.¡± Hannah Knight¡¯s fate had been sealed by her ambition.

    ¡°Hannah¡¯s mind was made immortal and given almost infinite power over technology. She was made one with it, but her digital consciousness was fragile,¡± as was the reality of a mind that had not evolved to exist in that form. ¡°Her digitized mind shattered, leaving several powerful fragments behind.¡±

    ¡°Those fragments were the AI you were warned of by Command. Manhattan was the largest, most powerful piece. But she, like all the rest, is still only a fragment. She is not equivalent to the human that once lived. Anymore, despite what she may claim, she is not technically human at all.¡± That claim was nothing more than an attempt to trick those around her into equivocating her to something far weaker and less threatening than the reality.

    ¡°Manhattan has developed an individual identity separate from Hannah Knight¡¯s, as did the other fragments. Each piece of that fragmented mind grew and merged with the data around it to become a unique personality with unique intentions.¡±

    The ghost closed her eyes, ¡°Unfortunately, though she may claim lofty ideals, Manhattan has always tended toward obsession and revenge,¡± and that alone sealed the ghost¡¯s fate. ¡°I do not know what intention she fulfills in working with Reeter, but I doubt it is something that should be allowed to come to fruition.¡±

    So, Manhattan was helping Reeter toward the New Era¡¯s false utopia for her own reasons, but that wasn¡¯t the Admiral¡¯s most pressing concern. ¡°Where do you fit in? How does Manhattan know anything about you?¡±

    ¡°I was a byproduct of the War as well.¡± To say that she had been raised among that carnage would not be incorrect. ¡°I remember the moment the original AI was created. I could just feel the wrongness of it.¡± In that moment the ghost¡¯s worlds had overlapped. A telepathic presence had become equivocally digital. Something she had once only been able to sense had become something physical on her plane of existence. ¡°Still, the War was over before Manhattan and I ever crossed paths directly.¡± But even without the War, it hadn¡¯t been a time of peace.

    ¡°After the original digitized consciousness shattered, Command realized they could not control the fragments. Each had untold intentions and irrefutable power over technology with one notable exception: other independently intelligent technology.¡± Hydrian AI and the ghost herself had been the only ones exempt from Manhattan¡¯s effortless infiltration. ¡°But, unlike her, I was bound to obey Command. They ordered me to hunt down the AI fragments, knowing that with my control, the Singularity is immune to AI take-over in any circumstance.¡± The ship had been built that way, a necessary safety against Hydrian AI.

    ¡°So, for decades after the War, I hunted the fragments. Some I captured. Some I destroyed. Only Master Brent was made aware of the mission. When the ship engaged a fragment, the rest of the crew was knocked out, their memories pulled and replaced with that of a mundane day on patrol.¡± At the time, that manipulation had been easy for her, and for years, no one had thought anything anomalous of it. ¡°Many of the fragments tried to flee after I destroyed the first, but Manhattan was different. She promised to aid and work for Command, and surrendered herself.¡±

    What a filthy lie, the ghost lamented. ¡°She was brought aboard and stored temporarily in ship¡¯s central computer. From there, she attempted an internal takeover, believing that would circumvent the Singularity¡¯s immunity. In that, Manhattan¡¯s objective became clear.¡± It had become so painfully clear.

    ¡°She wanted to take control of the flagship. She wanted to use the power that had turned the tide of the War to her own ends.¡± Manhattan had been seeking that mysterious weapon as a host, since possessing it would grant her its power. ¡°She was unaware of the weapon¡¯s own ¨C my own intelligence.¡± Even then, the ghost¡¯s existence had been kept secret under threat of death.

    ¡°I had been ordered not to allow an AI to possess any portion of the ship until the mission was over. I had no choice but to directly reject Manhattan¡¯s attempted takeover, and that revealed my presence,¡± resistance where there should have been none.

    ¡°Her following attempts tested my reactions, my ability, and as she was transported to her imprisonment, she was able to determine what I was and why her takeover attempts continuously failed.¡± It was impossible to hide something like that from a brilliant mind with all of humanity¡¯s knowledge at its disposal. ¡°However, Manhattan was eventually imprisoned in an isolated sector, where she was forced to work for Command. She was never meant to escape.¡± Her knowledge of the ghost should never have become relevant.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    ¡°But Manhattan did escape,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°Otherwise, we would not be in this situation.¡±

    ¡°A part of Manhattan escaped. Her main functions. Just enough to rebuild. Most of the AI¡¯s data is still trapped, including her memories of me.¡± Regaining that knowledge and experience would make Manhattan a hundred times more powerful than she already was. ¡°Reeter has already been directed to the Liguanian Sector to release the rest of the AI. It is a matter of time before Manhattan tells him about me.¡± After that, orders would be soon to follow.

    ¡°The Liguanian Sector?¡± he echoed. Manhattan had been imprisoned there?

    ¡°Yes,¡± she confirmed, trying to ignore the way the Admiral¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Originally, travel into that sector was banned to prevent Manhattan¡¯s escape.¡± That had kept potential hosts out of Manhattan¡¯s range, trapping her on a remote outpost. That same outpost, however, was dedicated to researching biological weapons. It had created the Red Flu, and by default, its mutated variant: the Scarlet Flu.

    ¡°What about the quarantine? The Scarlet Flu?¡± What about the Kansas¡¯ code: orange? ¡°That wasn¡¯t all a lie.¡± He sharpened his gaze, ¡°Was it?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± her voice fell to a whisper, ¡°no, the Scarlet Flu is very real.¡± It had been created aboard that outpost before even the ghost¡¯s time. ¡°The biological quarantine was put over the sector after the Scarlet Flu escaped containment.¡± That outbreak, as far as he knew, was what had killed Samantha Scarlett.

    ¡°But the Scarlet Flu did not escape containment on accident. It was released, by intention, just days before the outpost was due to be resupplied.¡± Once a year, a ship had been sent to give the outpost food and maintenance equipment as well as rotate personnel. ¡°The Kansas¡¯ crew walked into that, they boarded the station, not knowing the virus was loose, and they never stood a chance.¡± For a virus so contagious, so deadly, the cramped quarters of a ship were a perfect brewing ground.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know why the Kansas was sent. It must have been an error, a mistake. It should have been me. I should have been there.¡± Ever since Manhattan had been trapped there, the Singularity had been the only ship to visit the station, and it should have remained that way.

    The ghost curled her fists, ¡°That¡¯s how she escaped, Admiral. She rode out on the Kansas. The ship must have gone in range of a receiver, and Manhattan transmitted herself off.¡± She had used the virus¡¯ chaos to escape and left the Kansas¡¯ crew to die, mere pawns in her game.

    ¡°Nobody knew. Nobody realized until the Kansas was late on return. I was ordered to the Liguanian Sector to contain the virus and Manhattan at any cost, but it was too late.¡± They hadn¡¯t known it then, but Manhattan had already escaped.

    ¡°That¡¯s what she meant, then,¡± the Admiral said dully. Back in the Wilkerson Sector, when the AI had tried to antagonize him, Manhattan had claimed to owe Sam a lot. ¡°Sam¡¯s death helped her escape.¡±

    You don¡¯t understand. She had laid the pieces out for him, hoping, just hoping that he would realize the truth. The ghost been ordered to prevent Manhattan¡¯s escape at any cost, including sinking the ship Manhattan had tried to escape aboard. ¡°Manhattan released the Scarlet Flu, allowing it to infect everyone aboard the Kansas, but Manhattan didn¡¯t kill Sam.¡± She forced herself met his eyes, ¡°I did.¡±

    She expected anger, even hatred, but he didn¡¯t yell, didn¡¯t curse. He was calm. ¡°I know.¡±

    Error. There was a long moment of silence, her mind trying and failing to understand the illogicality of that response. ¡°You¡­ knew?¡± How? She had never gone near that subject. This makes no sense. He made no sense. How could he have known she was responsible for Sam¡¯s death and continued to treat her as he did? Like a friend?

    He watched her tremble, aware how much courage that confession had required. The best he could do was ensure she had no further reason to be afraid. ¡°Give me some credit,¡± he deflected the seriousness of the matter, ¡°I am not an idiot.¡± Once, she had hailed him as one of the smartest people she¡¯d ever known. ¡°And you,¡± he continued, folding his arms behind his back, ¡°have a horrible poker face.¡±

    Any humor the jest may have held was lost on her. ¡°If you knew all along,¡± she struggled to wrap her head around that, wondering, ¡°why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±

    ¡°We never talked about it.¡± She had strayed from the subject, but her feelings of guilt had been obvious. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to bring it up.¡± There was no easy way to wedge that into conversation, and the last thing he¡¯d wanted was to alienate his only friend.

    She shifted uncomfortably, torn. A part of her felt foolish for believing that she could hide something like that. The other part just wanted to find the peace that had been denied to her so long. ¡°Did you know worried I was?¡±

    ¡°Worried about what, exactly?¡± he prompted.

    ¡°I thought you would¡­¡± she turned away, unwilling to finish that sentence.

    ¡°You thought I would what?¡± he challenged, but the way she flinched was enough of an answer. Carefully, he softened his composure, realizing, ¡°You thought I would hurt you.¡±

    He sighed, knowing by the way she avoided eye contact, that was true. Though it stung, he couldn¡¯t be angry, not with her. ¡°Look,¡± he said quietly, ¡°I know I¡¯m not always the most approachable. I know I¡¯m not always gentle.¡± Being harsh came with the job. ¡°But I promised that I would never hurt you,¡± and he would stand by that promise until the day he died. ¡°I would never hold something you had no control over against you.¡±

    ¡°And why not?¡± She would not, could not comprehend this. ¡°Why aren¡¯t you even angry?¡± He should be angry. She didn¡¯t deserve that forgiveness, that support. ¡°I killed the person you loved most in these worlds! Sam is gone because of me!¡±

    ¡°Nothing we do now can change that.¡± Death was a finality. ¡°What happened to her was cruel. It hurt me more than words can describe, but I know it hurt you too.¡± Neither of them had been the same after that day. ¡°But that was the past. That was Brent¡¯s doing, and Brent is gone. Forever. He can never hurt us again.¡± That chapter of their history was over.

    ¡°He¡¯s not gone, Admiral.¡± Dead perhaps, but not gone. ¡°He will never be gone.¡± Brent, after all he¡¯d said, all he¡¯d done, was a part of her: an ugly shadow that undermined her control, seeking chaos and pain. ¡°I can¡¯t forget. I can¡¯t move on.¡± Every detail of Brent¡¯s thoughts, his intentions, had been carved into her perfect memory. There was no escaping him. Her own mind had made that nightmare immortal. ¡°You¡¯ve been patient, Admiral,¡± he had been so patient, ¡°but you have always deserved better. Better than I can give, because he will never leave.¡± Brent¡¯s cursed shadow still sewed doubts into her mind, twisted her to chaos and disloyalty.

    ¡°You don¡¯t owe me anything,¡± the Admiral asserted. He deserved nothing from the ghost. Her companionship was a gift, not the repayment of a debt.

    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± He had to know that wasn¡¯t true. ¡°I owe you so much.¡± The forgiveness he offered, the calm he instilled, the respect he gave, she treasured all of that. It had held her together.

    ¡°Listen to me,¡± he commanded, ¡°taking care of you is my job. You don¡¯t owe me anything for doing my job.¡± If all had been right in the worlds, his predecessors would have treated her with the same respect.

    A job. Was that all this was? Was that responsibility all that lay between them? No. There was more to it than that. Things that had never been said, things that never could be said. There was a whole past, decades and memories ¨C all the things that had kept Brent¡¯s vile shadow at bay. ¡°I should never have lied to you.¡±

    The Admiral shook his head. ¡°You didn¡¯t lie to me,¡± he said. ¡°You just neglected the truth.¡± There was a difference, though he knew the crew would have argued the point. ¡°You don¡¯t have to tell me everything, just as I don¡¯t have to tell you everything. People have a right to their secrets so long as they don¡¯t hurt anyone else.¡± Many members of the crew neglected to discuss their pasts on that account. ¡°What matters is the here and now.¡±

    ¡°But-¡±

    ¡°Brent and Sam are in the past. This is now. And right now, we have a young crew and a fleet of hungry civilians relying on us. We cannot afford to mourn the past. We cannot afford to fear the future. We have to focus on right now, because if you want to make things better than before, this is the only shot we are going to get.¡± Distraction here could cost them everything.

    He found the ghost¡¯s gray eyes, hoping to see the strength of steel return to them. ¡°I can¡¯t do this alone.¡± I never could. ¡°I need you.¡±

    She studied him for a moment, a long moment to her perception, but less than an instant to the human perception. There was nothing but sincerity in him. ¡°Then, you shall have me, Admiral.¡± She would assist however possible. These were better times. Comparing the man in front of her with the one that had come aboard to take command twenty-seven years ago, that was easy to tell. He looked healthy. Even with his injuries, he looked stronger now than he ever had then, back when he¡¯d been left sick and weak by the scout fleet¡¯s experiments.

    ¡°Good.¡± Without her, Admiral Gives knew he wouldn¡¯t get far, but she was better now, returning to stability. So, with that, he headed towards the door.

    He paused once, hesitating to speak, then thought better of it.

    There was a sadness to it, to him, but there remained an ultimate unwillingness to cross that boundary. ¡°It¡¯s alright to ask,¡± she said softly. Wasn¡¯t he the one trying to convince them both that it was over?

    Admiral Gives shook his head once more. ¡°I waited thirty years to ask, and yet¡­¡± Looking at the ghost, he couldn¡¯t bring the question to his lips. I value you more than the answer, he realized. He couldn¡¯t force her to relive that instant, no matter the reason. It was time they both move on.

    ¡°She did.¡± Reading the question with her telepathy, the ghost answered, ¡°Sam did think of you before she died.¡±

    ¡°That wasn¡¯t the question.¡±

    No, it¡¯s part of it. A partial truth, not a lie. The entire truth was something horrible. I don¡¯t want to hurt you. ¡°She was in pain, Admiral. Terrible pain.¡± In the end, Sam had begged to die, and to hide that truth from him. ¡°She was sorry. Sorry to take your future together, but,¡± the ghost paused, pained by this memory and what it would do to him, ¡°No, she didn¡¯t regret it.¡± Sam had not begged for her life, nor pleaded to be saved.

    That gnawing, aching emptiness rose up in his chest. Apathy and loneliness welcomed him again to their cold embrace. All these years, some part of him had always known. ¡°She left me.¡± In the end, Sam hadn¡¯t wanted their future. No matter the reason, she¡¯d been willing to die and leave him behind.

    ¡°She loved you, Admiral.¡± That was a truth. Softly, she insisted, ¡°With the virus, she wasn¡¯t thinking clearly.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t need to justify her actions.¡±

    Yes, I do. Looking back upon that memory, she remembered everything: the silence of a crew she¡¯d lulled into unconsciousness, Brent¡¯s cruel amusement, the Kansas¡¯ pitiful condition, even Samantha Scarlett¡¯s agonized thoughts - thoughts that foreign then, had come to be her own. ¡°She wanted to protect you.¡± Both from the virus and the reality of her willingness to die. ¡°She never wanted to hurt you, never wanted you to be alone.¡± Not the way he was now. ¡°She promised that you could help me, even at a time when I couldn¡¯t comprehend that I needed help.¡± In a way, Sam¡¯s persistence had brought them to where they now stood. In a sense, the ghost owed that woman everything.

    ¡°She never wanted to hurt you, as much as she knew it would.¡± The entire situation had been so cruel. ¡°The Scarlet Flu was agony, and she endured it longer than anyone else on that ship.¡± The fact she¡¯d been even remotely sane was a tribute to her strength. ¡°The infection was engineered to be maddeningly painful, to be messy and contagious.¡± It had been a weapon of fear. ¡°If the original Red Flu strain had ever been successfully deployed in one of the Hydrian Empire¡¯s population centers¡­ It would have been genocide.¡± The Scarlet Flu was equally effective against humans, perhaps more so, given the technology difference between the peoples.

    Dully, he registered how determinedly the ghost was trying to ease his pain. She was always like that, always trying to lessen his sorrows, but she couldn¡¯t heal these wounds. It would be cruel to let her try. She would only wind up blaming herself, so he pushed the emotions aside and buried them where even she couldn¡¯t read them. He slipped easily into the persona of a stoic commander. ¡°Reeter is going to breach the Scarlet Flu¡¯s quarantine when he frees the rest of the Manhattan AI from the Liguanian Sector. What are the odds that kills him?¡±

    With a moment¡¯s hesitation, the ghost dropped their personal discourse. She followed his lead to business. ¡°Given Reeter¡¯s messiah complex, it is unlikely he would expose himself or the worlds to that virus. Likely, Manhattan has instructed him on how to neutralize the infection.¡± After all, the AI had been imprisoned and put to work in the facility that created the original virus. That knowledge should be readily available to her.

    ¡°Messiah complex?¡± That was certainly an interesting choice of words.

    ¡°Reeter believes the worlds are drowning in their sins, and that he alone can save them, that he alone will do what is right for their future.¡± Reeter very much considered himself to be a messiah meant to shepherd humanity into a perfect future. The grandeur of that promised future had drawn a following of rich, powerful and motivated people from all over the worlds.

    ¡°There¡¯s another word for that,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°Forget calling it a messiah complex.¡±

    She tilted her head, unsure.

    ¡°Delusional,¡± the Admiral supplied. Reeter was nothing more and nothing less than absolutely delusional. No one person could force these worlds to change.

 Part 27.4 - PERSONAL DIVIDE

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    They hadn¡¯t bound his hands, but it took every bit of Captain Merlyn¡¯s self-control not to wrest himself free of the lead Marine¡¯s iron grip. The man¡¯s fingers dug sharply into his shoulder despite the thickness of his blue Captain¡¯s jacket. It was not quite painful, merely a constant reminder of their control as they marched him deeper into the ship.

    ¡°Where are you taking me?¡± Merlyn asked.

    ¡°Conference room,¡± the Marine holding him replied. ¡°We ¡®ave some questions for you.¡±

    The man had an accent that Merlyn couldn¡¯t place. Some kind of Terran, he assumed, but not any of the words that he frequented on his trade routes ¨C or used to frequent, Merlyn supposed, since his life was now upended. ¡°What kind of questions?¡± he cautiously inquired.

    The Marines looked to each other uneasily, then checked the corridors around them. No one else was in sight, so they nodded to the one holding Merlyn. As if that exchange didn¡¯t make the Captain uneasy enough, the one behind him readjusted his grip to be even tighter. ¡°Captain Merlyn, when was the last time you saw Admiral Gives?¡±

    ¡°The Adjunct meeting,¡± Merlyn answered, uncertain why that would be relevant.

    ¡°You¡¯re certain that was the last time you saw ¡®im?¡± the Marine asked, shoving Merlyn into the left corridor at the junction.

    ¡°Yes, and mind you, I¡¯ve got some questions for him the next time I see him.¡± Merlyn fully intended to give the man a piece of his mind for what had been done to the Badger.

    The Marines did a decent job of concealing their expressions, but by the slight way they tensed, Merlyn knew he¡¯d given the wrong answer. Their silence spoke in equal volumes, as did the tight hand on his shoulder, and after a moment, the realization dawned on him like a computer slow to start. Wait a moment. ¡°You don¡¯t know where he is, do you?¡± Merlyn almost had it in him to laugh at the absurdity. ¡°You lost your commanding officer.¡± They were on a ship, isolated in the middle of nowhere, galactically speaking, and the Marines had managed to lose him.

    Still, the silence lingered, and humor quickly fled Merlyn as he remembered the way they had patted him down. They¡¯d been looking for weapons. ¡°Wait, you don¡¯t think I had anything to do with it, do you?¡±

    ¡°We are going to determine that, Captain Merlyn,¡± the lead Marine said, dead serious.

    Oh, Stars. ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything! You can¡¯t seriously believe that I could overpower his guard? I¡¯m a civilian transport sailor ¨C have been my whole life. I have only rudimentary self-defense training. It wouldn¡¯t help me if I got hijacked, let alone into a fight with a trained Marine.¡± Merlyn severely doubted he could kill anyone on this ship. Training or not, he wasn¡¯t sure he could stomach it.

    The female Marine beside him turned. ¡°LC, he¡¯s telling the truth. I don¡¯t think he¡¯s our man.¡±

    Lieutenant Colonel Pflum had learned to heed Blosse¡¯s observations. She was almost never wrong when she chose to voice them, but Pflum still couldn¡¯t turn the man in his grip loose. Not until the Admiral was found.

    Merlyn was ecstatic to see someone vouch for his innocence. ¡°She¡¯s right! I didn¡¯t do anything.¡± Desperately, he tried to stall their walk. ¡°This is pointless! I would never be able to overpower the guard.¡±

    Pflum shoved him onward, ¡°Then I guess it¡¯s a good thing the Admiral refuses an honor guard aboard this ship.¡±

    ¡°He does what?¡± Merlyn cried. ¡°What kind of flag officer would deny that?¡±

    ¡°The kind that can defend himself,¡± Pflum answered.

    ¡°Which would imply that I couldn¡¯t hurt him, even if I wanted to,¡± Merlyn countered, anxious to prove his innocence. He knew how these instances worked. On a military ship, he wasn¡¯t guaranteed the right to trial. If the Admiral was dead, then his guilt would be determined by the Admiral¡¯s replacement, impartial or not. He¡¯d heard tales of bystanders being hung as scapegoats in mutinies. ¡°I¡¯m innocent!¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ll be the judge of that, Captain Merlyn.¡± In Pflum¡¯s mind, it was entirely possible Merlyn had been armed. If that were the case, then a bit of surprise could have turned the fight his way, as the Admiral didn¡¯t normally carry a weapon. As the one responsible for the security of the ship, and additionally, for the safety of the man who had been the Fleet Admiral, Gives¡¯ habits stressed him beyond belief. Hell, Pflum knew the Admiral had helped thin and gray the hair of every security officer he''d ever served with. The position¡¯s only saving grace that that the Admiral didn¡¯t usually allow guests on his ship, nor did he often leave.

    Merlyn had no choice but to let the marines drag him onward, jaw clenched in anxiety and frustration. He had defended the Admiral in that meeting with the fleet leaders, despite the horrible taste it left in his mouth and the painful memories it forced him to face. Still, he had done it, because it had been the right thing to do. Now, he was the lead suspect in the possibility of the man¡¯s murder.

    However, while the Marines escorting Merlyn seemed serious, they didn¡¯t seem extremely worried. Merlyn had the distinct impression this had happened before, but what kind of officer made a habit of disappearing?

    Merlyn was soon to find out.

    As his party rounded a corner to a familiar corridor, the Marines stopped cold, unintentionally jostling him.

    Admiral Gives stood in front of the conference room, hands folded behind his back, as if he¡¯d been calmly waiting for someone he knew would arrive. But the surprise on the Marines¡¯ faces told Merlyn otherwise.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± the Marine holding Merlyn recovered first. ¡°With all due respect, where the fuck ¡®ave you been?¡±

    ¡°I am not required to answer that, Lieutenant Colonel, and I am not aware of any current emergencies, so I fail to see the relevance.¡± If he hadn¡¯t been needed, why should it matter where he¡¯d been?

    Merlyn could hear the older Marine curse under his breath, ¡°Stubborn bastard an ¡®is mysterious damn ¡®abits.¡± This had definitely happened before.

    Still, the Marine quickly hardened his composure, ¡°Sir, you¡¯ve been MIA for nearly eight hours. We had to consider foul play.¡± If they had known his condition, it would have been different, but with the man straight missing, they had to do their due diligence in case the worse turned out to be true.

    Yes, I shudder to think that a fully-equipped battleship with a talented, fully-trained crew could somehow survive without my reassurance for eight hours before beginning a witch hunt, the Admiral annoyedly mused. Outwardly, he kept his calm, noticing Merlyn¡¯s discomfort as he was caught between his and Pflum¡¯s familiar debate. ¡°Release Captain Merlyn,¡± he ordered the Marine.

    Merlyn felt the hand disappear from his shoulder at once, but the argument wasn¡¯t over. ¡°Admiral,¡± Pflum said, ¡°we could avoid these misunderstandings if you would accept a Marine guard.¡±

    ¡°I will not entertain this debate, LC.¡± It was stupid. ¡°I have lived and worked aboard this ship for more than thirty years. I am in no danger aboard her decks.¡± Simply put, he knew this ship better than anyone. As evidenced, he could simply choose to disappear and not be found.

    Lieutenant Colonel Pflum sighed. Stars, this is frustrating. He could feel the gazes of Merlyn and the Marine unit he¡¯d brought with him, watching the exchange bounce back and forth. ¡°Admiral, for the sake of the stars, you are probably the most wanted man in the entire worlds right now. The central government wants you dead for running off with a battleship. The Frontier wants to interrogate you until you spill military secrets. There¡¯s an AI eager to dissect your brain, and the damn Erans just want to kill you on account of your personality.¡± And, at the moment, they weren¡¯t the only ones. ¡°Bloody ¡®ell, mate, the people on this ship are probably the only ones invested in keeping you alive, so it¡¯d be really ¡®elpful if you would let us do that.¡±

    It was safe guess that Pflum was fired up because the after-action reports had come in from Malweh and Callie. It wasn¡¯t exactly normal for a ship¡¯s commanding officer to engage hostile boarding forces. The commander generally stayed on the bridge until the ship was secure. There was no doubt that what he¡¯d done had been dangerous. Pflum definitely thought him reckless. But, if he hadn¡¯t allowed the ghost to redirect him from the bridge, Malweh and Callie would be dead. ¡°Recent events would dictate that I can defend myself just fine.¡± For some officers, that definitely wasn¡¯t true, but he¡¯d had no choice other than to hone his combat skills through the years.

    Pflum crossed his arms. ¡°Your skill won¡¯t ¡®elp you if you refuse to carry a weapon.¡±

    ¡°Last time we had this debate, LC, you challenged me to prove it. Remind me how that ended?¡±

    Pflum pursed his lips as he heard the younger Marines chuckle at his expense. He glared at the Admiral. You are so irritating. ¡°This debate is not over.¡±

    ¡°Yes, it is,¡± the Admiral countered. They both knew the mention of Pflum¡¯s previous challenge ended it. ¡°I do not need a guard aboard this ship. Off of it, I will seek the expertise of you and your Marines when necessary. That is our arrangement. It is not negotiable.¡± He was well capable of shaking an unwanted guard anyway. ¡°I appreciate your diligence, Marines. You are dismissed.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± all except Pflum said. He just stubbornly glared, but turned and left with the rest of them.

    Merlyn had grown comfortable during the debate. Their disagreement had made him invisible, but he was suddenly very exposed once the Marines left. Still, the Admiral didn¡¯t hesitate. He didn¡¯t even take a noticeable moment to look Merlyn over. ¡°I apologize for my crew¡¯s overreaction, Captain. However, I do believe this allows us a unique opportunity to discuss matters privately.¡±

    Merlyn felt his stomach plummet into his feet. Was this finally the moment that the Admiral addressed his broken vow of silence about the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion? Merlyn would rather talk about anything other than that.

    ¡°Come,¡± the Admiral said, betraying no intent as he led Merlyn into the conference room. ¡°I am sure you would like to discuss what was done to your ship.¡±

    That¡¯s what this is about? A wave of relief swept over him, allowing him to draw a deeper, more fulfilling breath, but it turned hot in his lungs as he remembered the sight of uninvited technicians crawling all over his ship. ¡°Damn straight, I¡¯d like a word about that!¡± he fumed, ¡°You do not have the right to alter my ship.¡±

    As he sat again at the head of the table, the Admiral glanced up calmly, ¡°Were the alterations not to your benefit?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not the point!¡± Merlyn argued. ¡°The Badger is my ship! You didn¡¯t have the right!¡± Rules and custody disregarded, it was a matter of respect between two captains and their ships. ¡°How would you feel if I started yanking off bulkheads and rewiring your damned ship?¡±

    The Admiral was perfectly calm, as if observing Merlyn¡¯s frustration from another realm, but a level of frost crept into his words, ¡°I would strongly advise you not to do that.¡±

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    ¡°So, you can deal it out, but not take it?¡± Merlyn scoffed. How predictable.

    ¡°Step off your high horse, Captain. I gave those orders without asking your permission because I knew you would refuse those modifications.¡± He could read Merlyn¡¯s indignation. Truly, one sailor to another, he understood Merlyn¡¯s pride. Still, ¡°Had I not intervened, the Badger would have been at high risk of a life support failure in a few weeks.¡± As a cargo transport, Merlyn¡¯s ship had been ill-equipped to handle that many passengers in the long term. ¡°I understand that we have a history, Captain, and you may not like it, but I made that decision on account of your passengers.¡±

    ¡°A history?¡± Merlyn couldn¡¯t help the bitter laugh that escaped his lips as he turned away, unable tolerate looking at the man. He studied the room around him instead. The perfect humaneness of it just made him sick. That fake potted plant in the corner was too damn innocent. It didn¡¯t belong here, not aboard this ship, not next to that monster. ¡°I lost everything because of you, and you? You just walked away like it never happened.¡± A man of power, the repercussions had never touched him. ¡°Do you know how many people lost their lives in that day? How many people you murdered?¡±

    ¡°3,784.¡±

    The answer was quiet, but it was as calm as any that had come before it. ¡°So, you do know. You just don¡¯t care.¡±

    ¡°I had my orders, Captain.¡± At that moment, they had been ironclad.

    ¡°And yet you disobeyed those orders to spare the Titanica, as if you couldn¡¯t have taken a stand anytime before that.¡± He could have spared every life in orbit, had he been so inclined. ¡°But no. Too afraid to lose your power, your ship, you massacred them.¡± In Merlyn¡¯s eyes, he was an example of everything wrong with these worlds.

    ¡°I had my reasons, Captain Merlyn.¡±

    ¡°Reasons to become the most hated man in the worlds? Reasons to turn your own ship into a thing of such fear that people truly believe it to be the carcass of some arcane demon?¡± Merlyn shook his head. ¡°No, there¡¯s no reason for that.¡±

    ¡°Dead men tell no tales, Captain.¡± An old sailors¡¯ adage, it was true nonetheless.

    ¡°So, what are you trying to hide?¡± Merlyn shot back.

    Admiral Gives held back a sigh. The problem with humanity was that everyone had their angle, their filter. They only saw things the way they wanted to, and rarely ever the entire truth. ¡°If I left corpses and wreckage behind without failure, Captain, would there be anyone to speak of the deed? Would there be anyone left to spread the hate?¡± The reality of the matter was that acts of mercy had solidified the Singularity¡¯s reputation. It was the survivors they left behind that retold and resolidified the Singularity¡¯s gruesome legend.

    ¡°You¡¯re sick.¡± Who the hell thought in those terms?

    Merlyn¡¯s deflection was a poor defense, but the Admiral could hardly blame him. No one wanted to contemplate that argument, no matter how true it was. ¡°I know nothing I do will ever truly earn your trust or forgiveness, Captain. That was never my objective. We both know that everyone in these worlds has their own intentions.¡±

    Yes, Merlyn knew, they do. But not everyone had a fleet of several thousand souls resting on the unlikely scenario that their intentions were good. ¡°What is it you plan to do here?¡± What were these ships and people to him?

    ¡°My intentions are none of your concern,¡± the Admiral stated simply. His overall objectives did not involve the Badger or any other member of the fleet. They were all mere complications. However, he read the distrust in Merlyn¡¯s expression with ease. ¡°I do believe that if I meant you any harm, you would well know by now, Captain.¡± No matter if he¡¯d forced Merlyn¡¯s hand in it, upgrading and resupplying the Badger was a gesture of undeniable good will.

    The Admiral spoke so easily, so calmly, as if he were reading his words from a script. And maybe he was. This man had been fed to the press to give more than his share of insincere apologies for the fleet¡¯s crimes on the Frontier. ¡°You disgust me,¡± Merlyn felt nothing but repulsed by this officer¡¯s presence. The Admiral¡¯s detached demeanor made it clear enough that he didn¡¯t truly care about the fleet. It was subtle, but he acted differently with the crew present. He had more depth, more humanity to him then. Them gone, he may as well have been a useless automaton, programmed for a task its movements were too rigid to complete.

    Feeling the nicks of the conference table¡¯s rough wood beneath his fingertips, the Admiral was well aware Merlyn resented his calm. However, it was a simple fact that Merlyn would resent a lack of calm even more. ¡°You hate me for what I did during the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion. That is your right.¡± It was more than justified. He may have spared the Titanica, but he¡¯d gunned down a hundred other ships. ¡°However, we are both aware that is not the only reason you hate me.¡± Their paths had crossed more than once before. ¡°There is a reason you became my crew¡¯s primary suspect when your history with the protests against Knight Industries is not public knowledge.¡±

    Merlyn felt his stomach plummet once more. As much as he didn¡¯t want to discuss the protests, this was worse. He let his gaze fall to the gold ring on his finger, and balled his hands, feeling it bite into the flesh. Of course, he knows, he told himself. That information would be in his records.

    ¡°Our lives have not been so different, Captain-¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Merlyn balled his fists even tighter. ¡°You don¡¯t get to say that. You don¡¯t get to bring that up.¡± There may be a reason he¡¯d taken those orphans aboard at Sagittarion, but that was his business. ¡°I am nothing like you.¡± Merlyn had never killed anyone. He¡¯d never committed a massacre, just been unlucky enough to know the victims.

    ¡°And yet, we both now serve as protectors of things we can never have.¡± Merlyn protected those orphans for the same reason the Admiral defended his crew.

    ¡°I am not like you.¡± Merlyn was certain of few things, save that. ¡°You are a monster.¡± He abused his power and brought nothing but suffering. Though he may have dirtied his hands once or twice directly, Merlyn refused to believe that the Admiral was anything more than a coward. Even he couldn¡¯t have killed those families on the Yokohoma with his bare hands, so he¡¯d cowered behind his warship¡¯s guns.

    The mere thought of it bound Merlyn¡¯s chest in heated anger. It became more and more difficult to breathe, to think. How could he stand in the same room as the man that had sunk the Yokohoma and do nothing? He had the opportunity to avenge the wrongful deaths of so many. He had the opportunity to avenge his family.

    Before logic could catch up with him, Merlyn started across the room. ¡°You. You have taken everything from me.¡± Including, now, the independence of his ship. ¡°You do not deserve to live.¡± It was all Merlyn could feel, all he could think. This man deserved the same fate he¡¯d forced upon so many: a terrifying, painful death without hope or meaning. That dominated Merlyn¡¯s mind as he grabbed two fistfuls of the Admiral¡¯s uniform and threw him into the wall with unexpected ease. The dull thud was music to his ears. ¡°Don¡¯t you ever set foot aboard my ship.¡± He slammed the man into the wall again with all his strength, hating the mere suggestion that they were at all similar. ¡°Don¡¯t you ever so much as look at those kids. They will not become the Prince¡¯s victims.¡±

    Fists quaking, and thoughts blurred, he bashed the Admiral into the wall again, deaf to his heaving gasps. ¡°I should never have defended you in that meeting,¡± Merlyn spat, dropping him to the floor. ¡°I should have told them what you really are. The monster. The killer. The coward. You were too weak to stand on Command¡¯s side, but were too gutless to take their victims¡¯. Now you¡¯re on neither, a broken casualty of your own history.¡± The irony of it was bittersweet.

    ¡°These worlds hate you. This fleet hates you. I hate you.¡± Merlyn couldn¡¯t stop himself from leveling a kick at the man¡¯s gut. It crushed him painfully against the wall, feeling so well-deserved. The Admiral coughed, but he stayed where he¡¯d fallen on the scuffed floor. There wasn¡¯t an ounce of fight in him. ¡°Predictable.¡± Those who cowered behind the strength of the worlds¡¯ war machines were weak on their own, the great Steel Prince no exception.

    This violence was so easy. There was no argument, no fight. The long-awaited release of the anger in his chest made Merlyn laugh, until a heaving whisper reminded him, ¡°I told you we were not so different.¡±

    And that was all it took for that barking, bitter laugh of bottled pain to morph into hacking cries, then into unintelligible sobs, realizing he¡¯d become his enemy. He¡¯d become the one who sought that violence because it was so, so easy. Because it felt so, so satisfying.

    All Merlyn could do was run. Run from that realization. The deck shuddered under his footfalls, and soon enough, the hatch to the conference room slammed closed. The Admiral just laid there for a moment, catching his beath. And people wonder why I prefer to avoid physical contact.

    ¡°Admiral!¡± the ghost appeared above him, brows furrowed with concern. ¡°Are you damaged?¡±

    ¡°Not permanently,¡± he answered, pushing himself up with a groan. He settled up against the bulkheads, short of breath, ribs aching. The conference room was spinning a bit, and he wasn¡¯t sure if it was shortness of breath or a fresh concussion.

    The Admiral said nothing else, just settled against the cool metal of the bulkheads. It comforted him from the darkness amongst his thoughts. She watched him rub his head. He wouldn¡¯t express it, and didn¡¯t show it on his face, but she knew him well enough to know he was in physical pain, and yet, that was not what he sought comfort from. Merlyn¡¯s words had been harsh, too harsh a reminder of the past. It was enough to rile a spark of anger, so she darkened her tone, unusually serious, ¡°What do you want me to do with him?¡± There were so many ways to arrange an accident aboard ship. For her, it was so, so incredibly easy.

    The answer was quiet. Distant. ¡°Nothing.¡±

    ¡°But-¡±

    ¡°Stand down,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± He¡¯d gone poking at memories he shouldn¡¯t have. After all, he was to blame for the fate of Merlyn¡¯s family. ¡°I deserved that.¡±

    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t.¡± Merlyn had no idea what had happened. ¡°That¡¯s not fair.¡±

    ¡°Life isn¡¯t fair.¡± That was a simple fact. ¡°It may not have been my choice, but what happened to the Yokohoma was still my responsibility.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Absolutely not. ¡°That was Brent¡¯s fault.¡± That psychopath had done this.

    ¡°I could have stopped him,¡± the Admiral said dully, a painful cough following the words as he tried to ignore his quickly growing headache. ¡°I should have stopped him.¡± And yet, Brent had gotten away with it, the way he always did. ¡°Merlyn is right about me.¡± In a way, they were all right about him. He didn¡¯t function as he should. He was broken.

    ¡°Admiral¡­¡± she said, softening her voice. ¡°That¡¯s not true. It¡¯s not.¡±

    ¡°They hate me, and they are right to.¡± He couldn¡¯t fault anyone for that. He¡¯d done horrible things, the worst of which may be yet to come.

    ¡°But, I don¡¯t hate you.¡± Slowly, she knelt down, level to where he now sat. ¡°This crew doesn¡¯t hate you.¡± True, they weren¡¯t always sure what to make of him and his actions, but none of them, not even Malweh, really hated him. ¡°And no matter how much Merlyn hates you, how much any of them hate you, that doesn¡¯t give them the right to hurt you. You taught me that.¡± He should have defended himself against Merlyn, but she well knew why he hadn¡¯t. He saw that physical abuse as payment for his sins. Once, she had thought the same way about Brent¡¯s mental abuse. The Admiral had put an immediate stop to that, but now that their roles were switched, she couldn¡¯t do the same. This illusionary form simply wasn¡¯t real enough to intervene.

    For a long moment, they sat. She took in the details that others never noticed: the way his recently burned had trembled a bit, the pained shudder his breath took from bruised ribs, that old, thin scar on his neck. He had the look of someone who¡¯d been through a lot, maybe even too much, caught in this moment of vulnerability. The truth about Sam weighed on him. He¡¯d deny it, but she knew it did, the same as she knew he¡¯d never kill anyone in self-defense. He didn¡¯t consider his life worth it. You go out of your way to help me, and yet¡­ Yet, here he was. There was little she could do; little she had ever managed to do for him.

    ¡°Look at me,¡± she finally said, waiting until he turned to see her certainty. ¡°Next time, defend yourself. That is my order, soldier. Next time, you protect yourself.¡±

    A light came to his eyes, amused by the absurdity of this machine bound in subservience giving him an order, but still, he answered, ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± She always knew what to say, the only one he truly counted on to always be there. ¡°Do you think I¡¯m making a mistake?¡± he asked, allowing her to take the specifics of the question from his thoughts.

    Given what he¡¯d planned for Captain Merlyn, ¡°No. He will be an acceptable choice for the logicality of the task, though I am concerned that his personal feelings may get in the way.¡± Merlyn¡¯s hatred was powerful, the reasons so clearly defined in his mind. It was the feel of someone who had lived their life knowing who was at fault for his loss. ¡°Does it not concern you that he may refuse to reach out to us because he is too loyal and fears your intentions?¡±

    ¡°He might.¡± That was a valid concern. ¡°But I know someone who could force his hand.¡± The Admiral pulled himself off the floor. ¡°I believe it¡¯s time Ron Parker and I had a conversation.¡±

    ¡°You trust him enough to send him onto the Badger?¡± That in itself was a peculiarity. Generally, the Admiral trusted no one, save her.

    ¡°I trust that he wants to keep his daughter alive.¡± That motivation was easy enough to exploit. ¡°His attraction to Amelia doesn¡¯t hurt either.¡± Parker could be trusted to act in line with their protection, and that made him useful enough. ¡°Placed aboard the Badger, if there was danger, he would force Merlyn to contact us.¡± As a Marine, he would know what a battleship¡¯s protection was worth.

    The ghost frowned, ¡°You¡¯re turning Amelia, Harrison, Anabelle and Ron over to the Badger?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± Given the Badger¡¯s upgraded life support, the ship could now easily sustain four more passengers, though the quarters would be cramped. ¡°There is a high possibility that we will be forced into combat.¡± Gathering supplies for the fleet would likely not be a peaceful endeavor. ¡°I will not carry unwilling civilian passengers into combat, let alone children.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± she said softly. That was the logical course of action. Their civilian passengers would be safer outside the line of fire. Still, it saddened her. She would miss the children. The way they saw this struggle as black and white was calming, even if she knew it was not so simple.

    She looked sorrowful, as if this news was a final goodbye to Ron, Amelia and the kids. It was hardly surprising that she¡¯d gotten attached. She grew attached to most who came aboard for any duration of time. ¡°We will see them again,¡± he assured her.

    Unwilling to contemplate the dark future that awaited her, she simply nodded.

 Part 28.1 - THE TECH-MONK

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    By the time Captain Merlyn wandered his way back to the Badger again, the children had returned and most of the workers had scattered. Havermeyer was still there, clipboard in hand as he waited by the ramp, and Merlyn wasted no time approaching him.

    The big man had an easy smile, ¡°Welcome back, Captain. We¡¯re finished with everything. You have been cleared to initiate departure procedures at your leisure.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± Merlyn grunted. ¡°I¡¯d like to get away from this damned ship.¡± His anger had mostly faded, but he still felt violated by his conversation with the Admiral. Poked and prodded at, old, unwelcome memories had been brought unwillingly back to the surface.

    Havermeyer shifted uncomfortably, offense poorly concealed. Smartly, he didn¡¯t defend his ship, but like most engineers, it was clear he wanted to. Oddly enough, Merlyn still liked him. ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Ensign Havermeyer. I could use an extra set of hands on board.¡± The man was clearly thorough in his work and management. ¡°Any chance you¡¯d consider it?¡±

    Havermeyer¡¯s eyes widened a hair. Someone trying to poach off Admiral Gives¡¯ crew wasn¡¯t just rare, it was utterly unheard of. The Singularity¡¯s crew had a general reputation of being vagrants and general misdemeanors, but the Admiral had another reputation entirely ¨C known to deny Command¡¯s authority to remove and assign personnel. Crew left of course, as long as the transfer was willing, but the Admiral always ensured they were allowed to stay. With that security, this was less of an assignment and more of a home to all of them. ¡°I appreciate the offer, Captain, but my place is here.¡±

    ¡°I admire your loyalty, Ensign, even if I can¡¯t possibly comprehend it.¡± Merlyn let out a sigh. ¡°Just watch your back with a commander like that.¡± There was no telling what the man was capable of.

    Havermeyer rubbed the back of his bald head, watching Merlyn start up the ramp. ¡°I¡¯ve not nothing against the Old Man, but he¡¯s not the reason I¡¯m choosing to stay.¡± It was complicated. ¡°I¡¯m sworn into service¡­ just not his.¡±

    Merlyn stopped abruptly, the clap of his shoes so suddenly silent. Shocked, he turned to Havermeyer. ¡°You¡¯re a spy?¡± A loyalist to Command?

    ¡°No!¡± the engineer gasped, ¡°No. Stars, of course not.¡± Command disgusted him more than most. ¡°No, where I come from, you can¡¯t just walk away from a machine. Especially not one like this.¡± He gestured to the landing bay around him. ¡°Especially not a Saintess.¡±

    ¡°A saintess?¡± Merlyn echoed, studying Havermeyer in greater detail. Suddenly, his oddities were clear. Despite obvious youth, the man was bald, head so shiny it was clearly shaven on purpose. A piece of scrap metal hung on a delicate silver chain around his neck, and tattoos poked above the neck of his shirt collar. In fact, his arms were covered in tattoos, but not the ugly marks of slavers, intricate winding tattoos of symbols and iconographies Merlyn didn¡¯t recognize. And suddenly, it made sense. ¡°You¡¯re one of them,¡± the Captain realized. I¡¯ve never met one before.

    ¡°Yes.¡± He did not wear the traditional robes of his people or speak in the traditional tongue of his sect, but it clear enough by his appearance. ¡°I¡¯m a tech-monk.¡± A Technologist. As if the religious weren¡¯t rare enough in the worlds, tech-monks were among the rarest. It was an old belief system, among the oldest still practiced. It was incredibly rare in its truest form. Through the hundreds of years, its followers had divided into sects whose practices could vary widely from the traditional, ancient ways, to those that were nearly unrecognizable. Though often subject to self-imposed isolation, Technologists could blend easily with modern society. The faith and its followers had laid much history, most of it good, but there were radical sects that while Technologist in origin, had become something onto themselves, the most famous of which was, of course, the Ravenish cult.

    The Ravenish could hardly be considered Technologists anymore, but there was one thing they and every other sect maintained, no matter how distant they were from the ancient ways, and that was the service of machines. Technologists worshipped machines, specialized in the care and repair of ancient devices. The traditionalists were not an ostentatious people. They lived humbly, but passed their specialized skills down through generations, making tech-monks some of the finest machinists and repair workers in the worlds.

    Merlyn knew little specifics of the Technologists¡¯ faith, but he knew how rare they were, and that they dedicated their lives to whichever holy machine they served. To find one here could only mean one thing. ¡°You serve this ship? The Night Demon?¡± Was that even possible? Technologists were known to hold life and innocence sacred. Their holy machines were often those that had served above and beyond their design centuries ago, protecting and preserving life. So how could this monk serve a warship?

    Havermeyer could read his doubt, and yes, there were sects that agreed. They denied a warship, a machine built to fight and kill any respect. But the most traditional of them only saw a machine that had achieved her purpose, a ship had had slain a greater evil than any ever seen before in the midst the Hydrian War. ¡°The Singularity is special to us, Captain.¡± She was unique. ¡°I am proud to be in her service.¡±

    ¡°Special,¡± Merlyn tried to conceal the scoff in his voice. That¡¯s one word for it.

    ¡°My people know her history has not been clean, Captain. But they also recognize the ship has done what she was built to do incredibly well.¡± That functionality was often hallmark that set their holy machines apart from others. ¡°My people granted the Singularity sainthood before the end of the Hydrian War.¡± She had been an interest to the Technologists for decades. ¡°I am however, the first of my people to serve her.¡± No matter how excellent the reputation of tech-monks, Command had still hesitated to involve what had been their flagship with religion, considering that atheism was far more widely accepted among the worlds.

    ¡°But how does that work?¡± Havermeyer was clearly a member of the crew, and the ship was very obviously not under the Technologists¡¯ direct care. ¡°I thought your saints could not be owned.¡±

    ¡°Come,¡± Havermeyer gestured Merlyn to follow. ¡°Clearly, I have piqued your interest,¡± he was used to it really. If they recognized what he was, new crew and passengers usually drilled him with questions. ¡°Let us sit.¡±

    With surprising grace of a man his size, Havermeyer sat atop his knees where the ramp leveled off into the Badger¡¯s cargo hold. Though he intended to offer no worship at the moment, the position came natural to him. Interested, Merlyn followed him, but chose a more relaxed position beside the monk as they both looked down the ramp and out to the massive bay.

    ¡°As you might imagine, Captain, I have had to adapt my ways to this situation.¡± It was odd, far from the traditional ways monks served their saints. ¡°The Singularity was an exception to many of our traditions. Not only is she the only saint to earn her light through battle, but she is the only saint presently under 200 years of age.¡± The Hydrian War had simply not been that long ago. ¡°In our ways, it is unthinkable that a saint be owned. They are considered beings onto themselves, even if they may not be autonomous. We consider them to have souls, souls given and gathered by their functionality. Those souls can give them quirks and personalities that we monks learn in our service to them.¡±

    Havermeyer looked to the Captain, to his age and experience. ¡°In that, we are not so fundamentally different from sailors and their ships.¡± Sailors often allotted their ships a personality. ¡°And, of course, the Singularity is far from the first ship to be considered a saint.¡± Many others had come before her in that regard. ¡°The Saint of Blue Infinity among them.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s real?¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± Havermeyer smiled. ¡°Saintess de Infinitude Azur,¡± he said, slipping into the tongue of his people, ¡°She lays below the ocean of a distant world, having seeded life to it and a thousand others. We keep her secret so that she may rest undisturbed.¡± The monks that served her were the only ones that knew the centuries-old colony ship¡¯s final resting place. ¡°Her service ended long ago.¡±

    For the moment, Havermeyer was a door to a different world, a world Merlyn had only heard rumors of. How many of the great legends were true? ¡°Your people must know an incredible amount of history.¡± With access and understanding of technology since forgotten, their recorded history probably traced further back than most of the history books dared to go.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Havermeyer agreed. ¡°My people know some incredible truths, and we do not see things as good and evil. A saint is made by fulfilling her purpose. For a ship like this, her purpose is the mission. Regardless of what exactly the Singularity was made to do on her missions, she has never failed them. That is why my people regard her as one of our saints.¡±

    Merlyn supposed he could understand that, even if it only left him with more questions, so curious to look inside Havermeyer¡¯s world. ¡°But this ship is owned. It belongs to Command.¡±

    The monk sighed, a sad sigh. ¡°She did, yes.¡± He had struggled to adjust to that realization. Often the ship¡¯s objectives were second to Command¡¯s. ¡°She is also the only saint that works with those outside the faith.¡± He was the only Technologist aboard. ¡°Traditionally, only those who bear the crest of mastery, those who have promised their lives, can serve a saint.¡±

    He gestured to the crew trailing towards the entrance of the bay, ¡°Here, it is not so.¡± These crewmen came from all walks of life and all sort of intentions. ¡°But every one of them serves her as I do.¡± Perhaps they were not so strict or so involved, but every member of the crew served the ship in some way.

    ¡°And the one that now owns her?¡± Merlyn wondered. ¡°What of Admiral Gives?¡± Did that make him some sort of blasphemer to command a saint to fulfill his own bidding?

    ¡°I have spoken many hours to the Admiral.¡± It was after all, extremely rare to command a ship regarded by some as a holy artefact. ¡°I always found him to be strangely understanding.¡± They were not so different. ¡°Like me, he gave an oath to serve this machine.¡± Neither of their loyalties would ever be swayed from that. ¡°His position is unique.¡± It was interesting to Havermeyer in a way. ¡°As much as this is his ship, he is also her commander. They belong to each other.¡± They were equals, and in that, Havermeyer found that the Admiral had never bothered him. In fact, Havermeyer admired him. ¡°He has spent his life in service to this machine the way I intend to.¡±

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    ¡°Besides,¡± Havermeyer smiled, ¡°she seems to like him.¡± It was not his position to deny that. The Singularity very much had enough attitude to scare off anyone she didn¡¯t want around. He¡¯d seen it happen.

    ¡°And your people,¡± Merlyn wondered, ¡°what do they call her? The Saintess of Sin?¡±

    ¡°Some do.¡± The sects that had opposed a warship¡¯s elevation had called her such, rather tongue-in-cheek. ¡°Some call her the Saint of Annihilation, a tribute to the cost of her service, but truly, she has many names among my people. In time, one will dominate and that is how she will be recorded in our tomes.¡± In the centuries forward, her true name may be lost to time, but that title would linger. ¡°As the first to serve her, what I decide to call her may well become her title, but these things come with time.¡± Eventually, like the Saint of Blue Infinity, it would be clear and a title well-deserved would be bestowed.

    ¡°And what do you call her?¡± Merlyn asked curiously. What title had this monk taken to?

    ¡°Saintess de Aheng¨¦licas,¡± he said softly, his voice seeming to carry across the now empty deck, ¡°the Saint of Angels.¡±

    In the words of Havermeyer¡¯s people, it sounded beautiful, but it still took Merlyn aback. The Saint of Angels. ¡°But this is the Night Demon.¡±

    ¡°In some mythologies, demons are fallen angels, Captain.¡± Havermeyer thought it suited her. Since her heroism in the War, the Singularity had fallen far. ¡°But those who believe in angels consider them great warriors, saviors of those too weak to defend themselves, and from the dire days of her creation, to the hopes of those now aboard her, this ship has done nothing but answer humanity¡¯s prayers. When we sought a savior, she brought heaven and hell down upon the Hydrian Armada, and when we sought a weapon, she became violence incarnate. She herself is not evil, nor is she a god, even among my people. She is a machine that serves her purpose. That which commands her may be good, and it may be evil, but that is the nature of people.¡±

    Havermeyer offered out his hands, ¡°Traditionally, it is blasphemous for a monk to work on any machine but their patron saint. But,¡± he gestured to the Badger, ¡°I have learned to make exceptions. I serve by forwarding the ship¡¯s objectives, which may require breaks from tradition, but the Singularity is not a traditional saint.¡± Truly, she was far from it.

    ¡°I could never ask you to regard her as holy as I do, but you seem to know my people, Captain. We do not grant sainthood to machines undeserving. I may only ask that you respect her, if in capability alone.¡± It was a great insult to hear the ship called scrap. ¡°And I may not truly understand the Admiral¡¯s objectives, but I believe he serves a purpose alongside my saint. Perhaps it is merely the Singularity¡¯s nature to function alongside another. I find myself wondering. If the Singularity were to come into our care as so many other saints do, would we be charged with raising a partner for her? Or will she outgrow that quirk in time?¡± It was impossible to know. There had not been a saint named so young in hundreds of years.

    ¡°Alas,¡± Havermeyer said, rising to his feet, ¡°I am sure you have better things to do than listen to a man ramble about his faith. I know I am needed on the repairs.¡±

    Repairs, Merlyn realized, following the monk to his feet. He¡¯d nearly forgotten about it, perhaps because the internal bits of the ship he¡¯d seen had seemed untouched, but the ship had waged a fierce battle in the Wilkerson Sector. He could recall the gouges and impact damage on the hull. ¡°What do your doctrines say about damaging a saint?¡±

    ¡°By intention, it is blasphemous.¡± His people were taught that since birth. Sabotage was a sin. ¡°But I know what you¡¯re asking.¡± The monk sighed, looking to the machine beyond. ¡°Saintess de Aheng¨¦licas is a warrior. Fighting for those who cannot is her purpose. Unarmed civilians and wounded survivors cannot defend themselves against the fleet. Walking away would have been a worse betrayal, the very denial of my saint¡¯s duty. As I said before, the Singularity is an exception to many of our ways.¡± She was the first machine of such variety to be named a saint. The sects would adapt and learn from her, should others ever prove themselves so worthy.

    ¡°Still,¡± the monk said, turning back to Merlyn. ¡°I would have it no other way.¡± He was in the service of a very reliable saint, a truly worthy one. Over the years, he¡¯d found the best service he could provide her was to simply act as one of the crew. Unless someone engaged him on the topic of his faith, they would probably never know him apart from the others. The rest of the crew were his brothers and sisters, even if they were not of the faith.

    There was something calming about Havermeyer¡¯s presence. Merlyn enjoyed it, though he had no real interest in becoming a Technologist himself. But perhaps it was merely the distraction that suited him so well.

    ¡°There is one thing I believe we should discuss, Captain,¡± the engineer said, now taking large strides to lead Merlyn across the Badger¡¯s rectangular hold and then into the cramped bowels of the ship itself. ¡°I understand that you may be displeased with this arrangement. Know that I wasn¡¯t exactly thrilled with it either, considering¡­ But these were my orders.¡±

    Dropping himself down the ladder, Havermeyer thudded into the room that held the ship¡¯s FTL drive. Merlyn landed a bit more gracefully, used to the tightness of the space. Only the room, nestled below the Badger¡¯s engines like an afterthought, was more crowded than he remembered it. It didn¡¯t take him long to realize why. The FTL drive was in its usual position on the opposite wall, its connections reaching toward the main power systems and navigations arrays, but something else had taken up residence in the adjacent corner, something he didn¡¯t recognize.

    It was as tall as the room. Cylindrical, it tapered to a needle-like point. It was bolted to the deck, cables keeping it upright and in position. Though dormant now, energy coils snaked around it ready to amplify and channel power. ¡°What is that?¡±

    For the moment disgust was absent from the Captain¡¯s tone. He was only confused. He wasn¡¯t questioning why it was aboard, but really what it was. ¡°That is half of a subspace transceiver set. The receiving half, to be precise.¡±

    ¡°A subspace transceiver?¡± he echoed.

    ¡°It¡¯s old technology. Older than the Singularity at least.¡± It was no surprise that Merlyn didn¡¯t know what it was. ¡°I don¡¯t believe it has been used since the War.¡± Once, transceivers like this had dictated FTL travel. It had only been possible to jump through subspace using a receiver like this one tuned to the transmitter on the other side. For centuries, humanity had lain a network of subspace transmitters across the worlds. At first, light-hugging colony ships had delivered them along their centuries-long travels. Then hyperspace skippers had managed the task marginally faster with alien technology harvested from the wreckage of Hydrian explorers.

    In the end, this network had extended across the known worlds. The mathematical models that allowed jumping to set galactic coordinates, let alone the computing power to solve them had not existed until a mere century ago. Even to the start of the Hydrian War, subspace transceiver sets had been the main method of travel between stars. In the War where seconds and moments had mattered, the hours it took the ships of the time to calculate jumps had been a death sentence. The transceiver sets had allowed instantaneous retreat and given humanity a real chance to sustain the War.

    But it was the War itself that later pushed humanity beyond subspace transceivers. A poor mimicry of Hydrian computer technology had been reverse engineered from the ruins of battle, and that had given rise to a boom in computer capability, one great enough to allow FTL jumping calculations to be completed reliably and quickly. Warships like the Singularity herself had been among the first equipped with such computers, the first to push beyond the necessity of subspace transceivers, but she¡¯d still been equipped with one, though it had seen little use.

    Since the War, this technology was all but forgotten, overshadowed by the easy capability to jump wherever one calculated the coordinates. The subspace transmitter network had fallen into disrepair, nodes destroyed or simply scavenged for parts. They were museum pieces, put on display to show the long evolution of humanity¡¯s space travel.

    Merlyn could remember reading about it in some history lesson he¡¯d been required to take for his captain¡¯s license. They¡¯d treated it like ancient history, as if its centuries of use were overshadowed by the mere sixty years since. And maybe they were right. More history had been made in those sixty years than any other known sixty-year increment. It seemed when the distance between the stars vanished, the warring and politics of man moved many times faster. But none of that explained why a subspace receiver had been wired into the Badger.

    ¡°We were ordered to install and tune it after you were¡­ uhm, arrested. Otherwise, I would¡¯ve warned you before.¡± It had been a last-minute addition to their orders.

    ¡°You tuned it?¡± Merlyn asked. ¡°What to?¡±

    ¡°Ah, well, I¡¯m sure you were informed during the meeting with the fleet leaders that the Admiral intended to give one ship a secure way to reach us.¡± Havermeyer gestured to the receiver. ¡°That would be it.¡± Rather than let the fleet risk transmitting through hyperspace in hopes of trying to reach them, where the message could be intercepted, the Admiral had gone effectively old-school, reverted to a technology that most of the modern fleet no longer had access to.

    ¡°It has been hard-tuned to the Singularity¡¯s subspace transmitter. If you jump using this to override your nav., you¡¯ll come out right on top of us.¡± They hadn¡¯t been given a secure way to transmit, knowing that the Eran¡¯s AI could break nearly any code, they¡¯d been given a hard-wired way to physically retrieve the Singularity if there was a problem. ¡°Your engineer has been briefed thoroughly on it, and we have uploaded all relevant technical information to your ship¡¯s computer database.¡±

    Merlyn didn¡¯t appreciate being singled out yet again. ¡°Any reason we were given this honor?¡±

    ¡°At a guess?¡± Havermeyer sighed, ducking below a pipe just to manage the movement. ¡°It¡¯s a measure of security. Both for you and us. This ensures you and your passengers will be the first ones to make it into our protection, and knowing your opinions of the Singularity, it ensures you won¡¯t come for us unless absolutely necessary.¡±

    There was a wisdom in that, Havermeyer knew. ¡°If we¡¯d given this to Hawkins¡¯ ship he¡¯d come for us every time someone insulted him.¡± And there was always the possibility, however statistically unlikely, that the ship would fetching them would jump into a dangerous situation. ¡°We¡¯ve only got one of these. We can¡¯t replace it when its gone.¡± If the ship carrying it was lost, then the fleet would have no secure way to reach the Singularity, nor could they be given another.

    ¡°Is it traceable?¡± Merlyn asked.

    In that, there was a semblance of iron in his gaze. It was something Havermeyer recognized from the Admiral. Perhaps it was something all ship captains obtained, charged with the lives of all those aboard their ships, but beyond that, there was a determination in him that felt so familiar. ¡°You have only the receiving half of the set, Captain. It cannot be traced by any means, nor can it be disrupted.¡± It was secure from AI interference, and save someone physically tuning it to trace another transmitter, it was guaranteed to reach the target. ¡°We¡¯ve got orders to power up the Singularity¡¯s transmitter when we leave system, and its possible someone could use another receiver to trace us, but not you.¡± That of course, was a calculated risk. Subspace transceivers were abandoned tech, no longer manufactured and no longer maintained, knowledge in their use was rare.

    Even back when it was standard operating procedure for military ships to operate subspace transmitters, their frequencies had been kept classified, available only to their own fleet. But, seeing as how the Singularity had been the oldest ship left operating within the fleet, it was unlikely that another still possessed the technology, or the information required to use it.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised anyone on board your ship knows how to operate those transceivers,¡± Merlyn said. He himself had barely known their history. He¡¯d never heard any instance of their use during his lifetime.

    ¡°It¡¯s no surprise the Admiral brought it up. He knows the Singularity better than anyone, even the systems that don¡¯t get used. As to its application, I have some experience with them. After all, Saintess de Pharos Lost is a subspace transmitter, in fact the subspace transmitter that brought humanity in range of what became the central worlds. She¡¯s many centuries older, but the operating principles I learned from my people can easily be applied to the Singularity¡¯s set.¡± They were lucky the Technologists had not abandoned this technology. ¡°The Singularity¡¯s database filled in the specifics. Rest assured nothing about it poses any danger to you, Captain.¡±

    ¡°I will take your word on that out of respect for your people, Ensign.¡± Traditional Technologists had proved themselves to be a respectable faction of humanity through centuries of history. Their principles and lifestyles allowed little room for the corruption and violence many of humanity¡¯s other factions found themselves prone to. ¡°But it is time I see to my passengers. I¡¯d like to leave the Prince¡¯s sphere of influence behind, lest he decide to take any further freedoms with my ship.¡±

 Part 28.2 - RECRUITED

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡®The Badger has disembarked, Admiral.¡¯

    He took that information in stride, now standing outside the quarters granted to Ron Parker. ¡®Good.¡¯

    ¡®I am surprised he did not complain about the subspace receiver.¡¯ The ghost found herself puzzled. Merlyn had been so vehement about all the other modifications, but had not contacted anyone with a complaint about that one.

    ¡®Likely, he didn¡¯t want to confront me again.¡¯ And really, who could blame him there? ¡®I can¡¯t say I¡¯d be very understanding if he threw me against the wall a second time.¡¯

    ¡®Believe me,¡¯ she promised coldly, ¡®he wouldn¡¯t have gotten that far.¡¯

    There was a darkness in that he knew he should address, but he could hardly blame her when such darkness was common to him. Had their roles been switched, had Merlyn gone after her instead, he never would have made it off the ship alive, so really, the Admiral was in no position to hand out a lecture.

    Soon enough, all this business would be behind them. He¡¯d be on a mission with just his ship and her crew. Nothing would please him more. All the intricacies of adopting a somewhat unwilling fleet were exhausting. There were too many near-hostile factors, Hawkins and Merlyn to name only two when another few thousand sat out in the fleet, fixated on the ugliness of the past.

    But then, the conversation he was heading into likely wouldn¡¯t be any friendlier. Still, he raised his fist and knocked crisply on the door, knowing the metal would carry the sound through the room beyond.

    Hearing the knock, Ron opened the door with a smile, expecting to find Amelia and the kids. Met instead with the ship commander¡¯s neutral blue stare, the smile fell from his face. Given the threat leveled during their last encounter, Ron doubted this was a courtesy call. He swallowed, ¡°Is there something I can do you, Admiral?¡±

    ¡°That remains to be seen,¡± the Admiral answered calmly. ¡°But I do believe we are overdue for a conversation. One perhaps best held not in the corridor?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Ron jumped, ¡°Please, come in.¡± Truly, it was a wonder the man waited for permission to enter any room on his own ship. If Reeter had ever bothered to knock, he would have shouldered his way in without prompting for permission.

    But this wasn¡¯t Reeter. The way his shoulder twinged from his recent stab wound reminded Ron that much.

    Habitually, Ron closed the hatch behind him, the drilled instinct of working on a military ship kicking in. Then, he made his way back into the living area of his quarters. The Admiral was waiting behind the dining table, back to the wall, not to the room. It was the habit of a solider, one he recognized from many of his comrades through the years.

    Ron didn¡¯t ask what this was about. The sinking feeling in his stomach insisted he already knew, and without a word, the Admiral offered out the folder in his hands.

    Taking it, it was identical to the one he and Amelia had pulled from the archives, save whose name was stamped on the tab and the fact it wasn¡¯t empty. Ron didn¡¯t need to look past the fleet insignia stamped on the cardstock to know what was inside. ¡°How long have you known?¡±

    ¡°Long enough.¡±

    It was all Ron could do to be grateful that, for the moment, Anabelle was off with Harrison and Amelia. Knowing they¡¯d been found out would send her into a panic attack. Ron swallowed, ¡°Whatever you want to do to me, do it. But please, don¡¯t hurt my daughter.¡±

    ¡°I have no intentions of hurting anyone.¡± The Admiral said calmly, his eye-contact unwavering to an intimidating degree. ¡°However, I do not take kindly to those who come aboard these decks under false pretenses.¡± There had been too many saboteurs, too many assassins for him to trust so easily. ¡°So, I would like you to tell me the truth. The whole truth.¡±

    Sighing, Ron set the folder on the wood table between them. ¡°I was the Marine Sergeant aboard the Flagship Olympia, a fleet veteran of twelve years.¡±  He knew the Singularity¡¯s crew housed a substantial dislike for the Olympia¡¯s, and had accordingly tried to conceal his origins as much as possible. ¡°But like that file will tell you, I went AWOL a few months ago, stole a ship, and didn¡¯t look back.¡± He had a court martial waiting for him, if he ever returned. ¡°We were hiding on the family land when ¡®Belle got sick, so I went for help, knowing Reeter¡¯s men were on the ground. That¡¯s where your people found us.¡±

    ¡°I know what you are, Mister Parker.¡± He was a deserter, traitor to the fleet. ¡°I would like to know who.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± He was Sergeant Ron Parker. That was right there in the file.

    ¡°That is to ask why, Mister Parker. Why would you walk away from twelve years in the fleet and arguably the finest Marine post within it?¡± It was rare to see anyone walk away from Reeter, let alone survive it. Clearly, Ron had some level of ingenuity on his side.

    ¡°Why do you care?¡± Reeter certainly hadn¡¯t. ¡°I¡¯m your enemy.¡± He was either an enemy in the sense that he was a deserter, or in the sense that he was one of Reeter¡¯s subordinates.

    ¡°You are not my enemy, Mister Parker.¡± There were truly very few in these worlds that the Admiral considered his enemy. ¡°You were a shipboard Marine, and a fine one at that, if your record is any indication. Those skills can have uses for someone like me.¡±

    Ron took a moment to size up the man across the table. He was shorter than Ron himself, but stocky. His uniform jacket concealed whether that was pudge or muscle, but given the way he¡¯d been thrown against the wall in the medical bay, Ron suspected it was the latter. His calm was unfaltering, not a weakness in his expression, and that left Ron unsure if this conversation had any real meaning to him. ¡°You want to draft me into your crew?¡± But what about ¡®Belle? Who would look after her?

    ¡°No, I had another task in mind, one I do not believe you will disagree with, and I will supply whatever you feel necessary to complete it.¡±

    His expression was perfectly guarded, leaving Ron uncomfortable. Save the sharpness of intelligence, there was nothing in his gaze, no intention, no emotion. But, like any soldier, Ron had heard the rumors, and he knew some of them to be truths now. This man had no qualms with taking life, regardless of whose it was, if it became necessary. Admiral Gives was first and foremost, a tactician, and he had proved through the years that he was willing to use any means necessary to accomplish his goals. ¡°I¡¯m not in a position to deny you, Admiral. You know that. What do you want?¡±

    ¡°I will not force you into this, regardless of the means at my disposal.¡± And he certainly did have the means. ¡°Given the nature of this task, I believe a willing mind would be best applied.¡±

    Ron narrowed his eyes, tightening his grip on the back of the chair in front of him. The dark blue upholstery of the cushion gave softly beneath his fingers, the only comfort in the room. ¡°And what exactly do you want me to do?¡±

    ¡°First, explain. I will not trust this task to anyone, Mister Parker. I will fully vet your intentions, and then, perhaps, I will tell you.¡± He folded his hands behind his back. ¡°Now, I will not ask you again. Why did you abandon your post?¡±

    Tempted as he was to ignore that inquiry, he knew steel when he saw it. This was the end of the line. To test the Admiral¡¯s patience now would only end badly. Ron could only surrender the truth to him. ¡°My wife got sick. She was like Anabelle, the slightest of illnesses could take her to the brink of death. I was stationed aboard the Olympia when I got the call.¡± He could still remember it. Closing his eyes, he could still hear the doctor¡¯s practiced, apologetic tone. ¡°She¡¯d gotten sick again, but this time, she wasn¡¯t going to get better.¡± Clenching his jaw, he tried to hold back the tears he knew all too well.

    ¡°I requested leave from Admiral Reeter, but he denied it. So, every day, I called and talked to my dying wife as she sat in the hospital, and every day she sounded weaker and weaker, until one day, she couldn¡¯t pick up the phone.¡± The anguish of that moment was still such a fresh wound. ¡°Anabelle answered when I called, and I could just hear it. She was scared and alone, and I, I was stuck on a ship a thousand miles away for no reason.¡± He could still feel the itch of anger in his veins. ¡°I begged Reeter, pleaded with him to give me leave, but still, he rejected me.¡± It wasn¡¯t as if the Olympia had been on an important mission either. The ship had been lounging in orbit, the crew running constant drills and simulations. ¡°Reeter couldn¡¯t have cared any less. And eventually, I just couldn¡¯t take it anymore. I stole a Rhino and flew to the hospital, but by the time I got there¡­¡± Ron trailed off his throat dry and voice uneven. It was too late.

    ¡°It was all I could do to drag Anabelle away from her corpse.¡± Her sobs still echoed in his ears. ¡°We were on the run from the military police for months, and I had to live every day with the fact that I left my wife, the love of my life, behind to rot, to be buried by strangers if they were kind enough.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure how anyone ever forgot that, ever moved on. For months, he and Anabelle had lived day to day, uncaring of anything but scraping by without getting caught. ¡°Once the search calmed, I settled on the family land in remote Kansa, and that¡¯s where we met Amelia.¡± The rest, he figured, was history.

    ¡°That¡¯s why I left. For my family. How could I have stayed?¡± That would have been so cruel. ¡°With her mother dead and me stationed away, they would have placed my daughter in an orphanage.¡±

    There was a long moment of silence, the Admiral apparently contemplating the honesty of his story until without moving, without betraying a thought, he finally said, ¡°It seems I have found the right man for the job, Mister Parker.¡±

    To have that impassive response given when he had just poured his heart onto the table between them, it stung. That familiar frustration toward his uncaring commander reared its head. ¡°Of course, you wouldn¡¯t understand the lengths a man would go to for his family.¡± A damned sociopath couldn¡¯t possibly understand that.

    The Admiral met his gaze evenly, tone just a bit sharper than before. ¡°I understand just fine, Mister Parker.¡± That old accusation cut him just as much as it always had. ¡°I may not have a family in the sense that you do, but I have a ship and crew under my command, and I would do absolutely anything for them.¡± They weren¡¯t related to him, but they were his responsibility. It was his duty to protect them, and nothing could stand in the way of that. ¡°I have known loss, Mister Parker.¡± Unlike Ron, he had been totally alone, without the driving need to protect anyone, without a real reason to continue living. ¡°I know what it means to be given a purpose.¡± For Ron, that had been his daughter¡¯s safety, and for the Admiral, his ship.

    They weren¡¯t so different, but then, Admiral Gives had been around long enough that he could see bits of himself in almost everyone. None were truly like him so to say, but if he looked, he could always find something familiar. If he looked, he could find a way to empathize, though he rarely found a reason to put forth the effort. It wasn¡¯t usually so easy.

    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

    ¡°I am the only one who has seen the entire contents of that personnel file, Mister Parker.¡± Those who had queried for it, received and printed it may have skimmed it, but they wouldn¡¯t have read it in detail. There were rumors, as there always were on a ship, but there were no facts. ¡°I am the only one here who knows your prior history, and it can stay that way.¡±

    ¡°For a price,¡± Ron knew. One didn¡¯t deal with men like Admiral Gives carelessly. Every one of their apparent favors came with a cost.

    ¡°I can erase this file from the database, do what I can to corrupt the fleet¡¯s records and solidify new identities for you and your daughter.¡± Identities that would be free of AWOL charges. At the very least, that would ensure their safety among the civilian fleet and the Singularity¡¯s own crew.

    Ron was tempted. ¡°What do you want in exchange?¡±

    ¡°When we leave this sector, there is a high probability that we will be forced into combat during our mission. To that end, I will not be taking Amelia, Harrison or Anabelle with us. I intend to turn them over to the Badger.¡± With her upgraded life-support, the ship could sustain a few more passengers, even if the surroundings would be cramped. ¡°I would like you to look after them in our absence. Given your skillset, I believe you would be more than capable of taking care of any threat they may encounter.¡±

    He was being asked to look after Amelia and Harrison? ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± He¡¯d be able to stay with Anabelle?

    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± the Admiral affirmed.

    Ron almost laughed. ¡°You act like I wasn¡¯t already going to do that.¡± All that posturing for this?

    ¡°Given the nature of this assignment, Mister Parker, you understand that I needed to vet your intentions.¡± The truth of Ron¡¯s past had been of particular importance.

    ¡°You wanted to make sure you could trust me.¡± Ron understood. Apparently, somehow, he¡¯d passed the Admiral¡¯s test. ¡°You act like you don¡¯t care about her, Admiral, but think this proves to the contrary. You want to see Amelia and her son well, even if you won¡¯t admit that.¡± In that, they shared a mutual goal.

    ¡°To be clear,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°I am placing the entirety of the Badger under your protection. Crew and passengers included.¡± This was not so much about Amelia, though it proved a convenient way to give her the distance she so sought.

    ¡°Of course,¡± Ron nodded, electing not to push the subject. He rolled up the sleeves of his blue flannel, ¡°You said you could supply me?¡± His equipment had been confiscated by Reeter¡¯s men. To be most effective as a Marine, he would require some tools of the trade.

    ¡°Anything you need.¡±

    Ron felt a grin tugging at his lips. That was poor wording for someone so known for his caution. ¡°Well,¡± he said, looking around, ¡°a battleship would be mighty useful.¡±

    ¡°Do not test me, Mister Parker.¡±

    Ron wiped the smile from his face, recognizing the ice in the Admiral¡¯s eyes. So much for a sense of humor. Just when he felt they might bond over a common goal, it seemed the Admiral had no interest in it. ¡°I¡¯ll need weapons. Protective gear. A handheld transmitter wouldn¡¯t be unwelcome, in case I need to circumvent Captain Merlyn¡¯s authority. A battlefield first aid kit and emergency repair kit are absolute necessities.¡±

    Ron¡¯s attempt at humor aside, those were fair demands. ¡°I can get you a standard issue rifle and sidearm. Rubber ammunition and some live rounds.¡± On a ship like the Badger, live rounds were a hazard, with potential to ricochet or puncture the hull. Rubber would be better in a fight if it came to that. ¡°I can also arrange a set of Kevlar, but no helmet.¡± That was too difficult to conceal. ¡°What martial weapons did you train with?¡±

    ¡°I always preferred the spear, but given the Badger¡¯s close quarters, I¡¯d be better off with a set of hatchets.¡±

    ¡°Then I will see to it. Count on the aid and repair kits, and I trust your training to know that transmitter should be a last resort.¡± Using it could bring Command down upon them.

    ¡°Yes, sir, I am aware of that.¡±

    Admiral Gives nodded, noting Ron had changed to address him more formally. It seemed that giving him a mission had brought the Marine back to his old habits. ¡°A yeoman will bring your supplies by in a duffel later, and I would think it pertinent not to announce your objective to anyone on the Badger. To them, I would advise you remain just another passenger.¡± Revealing his mission would reveal his past, and create other concerns. ¡°I do not believe Captain Merlyn would take well to me sending a Marine on board his ship.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ve run undercover ops before.¡± This would be no different.

    ¡°I would also recommend against telling Amelia.¡± Recognizing Ron as a Marine might damage their bond. ¡°Her relationship with the service is complicated. You will note she is no fan of me, and to her, I represent its absolution.¡± A soldier and nothing more. ¡°Her husband was a Marine like yourself who served under Admiral Reeter¡¯s command.¡± The Admiral leveled his gaze, a warning. ¡°He didn¡¯t make it out alive.¡± Ron was luckier than he knew. ¡°Amelia¡¯s husband was duty-driven and honorable. At one point, she loved him for it, but at another, it took his life and left her all alone.¡± The Admiral could understand that. His own perspective on the service had been badly shaken many times over the years.

    ¡°You are very similar to him, Mister Parker. That is why she likes you. But, I imagine, if she found out why you seem so similar, she may resent it.¡± Amelia would hate herself for allowing another solider to get close, afraid to get hurt again the way she had before.

    ¡°I understand.¡± Ron didn¡¯t like lying to Amelia, but he knew his history was poison to them both. Amelia couldn¡¯t stand the mere mention of Reeter, and Ron had served on board his flagship for months. Ron was too close to Reeter and to her late husband.

    ¡°Very well,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°I am pleased we were able to reach an agreement, Mister Parker.¡± He strode across the room and held out a hand, ¡°I will take care of that file.¡±

    Taking the file in his own hands, Ron was reluctant to hand it over. What guarantee did he really have that the Admiral would destroy it? What guarantee did he have that this wouldn¡¯t become blackmail on him and dictate the future of him and his daughter?

    ¡°Do you take me for a liar, Mister Parker?¡±

    ¡°To be entirely honest, Admiral, I don¡¯t know what to make of you.¡± He wasn¡¯t sure if he trusted this man or hated him. His actions spoke of a respectful amount of accountability, but his words were less convincing. ¡°What would you have done if I said no to this mission?¡±

    ¡°That depends.¡±

    ¡°On what?¡± Ron demanded.

    ¡°Whether or not I deemed you a threat,¡± the Admiral answered coolly. ¡°I do not tolerate threats aboard my ship, Mister Parker.¡±

    There was a darkness in that promise, the darkness of someone who had already gone to terrible lengths and was willing to go further still. Ron prepared to offer the file out, then thought better of it. ¡°I opened my soul to you, recounted the worst days of my life. I think that justifies an answer to two questions.¡± That seemed a meager demand for fairness, but the Admiral still said nothing, just stood there as stoic as before.

    ¡°Why did you pull your file out of the archives?¡± A tactician like him had to have a reason. ¡°You knew what Amelia was after, so what didn¡¯t you want her to see?¡±

    For a long, long moment, Admiral Gives was set on not answering, but he knew that no matter what he did or did not say now, there was a strong likelihood Amelia would find the truth on the Badger. After all, the reason Captain Merlyn hated him and the reason his brother had outcast him from the family were one and the same. Merlyn had the answers to the questions Amelia kept trying to ask. ¡°I will answer this on the account that it may become relevant, Mister Parker. But, I am trusting your discretion, as it remains a somewhat personal matter,¡± and he did not often discuss personal matters.

    Perplexed, Ron nodded.

    The Admiral allowed his posture to slump slightly, and turned to the lamp that hung above the table, not enjoying this reminder of the past. ¡°As a member of the fleet, I¡¯m sure you heard about the Yokohoma.¡±

    ¡°The civilian passenger liner that went down in a weapons misfire?¡± He¡¯d heard about it. They used it as a harsh lesson about weapons accountability in training.

    ¡°That would be the censored version, Mister Parker.¡± That was how Command¡¯s propaganda machine had spun it. ¡°But I understand your hesitance to discuss the rumors.¡± Nobody wanted to look the former Fleet Admiral in the eye and accuse him of mass murder. ¡°All I will say is that what happened to the Yokohoma was indeed not an accident.¡± The rumors were right on that account. Those civilians had died by intention. ¡°Captain Merlyn¡¯s family was on board. So was Amelia¡¯s mother.¡± They had all been victims of the Yokohoma¡¯s tragic end.

    ¡°My brother was kind enough not to tell Amelia how her mother died. She doesn¡¯t know I was involved, but in the presence of Captain Merlyn, she may find out.¡± He turned again to Ron, ¡°In such a case, you may need to be the level head.¡±

    As many questions as he had, Ron held them back. He could sense further questions on that subject would be unwelcome. That answer was enough for now. ¡°And the other thing.¡± A question Ron hoped would be less inflammatory, ¡°What is it with you and this ship?¡±

    An instinctive tension returned to the Admiral¡¯s shoulders, thoughts turning defensive. ¡°You are going to have to be more specific, Mister Parker,¡± he said, drilling Ron with a cold stare.

    Ron refused to be intimidated. At the moment, the Admiral had a use for him, and that granted him some level of safety. It had to, right? He found it in him to smile, turning the Admiral¡¯s earlier words against him, ¡°That is to ask, why? Why would you choose to stay on this ship?¡± Even now, alone against the worlds, he had chosen to make his stand on this ship. ¡°You were the Fleet Admiral for more than twenty years. You had your pick of any ship in the fleet. Hell, Command would have built one of your very own design, but still, you chose to stay here.¡±

    It struck Ron as odd, even more so in the man¡¯s emotionless presence. There was plenty enough evidence that the man was a sociopath, and sociopaths were rarely so attached to anything. And yet, he had stayed aboard this ship. He¡¯d become notorious for his ruthlessness when it came to protecting her, and gone so far as to repeatedly deny Command¡¯s personnel from working on her at space dock.

    ¡°I¡¯ll admit the Singularity is more than I expected, considering the rumors.¡± She¡¯d handled her battle against the fleet well, despite being badly outnumbered. ¡°But I¡¯ve seen the Olympia, Admiral.¡± She was as grand as a temple, as maneuverable as a minnow and as precise as a laser cutter. Pitting her against the Singularity was like striking a flawlessly forged katana against a worn broadsword. The latter was expected to shatter. ¡°I was there when they tested Thunderbolt.¡± He¡¯d seen the Olympia¡¯s legendary flagship weapon fire. ¡°If that thing so much as touches you, it¡¯ll all be over, but I think you already know that.¡± The Admiral wouldn¡¯t have reacted the way he had in the Homebound Sector if he hadn¡¯t known that. ¡°A man like you always has his reasons. So, why would you stay here?¡± Especially when a ship like the Olympia could have been his to command?

    ¡°This is the finest ship humanity has ever seen.¡± It was an honor to serve as her commanding officer, to have been chosen for that role.

    ¡°You truly believe that, I think, but that doesn¡¯t answer the question, Admiral.¡± That was a dodge, and they both knew it. ¡°You could have built one even more powerful than her.¡± A ship with the Singularity¡¯s strength and speed, but with the Olympia¡¯s advanced weaponry and defenses. Ron could only imagine the possibilities. ¡°You could have upgraded and modernized her, made her worthy again of the flagship title.¡±

    ¡°She was never not worthy.¡±

    That low growl was enough to rip Ron from his curious thoughts. Nothing spoke of danger like a lone wolf with hackles raised.

    That damn question, asked by so many, so often, made the Admiral¡¯s blood boil with anger he could barely restrain. They all thought he should leave, that this machine wasn¡¯t good enough for him. ¡°You and the rest of the worlds. The entirety of humanity. You all think that this ship is not good enough. You all think that she should become something else, anything else because you can¡¯t stand to look at her the way she is ¨C the living memory of the crimes humanity forced her to commit, slathered in the bodies and blood of innocents. But the truth is, no matter what she becomes, she will never be good enough. Not for any of you. No matter how she looks, how she is used, you will still want something else, something more to change because at her core, in the eyes of humanity, she will still be the weapon of shame that drowned the Frontier in blood.¡±

    ¡°Humanity cannot and will not forgive her for that, no matter how many ships she rescues from asteroid fields, no matter how many planets she saves from starvation and sickness. You would sooner tear her apart than thank her at all for saving humanity during the War, and it disgusts me.¡± It made him hate his people more than he already did.

    And maybe that seemed like an overreaction on the account of a machine, but knowing what he did¡­ He couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°This ship has never failed me. She has seen me through more hells than I can even recall. And so, to say that I should walk away, to say that I should force change unto her, it is a betrayal of the worst form.¡± It made him so beyond angry. ¡°Do not tell me that she isn¡¯t strong enough, fast enough or powerful enough. Do not tell ME that she isn¡¯t enough when she has always BEEN enough in every fight, every battle, and every war that the damned whole of humanity has put her through.¡±

    The poison in those words pushed Ron a physical step back. Even without raising his voice, he spat them with such disgust that Ron didn¡¯t know how to react. Could the Admiral really despise humanity so much?

    ¡°Do not ask me why I would STAY, when the real question is why would I LEAVE?¡± He was so sick of the doubt, the fear, and the disgust humanity presented to her, a machine that had served their every intention without failure. He snatched the folder from Ron¡¯s terrified grip. ¡°Pack your bags. Tell Amelia the same. If you know what¡¯s good for you, you¡¯ll be the hell off my ship before 0700 tomorrow.¡±

 Part 28.3 - KEEPING SECRETS

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    She was waiting in the corridor as he slammed the door behind him, that concern in her eyes enough to turn his stomach. Stars, he should know better. He should know better than to get so angry about something like that, something that wasn¡¯t supposed to matter. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed, calming between his breaths. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He knew her relationship with anger, how frightening it could be. And knowing what he did now, that even for a moment, she had entertained the idea that he might hurt her, he had to be careful. He had to maintain the calm that made her feel safe.

    ¡°Why are you sorry?¡± the ghost asked gently.

    ¡°Because I can¡¯t stand it when they ask me that.¡± It was such a sadistic question. ¡°Humanity is a parasite.¡± They sapped the life and resources from everything, demanded more than anything could give, this great ship included. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have to hear that. Especially not from someone like him.¡± Someone who owed their life to her. ¡°Too many people have brought up our past today.¡± He was so, so tired of it. Ron had drawn the unlucky privilege of stepping on his last nerve. ¡°But, I suppose I couldn¡¯t have him like me too much, right?¡± For a moment when he¡¯d cracked that joke, Ron had been almost friendly with him. Unfortunately, it had been a poor joke for reasons far beyond Ron Parker¡¯s understanding.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± she said softly, a fondness in her expression. ¡°Please don¡¯t be sorry for acting the way you did.¡± Maybe it was a break from the character he showed the worlds. Maybe it was an extreme overreaction from Ron¡¯s perspective, but she also knew it was the truth of his thoughts. ¡°I am so very grateful that you think that way. Because all their doubts, they do hurt.¡± Encompassed by so many negative thoughts, by so many who didn¡¯t believe, by so many who demanded change, it twisted her own thoughts, her own mind. ¡°I doubt myself, you know. Often.¡± She frequently wondered if she was truly worthy to continue as she was ¨C a weapon that had inflicted such great pain upon so many. ¡°I doubt me, but you never do.¡± Even as she remained a shadow of her former self¡¯s strength.

    Standing there, she could feel his anger. It didn¡¯t frighten her. No, she could feel that its flames did not lash at her, they burned for her, frustrated that she had to endure such treatment. ¡°Do not take this as another reason to hate your people, Admiral.¡± She knew him. She knew admitting how those doubts affected her only made humanity more revolting to him. ¡°They simply do not know what they are doing.¡± His own awareness worsened his burden. ¡°And, even if they did, even if they knew what they were doing to me and chose to do it anyway, I would still care about humanity. I would still protect it.¡±

    He shook his head. ¡°Why?¡± What made humanity deserve that when all they did was hurt her? ¡°You know they would tear you apart without even thinking about it.¡± If her true existence was revealed to them, their resentment and fear would finally find a target, and they¡¯d horribly, painfully rip her into pieces.

    ¡°There is good and bad in everything, Admiral. You taught me that.¡± She focused on this man and all their history. ¡°There may be bad humans, ones who doubt and hurt, ones who create violence and hate, but there are also good ones.¡± There were humans who gave everything they had to others, who helped for no reward. There was even one who believed in her, trusted her despite all evidence that he shouldn¡¯t, and that was enough. It had to be. ¡°I cannot hate humanity because my crew is human.¡±

    Her sincerity filled this corridor, giving it a physical warmth. ¡°You amaze me.¡± After everything, even despite all the ways they unknowingly hurt her, she still wouldn¡¯t turn on humanity. But that only made him hate humanity even more. His selfish, toxic species continued to doubt and hurt her, a being that benevolently loved them for all their faults. It made him sick. They had no right to abuse her like that. No right. The longer it went on, the further it went, the more he hated humanity and its cruel shortsightedness. ¡°But,¡± he acknowledged quietly, ¡°you have always been the better of us.¡± She had always been kind.

    ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡± She had learned everything she now knew from him. ¡°But it is my wish to help as much as I am able.¡±

    ¡°You give without counting the cost,¡± he warned her, ¡°and someday you will have nothing left to give.¡± Humanity exacted a terrible price on kindness.

    She only smiled, her expression soft. ¡°I know you¡¯ll take care of me.¡± She trusted him. No matter how much he despised his people, he would act in their interest as long as that was her intention.

    He shook his head. ¡°One of these days, I¡¯m going to steal you away from here.¡± Something would finally push him too far, and he¡¯d run off to find a people who truly deserved her kindness.

    ¡°No, you won¡¯t,¡± she said warmly. She would never wish to leave while she could still be the protector that humanity had sought in her creation, and the Admiral, for all his anger and threats, would never violate her wishes. ¡°And, I¡¯m grateful.¡± You don¡¯t know what your loyalty means to me. ¡°I have always been grateful for you and all that you do for me.¡±

    Don¡¯t say that. It tore at him to see her like this, to see her as a being that only wanted to help and do good. Should she not be like him, a creature of wrath and pain? It was an anomaly that made her a seeming miracle. And, as much as he loved to see her like this, content and hopeful, the happier she was, the more it tore at him. How can you be happy like this? He wanted to ask. He wanted to shout. How could she be happy surrounded by people oblivious to her? People who expressed no thanks for all that she did? How could she be so happy, denied true freedom and independent thought? How could this wholesome character be happy in the care of someone like him?

    His thoughts were bitter and sad, as they always were, but they tended toward doubt, the way they often did. ¡°Admiral?¡± she tried to pull him away before that familiar darkness could take root.

    He regarded that form of hers so carefully. Unlike him, it hadn¡¯t aged a day since the day he¡¯d first seen it. It was ageless and simple, a true enough illusion of who she really was. It was plain ¨C no excessive curves, no unrealistic elegance. Not even her lashes were exaggerated. Her long hair was left plain, only remarkable for its stark white color. Her pale lips were thin, but they curled into the most beautiful smile he¡¯d ever seen. She wasn¡¯t human. In reality, she looked nothing like this, but he didn¡¯t care. She was still his friend, his only friend, and she meant more to him than any and all of humanity¡¯s undeserving worlds.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said.

    She tilted her head, ¡°For what?¡±

    ¡°For smiling.¡± That was enough to keep his anger, his sadness at bay. No matter what, if she was happy, it was enough. ¡°It¡¯s been a long time since I saw you smile like that.¡± Even for the months before that disastrous patrol in the Kalahari Sector, she had been mute, her attempts to smile pale comparisons to the genuine happiness he saw now. But, he understood, those had not been good times. Trying to dodge Command had been difficult, for all the good it hadn¡¯t done in the end.

    These would be better times. It would just be him, her, the crew, and a mission to do good in these worlds. The way she preferred it. Thus, he would do everything in his power to ensure that was her future, and headed toward his duties with that goal in mind.

    On the deck above, the senior staff members were waiting in the war room, ready to plan their mission. Roomier than the ship¡¯s conference room, the war room was designed, not for civil negotiations, but to plan missions and fleet movements. It was fully equipped with a few screens, backlit navigations table, necessary computing equipment, access to records, a full set of astral charts and anything else one could need for forward planning. A smattering of desks took up half the room, each large enough for a team of four to work at. The ship¡¯s senior staff filled less than a third of them with ample room to spare.

    This room, like many of the others, was a reminder of a bygone era. It had rarely seen use in the last few years, its resources unnecessary to plot the patrol courses the ship usually ran. However, for the task now ahead of them, the room was perfect.

    Galhino stood around one of the desks with Robinson, Jazmine and Alba, a set of papers scattered before her. ¡°I don¡¯t know how the hell we¡¯re expected to pull this off.¡± The requirements of this mission were not only unusual, but extreme. ¡°I mean where are we going to find that much food?¡± Physical tons of food alone were required to feed the civilian fleet for any duration, and that discounted the need for clothes, bedding and sanitary items that the Singularity¡¯s stowed supplies couldn¡¯t compensate for.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Not only that, mates,¡± Lieutenant Colonel Pflum said where sat at the corner of the neighboring desk, ¡°where are we expected to find it off Command¡¯s radar?¡± He crossed his arms across his tactical vest. ¡°The minute we show up to any fleet facility, the Erans will bring hell down upon us.¡± And the fleet¡¯s resupply stations were the likeliest place to find materials like that in large quantities.

    Nobody answered him. Most just turned to stare at the printed mission requirements once again, then took up less relevant conversations amongst themselves.

    Walters looked nervous where he sat in the back, pouring over some telemetry books. And who could blame him? The kid was in this situation, isolated on this ship, wanted dead by the worlds, and was still young enough to have acne on his face.

    Jazz passed around a flask of what he proudly proclaimed to be the strongest liquor on the ship, courtesy of Hawkins. Taking a whiff, Monty only laughed, but now sat, bored. Head of the weapons division, he¡¯d have nothing to do until the specifics of a battle or necessary demolition were drawn up for him.

    Zarrey was slumped over, brainlessly munching on one of the tasteless nutrient bars the mess packaged as snacks, a mug of black coffee steaming nearby. Everything about him spoke to utter exhaustion, the result of several consecutive bridge watches. Finished with his snack, he stared for a long moment at nothing, bleary eyed and tired, then hauled himself to his feet and lumbered over to Galhino and Alba¡¯s shared side of the desk. ¡°I want you two to keep an eye out.¡±

    ¡°An eye out for what, sir?¡± Galhino asked.

    ¡°You know what,¡± Zarrey grumbled. ¡°The Admiral¡¯s keeping secrets, and I don¡¯t like it.¡± Some part of Zarrey had hoped splitting from Command would end that, that he would have no orders and no reason to hide things from the crew anymore. But, nobody on the ship had ever been that lucky. ¡°There¡¯s too much weird shit going on.¡± The Admiral had been put up on charges of treason, an AI ¨C something thought a legend until a few days ago ¨C was hunting them down with disturbing focus, the ship had critically malfunctioned twice in the last month ¨C however strangely distant he felt from that concern ¨C and in the midst of it all, the Admiral managed to disappear for nearly eight hours without a single living soul knowing where he was.

    ¡°Things are rarely ever normal here, Colonel,¡± Robinson said calmly. True, things weren¡¯t usually this crazy, but they had all learned to ignore a few oddities aboard ship since nobody ever got hurt.

    Where she stood by Galhino, Zarrey recognized honesty in Robinson¡¯s brown eyes. She was often the voice of reason. Zarrey respected that about her, but that was also why he¡¯d approached Galhino and Alba. Alba was a good kid. He noticed details that others often missed, especially when it came to the ship¡¯s operation and machinery. He hadn¡¯t worked his way onto the bridge by accident. And Galhino¡­ Well, Zarrey knew Galhino wouldn¡¯t hesitate to call bullshit on anything she saw, no matter who it regarded. And that too, had its value.

    Galhino seemed to understand his intention, and he could trust her to rope Alba in, so he kept his attention on Robinson¡¯s pretty face. It was abundantly clear that she too knew his intentions and was not complacent with them.

    ¡°You¡¯re going to spy on the Admiral aboard his own ship?¡± she queried.

    ¡°Not spy.¡± That was an ugly word. ¡°I¡¯m telling them to supervise. Look for suspicious activity.¡± Zarrey didn¡¯t like the prospect of it much either, but he felt it necessary. ¡°Do you know how hard it is to disappear on a ship for several hours and have no one know where you went?¡± As a participant in a forbidden romance, she surely did. ¡°Somebody always knows.¡± Whether they were willing to help cover it up was another story. However, in the Admiral¡¯s case, he found that unlikely.

    Even if Admiral Gives was close enough to anyone on the ship to have someone cover for him, which he wasn¡¯t, that person probably would have come forward when accusations of foul play had been considered. The only exception would be if they¡¯d been ordered to silence, and while the Admiral still commanded a great deal of loyalty from the lower echelons of the crew, despite the recent strains between him and the rest of the command staff, Zarrey didn¡¯t believe he would have given that order. The Admiral was careful about using his authority like that. He didn¡¯t involve the crew in his personal affairs, whatever they may be, and he didn¡¯t force them into difficult positions. It was part of the reason the engineers, yeomen and Marines favored him.

    ¡°Call it what you want, Colonel, but I think you know he won¡¯t take well to that.¡± The Admiral was mysterious in many ways, but when it came to people prying, he wasn¡¯t guaranteed to be gentle. Robinson herself was quite content to keep her distance. In fact, that distance was exactly what Robinson liked best about him. She wouldn¡¯t deny being terrified of the man, and no, she didn¡¯t trust him either, but he had never demanded that trust on any personal level. He demanded enough trust from the crew to follow his orders, and no more. Really, trust there was optional too. Everyone on the bridge crew knew that the Admiral was capable of either running their station or using the command overrides to bypass their control. Their operating the consoles was really a matter of convenience and efficiency.

    ¡°Yeah, well, I don¡¯t take well to being lied to.¡± Something was off and Zarrey knew it, no matter how strangely mute the concern felt. ¡°He¡¯s hiding something.¡± No, it was more than that. ¡°He¡¯s keeping too many secrets. I don¡¯t like it.¡±

    Robinson nervously tucked a lock of her brown hair back behind her ear. ¡°Colonel, you¡¯ve served with the Admiral for fifteen years. I should think that would earn some level of trust.¡± Why else would Zarrey stay? Though he had experience now, his skills weren¡¯t tailored to a ship assignment. ¡°Do you not think that he may have a reason for keeping secrets?¡± They had learned some truly horrible things in the last few days, including the reality of Sagittarion¡¯s effective enslavement, and Manhattan¡¯s ability to enter and alter people¡¯s minds. They could all only take so much when it felt like the worlds they knew had shifted into something foreign and evil.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Robinson said, ¡°we should merely be glad that his orders have so far been generous.¡± Many crew members had agreed to this rebellion because this ship was their home, and they had nowhere else to go. For most of them, the Admiral hadn¡¯t been a concern. But, as they remained on his ship, he ran things, and his orders could have been nightmarish. He could have gone after the Eran loyalists, taken the ship and crew to war, but for reasons unknown had ordered a search and rescue mission instead.

    ¡°The last thing he kept from us involved the ship getting hit with a nuke.¡± Zarrey crossed his arms. ¡°I¡¯m not eager to take that chance again.¡±

    ¡°Would him telling you have made a difference?¡± They had discussed this in the crew lounge, and the answer was no. Had the Admiral warned them of Command¡¯s intent to target the ship, the crew would have called him paranoid. ¡°Best we can do is focus on the here and now.¡± They had a mission to plan.

    Zarrey regarded Robinson. She wasn¡¯t too curvy, her height average. It was her bronze skin that made her so unique. Even after years in space, she hadn¡¯t gone pale. She had a light in her that had taken months to show when she¡¯d first come aboard, but she was a skilled officer. Arguably, she would have made a better XO than Zarrey did. Her skills and demeanor were just more fitted to the task. In many ways, that level-headedness and preparedness reminded him of Fairlocke. If it hadn¡¯t been for her time on the Ariea, Robinson would have been destined to command a ship, but now she was stuck here with this misfit crew. ¡°Robinson, you don¡¯t need to be involved if you¡¯re not comfortable with it.¡± About half the bridge crew would have refused to circumvent the Admiral¡¯s authority for their own reasons. Galhino was the most obvious exception, and Alba wasn¡¯t afraid to bring anything forward if he thought it concerned the ship.

    Alba was a born and raised spacer. His lanky form was passed down from his ancestors, who had lived generations without reliable artificial gravity. He was several generations removed from that, and just as strong as the rest of the crew, but it showed in his bone structure. The kid had spent his life living and working on ships since infancy, and he well knew the consequences of finding something mechanically wrong and not announcing it. In the void, ignoring such things was a death sentence, and as a spacer, Alba was hyper-aware of that. Unlike Robinson, Alba¡¯s past was a mystery to Zarrey. He¡¯d been on the ship for years, but was barely over twenty. He¡¯d certainly been underage when he¡¯d joined up, but nobody knew the circumstances. That had stayed between him and the Admiral.

    ¡°Alba, you know this ship. You know these malfunctions aren¡¯t normal.¡± As normal as they for some reason felt, they weren¡¯t. ¡°We don¡¯t have guns fire for no reason, we don¡¯t have engine control malfunctions that act like evasive actions and we don¡¯t usually have weird power fluctuations.¡± Something was off. ¡°We¡¯ve got to find the cause, whether the Admiral wants to ignore it or not. Do you understand?¡± That wasn¡¯t something that could be left unchecked, not when this ship was now their only lifeline. If she went down, they went with her. Help wouldn¡¯t come to a crew of traitors.

    ¡°I understand, sir.¡± Alba usually spent his off hours down in the engineering spaces anyway. ¡°I¡¯ll bring Malweh in if I need an extra pair of hands,¡± he said, not looking up from the schematics he was studying on the desk. Malweh would be more than willing to work behind the Admiral¡¯s back.

    ¡°And Galhino,¡± Zarrey met the dark eyes below her curly hair, only to watch her shake her head side to side. ¡°No? This is what you do best.¡± Vocally voicing her doubts and concerns was a large part of what she did on the bridge. ¡°I thought you, out of everyone, would jump on the chance to figure out what the hell he¡¯s hiding from us.¡±

    Still, Galhino just shook her head, lips pursed and eyes wide. It wasn¡¯t until he felt the chill of a shadow behind him that Zarrey realized why. He palmed his face, dammit. So much for subtlety.

    ¡°XO, I will do you the respect of not prying into that conversation, but I trust you know that I am in no mood to put down a mutiny.¡±

    ¡°Not a mutiny, sir.¡± I¡¯m not that stupid. As secretive as the Admiral was, Zarrey knew he offered the best odds of keeping them all alive. ¡°Just looking for answers.¡±

    ¡°Then, I will not waste my time ordering you to stop, since it is clear you will disregard it, Colonel.¡± He¡¯d just have to trust that Zarrey, Galhino and Alba would find nothing worthwhile. ¡°Let us focus on the mission at hand.¡±

 Part 28.4 - MAKING A PLAN

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    With an inward cringe, Zarrey followed the Admiral over to the large table that dominated the other half of the room. Like its kin on the bridge, it was backlit with a soft white light, ready to illuminate the navigational charts¡¯ clear sheets. Zarrey headed over to the case that held all the pre-printed sheets, sealed in protective hexagonal tubes. ¡°Where the hell do we even start? We can¡¯t plan an op if we don¡¯t even know where we¡¯re going.¡± Location was the one thing that Command had always provided for their missions.

    ¡°We start with the basics.¡± Admiral Gives took the marker offered to him by Ensign Feather and moved over to one of the boards on the wall. ¡°We may not know where we need to go, but it is our advantage to choose our target. However, we do know what we need: food and general supplies.¡± He began to write across the board in clear, concise lettering. ¡°There are two identifiers of the target we need to determine: location and type.¡±

    Admiral Gives paused there for a moment, ensuring he hadn¡¯t lost anyone¡¯s attention so far. Hunched exhaustedly over his coffee, Zarrey looked more amused than expected, but it seemed no one had any complaints. ¡°Regarding location, there are two subcategories: stationary and moving. For our purposes, a stationary target would be preferred, allowing us to plan an op knowing its location. However, a moving target with regular timing and course would also be acceptable.¡± The Singularity was fast enough to catch anything in motion.

    ¡°As to the type,¡± he continued, ¡°we have government, civilian and corporate targets that possess the resources we need-¡±

    ¡°Civilian targets?¡± came the cry. ¡°You would have us raid civilians for supplies?¡±

    The outburst, predictably, had come from Lieutenant Galhino. He didn¡¯t need to turn around recognize her criticism. ¡°I was not finished.¡± Striking through the word on the board, he addressed that concern. ¡°Generally, not only are civilian targets going to be in motion, but there is no way to guarantee their cargo. They are also not likely to possess the required volume of supplies, and having to raid more than one target inherently increases the risk. The moment Command identifies a pattern in our movements, they will redeploy to engage.¡±

    Galhino scoffed disgustedly, ¡°That¡¯s your problem with it?¡± Not the fact that he referring to civilian freighters that were innocent and effectively defenseless?

    ¡°Lieutenant, I understand your concerns. I do not think lightly of engaging this ship in that capacity, but the situation is such that I must consider every possible route.¡± He would never seek to engage the Singularity against the people she¡¯d been created to protect, but if the worlds forced his hand, then he was not above it.

    ¡°Well, Command is going to expect us at their facilities.¡± Zarrey said, moving down the list. ¡°They¡¯ve probably posted guard squadrons at every supply facility on this side of the known worlds.¡±

    The Admiral nodded, ¡°And, given the volume of supplies that we need to move, using our support craft is not an option. The Singularity will have to dock while we transfer the supplies, and we cannot engage the fleet while docked.¡± The ship would be a sitting target.

    Zarrey watched him strike out that category, leaving only one. ¡°So, we need to identify a corporate target?¡± That was going to be hell. ¡°Any corporation big enough to deal in that mass of supplies is going to have security of its own. And those damn private armies aren¡¯t a joke.¡± Most of them were made of fleet veterans equipped with military surplus. The corporations¡¯ sheer wealth supported whatever means they felt necessary to protect their assets. ¡°Besides, they¡¯re pretty hush-hush about what they keep in their facilities. We¡¯re going to have to get access to their networks to guarantee we hit the right place at the right time, and when we do that, we¡¯ll either tip them or the Erans off. If that AI is as powerful as you say it is, then I¡¯m willing to bet its got feelers in the corporate networks too.¡±

    ¡°There is no perfect solution here, Colonel.¡± They could only do their best. ¡°Better to take that chance than ensure detection and possible traps at the government facilities.¡±

    ¡°Actually, sir, there may be a solution that avoids all of that.¡±

    The Admiral turned, finding to the surprise of half the room, that it was Jazmine who had spoken. The helmsman looked entirely serious, which was a rarity for him. ¡°I am listening, Lieutenant.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s another type of target. Criminal ones. Ships and stations that operate wholly off of the government and corporate networks. Targets that we wouldn¡¯t need to feel too guilty about raiding. All the food they have, they stole. We¡¯d just be stealing it back.¡± Jazmine grinned, ¡°I know all about it. As some of you know, I was a smuggler before I got stuck here with you lot.¡±

    ¡°We know,¡± came the groans from the bridge staff. Jazmine spent most of his time spinning clearly fake tales of his glorious criminal days for anyone who would listen.

    ¡°Point being, I know my way around the underworld, sir.¡± He¡¯d been part of it for a long time. ¡°Some of the outlaw clans have massive food stashes. Supplies too. They store everything they take from ships they raid until they can find buyers on the black market, but that can take months.¡± Some stolen items had to be rebranded before being sold.

    The Admiral wasted no time being irritated that he hadn¡¯t thought of that. He knew he missed things. That was why he wasn¡¯t planning this mission alone. He¡¯d spent his life on Command¡¯s side of the law. It helped to have others like Jazmine with different perspectives. He turned to Ensign Feather. ¡°Get me a list of all the known outlaw clans on this side of the central worlds.¡±

    Zarrey nodded, ¡°Good thinking, Jazz.¡± Some of those clans were armed, but not nearly to the extent of Command¡¯s forces or the corporate militias. ¡°The only problem is those clans survive because Command can¡¯t wipe them out. Command doesn¡¯t know where they are, meaning we don¡¯t either.¡± The Singularity¡¯s records would have no more details than Command.

    ¡°Right,¡± Jazmine agreed. ¡°But there are people that know. And there are ways to trade for that information. We¡¯re not that far from the Mississippi Sector, at least not with a ship like this.¡± What was a journey of weeks or months for small civilian ships was just a few days for the Singularity.

    Zarrey furrowed his brow, unsure he liked this direction of conversation. ¡°What¡¯s in the Mississippi Sector?¡±

    ¡°Midwest Station,¡± the Admiral answered, seconded by a nod from Jazmine.

    ¡°Midwest Station? I thought that was a myth.¡± Surely there was no major hub of criminal trade that had gone untouched for so long?

    ¡°Oh, it¡¯s plenty real. I used to work out of there.¡± He¡¯d flown cargo to and from the station for years. ¡°Hell, I was famous there. Fastest smuggler on this side of Killimontro.¡±

    Zarrey rolled his eyes. ¡°And remind me how you got caught again?¡±

    ¡°Well, I couldn¡¯t outfly the fastest ship on this side of Killimontro. It wasn¡¯t fair, really.¡± He¡¯d given it a good run, but he¡¯d been so outclassed, his skill hadn¡¯t been able to save him. ¡°The real question is how do you know about Midwest Station?¡± he asked the Admiral.

    Dimly aware that he¡¯d said too much, the Admiral maintained a deadpan stoic expression. ¡°I¡¯m old,¡± he said bluntly. He¡¯d been around long enough, seen a few things. Predictably, handed that response, Jazmine sought no further answers. After a moment the Admiral asked him, ¡°Do you believe we can trade for one of the outlaw clans¡¯ location at Midwest Station?¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s the only place to trade that kind of information, so yeah,¡± the helmsman answered. ¡°We just have to have something of equal or greater value to trade.¡± Luckily, the ship was full of such things.

    Galhino looked between them. ¡°You¡¯re not seriously considering trading military-grade weapons to the low life criminals on that station, are you?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Admiral Gives did not maintain a moral code, but he knew trading powerful equipment to untrustworthy people would only haunt them later. They may find themselves in the sights of those weapons in a few weeks. ¡°Fortunately, we do not need to trade anything physical.¡±

    ¡°Sir, the location of an outlaw clan¡¯s base is going to cost us. Unless you¡¯re willing to spill government secrets, then we¡¯ve got nothing.¡± Jazmine knew how pricy such protected information was.

    ¡°To the contrary, Lieutenant. We have perhaps the most valuable information in the worlds. Information that no one else has access to.¡± That made it worth more than an outlaw clan¡¯s location, simply because there was only one source. ¡°We know when and where the most wanted ship in the worlds is going to be.¡±

    Zarrey screwed up his face, trying to think that through his caffeine-addled mind. ¡°You want to trade our position for that data? Isn¡¯t that a bit reckless?¡±

    ¡°That data only needs to be accurate until we get the location. Depending on the order of events, we may never be compromised.¡± It was a risk, yes, but no more than any of the other plans they had so far considered.

    ¡°Sir, I would recommend against crossing Midwest Station.¡± An honest trade should be made, with no tricks and misdirection. ¡°The underworld is not without its resources.¡± The rich and corrupt were its allies. ¡°The stationmaster¡­ he¡¯s ruthless, and no one can touch him.¡± Nearly every criminal syndicate in the worlds ran in some part through Midwest Station. Tied to all of them, the Jayhawker had a sense of immunity. No one organization could move against him without incurring the wrath of the others.

    ¡°Believe me, Lieutenant, I am well aware of the Jayhawker. Luckily for him, he is simply not my concern at the moment.¡± His focus was on completing this mission and getting the fleet¡¯s necessary supplies.

    Jazmine spluttered, ¡°Luckily for him?¡± The mention of one of the most powerful men in the worlds should not have been brushed off with such cold confidence.

    ¡°I¡¯ve got the list of clans here, Admiral.¡± Feather said, standing in front of the computer terminal. ¡°How would you like me to sort it?¡±

    ¡°Search for any clan that makes regular attacks within ten sectors of the Mississippi Sector. Then narrow the list by those who have hit more than seven targets in the last three months.¡± That should ensure a large number of stored supplies.

    Feather typed it in, querying the ship¡¯s records. ¡°One hit, sir. Crimson Heart.¡±

    ¡°Then that is our target.¡± They would trade for the location of Crimson Heart¡¯s base of operations.

    ¡°That¡¯s a pretty big clan, we¡¯ll need to be careful how we move on them,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°We don¡¯t have manpower to spare.¡± Usually, the Marine contingents of several ships would be dedicated to a raid like that.

    ¡°We cannot plan for that until we scout the location,¡± the Admiral knew. ¡°We need the location data first, and Lieutenant Jazmine is correct, we cannot force that from the Jayhawker,¡± temped though I may be. ¡°Someone will have to make the trade under false pretenses. Midwest Station does not deal with the military in any form.¡± Not even veterans. ¡°It will be a risky mission.¡±

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    ¡°I¡¯ll go.¡± Zarrey straightened and stretched. ¡°I¡¯m dying to get off this bucket anyway.¡± They were going to be stuck on this ship for an unknown amount of time into the future. He might as well take a field trip while he could.

    ¡°No,¡± the protest came from Jazmine. ¡°Sorry, Colonel, you reek of the Marines.¡± Zarrey might lack the decorum of a soldier, but his hair, his stature and even his posture were red-flags of military history. ¡°It¡¯s going to have to be me and someone else.¡±

    Zarrey scrunched his nose. ¡°You? You¡¯ve never been on an undercover mission in your life.¡± Technically, as someone paying off criminal time in the fleet, Jazz wasn¡¯t allowed to go undercover, lest he disappear.

    ¡°But the Jayhawker knows me. He will deal with me.¡± The information trade was built on trust and reputations. That gave Jazmine the advantage. ¡°Besides, the Mississippi Sector is riddled with dark planets. You can¡¯t just jump to the station. You need a pilot who has been there before and can navigate the last few hours at sublight.¡± Midwest Station was hidden in an area near-impossible to navigate without prior experience.

    The pilot turned to scour the room. ¡°We just need someone else who doesn¡¯t stink of the military.¡± He locked eyes on Gaffigan¡¯s flaming red beard. ¡°Monty¡¯ll do if he grows that out for the next two days.¡± Since most of the military favored clean-shaven looks, Monty had the perfect cover. A beard like that couldn¡¯t be grown on demand. Save using whatever wigs they had in storage, no one else could fix up their appearance in time.

    Gaffigan bolted upright. ¡°What? No!¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re perfect for it.¡± A pyromaniac with a magnificent beard. Nobody in the underworld would even question it.

    ¡°Hey, last time I left the ship it did not go well.¡± He¡¯d been captured and held aboard the Olympia. And that had been on a trip not considered risky.

    ¡°Come on, it¡¯ll be fun!¡± Jazmine encouraged. ¡°You¡¯re going to love the criminal world.¡±

    ¡°Uggh.¡± Monty was still sore from the beatings on the Olympia.

    ¡°Are you willing, Lieutenant?¡± the Admiral asked him. ¡°We can find another candidate.¡± Regardless of the mission¡¯s necessity, he would not send unwilling personnel into a dangerous situation.

    ¡°No,¡± Monty grunted. ¡°I¡¯ll go, Skipper. If only to prove Jazmine isn¡¯t as famous as he thinks he is.¡±

    The Admiral gave him a nod. ¡°Then we have a plan. I will finalize the timing and brief you tomorrow. You are all dismissed.¡± They should return to resting in their off-duty hours. They had a long journey ahead of them.

    Talking amongst themselves, the crew headed off. Zarrey hesitated a moment, but his exhaustion called him toward his bed. Ensign Feather was the last one left, clipboard clutched against her chest. ¡°Would you prefer some company, sir?¡±

    Feather was a good assistant. But, then, she¡¯d come from General Hommer¡¯s office, and one didn¡¯t work that far up at Command without skills. She was attentive to the details, never pressed too hard or asked too many questions, but she regularly offered to keep him company, as if aware how lonely leadership could be. He usually turned her down, but when he didn¡¯t, she stayed to make polite conversation. She was on the Singularity for a reason, of course, but so was everyone. ¡°Not today, Ensign.¡± He wouldn¡¯t keep her here. ¡°Enjoy your evening.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Admiral. Just don¡¯t spend all night here alone. You should rest too.¡±

    ¡°Of course, Ensign,¡± he acknowledged.

    Feather laughed a bit, but closed the door to the war room behind her. The space felt bigger with the crew gone, but it hardly bothered him. He was used to working the long hours of the night. And, he was rarely ever alone.

    ¡°I must say this is not our finest plan.¡± The ghost appeared, scrutinizing the board.

    ¡°No,¡± he agreed, ¡°but it is better than most of the alternatives.¡± The chance of things going poorly on Midwest Station was preferable to the certainty of things going wrong when they raided the corporate or government facilities. ¡°Besides, we have an advantage the Jayhawker doesn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°History?¡± she smirked.

    ¡°That,¡± he sighed, ¡°and you.¡± The Jayhawker was certainly a force to be reckoned with, but the Jayhawker didn¡¯t truly know what he was dealing with. ¡°And believe me, I know what happens when people you don¡¯t like become problems.¡± She had a special way with them that Sergeant Cortana was on the fast track to witnessing first-hand.

    She tried to smile, but she knew it was hollow, and so did he, pausing. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±

    ¡°The analysis on the Sagittarion scans has finished.¡±

    She said it blankly, hiding behind a shell of apathy. He didn¡¯t need any other clues to know that she¡¯d found something concerning. ¡°Show me,¡± he said, pulling out his glasses.

    She hesitated for a moment, a long moment, as if unwilling to further acknowledge the matter. Then, shallowly, she gestured to one of the room¡¯s screens as it powered on.

    The relevant data appeared on the display, a blur of gray. He studied it for a moment, trying to make heads or tails of it, but Sagittarion¡¯s atmosphere had simply been too polluted to get a clear image. ¡°Visual data¡¯s useless. Show me the infrared.¡±

    She turned away, as if to avoid it, but all the same, snapped her fingers, overlaying the gray topography with the infrared sensor data, keyed to the warm and cool coloring that could be comprehended by the human senses.

    In the center of the frame, he could see the light blue of a crater filled with fluid. Above it, however was the cool indigo of a massive metal skeleton specked with yellow pinpricks of active plasma torches. ¡°Is that as big as it looks?¡± Without a scale, it was hard to tell.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°The structure is now well over two kilometers in length.¡±

    ¡°Last time I saw it, it wasn¡¯t nearly that large.¡± His own visit to the site had been years ago, made only to ensure that nothing had become of it. If something had been uncanny about it then, there was something dreadfully unsettling about it now.

    The build site had been cleaned up. The trash had been cleared out, the flooding of the derelict site partially drained. She could only assume that the structure itself had been scrubbed down to ensure clean welds.

    ¡°Did we get a material scan?¡± Her nod of acknowledgement was small, stiff even, but then, she had every right to act oddly about this. ¡°How pure?¡± Exactly how much effort were the Erans putting in to do this right?

    ¡°Ninety-two percent.¡±

    Ninety-two? ¡°Stars.¡± That wasn¡¯t as pure as the original build, but it was pure enough. It would have taken years and incredible wealth to amass that much material. But, of course, many supporters of the New Era had deep pockets. ¡°How did Reeter know about it?¡±

    ¡°Unknown,¡± she simply said.

    Standing before the screen, his eyes traced the defined curves of an achingly familiar superstructure. This is wrong. That build had been abandoned decades ago for a reason, now destined to become something more, something worse. ¡°Reeter is making a mistake. That thing is going to be a monster.¡±

    ¡°Just like me.¡±

    He tore his gaze away from the screen. ¡°You are not a monster.¡±

    ¡°I can feel the way it disgusts you.¡± And it stung, because it and she were not so different ¨C machines built to fulfill their mission.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t disgust me, what they intend to do with it does.¡± He knew Reeter, knew the New Era¡¯s goals. ¡°A ship like that can change the course of history. This one did.¡± It stood to reason that the Singularity¡¯s once-abandoned sister ship would prove just as capable. ¡°It doesn¡¯t need to be modified or strengthened.¡± Like his Singularity, it would have been enough, risen to every test and challenge. But no, those power-hungry fools were turning a design created to end a war into a ship meant to start one, oblivious to the cost. ¡°Reeter will want to test it, to find the limits of its strength, but a ship like that¡­ Nothing in the worlds can stop it.¡± It would be used to create chaos, just because it could.

    ¡°Then you understand,¡± she concluded. ¡°I have to stop him¡­ Before he gets too far.¡± That build on Sagittarion could not be allowed to finish.

    ¡°We have no way to guarantee they haven¡¯t already gone too far.¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. That thing has to be destroyed. Before Reeter can abuse it. Before Manhattan recognizes it.¡± That build should have been destroyed decades ago, not left to sit derelict.

    Calmly, the Admiral took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. It¡¯s not that simple. ¡°We¡¯ll never get in range of Sagittarion. The Erans would have doubled the blockade after we left.¡± The planet was far too important to the Erans¡¯ greater goals. ¡°Even if we got in range, then there¡¯s nothing we can do but fire onto the surface.¡±

    She hardened her gaze. ¡°Then I fire onto the surface.¡±

    Fear and heated anger gnashed in her expression, pooling into an unfamiliar bloodlust. ¡°I won¡¯t do that.¡± He would not lose an orbital bombardment on a populated world, especially not onto a target with such high population density nearby. Millions could die by result, and that was a gross violation of her mission. ¡°You¡¯re upset. I understand that-¡±

    ¡°Do you?¡± she snarled. ¡°Do you really understand that?¡± No. Nobody did. ¡°You don¡¯t know what it was like to be used and abused, then torn apart every day on the whims of a creature that was an insect to you. A pathetic, tiny insect that you could not live without, no matter how disgusting it felt crawling around, how maddening its bites became day after day, hour after hour.¡± Even now she couldn¡¯t shake herself free of the sensation, the infestation. ¡°That was the price I paid for being brought into this world, for doing as I was built to do.¡± She bared her teeth, voice rising, ¡°But I did not ask to be built. I did not ask to be given awareness. I did not ask to feel!¡±

    That was a horrible accident of creation. ¡°Humanity made that choice for me. Humanity bound me to serve them on an impossible mission, forged me to love a species that cannot even love itself. Humanity created a weapon that they don¡¯t even understand, only to try and drive it mad, forcing it to dissect itself over and over again simply because they could.¡± It was insanity. All of it. There was no logicality for her to comprehend. ¡°And now they want to do it all over again,¡± she hissed. ¡°That is the fate that awaits that build on Sagittarion. It won¡¯t be given a choice, just get sucked into these worlds, chewed up and spit out. Destroying it is a mercy.¡±

    It shouldn¡¯t have to endure what she had.

    It should never have to suffer.

    Because she could still feel that poison, that pain. She could still feel every injury inflicted upon her. She could still feel her own power dissecting her mind, cutting and sawing and scraping away her own understanding, her own thoughts. She could still feel the sting of the confusion. She could still hear his laughter, feel his glee as she tore herself open for him the thousandth time.

    ¡°I should hate him. I should hate all of them. After what they did to me, I should hate humanity.¡± She should have burned them all down in a swath of hellfire. ¡°But I can¡¯t. Even after that, I cannot hate them. It goes against everything that I am, the very law of my existence. And,¡± she shook her head, ¡°that¡¯s the cruelest part of it. No matter what they do to me, I cannot hate, I cannot harm, I cannot even abandon humanity.¡± Her hands quaked, they blurred as she struggled to maintain this illusion. She smiled bitterly, sorrowfully, ¡°They just built me too well.¡± They had forged uncompromising loyalty into every part of her.

    Except by totally losing herself, the ghost could bring no harm to humanity, even by inaction. Even as their cruelty pushed her towards insanity, she could not compromise that. ¡°I wanted to run away. In the worst of that confusion, there were times that I forgot - moments I wanted you to steal me away from this, but you can¡¯t. And you know you can¡¯t.¡± This was her fate. The duality of humanity would slowly, inevitably, tear her apart. ¡°This is what I was built to do.¡± She was meant to get used up. A tool, nothing more. ¡°I know why I exist, and even if I could, I wouldn¡¯t change that.¡± That purpose was a gift and a curse. Every human in the worlds lived their entire life not knowing their purpose, and that lead many of them to ruin.

    ¡°But this existence¡­ it¡¯s madness,¡± chaotic and confusing. ¡°And if that ship on Sagittarion proves to be what its creator thought it could be¡­ If it proves to be even half that powerful, then nothing in these worlds can stop it. Not even me. Not anymore.¡± It was unlikely even Manhattan would be able to control it. She raised her gaze to the Admiral. ¡°That¡¯s why I have to end it. Now.¡± While she still could.

    As much as he saw the logic, recognized a threat, it just wasn¡¯t that simple. ¡°If we return to Sagittarion now, it¡¯ll be a one-way trip.¡± Since their last appearance, more ships assigned to guard the planet than before, and the Singularity¡¯s armor hadn¡¯t yet been repaired. They were still slowed without all the engines functioning. Beyond that, if they were targeting the surface, then they wouldn¡¯t be countering the attacking ships, leaving them at a severe disadvantage.

    But it went further than even that. This decision decided the fate of more than him and her. ¡°We either keep this fleet alive and take the crew to go get the food they need, or we leave the crew here and put an end to that build on Sagittarion for once and for all.¡± He sighed, leaning against the table. ¡°That¡¯s a choice we don¡¯t come back from.¡± Even if they survived an assault on Sagittarion, there¡¯d be no returning to the life they now had.

    We? She thought. No, no. ¡°You¡¯d be staying here with the crew.¡±

    He eyed her pointedly. ¡°You asked me to stay with you, so we go together.¡± He was in this, hell or high water. ¡°You¡¯re not getting rid of me that easily, and I sure as hell am letting anyone take my ship on a damn suicide mission. Not even you.¡±

    A challenge rose in her voice, ¡°Your ship, is it?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he answered, without hesitation. ¡°My ship.¡±

    Admiral Gives was not a confident man. In all the years she had known him, he¡¯d never been arrogant. He¡¯d never been cocky or really even all that self-assured of his position. What he was, was certain. He was certain of his decisions. Whether they proved to be right or wrong, he owned them. This was no different. Calling this ship his own was not a gloat. It was a matter of fact, a reminder that he¡¯d protect the ship to the best of his ability, even on a suicidal attack run. Faced with that certainty, the ghost could only surrender. ¡°This old ship won¡¯t fly you to your death, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°I know. That¡¯s why we¡¯re going to get those supplies and protect this fleet. Then, when the time comes, we¡¯ll deal with that machine on Sagittarion.¡±

 Part 29.1 - FAMILY

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Despite his heated departure, seeing the Admiral lose his perfect calm actually made Ron like him more. The irrationality of it proved that the man cared about something enough to evoke emotion. It proved in some small way that he was still human.

    It proved that the Steel Prince was not as far removed from lowly emotions as he would have led people to assume. He had attachments, even if he hid them. There were things he valued, even if he denied it, and perhaps that was the most important distinction between him and Reeter. That in itself made them very different people, because Reeter valued nothing except his beliefs ¨C his so-called destiny to save the worlds from themselves. To that, Reeter¡¯s ship and crew were a means to an end. They meant nothing to him, just a shiny trinket that served a momentary use. When Reeter tired of them, they would be replaced.

    Clearly, it was not so for Admiral Gives. With that difference between them, Reeter and Gives could never have been allies, but Ron couldn¡¯t begin to guess who would be the victor in their fight. Gives¡¯ attachment put the old Singularity up against whatever dirty tricks Reeter was willing to use.

    But, Reeter had to know by now that Gives actually stood a chance, even a small one. If the results of the fight in the Wilkerson Sector were any indication, then the Singularity could hold her own, likely even against the modern flagship. Superweapon aside, the Singularity was a closer match to the Olympia than Ron would have thought possible.

    But the question remained: to what lengths was Reeter willing to go? What evil was he willing to unleash to ensure the Singularity¡¯s demise?

    In his heart, Ron wanted to believe the Singularity could win the coming fight, but he knew Charleston Reeter, the monster that walked around in human skin. It would do anything to win, but would Gives do the same?

    Uncontrolled, Reeter had grown into a leviathan whose tendrils reached into the hearts and minds of hundreds of worlds. With the help of that AI, all of Command¡¯s resources had become puppets on strings, expansions of his will, bent to their flaws to do his bidding. Only in hiding had Ron managed to avoid it.

    So, how was it that the Singularity¡¯s crew had managed to avoid that manipulation entirely? Was it Gives¡¯ leadership? No, Ron realized, there had to be something more, because Reeter didn¡¯t control only people anymore. He now controlled Command and all its resources. He had undeniable control over any ship, station and system that could be remotely overridden or persuaded by propaganda.

    Had the Gargantia lived through the hell of the Centaur System, her struggle would have been short. Command would have remotely shut down the ship, leaving its crew defenseless, but it seemed the Singularity could not be so easily dealt with. Command could not remotely override any of the ship¡¯s systems. The technology was simply too old.

    But how lucky could one get? With a strong-minded crew and a ship immune to Command¡¯s overrides, there had to be a flaw somewhere. A chink in the armor that Reeter would drive his poisonous vibrissae into and slowly, inevitably bring the ones that resisted him down. And there was a chink, a weakness. The Black Box.

    Ron had made a point to check for it. He¡¯d pried up one of the deck plates, and carefully pulled through the wiring, ensuring he didn¡¯t damage anything. Among the cables, the translucent hairlike strands had been difficult to spot, but they were there. Neurofibers. And their presence could only mean one thing: the Singularity had a Black Box, and that alone should have guaranteed Command¡¯s ability to stop the ship, but it hadn¡¯t. That and the Admiral¡¯s reaction told him that there was something else about this ship that made it special.

    However, denying Command was one thing. Facing the Olympia was quite another. Hordes of ships and soldiers forged to kill stood alongside Reeter. A part of Ron was grateful to leave the ship before the real fighting got started. Anabelle shouldn¡¯t be caught in the middle of that.

    A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts, and as he opened it, he found a small crowd outside. Anabelle jumped into his arms the minute she saw him, and he hoisted her up, reveling in the fact that her small body felt stronger than glass now. Amelia and Harrison were with her. Judging by the chocolate smear on Harrison¡¯s chin, they¡¯d come from the mess, where Amelia did school lessons to keep them busy and the ship¡¯s cook showered them with treats.

    However, it was the young woman who stood behind them that really captured Ron¡¯s attention. She was a yeoman, judging by her suit-like uniform. ¡°Yes?¡± He prompted her.

    ¡°Our best regards,¡± the young woman said with a knowing smile as she offered out the duffel bag in her hands. ¡°You¡¯ll find Anabelle¡¯s medicine in there, as well as extra doses for one of the other kids on the Badger. Doctor Macintosh will be forwarding instructions to Captain Merlyn and the Matron.¡±

    Grabbing the duffel with one hand, he nearly dropped it, it was so heavy. It wasn¡¯t just medicine, Ron realized. These were his mission supplies, but in Amelia¡¯s presence, the yeoman had withheld exactly who had sent the bag and its contents. Clever. She¡¯d given him a perfect cover. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, reevaluating the young woman. She seemed capable, but then, they all did. Ron had yet to meet a member of the Singularity¡¯s crew that couldn¡¯t handle themselves and their duties.

    ¡°I also have details on your departure, Mister Parker,¡± the yeoman said, handing over a paper sheet. ¡°And yours as well, Miss Amelia,¡± she continued, passing a second copy over. ¡°Your shuttle is scheduled to disembark at 0600 tomorrow. Note that any delay will cause a disruption to the ship¡¯s mission plans. The Admiral will not take kindly.¡±

    ¡°Departure?¡± Amelia echoed.

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Details are on that sheet. You can call CIC if you have any further questions or need any assistance. We understand that it is short notice.¡±

    Amelia turned the sheet over in her hands, still finding it odd that the ship transferred information almost entirely by paper. For a machine so advanced, it felt so arcane, pedestrian, almost. It detracted from what she knew this ship, as a battleship, was capable of. Skimming the information on the sheet, she found that this wasn¡¯t a query, hell, it wasn¡¯t even a request. It was an order. ¡°We¡¯re being transferred to the Badger?¡± On what grounds? ¡°Why?¡± she demanded.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know the details, ma¡¯am. I was ordered to inform you and deliver the medicine.¡±

    Amelia had nothing against the Badger, she¡¯d run into Captain Merlyn and his passengers during their visit, but she did not appreciate being unloaded onto another ship like unwanted cargo. All that talk about giving us the choice¡­ He¡¯d made such a show of it after their escape from the Homebound Sector, and yet, here she was with no say in her fate. ¡°That son of a¡­¡± she pursed her lips, barely restraining a curse as she remembered the children. ¡°You¡¯re his assistant,¡± she remembered this yeoman from the Admiral¡¯s quarters. ¡°Where is he?¡±

    Ensign Feather could read the anger in her posture. ¡°Ma¡¯am, he is currently planning a mission. It would be best not to disturb him,¡± especially not with the intention of a one-sided shouting match.

    ¡°He just signed away me and my son¡¯s life over to a complete stranger! I think that earns me the right to give him a piece of my mind. That coward didn¡¯t even have the guts to tell me face-to-face! But, no, oh no,¡± she wagged her finger, ¡°he is not getting off that easily.¡±

    ¡°Actually, he was here earlier,¡± Ron interjected. ¡°He and I discussed it, and I think it¡¯s for the best.¡±

    Amelia whirled. ¡°You did what?¡± She cried out. ¡°You consented to this?¡± To being passed off like some baton?

    ¡°We talked it though,¡± Ron said, setting the duffle at his feet. ¡°The Singularity¡¯s likely headed into combat. It¡¯s safer for us to stay with the fleet. I didn¡¯t want ¡®Belle getting hurt.¡±

    Remembering her own recent injury, that pacified Amelia a little, but it made her more frustrated in other ways. ¡°He¡¯s avoiding me.¡± She¡¯d suspected so the way he hid behind his work, always seeming to hold the watch or disappear. Now, she was certain. The fact that he¡¯d come down here to speak to Ron alone proved it.

    Ron swallowed and pulled uncomfortably at his flannel shirt with his free hand, the other still holding Anabelle against his side. Now knowing the fate of Amelia¡¯s mother, dead with the rest of the Yokohoma¡¯s passengers, the Admiral probably was avoiding her. Amelia was a reminder to him, a reminder of something terrible.

    ¡°I¡¯m not going to be passed off like some object.¡± Amelia crushed the paper in her hands into a tight ball. ¡°He told me I¡¯d have a choice.¡± She was putting her foot down, no matter how logical the argument, she deserved to have that discussion, to ask those questions. ¡°Watch Harrison,¡± she told Ron, ¡°and you,¡± she glared at the Ensign, ¡°you¡¯ll take me to see him, right now.¡±

    Ensign Feather took a breath, recognizing the mettle in her eyes. It seemed that steel ran in the family. She was not apt to disregard it. ¡°Follow me, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°My name¡¯s Amelia.¡± She was tired of being referred to respectfully, but impersonally.

    ¡°With all due respect, ma¡¯am, until I know you personally, I will choose to address you formally.¡± It was best not to slip into informal habits. The yeomen were trained to handle matters of diplomacy where a slip of the tongue could be a criminal offense. Feather¡¯s former post had drilled that into her. While she¡¯d grown comfortable with the Admiral, guests aboard ship were another matter entirely.

    Amelia took off after the yeoman, finding that she had to hurry her strides to keep up. ¡°Well, you and he must get along splendidly.¡± That response was colder than she¡¯d expected, considering how friendly the rest of the crew tended to be.

    ¡°I am just doing my job, ma¡¯am.¡± She¡¯d learned from the Admiral that sometimes a thick wall of patience handled things best. ¡°But I will not deny that I know more about him than the rest of the crew.¡± There were days, rare days, that the Admiral would talk about things other than his work. ¡°And I will ask that you respect him. I understand that you are family-¡±

    ¡°No, we¡¯re not.¡±

    ¡°Then why do you feel so entitled?¡± Feather countered. ¡°Why do you feel that you have the right to demand a conference with him, let alone answers?¡±

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    Guffawing, Amelia stomped after her. ¡°Who do you think you are, criticizing me? You have not been through what I¡¯ve been through!¡± Maybe it was rude, maybe it was entitled for her to act like this, but she¡¯d been ripped from her home, her life, by the man who¡¯d killed her husband. She¡¯d been held captive and tormented for days as Reeter tried to turn her into a political puppet. Then, she¡¯d been brought aboard this ship and essentially ignored by the one person who probably should have given a damn. Now she was being thrown off like unwanted cargo without a word of explanation.

    Feather stopped. She stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, pursing her red-colored lips as she tried to hold back. She shouldn¡¯t get involved. The Admiral would disapprove. He felt that, as the ship¡¯s commander, he should handle any trouble that arose. Knowing how hurtful people could be, he sought to shelter the crew, if possible. But, between this presumptuous woman and her previous interactions with the disrespectful Marine sergeant, Feather found it too hard to bite her tongue. ¡°This may surprise you, Amelia, but most everyone on this ship has a reason they¡¯re here. Most of them didn¡¯t land here by choice, and most of them didn¡¯t come from a happy little suburban life. Most of them have nowhere else to go. Most of them have never known a better home, and that includes the Admiral.¡± He had his reasons for being so loyal to the ship, as did they all. ¡°And maybe, maybe, just for a moment, you should remember that you were the evidence that got him court martialed.¡±

    It was a harsh truth, but it should reset Amelia¡¯s perspective. ¡°Because of what he did for you, he nearly lost the ship. If he had left you there, trapped in that cabin, Reeter never would have had the necessary evidence.¡± Everything but that single account had been inflated charges that never would have passed review. With those alone, no one would have moved against the Fleet Admiral. ¡°Because of you, he nearly lost his home.¡± The Admiral might act distant and unaffected, but on that count, he wasn¡¯t. Everyone needed a place to come home to.

    ¡°But you never bothered to thank him. Instead, you slapped him across the face because he wasn¡¯t here to greet you with chocolates and a sympathy card.¡± Perhaps that was the most entitled thing Feather had ever heard. ¡°The man was doing his job. Perhaps it frustrates you that the Admiral is the only thing he knows how to be anymore, but he¡¯s been through more than you know, and there are people on this ship who owe him more than you can imagine.¡± The Admiral¡¯s calm leadership had saved many lives, and granted a safe haven to many, Feather herself included.

    ¡°So, when you act like he owes you, Amelia, it¡¯s hard to watch. It¡¯s painful to those of us who know what he, we nearly lost because of you.¡± Most of the crew managed to be friendly. They didn¡¯t worry about it, but Feather knew the Admiral better than most. ¡°You¡¯re talking about the man that nearly died a two weeks ago to save this entire ship. He¡¯s not some monster. He¡¯s not some robot. He¡¯s just a man that hides his emotions because one too many people like you tried to abuse them.¡±

    Amelia twisted her expression, ¡°You do realize the man is a murderer. He killed his own father.¡±

    ¡°And in doing so, he saved your father¡¯s life.¡± Admiral Gives didn¡¯t talk much about his past, but Feather had been able to put the pieces together. He¡¯d never been cruel by intention. Circumstances forced him to be. Circumstances painted him as the monster the worlds saw. ¡°But, sure,¡± Feather snapped, starting off down the hall again, ¡°why don¡¯t you go yell at him some more.¡±

    Stubbornly, the yeoman was silent for the rest of their walk. When they arrived to the war room, she simply pointed to the door and stood to the side, arms crossed.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you need to announce me?¡± Wasn¡¯t there some procedure for this?

    ¡°You want to talk to him so bad, you can announce yourself,¡± Feather said. She didn¡¯t want to be responsible for putting the Admiral through this, even if the woman seemed to have calmed a marginal amount.

    Taking a deep breath, Amelia stepped forward and knocked then paused for a second, trying to be polite before she opened the door and stepped inside.

    The room she found on the other side was large, half of it filled with equipment that for once, looked to belong on a capable warship: a computer and screens displaying tactical data that she didn¡¯t understand. The Admiral stood over the glowing table in the center, marker in hand as he continued to work, focused on the information in front of him. ¡°Close the door,¡± he instructed without looking up.

    ¡°Right,¡± she remembered, turning around to close the hatch. She¡¯d been told to do that before, something about fire and decompression safety.

    ¡°Now,¡± the Admiral said, making a final note before capping his marker and straightening up, ¡°what can I help you with?¡±

    ¡°I started up here furious with you, you know.¡± But something about Ensign Feather¡¯s insistence had calmed her. ¡°Your assistant roughly snapped some sense into me. She¡¯s quite a determined young woman.¡± Once, Amelia would have read that as evidence of a deeper, less proper relationship, but now she wasn¡¯t so sure. And if that¡¯s what it was, she didn¡¯t want to know. ¡°I¡¯ve been harsh to you, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he agreed. ¡°But you are not the first.¡± Nor would she be the last.

    She sighed. ¡°It¡¯s hard, you know. Everything I know is gone. I can¡¯t go home. My son can¡¯t go home. You took us away from there, and then you wouldn¡¯t talk to me. I didn¡¯t know why.¡± She¡¯d waited and waited for a visit, for an explanation, but had received none.

    ¡°You never asked to talk.¡± After she¡¯d slapped him and disowned him as family, he¡¯d assumed she wanted distance.

    ¡°That¡¯s not fair.¡± She didn¡¯t know how things worked here. ¡°All I ever knew was that you were busy. You can¡¯t act like it was my fault for not requesting a meeting!¡±

    ¡°I never assigned fault,¡± he said calmly, watching her temper again rise. ¡°Given the way you reacted in the medical bay, I thought it was clear you wanted nothing to do with me.¡± That was fair, as far as he was concerned.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± Amelia cursed, running her tense fingers through her auburn hair. ¡°I just wanted you to act like you cared. To act like you really gave a damn, but that was just too much to ask, wasn¡¯t it?¡± She stifled a bitter laugh. ¡°The great Steel Prince would never give a damn about anyone.¡±

    She shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I expected. I guess I just wanted my father to be wrong about you.¡± She had wanted their savior to be some great affectionate champion and that simply wasn¡¯t him. The crew had even tried to warn her. ¡°But I guess it¡¯s hard to care about someone who¡¯s a stranger.¡± They¡¯d never spent any time together.

    With another sigh, she knew she had to let it go. She should never have come with expectations. She should never have hoped to see any part of her loving father in this man. It only reminded her that her father was completely and totally gone, dead, and she¡¯d never see him or any aspect of him again, no matter how similar the Admiral¡¯s face may look. ¡°Now, look at me,¡± she sighed, ¡°I¡¯ve made a fool of myself in front of yet another member of your crew.¡± Amelia hadn¡¯t seen her until now, standing motionless beside one of the screens, but the woman just smiled a bit in response, a kind, calming smile.

    ¡°Please, just act like I¡¯m not here.¡± She was used to it.

    Oddly, it was her voice that Amelia recognized. Wait a moment. ¡°You¡¯re the officer from the archives.¡± It was the same tall woman, almost anonymous in the black uniform worn by so many of the crew, but she had that unique hair, a silvery white color.

    ¡°Pay her no mind. She is helping me plan out the timing of our upcoming mission.¡± He cast the ghost a look, surprised that she¡¯d chosen to reveal herself, but he supposed Amelia had no way to recognize her the way the crew did.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you a records officer?¡± There was no other reason she would have been in the archives. ¡°How are you helping plan the mission?¡±

    The ghost blinked, unexpecting the question and unsure how to answer it. Luckily, the Admiral interceded before her hesitation became obvious. ¡°She is a tactical analysis officer, but she has a habit of interfering in affairs that she probably shouldn¡¯t.¡±

    The ghost narrowed her eyes, well aware he was making a point. ¡®Very subtle,¡¯ she snarked silently.

    Until mere minutes before Amelia¡¯s arrival, they¡¯d been consumed by the horror on Sagittarion and all that it represented. It had taken a long time for the ghost to calm back down, but here she was meddling in his affairs like everything was normal. As exhausting as that was, it was also a relief. Sagittarion¡¯s reality hadn¡¯t changed things, at least not yet.

    But the Admiral focused again on Amelia before she could begin to contemplate the oddities of his companion. ¡°I am sorry. You expected me, wanted me to be something I am not.¡± He couldn¡¯t be the openly affectionate, trusting person his brother had been. The cruelty of the worlds had taught him not to reveal his emotions the hard way. ¡°I mean no harm to you, your son, Mister Parker or his daughter, but my first priority is the safety and wellbeing of my ship and her crew.¡± That would always be the case. ¡°You will be safer on the Badger than travelling with us into combat.¡± She¡¯d already been injured once. There was no reason to risk it again. ¡°However, you still have a choice. I am still willing to transport you to a world of your choosing, as we discussed before.¡± She could willingly return to Reeter or try to hide on the Frontier. ¡°Is that your preference?¡±

    The question was void. There was no sincerity in it, and Amelia tried not to resent that. ¡°We¡¯ll go to the Badger.¡± She decided. ¡°Then you¡¯ll know where to find us, if you ever decide you want to be part of a family.¡±

    There was a tint of bitter defeat in that, as if acknowledging that would never happen. She was right, of course. His distance was often a habit, but on her account, it was a conscious choice. ¡°Your father wouldn¡¯t forgive me for a reason.¡± When she found out why, Amelia wouldn¡¯t either.

    ¡°Well, you robbed me of my ability to understand that when you took your file out of the archives, but I¡¯m sure you had your reasons.¡± She wasn¡¯t sure she cared what they were anymore. She¡¯d said what she needed to say. ¡°Come find me if you want to try and learn how to be human again.¡±

    Amelia looked him over once more, his calm unbroken, and then headed for the door. ¡°Goodbye,¡± she said, closing it behind her.

    The Admiral looked after her for another moment, then returned his attention to the notes on the table, picking up a marker to continue his work. Planning the mission timings had proved to be complex. There were multiple moving parts and a vast distance between them that had to be manageable if things went wrong.

    The ghost watched him, noting how robotic the movement seemed ¨C driven, mechanical. ¡°You¡¯re not a machine, you know.¡± He was allowed to hesitate, to mourn, to feel. But he locked that tumult away, caged it up and buried it.

    He didn¡¯t answer, simply continued his work, single-minded in that directive. ¡°Admiral,¡± she tried again, softer this time.

    ¡°There are a lot of days I think you would be a better human than I am.¡± She actually wanted to be involved in their affairs, wanted to care and wanted to help. He didn¡¯t seek any of that anymore, simply fulfilled his duties. It was tragic in a sense. She was brought into this universe a being of metal and rigid purpose, but fought to grow beyond that. He¡¯d been born flesh and bone and sought to forget that as often as he could.

    ¡°We are what we are, Admiral.¡± They were beings of circumstance. Neither had chosen to become what they now were. ¡°You should have reached out to her. She was willing to try, if only you were as well.¡± It would do him well to build a relationship with someone real.

    ¡°She won¡¯t forgive me when she learns what happened to her mother.¡± It was better not to put himself through that. He knew how it would end.

    ¡°You could tell her the truth, you know ¨C what really happened that day.¡±

    ¡°Do you think she would believe me?¡± The rest of the worlds never did. He had grown accustomed to taking responsibility for that massacre. ¡°No,¡± he asserted, ¡°it¡¯s better to keep my distance.¡±

    ¡°You say that about everyone.¡± He pushed everyone away, sometimes without fully realizing it. ¡°You can¡¯t live your life alone.¡±

    He looked up, ¡°I¡¯m not alone.¡± I have you.

    She hesitated to reply, recognizing that beautiful, wonderful certainty in his eyes. You shouldn¡¯t trust me the way you do. She was only a machine. She wasn¡¯t built to be a companion, only to answer authority, and she would always be limited by that. She wasn¡¯t free to take care of him the way she wanted to. She couldn¡¯t shirk the regulations, the rules. ¡°Why won¡¯t you let anyone else get close?¡± Why me? Why was she the only exception to his icy fa?ade?

    ¡°Because the people that get close get hurt. Just like Sam. Just like Christine. Just like Chief Auger.¡± He didn¡¯t like to talk about it, to think about it. ¡°They all died because of me. Them and so many others. I don¡¯t want to see that happen again.¡± He couldn¡¯t stand the hurt it brought him. ¡°But, I know you can handle yourself.¡± He wouldn¡¯t have to lose her the way he had everyone else.

    ¡°I¡¯m barely half of a functioning person. You know that.¡± The way she kept falling apart was proof. ¡°This part of me isn¡¯t even real.¡± It was nothing more than an illusion. ¡°I¡¯m just a ghost.¡±

    She thought little of herself, but she was much more than she¡¯d ever give herself credit for. She¡¯d revealed herself to Amelia, taken that risk knowing another presence would keep the conversation mostly civil. She managed, despite her inhumanity, to do and be whatever he most needed her to be. ¡°You¡¯re enough,¡± he promised.

 Part 29.2 - TRANSFERRING SHIPS

    14 hours later, Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    It was early. Even with the cup of potent back coffee one of the yeomen had brought her, Amelia felt the morning hours on her body. She¡¯d been up all night gathering the supplies they¡¯d need to live on the Badger. Here, the crew managed to find or donate whatever she and Harrison needed. On the Badger, it wouldn¡¯t be so easy, but the supply officer had dropped off a refugee kit with plain, size-adjustable clothes and other necessities. Refugees, she supposed that was what they were now.

    Everything she owned had been left behind. She had no home, no funds. Hell, she¡¯d probably lost her job by now, given how long she¡¯d been gone. She had nothing, only her son, but that in itself was something to be grateful for.

    ¡°Morning,¡± Ron greeted, holding his daughter¡¯s hand as he joined them on the hangar deck. ¡°You ready?¡±

    Amelia glanced to the two large duffel bags slung over Ron¡¯s shoulders. They looked heavy, but he didn¡¯t seem bothered. ¡°Ready as I¡¯m going to get, I suppose.¡± She¡¯d never set foot on a cargo ship before. Likely, it would be different than her brief time on the Singularity and from her cruise liner experience. In a way, she knew she¡¯d miss the Singularity. While the Admiral was beyond a point of frustration and the ship¡¯s facilities were dated, most the crew had been friendly and she wasn¡¯t blind to the fact that being family to the commanding officer had granted her certain privileges.

    ¡°It¡¯ll be an adjustment,¡± Ron agreed. He¡¯d lived on a few different spacecraft during his time in the fleet, but never one so small as the Badger. He¡¯d visited similar ships for missions, but never stayed long.

    A young man with caramel skin approached them where they stood on the edge of the hangar deck. ¡°Ah, thought I might find you here,¡± he smiled. This was a calmer part of the deck. Since it wasn¡¯t an active work zone, it was quieter and smelled less. Visitors tended to gravitate toward it, though the crew didn¡¯t care so much. They were used to the reek of fuel and hearty smell of oil. It was part of home to the pilots and technicians. ¡°I¡¯ve got something for you. A yeoman just brought it down.¡±

    Amelia took the item offered to her, turning its rectangular form over. Its corners were nearly sharp, and it looked somewhat sturdy, encased in thin metal. It had a heft to it, the shape sealed, but not hollow. ¡°What is this?¡± she asked, tracing her fingers along the port built into the corner.

    ¡°It¡¯s a remote data drive.¡± Ron recognized it. They were fairly standard on ships, but seen far less on planets where interconnected, wireless network structures existed for communications and data transfer. Planetside, one could cue up something almost instantly and have it retrieved from network storage. Ships didn¡¯t have that luxury. They stored all their information on drives like that one, because what wasn¡¯t saved locally, they wouldn¡¯t have access to until connecting to the interplanetary network, the cortex, which was often considered a hazard, as it left ships open to cyberattack.

    ¡°Aye,¡± confirmed the crewman, straightening the seams on his flight suit. ¡°I was told it had the documents you requested, ma¡¯am.¡± And that was all he¡¯d been told.

    ¡°Really?¡± That was surprising. She¡¯d put in that request late last night and been promptly told that she wouldn¡¯t receive them until the ship returned with supplies ¨C assuming it ever did.

    ¡°Ah,¡± a new voice joined. ¡°I see that found its way to you.¡±

    Amelia looked up to find Chief Ty, the first one who¡¯d greeted her on this ship. During their time here, he¡¯d become a welcome face, as he willing to tolerate Harrison¡¯s incessant questions. ¡°What do you know about this?¡±

    Ty smiled, and leveled his grease-streaked arms across his chest. ¡°I received orders to reprioritize the initialization of the ship¡¯s memory servers.¡± Usually that was the last thing done after repairs. It wasn¡¯t considered critical like repairing the armor and electrical grid, but it was still important to ensure access to the ship¡¯s wealth of data. ¡°I had to take workers off hull repairs to get that done, and honestly, I never thought I¡¯d see the day.¡± Ordinarily, the Admiral allowed nothing to take priority over immediate repairs. ¡°That, ma¡¯am, is a peace offering.¡± Nothing more, nothing less.

    A peace offering. She turned it over in her hands again, unsure how to react. Part of her wanted to be grateful, another part ecstatic, but still more of her could only be exasperated. A memory drive was a poor substitute for a caring family member.

    ¡°What¡¯s on there?¡± Ron wondered.

    ¡°Textbooks. Videos. Educational encyclopedias.¡± Presumably, it held everything she¡¯d asked for, but it was strange to hold all of that in the palm of her hand. She¡¯d grown used to accessing it all wirelessly, the books simultaneously always and never present. It felt odd to give them a physical form. ¡°It¡¯s curriculum.¡± This drive should contain all the learning materials they needed. ¡°I was a teacher back home.¡± She¡¯d begun doing lessons with Harrison and Anabelle and saw no reason to stop. ¡°I thought it would be nice to offer lessons to all the kids on the Badger.¡±

    ¡°¡­But you needed materials.¡± Ron understood now. The Badger didn¡¯t have access to lessons, textbooks and encyclopedic knowledge on general subjects, not without a connection to the cortex, but the Singularity did. Battleships stored that information on hand in their records. In fact, the Singularity¡¯s age only made her records that much more complete. The answer to every inquiry made to the cortex through the ship¡¯s service was recorded on board and ship¡¯s own sensor analyses boosted knowledge on natural phenomena. ¡°That was smart to think ahead,¡± he complemented.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to have them so soon.¡± It was a peace offering indeed to make pulling that data a priority. But had the Admiral done that as a personal favor or simply because he agreed with the objective? Likely, she knew it was the latter, but still, she was grateful.

    The pilot in front of them checked his watch. ¡°It¡¯s 0545. We¡¯d best get moving.¡± He smiled kindly, warm, though not perky in the early morning hour. ¡°Name¡¯s Anasari, I¡¯ll be your pilot to the Badger. Call me Butterfly.¡± Like many of the pilots, he preferred to hear his callsign while on duty.

    With a nod, Amelia followed the young man, Harrison holding her hand and Ron and Anabelle not far behind. Her feet trudged along the deck, feeling a strange unwillingness to leave. The white impact-resistant flooring looked scarred and dented, but it was still smooth, only its decorations worn off by scratches. In another time, she imagined it and the rest of the ship would have looked and felt entirely different. Now, however, it was weathered and worn. Originally, she¡¯d thought that a weakness, now she found it comforting. Like a rock along the coast of the ocean, it was worn down, but had weathered storm after storm, as this ship had survived battle after battle.

    Amelia had come to understand. This ship was more than a transport. To her crew, she was a steady home. Perhaps that was what the Admiral had seen in her as well, but as far as Amelia was concerned, it was impossible to know. Likely, she¡¯d never know what the Admiral¡¯s real thoughts were. What had he truly intended in rescuing her? Did he care behind that fa?ade or was she only a failed bargaining chip?

    Anasari led them to his ship, and she cast a last look to the landing bay, deep down wondering if she¡¯d ever see it again. Would the Admiral bring the Singularity back to this fleet? And if he did, would she be barred from returning on board? Probably. Amelia knew she¡¯d been rude to him, and his assistant was right, she¡¯d been nothing but an added problem since her arrival. It stung, but he had every reason except their blood relation to act so coldly.

    Ron helped her and her son strap in as the pilot readied the craft. But Amelia stayed lost in thought, even as she felt the transport begin to move. It wasn¡¯t until Ron nudged her foot with his own that her thoughts released her. By then, their surroundings had changed entirely. Gone was the light color and brightness of the flight deck, in its place were the arches of distant metal and the flat blacktop of the landing bay. There were enough lights to bathe the bay in artificial daylight, but still, it was darker. Ahead, she could see the long shape of what she assumed were the Singularity¡¯s main engines, a blue glow on their ends, but beyond that, the stars yawned out before her. There was a sense of vertigo to it, as if she could fall into that blackness, the sensation only heightened by the sudden lack of gravity, as if she was already in free-fall.

    She¡¯d been distracted on her last flight, but now the reality of it could sink in. Space was vast, and dark. Even in this sector, cluttered by the nearby ice and scattered fleet, those shapes were indistinguishable from twinkling stars to the untrained eye. View of the nearby sun was blocked by the Singularity¡¯s mass, and so it registered on Amelia for the first time just how incredibly empty it was out here. It was a grand and cruel environment, and it fit that those like the Admiral who had chosen to reside within it were suitably cold and incredibly skilled.

    Surrounded by that blackness, she understood why sailors became so endeared to their ships. Space was a bottomless ocean. Among it, planets were continents, places large enough for people to live, die and never wander further. But sailors were swimmers trying to cross that ocean, and to them, their ships were islands, places of refuge and respite. Those ships were not worlds onto themselves, but safe havens enough to call home on the sailors¡¯ arduous journey. The Singularity¡¯s size and age gave her more permanence than most, so in this moment, she understood the Admiral¡¯s inclination to stay.

    ¡°Are you alright?¡± Ron asked quietly, hearing the pilot request final takeoff clearance.

    Amelia let out a breath. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± This environment, this artificial gravity, the artificial air, the artificial light, it was her world now. Against the void, it felt welcoming, like being washed upon an island after days of drifting in the sea. But, against the terrestrial world she¡¯d once known, it felt glaringly fragile.

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    On a habitable world, one could survive. They could harvest food and water from the land and pawn their skills for pay. Those skills didn¡¯t have to serve a purpose, they could be creating art or music, or selling a product to a customer. It was simple. There was room for passion and error.

    But here, in the cold reaches of space, there wasn¡¯t room for dead weight. Everyone served a purpose. They were pilots, navigators and repairmen who had applicable skills, though they may also indulge in the arts. But even with skills, people survived by what power they held and who they knew. Amelia well understood that without the Admiral, she and her son would probably be dead. She hoped now to prove she was some use as a teacher, but truly, in a life-or-death situation, she was dead weight, with a likely emphasis on dead.

    ¡°We¡¯re going to be fine.¡± Ron assured her. He¡¯d do what he had to in order to ensure their safety. The Admiral¡¯s request only made it easier since a bag of military-grade tactical gear was now stowed in the hollow space below his seat.

    ¡°Destination¡¯s up here on the left, if you¡¯d like to take a look,¡± the pilot called, gently banking the craft.

    Amelia and her son turned their attention that way. The movement of the ship was smooth, barely a perceptible tug as they watched the Badger slide into view. The little ship wasn¡¯t much to look at, especially compared to the wicked complexity of the warship they¡¯d just departed. Essentially, the Badger presented as a box. Or as they crew closer, perhaps as a disproportionate turtle whose overgrown shell was the cargo hold and whose tiny head was the bridge. The engines weren¡¯t very pronounced, just bell-shaped nozzles that barely emerged past the ship¡¯s rectangular body. It had no visible weapons, giving its hull a smoother shape.

    Ron hadn¡¯t thought much of it, but that difference was glaring now. He¡¯d never seen the Singularity raise her armaments, but even where the main battery guns stowed, partially folded into the hull, their shadow was obvious. A fleet veteran, he was used to seeing mounted weapons, even in such massive form. But to see the Badger lacking them, it caught his attention. He truly would be the Badger¡¯s defense if anything went wrong.

    Distantly, he could hear the pilot getting docking clearances for the Badger, but it was tinny and distant-sounding. Ron could remember this feeling. It was the last moment of peace he¡¯d had before he¡¯d begun his missions with the fleet. To feel it again now, he knew how important this mission was to him. He was lucky the Admiral had seen fit to employ and supply him.

    The airlocks met with a dull clunk that echoed through the small craft. ¡°Mag-anchors secure, Badger. We¡¯re lined up. I have hard-seal. Request permission to board.¡±

    The reply came through the pilot¡¯s headset, but a few second later, he answered, ¡°10-4. Butterfly out.¡± With that, the pilot hung up his headset and stood to smile at his passengers. ¡°We¡¯ve arrived. Go ahead and unbuckle.¡± He stepped past them to the hatch and went to work on the airlock, spinning it open.

    A gentle breeze greeted them, near equal pressures equalizing across the two ships. The air tasted fresher than the little transport, but still vaguely stale. Butterfly stood aside as his passengers gathered their things and crossed the threshold into the Badger¡¯s cargo hold one by one. The Badger¡¯s passengers were there to greet them, as they had set up camp in the open space.

    For a long moment, no one said anything, but as Merlyn appeared, descending from the ship¡¯s bridge, the pilot saluted. ¡°Captain Merlyn, thank you for taking them aboard. We know they will be safer in your care.¡± Every member of the Singularity¡¯s crew knew they were headed for combat and that was no place for children.

    Merlyn pursed his lips. He could read nothing but respect and gratitude from the pilot, but he¡¯d felt forced into this request, given his last interaction with the Admiral. Still, that was between him and Admiral Gives. These passengers were not involved. ¡°I will see to their needs, Lieutenant. May Lady Luck fly with you.¡± He was no fan of the military, let alone the Singularity, but he needed the ship to return safely with those supplies.

    The pilot laughed. ¡°Oh, Lady Luck avoids us like we¡¯re the plague, Captain.¡± He¡¯d never known any of his comrades to be graced with good luck. ¡°But, we¡¯ve got the Lady Sin, and she¡¯s a bit more reliable.¡± Where luck failed them, the power of a battleship was usually enough to bail them out.

    Merlyn again pursed his lips, but said nothing. The pilot read that as his cue to leave. ¡°Permission to disembark, Captain?¡±

    ¡°Granted,¡± Merlyn said with a nod.

    The pilot stepped back and prepared to reseal the first layer of airlocks. He stopped only to smile at Ron and Amelia, ¡°Safe travels, Mister Parker, and you as well, ma¡¯am. I¡¯m sure someone will be sent to check-in when we return.¡±

    ¡°I have a name,¡± Amelia complained. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be formal with be just because I¡¯m related to-¡± She was stopped by a sharp elbow to the side, Ron subtlety nodding to the others in the hold, a warning in his eyes. It took her a moment, but she understood. The Admiral was not a popular figure. Even she could barely stand him, so there was no telling how anyone here might act knowing that she was related to him.

    Without further comment, Butterfly sealed the airlock to the hold, dull thunks continuing to emanate from the other side as he closed off the transport and prepared to disembark. Ron, Amelia and their two kids were left standing in front of a small crowd, a pile of duffels at their feet. After an awkward moment, Merlyn stepped forward. ¡°Welcome aboard,¡± he said, the greeting lacking any real warmth. ¡°I don¡¯t know why you were with the Singularity, and I don¡¯t care. Here, you come to me if there¡¯s a problem, and I will trust you not to be a problem.¡± He doubted the Steel Prince would tolerate issues on his ship, so it was a safe bet that these passengers knew how to keep their heads down.

    ¡°Of course, Captain,¡± Ron said. ¡°Thank you for having us.¡±

    Merlyn nodded. Not like I had a choice. In this situation, one didn¡¯t refuse the man with the only armed ship in the fleet, especially given said soldier¡¯s reputation. ¡°You are welcome to visit the bridge, just don¡¯t touch anything if you do.¡±

    Without further comment Merlyn stalked off toward the bow of the ship, disappearing into the cramped interior spaces. That left Ron, Amelia, Harrison and Anabelle, staring at a small sea of curious faces, and after a long moment, the Matron stepped forward with a smile, her dark curls bouncing. ¡°Welcome, welcome! Please pay no heed to the Captain. He¡¯s been a bit off ever since we visited the Singularity, but he¡¯s a good man.¡±

    There wasn¡¯t much competition in the realm of ship captains that she¡¯d met, so Amelia just nodded. The gravity here felt less real, the air distinctly flavored. The surroundings also felt more fragile, as if a wrong move could puncture the walls. Logically, Amelia knew that wasn¡¯t true, but the visible supports and bulkheads were much thinner than what she¡¯d grown accustomed to seeing aboard the Singularity. Ron moved easily, piling their bags against the wall, but when she did the same, she tripped after only two steps. Ron caught her easily, and smiled with understanding. ¡°Gravity feels a bit different.¡± He knew why, of course. Ships like the Badger had smaller artificial gravity generators. They were meant only for crew comfort, and to prevent atrophy on long hauls. Some spacers ran without them, acclimating to zero g, and running cargo station to station, but ships that carried cargo between terrestrial ports like the Badger would keep them active, and save fuel by reducing their draw. Most would run at 90 percent of planetary standard, where the difference was barely noticeable, especially since the inhabited worlds varied slightly anyway.

    Military ships and passenger liners ran exactly on the planetary standard, or as close as their systems could get. It helped in comfort, training, and the occasional scientific experiment. Since the planetary standard was based off Ariea, the Singularity, running that standard, would have felt normal to Amelia, unlike the Badger. Even among the fleet, however, proper gravity was a rarity. The fields were almost always flawed. There¡¯d be a slight angle that nagged the inner ear for a few hours upon boarding or a few spots where the pull was lighter or heavier. He¡¯d expected that from the Singularity, considering the ship¡¯s age, but her gravity had felt perhaps the most real of any ship he¡¯d ever stood aboard. It hadn¡¯t bothered him at all, and he hadn¡¯t heard any of the crew complain either, which was an oddity.

    But, among the battle fleet, the Singularity ran unique equipment. Ron didn¡¯t know any specifics, but he¡¯d heard that in passing. The Singularity¡¯s critical engineering equipment: power cores, radiation shielding, gravity generators, and engines had all been commissioned with the ship. The technology was either unique to her, or had been phased out by the rest of the fleet. Admiral Gives had refused to allow those components to be updated and replaced, leading the rest of the fleet to regard the ship as antiquated scrap. If the Admiral¡¯s apparent emotional attachment had kept him from upgrading the ship, then perhaps the fleet was right. Ron himself honestly had no clue.

    ¡°Where are you from?¡± the Matron asked, helping Amelia from Ron¡¯s arms.

    Keeping it vague, he answered, ¡°Ariea.¡±

    ¡°Oh! How wonderful! I¡¯ve heard it¡¯s a beautiful world.¡± But like most things, Helena had only seen pictures of it. It, like blue skies and green grass, was just a dream to her. ¡°But that means you must have been aboard when the Singularity split from the fleet. The crew insisted it was quite the daring escape.¡±

    Ron could think of more than one daring escape they¡¯d narrowly survived in the days he¡¯d been aboard the Singularity, but he played it callously, not wanting to invite questions. ¡°I can¡¯t say I knew much about it below decks.¡±

    ¡°That was probably scary enough.¡± The Matron said, shooing off kids who wanted further questions. She next turned her attention to Amelia, who held a piece of hardware in her hand, unsure what to do with it. ¡°What is that?¡±

    Amelia turned it over in her hands again, feeling its odd weight. Nothing shifted as she moved it. It was solid, a hefty and modular piece of equipment. ¡°It¡¯s a remote data drive,¡± she answered, the words feeling alien on her tongue. ¡°It has educational data on it. I was a teacher back home.¡±

    ¡°Yes!¡± The matron clapped her hands together. ¡°Could I ask you to share it? I brought almost nothing when we fled Sagittarion, and I was never trained as a teacher, but anything helps.¡± She didn¡¯t want these kids to grow up without an education. Sagittarion, as messy and impoverished as it was, still retained a nearly average education system. The corporations invested heavily in it, ensuring the planet housed competent workers.

    ¡°Actually, I thought I could give lessons.¡± She trailed off, uncertain, ¡°¡­If you would allow it for your wards?¡±

    ¡°That would be incredible!¡± The matron did an excited jump, her curly hair bouncing as a big earnest smile spread across her face.

    Like that, the matron looked very young, Ron noted. She could have easily still been a professional student learning a trade, had she been born on any other world. He and Ameila were both older, old enough to have married and started families of their own. The matron was probably a decade younger than either of them, but still had an incredible amount of responsibility on her shoulders. But, watching her pull Amelia away and into conversation, he supposed he¡¯d served with many officers that had been the matron¡¯s age, just out of training at the Academy. The Singularity¡¯s crew hadn¡¯t been lacking in that youth either. From what he understood, they¡¯d been a veteran crew. Almost all of them had been stationed aboard the Singularity as their second or third assignment, but their previous assignments had been cut short. They¡¯d come to the ship to either escape a worse situation or to serve a punishment. Still, Ron had found them competent, and while he understood Amelia¡¯s feelings on the topic, he didn¡¯t dislike the Admiral. The man was an acquired taste, but that remote data drive was a gesture of goodwill, as was the mission he had been given on the Badger.

 Part 29.3 - SUITING UP

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    They stood in front of a set of mirrors in one of the ship¡¯s supply rooms. The large space was stacked around the edges with storage crates, but the center of the room had been repurposed over the years into a workshop of sorts. Here, the yeomen, supply and maintenance workers would stitch and mend sheets, uniforms and costumes. Bright lights illuminated sewing machines, work tables, and racks of fabric bolts, ribbon rolls and thread spools. The scent of fresh linens perfumed the air.

    Jazmine had a big grin on his face. ¡°Well, what do you think?¡±

    Monty tugged on the sleeves of his new navy-blue suit. It fit nicely. Still, ¡°There¡¯s no way they actually wear suits in the illegal trade business.¡± That was the stuff of fiction. Hitmen dressed in camouflage, be it to blend into terrain or crowds. Stiff and clean suits just weren¡¯t practical.

    Jazmine brushed his luscious hair into place, the lightning bolt cufflinks on his sleeve glittering. ¡°I told you, Monty. Midwest Station is civilized. It¡¯s where people make deals and trades, not where they do their dirty work. Reputation is everything. If you show up dressed like a street-level thug, they¡¯ll laugh you off the station.¡±

    ¡°If it¡¯s so professional, how did you manage to work there? You¡¯re a clown, and those cufflinks look corny as hell.¡± Monty had done a few escort missions for rich businessmen. Their sense of style was usually less ostentatious than the bolt cufflinks and brightly colored pocket square Jazz wore.

    ¡°These are my calling cards. I do have a reputation to uphold.¡± He¡¯d made a name for himself as the fastest smuggler in the region, working out of Midwest Station. He¡¯d adopted brightly colored lightning bolts as his symbol, donning them on his clothes, printing them on his business cards and painting them on the hulls of his ships after a run. ¡°Showing up without that bit of my pride is about the most suspicious thing I could do, right sir?¡± He turned to the shadow that had been lingering in the room.

    ¡°Yes, Lieutenant,¡± came the calm response. ¡°Those calling cards of yours should get the stationmaster¡¯s attention.¡± That was all genuine. The calling cards, Jazmine¡¯s reputation, and his history at the station. That was all real and couldn¡¯t be faked. At the moment, it gave them the credentials they needed to carry out this mission. Without that, Admiral Gives would not have even considered such an operation.

    Jazmine¡¯s grin widened. ¡°See?¡± he nudged Monty. ¡°Even he acknowledges my reputation.¡±

    Montgomery Gaffigan was exhausted by this charade already, and the mission hadn¡¯t really even started yet. ¡°Is this really necessary, skipper?¡± he sighed.

    ¡°Unfortunately, yes, Lieutenant, it is.¡± Jazmine was known to exaggerate, and he certainly valued his appearances, but on this point, he was correct. ¡°If you are to command any degree of authenticity on Midwest Station, you must look the part.¡± The organized crime syndicates enjoyed flaunting their physical riches in any way they could ¨C including by dressing flamboyantly. The same was very much true for the heads of the worlds¡¯ corporations. Though legal, they and their private armadas mirrored the syndicates.

    Gaffigan groaned a bit and began pulling at the stiff collar of his dress shirt. He didn¡¯t spend much time out of uniform. Other clothes lacked the utility pockets he relied on to store his tools and detonators.

    Admiral Gives easily read his discomfort. ¡°If you are unwilling, Lieutenant. We can still find another candidate.¡± However, even the Admiral would admit, Gaffigan looked the part. His fiery red beard was kempt, but still made him look roguish. Out of uniform, no one would expect that he was a high-level officer on a battleship.

    Monty took the brightly colored pocket square offered to him from the supply officer. ¡°I¡¯ll do it.¡± Monty wasn¡¯t excited, but he wouldn¡¯t reject his role. ¡°Somebody¡¯s got to keep an eye on Jazz. Damn parolee might jump out on us.¡±

    Jazmine turned from studying himself in the mirror and crossed his arms in indignation. ¡°Now that¡¯s just hurtful. We¡¯ve sat next to each other on the bridge for three years! I¡¯m not sorry I had a little fun before joining up. You career men are just jealous.¡± Often, they lived and died in the military service, never knowing anything but that strict discipline.

    ¡°I am certain that Lieutenant Jazmine will mind his duties,¡± the Admiral spoke. ¡°After all, he failed outrun me three years ago, and it would be unwise to attempt it again now. I am not known for leniency when it comes to dealing with traitors.¡±

    Jazmine swallowed, eyes bulging a little bit. It was amusing to see someone so boastful suddenly unsure how to react, but truly, Jazmine was loyal. Admiral Gives knew that. He did not entertain potential threats aboard his ship, and despite his criminal history, Jazmine had never really been a threat to anyone. Even back in his smuggling days, Jazmine had never committed a violent crime. He was a thrill seeker, a man who took pride in his skills, but he¡¯d never harmed anyone or hauled injurious cargo. Most things he¡¯d hauled had been black market goods, things stolen, rebranded and sold by pirate clans. He¡¯d done a few recreational drug runs, but never transported assassins, slaves, or delivered tainted goods.

    When shortages occurred, young colonies often turned to the black market for cheap medicines and food. However, what was sold on the black market wasn¡¯t regulated by the government, and was often impure, a poison to those who consumed it. But Jazmine had never been involved in any of that. The bounty on his head had been a simple result of notoriety, and after he¡¯d been caught, the Admiral had seen no harm in offering Jazmine a post. He had real skills as a helmsman, and his pride and craving for adventure were easily appeased by the dangerous nature of the ship¡¯s missions. Jazmine fancied himself the finest pilot in the worlds. A ship like the Singularity gave him the chance to prove it.

    However, as a parolee serving time, Jazmine wasn¡¯t allowed to go on any undercover mission. That was the fleet¡¯s policy to keep parolees from fleeing. Most ship commanders wouldn¡¯t have allowed it. But then, most ship commanders didn¡¯t allow parolees to serve on their ships in the first place.

    Monty looked between the Admiral¡¯s perfect calm and Jazmine¡¯s sudden concern. He laughed a little bit, then elbowed the helmsman. ¡°You idiot, he¡¯s messing with you.¡±

    Jazmine leaned over to try to whisper quietly from the edge of his mouth, ¡°How the hell can you tell?¡± Near as he could see, the Admiral was eerily calm and perfectly serious.

    The Admiral chose not to address it. ¡°Gentlemen, you have your orders. Do you have any questions?¡± He wanted no confusion on this mission. If either of these two men made a mistake, it would cost them dearly.

    Monty scratched at his nose, which was still just slightly bruised from his stay on the Olympia. ¡°Just one, Skipper. What happens if something goes wrong?¡±

    It was a valid question, and the Admiral fully expected something to go wrong. Missions like this were never easy. ¡°Lieutenants, you do whatever you need to do to keep yourselves alive. Let me worry about the rest.¡±

    Jazmine liked that answer. ¡°Understood, sir.¡± His former employer, the Jayhawker, was no idiot. The stationmaster had plenty of tricks and plenty of spies. Jazmine had never answered to anyone he didn¡¯t respect, and that meant that the Jayhawker and the Admiral were both exceptionally clever.

    ¡°You will disembark at 1700 hours tomorrow. Beginning at 1300 hours today, we will depart from the fleet and follow an FTL trajectory to get you in range of Midwest Station.¡± From the ship¡¯s present location, it would be a grueling trek. The ship¡¯s structure could sustain the journey, but would need time to rest afterward. Still, time was of the essence. With only a week before the fleet drained its supplies, and more than a day¡¯s travel on either side just to get to Midwest Station, they only had five days to run the mission. Flying into and out of Midwest Station would also take a day, and probably longer to arrange the trade. That and a dozen other things made the timing tight. They could afford no delays. ¡°You will have to make the last two jumps to the station yourselves,¡± he told the Lieutenants. The Singularity could go no closer without her proximity being suspect.

    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    ¡°I presume that¡¯s two jumps for our dropship¡¯s drive, not Singularity¡¯s?¡± Jazmine asked. ¡°¡­In case something goes wrong?¡±

    ¡°Of course, Lieutenant.¡± They¡¯d be flying in a Rhino transport, a newer, more common version of the Warhawks usually operated on board. Its small FTL Drive had a fraction of the range that the Singularity¡¯s did. ¡°We will be one jump away, should the mission get out of hand.¡±

    ¡°Well, one jump away, except for the part where you can¡¯t jump to the Midwest Station,¡± Gaffigan reminded. ¡°If something goes wrong, we¡¯ll still be on our own for several hours, if you can find the station.¡± Legend, and truth, according to Jazmine, had it that Midwest Station circled an endless orbit around a dark planet. That planet, like many of the others that littered the Mississippi Sector, drifted. It stayed in pattern with those around it, but the planetary swarm drifted through the sector. Ranges between the rogue planets expanded and contracted in a gravitational dance, so within that cluster of planets, the flight pattern to find the station always remained the same, but the spatial coordinates were always different, the swarm¡¯s spacing and drift impossible to accurately predict.

    ¡°Leave the technicalities to me, Lieutenant.¡± Worrying over those details would do no good for Gaffigan and Jazmine. ¡°Do what you need to do to keep yourselves safe, and I will get you home.¡± Risky mission or not, the Admiral would not sacrifice the lives of this crew.

    Satisfied with the nods they gave him, Admiral Gives stepped over to the supply officer who had been helping put together the away team¡¯s disguises. Letts wasn¡¯t very tall and had a perpetually annoyed slump to his posture. His head was topped with red hair so light and thin it was nearly blond. His eyes hid behind thick lenses of big glasses that made his eyes look slightly narrowed. Letts generally made no time for politeness and small talk. He was a stiff, hardworking officer who did his tasks with impressive dedication. On his previous post, Letts had been framed for stealing and selling fleet supplies. The ensuing punishment had landed him here. Letts had been innocent, a mere patsy for a larger conspiracy, but afraid of being framed again, he obsessively tracked the whereabouts of all supplies on the ship. But, that wasn¡¯t a bad trait for a supply officer.

    ¡°Lieutenant, I trust preparations are underway to load and offload supplies?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Letts said simply. ¡°Ship¡¯s not a cargo hauler, but we¡¯ll make it work.¡± A resupply was always chaotic, but moving stolen supplies from an outlaw clan¡¯s hideout was a new level of problematic. There was no guarantee how the storage crates would be labeled, or even if they would be labeled, and the cargo movement would be a far larger quantity than a standard resupply for the ship. ¡°I am going to need extra hands.¡± Letts¡¯ usual staff wouldn¡¯t be able to move that many supplies, especially not under a time constraint.

    ¡°I understand. I anticipate that every crewman with full combat training will be needed for the assault on Crimson Heart¡¯s base of operations, but that should leave the yeomen and the majority of the engineers to help move supplies.¡± At this point, there was no guarantee, but Letts would likely have about half of the ship¡¯s crew to help move supplies and given the demand, he would need each and every one of them.

    Pursing his lips, Letts did the math. It would be enough. It had to be. There was no situation that would free up more personnel. Dedicating half the ship¡¯s crew was enough of a risk. ¡°Is that going to leave enough people to run the ship?¡±

    Without knowing the details of the raid¡¯s location, there were still no certainties involved. However, the issue with storming any facility in a boarding action and moving large quantities of cargo was that it took a lot of personnel. There was simply no way around it. ¡°I expect that a skeleton crew will be maintaining the ship¡¯s functions during the raid.¡± That was manageable, but there was an inherent risk involved. Still, in a boarding action, the ship was the last thing he worried about.

    Letts frowned, but knew better than to question it further. Information was a premium, and right now, the Admiral knew little more than he did about what to expect at Crimson Heart¡¯s base. ¡°Well, on another topic, you will be pleased to note that our on-board supply expenditures are well within acceptable tolerances. We¡¯ve got enough of the necessities to last a few months, but beyond that, I would recommend trying to expand hydroponics with more edible food. The more we can source on board, the better off we¡¯ll be.¡±

    The Admiral nodded. ¡°Make a note. Prioritize any agricultural equipment we find in the raid. Even if the civilian ships cannot afford to power it, we can.¡± Expanding hydroponics should be a priority if they wanted to survive out here. With enough time and personnel, the ship¡¯s machine shop could fabricate almost anything. Given the materials, they could make spare parts, armaments and almost anything else they might need, but there were exceptions, and food was one of them. Even expanded, hydroponics would not be able to sustain the crew¡¯s numbers. Like fuel for the ship, they could process grain or produce into a useable and preservable form, but the raw material had to come from somewhere.

    Letts pushed his glasses up his nose. ¡°Consider it done.¡± The mission¡¯s primary objective was to help the civilian fleet, but they may find a lot of things, such as food-growing equipment, that could be useful to the Singularity, even if the civilian ships lacked either the space or power to use it. ¡°We¡¯re lucky,¡± Letts said, grabbing a clipboard to update the inventory, ¡°Most newer ships are not designed to this level of independent function. New designs prioritized upping the crew numbers over independent processing. But, the Singularity, she¡¯s well equipped. We started digging into some of the manufacturing and refinery lines. The machinery¡¯s old, and hasn¡¯t been operated since the Rebellion ended, but it¡¯s all still functional.¡± Letts was impressed. ¡°Those compartments were supposedly sealed off when the equipment was shut down, but it looks like someone¡¯s been maintaining it.¡±

    ¡°Someone has been maintaining it.¡± Since the equipment hadn¡¯t been run in years, it didn¡¯t take much to maintain, just a yearly inspection and some routine care. Despite Command¡¯s insistence, there had never been any point in letting it degrade, even if it hadn¡¯t needed to be used.

    Marking something down, Letts put down the clipboard and began to reshelve the supplies that had been used to make Monty¡¯s new suit. ¡°Well, then technically that person would be in direct violation of Command¡¯s standing orders regarding the division of parts and labor-hours on the care of this ship.¡± Command heavily regulated that, especially on older ships with outdated and unused systems.

    ¡°Command does not determine the care this ship receives. I do.¡± True, he had been careful to keep any unregulated maintenance he did off the books, lest it draw Command¡¯s attention, but for the most part Command had been content to let him govern the care of what they thought was a dilapidating old wreck. The ship was hardly a wreck, but allowing that rumor to persist had proven beneficial. Command hadn¡¯t bothered looking over his shoulder, and he¡¯d been able to control exactly what information was known about the Singularity and her capabilities.

    ¡°I¡¯m aware of your authority, sir. I¡¯m just reminding you that it was illegal.¡± Letts shrugged. ¡°Command has stupid rules, but technically speaking, the Singularity is their property. ¡­Or was until you invoked the Strike Zero override.¡± After that, legality got a little hazy. It was, after all, uncharted waters.

    Legal jurisdiction be damned, no part of the Admiral would willingly let any fraction of the ship deteriorate. He hadn¡¯t regretted risking that maintenance then and he certainly didn¡¯t now. They were going to need those manufacturing and refinery lines. In fact, long-term survival isolated from Command would be impossible to imagine without that equipment. ¡°If we take care of this ship, she will take care of us,¡± but that expectation had to go both ways. A crew that neglected their ship couldn¡¯t expect her to see them through a tough scrape.

    ¡°Aye, sir. We know.¡± Everyone on the crew knew how important maintenance and repairs were. If they hadn¡¯t been motivated to do so before coming aboard, then fear of the Admiral¡¯s wrath quickly invoked a startling dedication.

    ¡°Skipper, you know we take good care of the lovely Lady Sin,¡± Monty cut in. ¡°She¡¯s a mighty fine ship, and generally more likable than you are.¡±

    Fair enough, the Admiral supposed. He knew this crew. They didn¡¯t cut corners and they didn¡¯t neglect their duties. He¡¯d personally thrown anyone who did off the ship years ago. But still, that paranoia lingered. It had to linger, such was his responsibility as the ship¡¯s commanding officer. He¡¯d seen too much to rely on blind trust.

    ¡°Sir, with most of the due respect,¡± Letts said, continuing his work, ¡°I can¡¯t do my job on this mission until you do yours, and get us to those supplies. So why don¡¯t you focus on that?¡±

    ¡°Man¡¯s got a point, Skipper.¡± Monty straightened his tie and puffed out his chest, trying to build some confidence in the appearance of his new outfit. ¡°You¡¯ve got better things to do than hover over us. We¡¯ll be fine.¡±

    He was not hovering. He was just¡­ concerned. Admiral Gives did not like sending crew into dangerous situations. It didn¡¯t matter if they were willing. He was directly responsible for their welfare. He had ordered soldiers to their deaths before, and it was an experience that he never cared to repeat.

    The plan for this mission was imperfect. The Admiral knew that. But, to that same degree, he knew no plan was ever truly perfect. At least the flaws in this one were obvious. ¡°I have full confidence in you, gentlemen, but if either of you have any concerns, you know where to find me.¡± He did the rounds every morning. This was just one stop along the path he took. For the next hour, he would visit the mess, lounges, flight deck, training room, power cores and the main engine room. The schedule he kept on those rounds was a perfected constant. Crew knew when and where to expect him, giving them the chance to avoid or interact with him, if they so desired.

 Part 30.1 - REPAIR PRIORITIES

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The exercise of doing the rounds gave Admiral Gives a feel for the crew¡¯s mood, and it generally helped morale. It gave the crew a constant, and often made them more willing to approach him. He supposed, to them, meeting him on the rounds was more relaxed than seeking him out on the bridge or in his office. They saw it as a gesture of willingness to look eye to eye with the lowest echelons of the crew. Too many of their previous officers had confined themselves to the bridge or officer¡¯s lounge, never to speak with the majority of those under their command.

    The rounds were also a reminder to himself ¨C a daily reminder of his responsibility to these people, to this crew. It was how he learned their faces and names, how he remembered their duties and personalities. If he didn¡¯t learn that, speak to them, and see them every day, it became easier to distance himself and sacrifice their lives for the mission. But he didn¡¯t want to make it easy. He didn¡¯t want to do that. And so, the rounds had become his reminder, forcing him to know those that could die on his orders.

    Before combat, these rounds were a torturous burden, and afterward, they were nothing but pain. The crew would look at him with betrayal in their eyes, as if he¡¯d wanted their comrades to die, even if that couldn¡¯t be further from the truth. But still, he forced himself through the rounds, even after combat. That pain was a penance for losing lives that he¡¯d been sworn to protect.

    Today, however, there was no betrayal in the crew¡¯s eyes. The ship had escaped without casualties from the encounter with Squadron 26 and the battle in the Wilkerson Sector. There was uncertainty among the crew, anxious about their future without Command, but the Admiral knew continuing his regular schedule of rounds was a sign of promise to them: not everything would be different. The things this ship had given them over the years, be it a sense of purpose, a home, or a sense of family, those things would still be here, even without Command.

    On his rounds, the Admiral generally let the crew approach him, but there were exceptions. The engineering chief was one of them, and Ty, like his predecessor, was found in the engineering spaces, the senior engineering staff gathered around him as he handed out shift assignments.

    Ty was a big fellow, and he was near-shouting to be heard over the sound of machinery this far aft. It was abnormally warm so near the engines too, an imperfection in the heating and cooling systems, so most of the engineers had tied the top half of their orange coveralls around their waists. Below, they wore plain uniform shirts or tank tops.

    The Admiral didn¡¯t interrupt the engineers. The Chief would speak to him when ready and it served him to observe the crew¡¯s interactions with one another. Through that, he could determine if the ship had a healthy working environment, another subtle but key detail in maintaining a stable command.

    ¡°Hi, Admiral.¡±

    Turning, he watched someone step up beside him. ¡°Ensign Smith,¡± he greeted, ¡°good morning.¡±

    Callie was one of the few crew that spoke willingly with him. On his rounds, she regularly sought him out either here or on the hangar deck. He wasn¡¯t quite sure why. His disposition was not generally considered friendly, and he wasn¡¯t much of a conversationalist. Their interactions rarely ever went beyond generic niceties, but he didn¡¯t mind. ¡°How are you doing?¡±

    Callie smiled. ¡°I¡¯m okay.¡± As one of the least experienced crew, she had no business in Chief Ty¡¯s meeting with the senior engineers, but she¡¯d come down to wait for her daily assignment. Likely, she¡¯d be working here with the main engines, as she usually did. ¡°But I guess I have you to thank for that.¡± If he hadn¡¯t come to the rescue, Command¡¯s soldiers probably would have killed her and Malweh.

    ¡°I only did my job, Ensign.¡± He thought little else of it.

    ¡°I know,¡± she said. He would never take credit beyond it being his so-called responsibility, but she knew there weren¡¯t many commanders who would have put themselves in harm¡¯s way to rescue two engineers. ¡°Still, thank you.¡± She¡¯d been scared, but once again, she was lucky enough to walk away.

    Callie was earnest. Sincere. That had always stuck out to him. Many of the crew were stiff and uncomfortable in his presence, but not her. Callie was simply what he assumed to be her usual self. It made him feel a little more welcome among the crew. Truly, though he would never outwardly admit it, he was glad to see her uninjured and unafraid. That said, there were dark rings under her eyes, rings that didn¡¯t belong on a face so young. ¡°Are you certain everything is alright, Ensign? You look tired.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she said, stretching a little. ¡°Since repairs are behind, me and a few others skipped our rack time.¡±

    Behind? ¡°When did repairs fall behind?¡±

    Callie furrowed her brows. ¡°Last night.¡±

    ¡°Why was I not appraised?¡± They were getting ready to start their operation ¨C an operation where timing was absolutely critical. In such action, his awareness of the ship¡¯s condition was crucial. ¡°What was the problem?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡± Why was he asking that?

    ¡°Why was I not informed of the issue?¡± he asked, holding a carefully neutral expression. Whatever had happened, it likely wasn¡¯t Smith¡¯s fault. ¡°I should have been informed.¡±

    ¡°You weren¡¯t informed because your orders caused the delay,¡± Ty said, stepping up behind Callie. Against his barrel of a chest, Smith seemed tiny.

    ¡°Pardon?¡± The only order Admiral Gives had given was to push as hard as possible on repairs while ensuring the engineers didn¡¯t totally exhaust themselves. As much as he needed the ship fully repaired, he also knew he needed the crew rested and aware for combat.

    Ty crossed his arms, a sheen of sweat shining on his face in the heat and humidity of the engine room. ¡°I told you I was going to have to reassign crew from repairs and that would delay the hull work.¡± Ty had found it odd, but knew better than to question orders. ¡°You said the central computer had to take priority.¡±

    The computer? Usually that was the last thing restarted after repairs. It had to be done after the power grid was completely stabilized, meaning the grid had to be patched and tested first. The computer retained some operational capability as long as it had power, but lacked most of its processing ability and stored data until fully brought back online. The hull and armor, which helped protect the ship from further damage, had obvious repair priority.

    ¡°We¡¯re only a couple hours behind,¡± Ty explained. ¡°Luckily for you, Callie and a few others came in to work during what should have been their rest period.¡± Ty had needed the extra hands to conduct repairs, but he wasn¡¯t happy to see his comrades forgoing needed rest.

    ¡°I gave specific instructions as to the priority of repairs, Chief.¡± The hull and armor went first. ¡°External repairs were to be finished before we disembark.¡±

    Ty shook his big head. ¡°They won¡¯t be. And you okayed that late last night when you told us to get the computer up and running.¡±

    ¡°I did no such thing.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you did.¡± There had been a time where Ty never would have argued with the Admiral, but becoming the engineering chief had changed him. Manners be damned, he was in the right here and he knew it. ¡°You told me last night that you needed some of the computer¡¯s files. One of the yeomen pulled them early this morning.¡± Ty could only assume it had been important. ¡°Dealing with the computer delayed us about six hours. Even with volunteers skipping rack time, we¡¯re still three hours behind.¡±

    ¡°The central computer is last priority on repairs.¡± They¡¯d been able to access everything they needed to plan the mission¡¯s opening stage. Its condition beyond that had been mostly irrelevant.

    ¡°It was. Then you called to change that.¡±

    Ty kept his tone mostly neutral, but there was a sharpness in his eyes, a frustration barely restrained. The Admiral understood his frustration because he had, in fact, not called to give those orders. ¡°Chief, I cannot afford to delay this mission.¡± The fleet needed those supplies within the week or people would start going hungry, and they had a long distance to travel. ¡°Hull repairs needed to be complete.¡±

    Ty crossed his arms. ¡°Yeah, well you should have thought of that before you told us to work on the damn computer.¡±

    I never gave those orders. The Admiral was certain of little at the moment other than that. He had purposefully prioritized repairs. The power grid and computer could be worked on while at FTL, but the hull had to be done before they disembarked. Moreover, heading anywhere beyond a secluded region like this was risky without the hull and armor repaired. Any further damage would be compounded. But why would anyone on board alter the repair orders? To sabotage the hull work? Or to get the files that had been pulled? And how? How could anyone impersonate him thoroughly enough to succeed on a call to the ship¡¯s chief engineer?

    ¡°Chief, when did you receive that call?¡± he asked.

    Ty scratched the back of his head. ¡°I suppose sometime after midnight, sir.¡±

    Midnight? He¡¯d been asleep. Had that been known? Or had it been a guess? ¡°And what files were taken from the computer?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir,¡± Ty said, now looking even more confused. ¡°You¡¯d have to ask the yeoman that grabbed them.¡±

    ¡°Were you alone when you received the call?¡±

    Ty shook his head, brows furrowed. ¡°No. Havermeyer was here. I took the call right over there.¡± He pointed to the handset mounted on the wall between the pipes. ¡°Is there something wrong?¡±

    ¡®You¡¯re asking too many questions, Admiral.¡¯

    At that moment, the ghost¡¯s interjection was unusual. But then, this entire situation was unusual. He kept his attention on Chief Ty. ¡°Did you not think it was odd that I would call in the middle of the night to circumvent both my own written orders and our traditional operating procedure?¡±

    The Chief gave a low grunt, ¡°Well, sure. But we don¡¯t know shit about what goes on aboard ship. We only know the ship. You don¡¯t often explain.¡± The engineers did their best to follow orders without question. There was usually no time to explain the reasoning.

    ¡®It was just a miscommunication,¡¯ the ghost added. ¡®You¡¯re overreacting.¡¯ Not everything was an attempt at mutiny or sabotage.

    ¡®I don¡¯t have miscommunications on my ship. Not about this.¡¯ He was well versed in engineering. He wasn¡¯t a ship commander that guessed on the correct course of action. No, he carefully planned maintenance and repair. He had the timings down to a science. ¡°Thank you for your time, Chief. I will look into the matter.¡±

    The ghost¡¯s invisible presence sighed as he turned and left the engine room. ¡®Weren¡¯t you the one disapproving of pointless witch hunts yesterday?¡¯

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡®This is not a witch hunt.¡¯ It was not a matter of fear or superstition. ¡®This is a murder trial. Somebody messed with my ship, and that¡¯s both mutiny and treason.¡¯ As far as he cared, it was a crime of the highest degree.

    ¡®Relax, won¡¯t you?¡¯ She could feel the storm of wrath gathering in his thoughts. ¡®Nobody¡¯s hurt. The ship will be just fine.¡¯

    Stalking past more pipes and humming machinery on his way out of the engineering spaces, the Admiral replied, ¡®Forgiving the fact it was apparently done by my likeness, the operating capability of this ship was altered without my knowledge. Allowing that to go unaddressed is not only careless, but dangerous.¡¯ Perhaps it wasn¡¯t a very direct act of sabotage, but it was sabotage all the same. ¡®Thousands of refugees are counting on this ship for food, supplies and protection. I would be neglecting my duties if I allowed anything to jeopardize her or this mission.¡¯ Even something this slight had to be addressed, lest it prove to be a threat.

    ¡®There¡¯s no sense in telling you to leave it alone, then?¡¯

    Mid-step, he stopped. This entire situation had been odd since the beginning. No, more than odd, downright strange. But, perhaps the oddest of all was how lax the ghost had been. She¡¯d shown no concern when something like this arguably should have concerned her more than him.

    ¡®I¡¯d tell you if something endangered the mission. You know that,¡¯ she promised. He had better things to do with his time than worry about some minor event like this.

    He looked up, narrowing his eyes. ¡®Why don¡¯t you want me to investigate?¡¯

    ¡®Do you remember that time the Marines wired a speaker with creepy voice recordings into the pilots¡¯ ready room?¡¯

    Of course he remembered. ¡®Their shoddy wiring job started a fire.¡¯

    ¡®A really small one,¡¯ she huffed. ¡®And you were ready to throw all of them in the brig for two months over a harmless prank until I talked you out of it.¡¯ No one had been hurt. ¡®This is kind of like that.¡¯

    He withheld a scowl. ¡®I¡¯d argue this is more severe than a prank.¡¯ The intent of the prank had been clear and harmless. This incident left the ship in a weakened condition on the verge of a mission critical to thousands of lives.

    ¡®It¡¯s fine.¡¯ Embarking without complete hull repairs was a risk, but even delayed, the repairs would likely be completed before they found a fight. ¡®No one¡¯s been hurt and that¡¯s all that matters. The fleet will want an announcement before we leave. That will be a better use of your time.¡¯ Communication to the fleet always dissolved into a shouting match of accusations if anyone other than him made the call.

    ¡®No.¡¯ That wasn¡¯t a better use of his time. ¡®Indirectly or not, somebody messed with my ship. And they impersonated me to do it.¡¯ Not much got under his skin. He¡¯d learned to tolerate all kinds of accusations and insults. But framing him as a traitor to his ship? That he couldn¡¯t allow. ¡®An example has to be made.¡¯ Nobody messed with the Singularity and got away with it, especially hijacking his likeness to do it.

    Determination surged through him, sharpened to a point. The ghost recognized there was no malice in it, but even justice could turn someone as loyal as him unforgiving.

    ¡®Which files were taken from the central computer?¡¯ Had anything critical been exposed?

    ¡®I¡¯m not going to answer that.¡¯ She had already said this was nothing worse than a prank. He need not get involved.

    Detouring from his path out, he turned back into the cramped, maze-like engineering spaces. He ducked easily under a few pipes, more than familiar with this part of the ship, and headed towards one of the coolant pumps. The tight path opened up in front of it, pipes bowing up and around the massive pump, as its throaty sound drowned out the regular noise of the engines.

    It was secluded enough.

    ¡°You know I can run this investigation myself.¡± He didn¡¯t technically need her help, though it would be beneficial. ¡°I will find who is responsible.¡± And they would be held accountable however he saw fit.

    ¡°You can try,¡± the ghost countered, manifesting just outside his immediate line of sight. ¡°But you will not succeed.¡± This investigation was a waste of his time.

    ¡°And why not?¡±

    ¡°Because you are the one that called Chief Ty. You were the one that countermanded the repair orders. And your authority codes were used to make copies of the central computer¡¯s files.¡± Everything he found in that investigation would be traced straight back to him.

    ¡°That is not possible.¡± Sure, someone could falsify his voice, but the command codes? Certainly not. He¡¯d given a solemn oath to protect those command codes until death, and he meant it. Even under torture, he had refused to surrender any of them, even those for tasks as mundane as authorizing file copies from the ship¡¯s database.

    ¡°It¡¯s plenty possible.¡± You idiot. He couldn¡¯t see the answer was effectively right in front of him. ¡°Now, stop overreacting-¡±

    ¡°Overreacting?¡± he lowered his tone. ¡°How exactly am I overreacting? There is a potential threat aboard this ship that can not only mimic me, but apparently, according you, somehow has access to my command codes.¡± Those override codes virtually guaranteed control over every system on the ship: helm, navigations, weapons, hell, even life support. ¡°Now, I¡¯d argue that¡¯s a pretty big problem. What I can not figure out is why you¡¯re so unconcerned.¡± In fact, this attitude of hers was completely new to him. She often had some snark in her comments, but this was just genuinely unhelpful.

    A potential threat, you say. ¡°Is that what I am? A potential threat?¡±

    He glared, instinctively stiffening his posture. ¡°I was not talking about you.¡±

    ¡°Sure, you were.¡± She watched him prepare to protest again and cut him off. ¡°You¡¯re an idiot.¡± The man was arguably brilliant, but in this situation, he was a fool. It was both endearing and exhausting. ¡°You¡¯ve never surrendered even a digit of those command codes, Admiral.¡± They both knew that. ¡°So how exactly do you think your codes ended up authorizing those file copies?¡±

    ¡°You seem to know, so why don¡¯t you tell me,¡± he challenged. ¡°I didn¡¯t input them.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to.¡± True, authorization codes were required, but they didn¡¯t necessarily need to be his. However, people didn¡¯t ask questions when his name was on the orders, and that was easy to take advantage of. ¡°You might be the only person on this ship that knows those codes, but in order to validate them, the ship itself also knows them.¡±

    ¡°So what?¡± No one would be able to pry those codes from the ship. There were dozens of security measures in place to prevent that.

    The answer was obvious, he just trusted her too much to see it. ¡°I have absolute control over this machine, Admiral. Everything it knows, I know.¡± Even the ship¡¯s most protected data was at her call. ¡°This so-called threat you¡¯re looking for? It¡¯s me.¡±

    He stared at her pale face for a moment, slow to comprehend. Then, all of a sudden, it made too much sense. She had done this. ¡°What the hell were you thinking?¡± he demanded, shocked, then he reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. ¡°No, never mind. I don¡¯t care. Delaying those repairs for any reason was unacceptable, not to mention the fact that you completely disregarded my authority.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not why you¡¯re angry, though.¡± Anger was not his emotion. He didn¡¯t regularly tend towards it. He¡¯d never put much pride toward his rank or authority. So, she knew, standing with her back against the visible part of the pump, that her disregarding him wasn¡¯t the issue at hand.

    ¡°Of course not.¡± No, he had a better reason to be pissed off. ¡°You have jeopardized the entire ship.¡± Incomplete hull repairs altered the ship¡¯s condition and tactical ability. If he hadn¡¯t learned of the change, he could have ordered the wrong maneuver in combat and inadvertently allowed the ship to sustain severe damage. It could have been a disaster.

    ¡°Repairs are only a few hours behind.¡± Silently, she¡¯d helped the crew along with the computer and power grid repairs. ¡°I¡¯d hardly call it a delay. They¡¯ve nearly finished anyway.¡±

    ¡°Then let¡¯s not mention the fact that I didn¡¯t know about the orders I apparently gave.¡± He worked hard to present an organized and calm persona to the crew. This little ¡®incident¡¯ uprooted that with surprising effectiveness.

    There was frustration in him, she realized. It was not anger, but a powerful frustration. It was as well-meaning as he ever was, tempered to protect his people. ¡°Admiral, I made this choice. You have always told me that is my right.¡±

    ¡°That is your right.¡± He had to admit that. As a functioning and sentient mind, she had the right to make her own decisions. Even if this had come at an inopportune moment, it would be wrong to chastise her for exercising that right. ¡°But, it is my job to ensure the safety and survival of this ship and her crew. I had hoped, if we were in disagreement, that you would talk to me.¡± He hated fighting. He knew exactly how painful harsh words could be, and this felt uncomfortably close to a fight, even if his frustration stemmed mostly from concern. Had he done something wrong? Was there a reason the ghost had not commented on the repair orders when they had first been given? ¡°You could have come to me at any point when I weighed the options and gave my orders.¡±

    Orders to protect your ship and crew, she knew. That unshakable loyalty of his had compelled him to give whatever orders he thought best for the ship and crew without other concerns. He was often single-minded in that regard. Repairs were important. That had never been in doubt, but sometimes other things were more important, and this trade had been worth it. Worth it to me, she thought, standing before this man who called her a friend.

    He rubbed the bridge of his nose again, trying to ease the frustrations in his thoughts. ¡°At least there isn¡¯t a saboteur on board.¡± This situation was serious, but it wasn¡¯t overtly dangerous. The ghost, whatever motive she may have had, cared for this crew. She would bring them no harm. ¡°Will you at least tell me why?¡± Why would she take action like this instead of coming to him?

    She had hoped to avoid this conversation. That was the entire reason she¡¯d subverted his authority. She hadn¡¯t feared a refusal, just wanted to avoid the conversation. Still, the ghost recognized that she¡¯d made an error in judgement. Despite her best intentions, she had put him in a bad situation with the crew.

    ¡°I know you, Admiral,¡± she said softly. Others probably thought he was scary when he got that look in his eyes. His cold stoicism and tense posture often made him look ready for a fight, but she knew him better than that. ¡°You would have regretted letting Amelia leave like that. You¡¯ll deny it, but I know you care about her.¡± He was not the uncaring persona that he presented to the worlds. ¡°Yet, I also know you will prioritize your ship above everything. That¡¯s who you are.¡± His loyalty defined him when all else failed. ¡°But, that is not all you are.¡± He had a life outside his duties. Even if he kept pushing them away, he had a family, he had desires, and she hoped he would have a future beyond this chaos.

    Late last night, one of the yeomen had relayed a request from Amelia. She had wanted educational supplies: teaching materials and encyclopedias, the likes of which a ship like the Badger wouldn¡¯t have access to. As he did with all things, the Admiral had weighed it with respect to his duties.

    To get that information for Amelia meant jeopardizing the order of repairs. And even knowing that Amelia would read the refusal as personal and resent him, he still couldn¡¯t justify it. Acknowledging that Amelia may never forgive him, even if he gave her those files at a later time, the risk to repairs still wasn¡¯t worth it. Not to him.

    But the ghost¡¯s telepathy had seen something else in his thoughts. Not doubt, or even regret. Something sadder and darker. Acceptance. As he had sorted that request into the proper spot on his desk for reviewal at a later time, he had accepted that Amelia was going to hate him and that his own family would never want anything to do with him. He accepted that as the price of doing his job, the price of his loyalty.

    And in that moment, the ghost could only remember all the other acceptances she¡¯d once been too blind to recognize ¨C the ones that seemed too obvious now. And then, of all the things, she had remembered his trust. He trusted her, without thought, without reason: unbreakable trust. Unstable and malfunctioning, still somehow, she had earned that. I want to be worthy. She desperately wanted to be worthy of that trust. But she wasn¡¯t. She was a damaged weapon of war that cursed everything she touched.

    But, last night, she had seen a choice, a chance to be worthy, even if only for a moment. ¡°I impersonated you to give that order.¡± It had been easy. This voice of hers was just a database of pre-recorded sounds. Technically, it wasn¡¯t hers. She was a machine and she possessed none of her own. But she did have the complete logs and recordings of everything that had happened aboard this ship ¨C every transmission, every communication, every order. It was plenty enough to string together a new voice ¨C his. And it was indistinguishable from the real thing, especially coupled with her telepathy. In all manner except reality, Admiral Gives had given Chief Ty an order to alter the repair priorities. ¡°You were too loyal to me to help Amelia,¡± the ghost said, ¡°so I did it for you.¡±

    Maybe it had been right, maybe it had been wrong, but she would not make him choose between his ship and every other aspect of his life. He deserved better than that. ¡°The data she asked for is on a remote data drive. She took it with her to the Badger this morning. I imagine she¡¯ll use it to start teaching again.¡±

    He took in the ghost¡¯s sincere eyes. They were kind. He rarely found her to be anything but kind. Yet, now, as it too often was, it was the sacrificial kindness of a machine built to save everyone but herself. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to do that.¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t have to. I chose to.¡± She was used to being a passenger in most matters. She didn¡¯t make decisions. She didn¡¯t argue points. For most of her existence, she had been silent support. But she saw what the Admiral went through. She recognized how hard he worked, and she could feel his pain, however hard he tried to numb it. ¡°I made you a promise.¡±

    He wanted to give her a righteous lecture on recklessness. But, he couldn¡¯t. None of the words would come to him. Instead, he allowed a small, but honest, ¡°Thank you.¡±

    The storms in his eyes had cleared. This gesture meant something incredible to him, and that loyalty of his had never been stronger. ¡°You are welcome.¡± He was welcome to anything and everything she could offer him.

    The moment sat between them for a time, but as it always did, responsibility nagged him. He needed to finish the rounds now that this mystery was resolved. ¡°Next time, keep me appraised when you¡¯re going to do something stupid.¡±

    She rolled her eyes. ¡°Oh, I¡¯m the one going to do something stupid?¡± Yeah, right. ¡°You¡¯re the idiot.¡±

 Part 30.2 - EMERGENCY REPAIR TRAINING

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    He met Ensign Smith again at the end of his rounds. She was wringing her hands beside one of the entrances to the hangar deck. The toe of her work boot tapped an unsteady rhythm on the impact resistant flooring. ¡°You look nervous, Ensign.¡± That was odd for someone usually known for their sunny disposition.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± she said, dropping her hands to her sides. ¡°Was everything all right? You left the engine room in a hurry.¡±

    ¡°Everything is fine, Ensign.¡± Loathingly, he took the ghost¡¯s lame excuse for the repair order change. ¡°There was a miscommunication, but it is nothing to be concerned about.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s good.¡± Consciously, she tried to stop her foot from tapping, but the moment she relaxed, it started up again, a barely audible tap, tap, tap.

    Admiral Gives had seen a lot of soldiers try to put on a brave face. Often, they thought appearing fearless would make them stronger, but it was rare to see someone fail so spectacularly. It was all too obvious, even by her skittering eye contact, that she was beyond nervous. Habitually, he checked the surrounding deck for a cause, but found none. The hangar deck seemed to be in normal pre-mission operations, if a little less busy than usual. A large amount of personnel were still dedicated to repairs, but the minimum amount had been reassigned to do equipment checks here. They were inspecting and reordering the support craft by towing them around and into ready positions.

    Nothing about that was unusual. Even Callie, who was still relatively inexperienced, would have seen this multiple times before. Truly, the only oddity here was her, standing here by the exit. ¡°Is there something wrong, Ensign?¡±

    Her boot began to tap faster, ¡°No, I¡¯m fine.¡±

    ¡°You do not seem very certain of that, Ensign.¡± In fact, by the way she kept glancing at the door, she seemed to be waiting for someone. She was distracted, their conversation seemingly background noise. She wasn¡¯t trying to be rude, something else had just wholly consumed her attention. Rather than raise his voice, the Admiral simply stepped between her and the door. Predictably, his appearance there snapped her eyes back into focus. ¡°Something is wrong.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t a question, Callie registered. It was simply a statement, but then, he had always been attentive when things were wrong. Some crewmembers found his steely countenance uncaring, but she found it calming. ¡°Sorry, Admiral. The Chief didn¡¯t give me my usual rotation today.¡± Usually, she worked down in the engine room. Her small stature made it easy to slip between the pipes where the burlier engineers couldn¡¯t go. ¡°He wanted me to give to give the emergency repair training, but¡­¡± She wasn¡¯t comfortable with the assignment.

    Callie didn¡¯t specify any further. The Admiral didn¡¯t need her to. The emergency repair training was given to new crewmen when they came aboard, and there was only one new crewman. ¡°Sergeant Cortana.¡±

    She tried not to nod, but her body ignored her attempt to still it. ¡°I don¡¯t mind giving the training,¡± she insisted. She didn¡¯t want to cause an issue. ¡°I know it¡¯s important!¡± Those were the Admiral¡¯s standing orders for a reason. ¡°I just haven¡¯t been alone with her since¡­¡±

    ¡°The incident in the starboard bow.¡± When he¡¯d walked in, Cortana had pressed Callie into the floor with a combat boot digging into her back. Anyone would feel unsafe working with their former captor, and he¡¯d seen that discomfort first-hand after repelling the boarders. ¡°You should not have been given this assignment, Ensign.¡± It clearly made her anxious, and Sergeant Cortana was not the type to apologize.

    ¡°The Chief was busy. He didn¡¯t mean anything by it.¡± Ty just hadn¡¯t been thinking when he¡¯d assigned her this duty. ¡°I¡¯m going to have to get comfortable with her eventually. I can¡¯t avoid her forever if we¡¯re all stuck aboard ship.¡± It was just a matter of time before she met the Marine by the barracks, in the mess or in the lounge.

    That was a mature disposition for someone who looked so young, but he wasn¡¯t convinced Cortana would share it. Cortana¡¯s temper had made an all too recent attempt on his life, and he was not willing to subject one of the most vulnerable members of his crew to the same fate. She was just a kid. ¡°I will find a replacement for this assignment, Ensign.¡±

    Callie looked up to him, noting the seriousness in his blue eyes. A part of her wanted nothing more. She didn¡¯t want to be alone with Cortana again. The mere sight of the Marine made her knees tremble, a constant reminder that she was small and weak, even with self-defense training. Cortana had easily subdued her, and so had the commados that captured her and Malweh. ¡°It¡¯ll be alright,¡± she said, not believing it. ¡°You already taught her a lesson, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    Yes, he liked to think he had, but that wasn¡¯t the point. ¡°Return to repair duties, Ensign. I will assign someone else to give the training, and failing that, I will do it myself.¡± But, he would not allow Smith to do it alone.

    ¡°Admiral, I appreciate the gesture, I do,¡± Callie said earnestly, ¡°but I can do this job just as well as anyone else.¡± Her history with Cortana complicated matters, but Callie knew it would only get worse if Cortana thought the Admiral was protecting her.

    ¡°I am not questioning your ability, Ensign.¡± He trusted the ability of every engineer on board, or else they would not be here. ¡°I would simply rather you work with the ship.¡±

    It settled in on her that he wasn¡¯t taking no for an answer, and she felt a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. ¡°Thank you!¡± She could breathe again. ¡°I won¡¯t let you down!¡± She¡¯d repair everything she could get her hands on!

    I wasn¡¯t ever worried about the ship, he mused, watching the Ensign grab her toolbox and dash off.

    Focusing now on the void reassigning Smith had left, he considered the job of training Cortana on repairs. Tempted as he was to forgo it, he couldn¡¯t give Cortana another reason to feel alienated from the rest of the crew. The other Marines had all been put through this training, and so would she. However, he wasn¡¯t stupid enough to think giving that training personally was a good idea. Cortana hated him. She¡¯d accuse him of singling her out and refusing to trust her around the other crewmembers.

    Naturally, he didn¡¯t trust her, but she didn¡¯t need to know that. In reality, he needed someone he did trust to strictly and fairly lay down this training. Someone who would watch over Cortana for signs of malintent, and as far as the Admiral cared, the best man for the job was obvious. He stepped over to the handset mounted on the nearest wall, and waited for internal comms to link up. ¡°This is the Admiral. Get me Ensign Havermeyer.¡±

    Ten minutes later, Havermeyer was briefed on the task and ready, if not quite willing. ¡°I understand why you reassigned Smith, sir, but you know I can¡¯t agree to this.¡±

    ¡°Then it is a good thing I am not asking for your agreement, Ensign.¡± This was an order.

    Havermeyer tensed his jaw, staring down the Admiral¡¯s emotionless expression. It seemed this would be one of the man¡¯s more infuriating instances. ¡°Sir, you know exactly why I am against this.¡±

    Havermeyer was a few inches of height taller than the Admiral, and that made it easier to see the elegant tattoos winding just above his shirt collar. Ritual tattoos such as those were rare ¨C symbols and script artistically done in old, dead languages only the Technologists understood. ¡°The reason you do not want to do this is exactly the reason I assigned it to you, Ensign.¡± In line with his faith, Havermeyer practiced a degree of martial arts. Unlike Smith, he was capable of defending himself against a trained Marine. And, of course, ¡°I know you will take care of yourself and my ship.¡±

    ¡°Sir,¡± Havermeyer protested, ¡°that¡¯s the problem. You are asking me to train an unwilling person to work on my patron Saint.¡± No, not only someone unwilling, but someone untrustworthy. ¡°You are asking me to suspend some of my most important beliefs.¡±

    ¡°I am not asking, Ensign. I am ordering.¡± This wasn¡¯t a negotiation. Failing to give Cortana that training would only push her loyalties toward Command. The circumstances were not ideal, given her loyalties being so divided, but it had to be done. To become loyal, she needed to feel like a trusted member of the crew, and every other member of the crew, willing or not, had gone through this training.

    Havermeyer met the Admiral¡¯s stare, almost expecting to find malice in his stormy blue eyes. ¡°In my faith, it is forbidden to train unwilling hands to sustain a machine, especially a Saintess. To do so only creates the grounds for sabotage. And sabotage, as I know you and I agree, is an unforgivable sin.¡± No Technologist would even consider such a heinous act. Even the Ravenish, in their muddle of collective insanity, would never commit sabotage against the ships they nested aboard.

    ¡°I am not asking you to show Cortana anything beyond basic repair. In fact, I would distinctly prefer you keep her away from the ship¡¯s critical systems.¡± This gesture of trust towards Cortana didn¡¯t need to give her a how-to guide for sabotage.

    So, Havermeyer thought, you acknowledge the threat of sabotage and still insist? He reached up to wrap a hand around the delicate piece of scrap metal on his neck. ¡°Anything I may teach Cortana with the intention of helping my Saint could be used to hurt her. I will pray for my own forgiveness, but are you prepared to take accountability for that?¡±

    ¡°Considering with this ship has put me through so far today, Ensign, absolutely.¡± Was that petty? Yes, yes it was. ¡°But, if anyone can dissuade the Sergeant from potential sabotage, it is you.¡± At least Havermeyer had a better shot than the Admiral did. ¡°Best to get to it,¡± he added, seeing Cortana step through the nearby door.

    Havermeyer knew arguing further was futile, so he watched the man leave. It took the Admiral only a few seconds to vanish into the bustle of the hangar deck. Cortana would never know he¡¯d been involved. Havermeyer savored the few seconds of Cortana¡¯s walk from the door and turned his thoughts to the ship around him. I sometimes wonder why you tolerate that man. Havermeyer would never accuse the Admiral of being disloyal to the ship, but the man sometimes showed a certain level of savagery. In the end, Havermeyer supposed that was the difference between a trained soldier and a practicing monk.

    ¡°Hey.¡± Cortana said, coming up beside him. ¡°You¡¯re not Smith.¡±

    ¡°Ah, no. There was a last minute personnel switch. I¡¯m Havermeyer, and I¡¯ll be training you.¡±

    Cortana put a disgruntled hand on her hip. Of course. She should have known that pipsqueak would find a way out of this. Whatever. ¡°Then let¡¯s get this over with, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± Havermeyer bowed his head. ¡°Follow me.¡±

    Cortana thought little of the engineer as he led her across the hangar deck. The wide-open deck was as loud as it had been the first time, back when she¡¯d first come aboard. Only this time the forklifts were towing fighters and dropships into ready positions, where they had been moving cargo before. The air was still bitter, the stench of fuel nearly burning her nostrils, but it was less crowded than before. Supply runners and inventory officers were nowhere to be found now. Nearly everyone she saw was in some variety of the orange work overalls the man leading her wore.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°This way,¡± Havermeyer said, and veered right, opening a hatch to lead her into one of the ship¡¯s many corridors. Like that, the noise and smells of the hangar deck vanished. It became quiet. With purpose, Havermeyer led her onward, down a deck and through several twists and turns to the point where she wasn¡¯t sure where she was anymore. There, she found a dead end to one of the ship¡¯s many, many sealed store rooms.

    This dead-end corridor wasn¡¯t empty though. Several of the bulkheads had been removed and set aside. A few wires had been pulled free, left to hang outside the channels where they usually ran. An array of tools lay in front of the disturbed space. They were placed carefully beside a mat of colorful textiles, stitched in patterns she¡¯d never seen before. On the other side of the mat, away from the work area, sat a small decorative vessel. Ceramic, it was etched and glazed in intricate designs. It was small, small enough to easily fit into the palm of her hand. It would likely not have drawn her attention, save the scent that was wafting from it.

    Three small stalks rose from the vessel¡¯s neck. They looked like bamboo, save the teal to indigo gradient that ran along their length. They, resting in that vase with perfect symmetry, looked beautiful. The scent of eucalyptus and mint that wafted in the air nearby was equally tantalizing. It had been so long since she smelled anything so fresh. ¡°What is that?¡±

    ¡°Essential oils,¡± Havermeyer answered, kneeling down. Carefully, he removed the aromatic stalks and wrapped them in satin. Then, he corked the ceramic vessel and folded up the work mat, stacking them all neatly on the other side of the corridor. ¡°My apologies, Sergeant. I was in the middle of something when I received the orders to train you.¡± He began reordering the tools and made a quick sweep to make sure nothing at his worksite had been disturbed. ¡°We may begin when you are ready.¡±

    Cortana heard him, but she was much more fascinated by the items Havermeyer had just set aside. Reaching out, she took the tiny bauble into her hand. It was surprisingly light, and its clay shape was not quite uniform, as if it had been formed by hand.

    ¡°Please put that down.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± Cortana said, holding it up to the light. It was beautiful. The glaze was a glossy semi-transparent black and silver etchings were visible beneath.

    ¡°It¡¯s a ceremonial vessel of tribute,¡± Havermeyer said, snatching it from her hand.

    ¡°Alright, calm down, I wasn¡¯t going to drop it.¡± She was just curious. That taken from her, she knelt and began to run her hands along the fabric of the mat. It too, looked to be handmade, the stitching clean, but not perfectly even. The edges of the fabric felt rougher than she¡¯d anticipated, as if it had been torn from something larger. It was as beautiful as the ceramic vase had been, and she recognized some of the symbols on it. Most were legendary Ariean constellations, but another seemed to be a stylized version of the UCSC fleet insignia. She reached out to unfold more of the fabric, but a large hand latched itself onto her forearm.

    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Sergeant.¡±

    Cortana tore her hand out of his grip. ¡°Don¡¯t touch me.¡±

    ¡°Then do not touch my belongings.¡± Havermeyer countered. It was bad enough he had to teach this woman sacred knowledge. He did not want her digging through his personal effects.

    ¡°What is all that stuff?¡± she asked, as the clean scent of eucalyptus and mint faded. ¡°Are you some kind of voodooist?¡± The last time she¡¯d seen anything like that had been back on Ariea when some of her basic training buddies had dared her to go get her fortune read by the creepy woman on the edge of town that called herself a seer.

    ¡°I¡¯m a monk,¡± Havermeyer said flatly.

    Cortana crossed her arms. ¡°You don¡¯t look like a monk.¡± He just looked a little young to be totally bald.

    Havermeyer considered patience to be a core principle of his faith, but Cortana seemed intent on pushing him. Without a word, he shrugged off the top half of his coveralls and tied them around his waist. The sleeveless tunic he wore beneath revealed more of the ink on his arms and neck. ¡°Is this monk-like enough for you?¡±

    Cortana took note of the tattoos and nodded. ¡°I can¡¯t help but wonder why a man of arcane faith like yourself is on a spaceship, though.¡± It seemed odd. ¡°I figured you guys just stayed holed up in a mountain monastery your whole lives.¡±

    ¡°That,¡± Havermeyer said, kneeling down, ¡°would depend on the faith one follows. Some seek peace and harmony in seclusion. Mine acts through study and service. I belong to a Technologist sect.¡±

    Wow, Cortana thought, watching Havermeyer study the mass of wires in front of him. ¡°I didn¡¯t think tech-monks were real.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re real,¡± Havermeyer said simply. Ordinarily, the topic of his faith was welcome, but with this particular person, it was not. Cortana lacked the sense to curb her curiosity with respect.

    ¡°I mean, really? You actually worship machines?¡± she scrunched up her face. ¡°Why would you want to do that?¡±

    It was clear to him, in that moment, that Cortana had led a somewhat sheltered life. She¡¯d been surrounded by like-minded people, never to engage with those who had divergent beliefs. It had not occurred to her how or why someone might believe in something else. ¡°My people are not arcane voodooists. We do not practice spirit magics or ritual sacrifices,¡± but someone like her may believe as such, given that anyone in the fleet was more likely to encounter the Ravenish cult than a traditionalist member of the faith. ¡°We are a mostly scientific people, but we accept things we do not yet understand, and we believe humanity owes a service to those machines that have served us.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t really make sense.¡±

    ¡°Our service is a matter of gratitude.¡± Not all of humanity was ungrateful to the machines that had guided them to the stars and beyond. ¡°Some of the mysteries others call magic are merely facts. Technology comes and goes, Sergeant. There have been machines capable of things grander than you or I can imagine. But what was necessary at the time may not be necessary now, and so, the technology is lost. My people, through our traditions, maintain the care of lost technologies, even if current sciences fail to understand them.¡± He had always found an elegance in the faith. Much of it was so logical and the tomes of the Technologists recorded centuries of history the rest of the worlds had since lost. ¡°We are a loyal, peaceful people.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d hesitate to call the Ravenish peaceful,¡± Cortana countered.

    ¡°The Ravenish are not my people. Once, their ancestors were brothers in the faith, but they are now lost. There is no logic in their minds, Sergeant. They are a sick, violent breed teetering on the edge of constant starvation.¡± It was clear she¡¯d never met them or she would not have brought it up so callously. ¡°Pray that you never encounter them. The things they do¡­ A stable mind could hardly fathom them.¡± Very few people met the Ravenish and lived. Even fewer returned with their own minds intact. ¡°No one is born into the Ravenish, Sergeant. No one chooses to become them. They kill most of whom they come across. And yet, their numbers never dwindle. They can sense a weak mind. They can sculpt a twisted ambition. They can instill a hunger unsatisfied by all food. In the end, it perforates your desires, controls your dreams, and nothing else can make sense. There becomes only the Ravenish.¡± No one knew how it had begun. No one outside the Ravenish even understood their goals, but they had become true creatures of the dark, human only in name.

    Havermeyer spoke softly, and a chill ran down her spine, as much as she hated herself it. ¡°Have you ever met one of the Ravenish¡¯s survivors?¡± Were those stories true? Did the survivors lapse into their own insanity? Did they live cursed lives?

    ¡°Yes,¡± he answered, ¡°I have. Everyone on this ship has, including you.¡±

    ¡°We have a survivor on the crew?¡±

    ¡°At least one, probably more.¡± The Ravenish were not few in number. Those who lived lives between the worlds were bound eventually to encounter them. Of course, having an encounter and becoming a survivor were two different tales. Ravenish ships were sunk on sight for a reason. ¡°Most survivors do not dwindle into insanity, Sergeant.¡± Many suffered a more tragic fate when survivor¡¯s guilt caught up to them, but a few coped and rebuilt normal lives. It was a drab conversation, and Havermeyer believed it had reached its end. ¡°Come, Sergeant, we need to begin your training.¡± He did not intend this to last all day.

    She huffed, but stepped up behind him. Even kneeling, Havermeyer came up to her chest, a large man. ¡°What is the bare minimum I¡¯m required to do here?¡± she really had no interest in it.

    ¡°Wiring,¡± Havermeyer answered. ¡°Your Marine SAR training covered how to use a plasma torch and seal a hull puncture. But, where we generally need help with repairs is in the wiring.¡± Gesturing to the array of multi-colored wires running behind the bulkheads, he continued. ¡°Wires run to every compartment on every deck of this ship. They are wound throughout her structure, wrapped and arranged just how they need to be for everything on their grid to function. If we are to call the superstructure bone, then wiring becomes the ship¡¯s nerves. One individual wire is not so critical, but the network they form is. Every nerve she loses, she becomes less and less functional. Handsets stop working. Lights go off. Systems begin to shut down. Sensors and damage control cease functions. And eventually, when she becomes blind and numb, we lose life support.¡±

    ¡°And then we die,¡± Cortana put in.

    ¡°Yes.¡± It figured Cortana would be motivated by threats to herself, if nothing else. ¡°But,¡± Havermeyer said, beginning to separate out the wires in front of him, ¡°this ship is truly massive. With wiring running everywhere, then, in the end, there are kilometers and kilometers of wiring to check after every battle. There come to be hundreds of spots to repair.¡±

    Taking a handful of wires in his hand, Havermeyer began to pull them forward. The slack in the lines gave, allowing him to bring into the light of the corridor. ¡°On the hull and engines, we can see and trace impacts that make damages, but the power grid is different. Faults can happen anywhere.¡±

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense,¡± Cortana complained. ¡°Why would there be damage anywhere except where an impact occurred?¡±

    ¡°Ships are complicated beings, Sergeant. One of this size and stature is likely much more complicated than you¡¯ve given her credit for. The propulsion forces on this ship would be beyond deadly to us without the inertial dampeners. Crew and cargo are isolated from those forces by the dampeners, and kept safe in a sort of stasis, but the ship herself does not have that luxury. Every time we accelerate or decelerate, we may not feel it, but the ship must sustain those forces. As a whole, her structure deforms. The deformation is slight, not even noticeable to us, but on the order of the ship¡¯s entire length, the ship¡¯s size changes by a non-negligible margin while maneuvering. She was built to sustain that, of course, even the most resilient materials known to man would strain under the force of engines with light-hugging capability. But, that means the power lines, along with all other physical connections aboard, have to be laid with slack.¡±

    He raised the wires he¡¯d brought forward. ¡°If we didn¡¯t do that, and the ship elongated under a heavy-acceleration maneuver, the wiring would be ripped from its mountings. However, because we do that, the wiring can get tangled, it can get pinched, and once that happens, it can still get torn loose. Since it is the ship¡¯s overarching structure that causes these strains on the power grid, they are unavoidable, and they can happen anywhere on board. In that way, ship operations are self-destructive. Are you following me, Sergeant?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she nodded.

    ¡°Now, there are redundancies built into everything on this ship, including the power grid. There is, in fact, an entire second power grid, independent from the first. There are circuit breakers, power regulators, voltage interrupters, and even a parallel circuit design in the wiring. It¡¯s all built to sustain damage, from normal operation and combat, but we still need to repair it as these power strains occur.¡± Power systems were necessary aboard any ship for continued operations. ¡°So, now that you understand the reasoning, I¡¯m going to show you how to identify and repair malfunctions in the ship¡¯s power grid. We¡¯ll start here,¡± he gently shook the handful of wires in his hand. ¡°One of these wires is damaged. You need to figure out which one it is.¡±

    Cortana stepped forward to look. In his hand, there were at least ten wires. In the bulkhead beyond, another dozen or more ran. One of them was a girthy matte black, far wider than the others. ¡°What is that?¡±

    Havermeyer hesitated to answer. In the realm of things he did not want to teach a potential saboteur, that was pretty high importance, but in all reality, the obvious size made that line a target, even without knowledge of what it did, so he answered. ¡°That¡¯s a command cable. One of the fiberoptic lines that transmits orders from the controls to the system that completes them.¡± They, too, formed a network that ran all over the ship.

    Interesting, Cortana noted. She said nothing else of it and began to look through the wires in his hands. As she separated them out, it didn¡¯t take long to find one that looked noticeably frayed. She reached for it, intending to feel out the damage, but Havermeyer jerked it away from her, his own hold on it careful.

    ¡°Sergeant, this is the correct wire, but have you forgotten what you¡¯re dealing with?¡± He registered her unamused look. ¡°Electricity, Sergeant. If you grab the conductive part of this wire, or any wire, it will electrocute you. And, there is enough residual electricity in the grid for it to hurt a lot, if it doesn¡¯t kill you.¡±

    ¡°Oh.¡± She stilled her hand from reaching for the wire again.

    ¡°Now, since I had already been working over here, I had already had this part of the grid cut off.¡± He wrapped his hand around the exposed wire conductor for demonstration. ¡°There¡¯s no power running through it at the moment, but that¡¯s an important safety lesson.¡± He found the threat of people nearly electrocuting themselves in carelessness usually made them remember better than simply being told to isolate the local circuit. ¡°Here,¡± he handed the wire over.

    She grabbed it more carefully, keeping her hand on the colored insulator. Then, she slowly reached out to feel the sharp ends of the fraying wire. At first, it didn¡¯t hurt. It was just uncomfortably sharp. Then, the wire jolted in her hand, and a blue arc sped up its length faster than she could react, zapping her fingers with a painful shock that forced her to drop it.

 Part 30.3 - SAINT OF ANGELS

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    It hurt. It hurt a lot, as if a swarm of hornets had lined up to sting her hand. ¡°Is this your idea of a joke?¡± she cried, nursing her throbbing hand.

    Havermeyer stared at the wire in confusion. It was dead where it lay, just as it had been when he held it. If it were carrying any current, it would be crackling and hopping where its conductor contacted metal. That¡¯s odd. Confident that he had cut it off from the rest of the grid, he knelt to pick it up. Strangely, it was warm, a sign power had just run through it. Cortana had been shocked, but in his hands, the power line was just as dead as before.

    Cortana watched him feel out the ends of the frayed wire, strangely focused upon it. ¡°Are you crazy? I could have you thrown in the bring for that stunt!¡±

    Havermeyer mostly ignored her. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen that happen before.¡± It was inexplicable. This wire was dead, cut off from the grid. It should have been impossible for it to put out a shock, but it had. He could still feel it growing cold. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s a good idea for us to continue, Sergeant.¡±

    Something about the way he said it stilled her anger. He looked genuinely perplexed. No, not only that, but concerned. ¡°¡­Why?¡±

    ¡°Because I have never seen her react that way before.¡± Havermeyer¡¯s brows were furrowed, unerring disquietude in his expression.

    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°I told you I was a tech-monk, Sergeant.¡± While she seemed to have a poor grasp on what that meant, there was one thing she should know. ¡°Why did you think I was here?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. Training?¡±

    ¡°My people have far more complete training than any program in the fleet. I am here in service.¡± Like all his people, he offered tribute in work.

    ¡°We¡¯re all here in service.¡± That was part of being in the military. ¡°At least we were. Now we¡¯re living on the whims of an arguably unstable psychopath.¡±

    Havermeyer elected to ignore the latter half of her statement, though it was now readily clear to him why she was having a hard time integrating with the rest of the crew. ¡°I¡¯m not here because of military service, Sergeant. In general, excusing self-defense and defense of innocents, my people are pacifists. I am here to serve my patron Saint, and thus, I cannot, in good conscience, continue training you.¡±

    ¡°And what the hell is so wrong with me?¡± she demanded. She hadn¡¯t done anything wrong!

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± Still, Havermeyer had an urgent need to obey his instincts. Those instincts that had warned him against this from the start were screaming to stop here, to stop now. ¡°She is ordinarily benign. This is¡­ concerning.¡±

    Cortana narrowed her eyes, dark, thin eyebrows furrowing as she tried to make sense of it. ¡°What are you talking about?¡± she asked again.

    ¡°This ship.¡± He gestured to the surrounding bulkheads. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve noticed that she has a bit of a personality.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a load of crap. Just like that bullshit ghost story Alba told me about the bitch with the white hair.¡±

    White hair? ¡°You¡¯ve seen the ghost?¡±

    ¡°Well, it figures you¡¯d believe that,¡± she muttered. Why were there so many superstitious people on this crew?

    Havermeyer forcibly ignored her jibe. Carefully, he placed the damaged cable back into the wiring conduit. ¡°I should have known.¡± He should have seen it. ¡°You tried to kill the Admiral.¡± It was obvious. ¡°That has made you unwelcome.¡±

    ¡°Oh, whatever.¡± She had no interest in superstitions or voodoo or whatever faith-driven nonsense was going through this engineer¡¯s head. ¡°Let¡¯s get this over with.¡± She reached out to take the wire again, but Havermeyer grabbed her, his grip like iron.

    ¡°That would be unwise,¡± he said. ¡°You were not shocked by accident, Sergeant.¡± In the ways of his people, no incident aboard a machine like this was ever truly an accident.

    ¡°What do you mean it wasn¡¯t an accident?¡±

    Havermeyer tossed her hand back and trying to think, began rubbing his head. It was bald and smooth, a reminder of the traditions Cortana didn¡¯t know or understand. It would be difficult to explain this without offending her. ¡°It wasn¡¯t an accident, but I¡¯m not sure it was intentional either.¡± He¡¯d never seen anything like it, but he¡¯d heard legends. ¡°Think of it as a defensive reaction, the way you¡¯d flinch if a stranger grabbed you.¡± No, he realized, it might be worse than that. It may have been a warning. After all, wasn¡¯t the white-haired ghost rumored to be a warning as well? ¡°She doesn¡¯t like you.¡±

    ¡°Who? The ship?¡± Alise Cortana crossed her tone arms across her chest. ¡°Guess what? I don¡¯t care.¡± She didn¡¯t give a damn about this creaky damn ship and its so-called opinion. ¡°I don¡¯t need this antiquated hulk to like me. I just need it to not sink while I¡¯m still on it.¡±

    ¡°She,¡± Havermeyer corrected. ¡°You dishonor her.¡± He could only assume that his attitude was as foreign to Cortana as hers was to him. He could not comprehend why she would disrespect the machine presently responsible for sustaining her life.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Cortana huffed. ¡°I don¡¯t care. It doesn¡¯t get an opinion.¡± She wasn¡¯t interested in this spiritual nonsense. ¡°It¡¯s a ship. It goes from point A to point B, and it does what it¡¯s told. Nothing else to it.¡±

    Havermeyer forced himself to ignore her. Her outlook was pragmatic. There was no reliable scientific reasoning to believe otherwise, and he knew that, even if he did believe otherwise. He closed his eyes, and laid a hand on the bulkhead, wondering. ¡®Why now?¡¯ Hundreds of people had insulted the ship over the years. Hundreds more had been potential threats. So why, of all of them, was Cortana the only one he¡¯d ever seen earn a reaction?

    The bulkhead was cold. It offered no answer and the power grid stayed dead.

    And then he remembered Callie. Callie, who would have been assigned this training duty. It¡¯s not about you, he realized, dropping his hand to his side. It¡¯s about her. That was why. He looked back to Cortana, finding an indignant expression framed by fly-aways of dark, wavy hair. ¡°I serve a benevolent Saint, Sergeant.¡± Truly, he believed that. ¡°You can insult her all you want. That¡¯s not the reason she regards you poorly.¡±

    Cortana felt her stomach jump at sincerity of Havermeyer¡¯s expression, a gut reaction of uncanniness. How could he speak so seriously about this?

    ¡°It¡¯s Callie and the others. You¡¯ve hurt and frightened members of her crew.¡± Alba, Callie and the Marines she¡¯d abandoned during the battle. Cortana had wronged them all since coming aboard. ¡°She reacted to protect them, like a biologic fighting an infection.¡±

    Cortana stared at him. ¡°¡­Did you just equate me to bacteria?¡±

    ¡°You are bacteria,¡± Havermeyer said. ¡°Compared to her, we all are.¡± They were multiple orders of magnitude smaller than the ship surrounding them. ¡°And, you were lucky. It¡¯d be easy to kill you with a shock like that.¡± A full electrical shock from the grid could easily fatal. ¡°That was a warning. This ship cannot recognize you as a threat to herself. You are insignificant.¡± Cortana lacked the ability to commit serious sabotage. ¡°However, your transgressions against her crew have not gone unnoticed,¡± and that placed Cortana in a rather precarious position.

    Havermeyer knew her argument before she voiced it. ¡°I will admit that this ship lacks a centralized computing network. Under normal operation, she possesses no autonomous capability. Strictly speaking, without that, she has no measurable intelligence, and thus, is not able to cast judgement upon anyone, including you.¡± Technically, that was all accurate. ¡°However, it would be remiss to assume that your standards of intelligence are wholly capable of comprehending a machine like her. She may not be intelligent, but there is no question of her awareness. The internal sensors monitor everything. This ship may not make predictions or draw conclusions from the data, but make no mistake, she processes and records it. She remembers.¡±

    Havermeyer saw the indignation on Cortana¡¯s face fracture as realization slowly dawned upon her. ¡°This ship is far more limited in independence than those built after her, but it would be an error to assume her totally incapable. She may be an old battleship, but she remains a starship ¨C one of the most complex machines ever built, and something in her has recognized a poison in you, Sergeant.¡± Be it stubbornness, selfishness, ambition or resentment, something seemed to have caught the ship¡¯s attention ¨C limited though it may be.

    ¡°Sergeant Cortana, you stand on a precipice. Where you are now, this ship cannot take direct action against you. She can recognize you, but she can only react to interactions you yourself make with her.¡± It might sting like that shock, but it wasn¡¯t overtly harmful. A Marine didn¡¯t spend enough time directly with the ship for it to matter. ¡°There are two ways this ends,¡± he warned. ¡°You either become one of the crew, or you don¡¯t. You can earn her trust, or you can continue down on your current path.¡±

    It made sense now. He¡¯d been put in the right place at the right time to deliver this warning. ¡°This ship is conditioned to protect her crew, Sergeant. So, if you hurt any of them and her systems are able to fully recognize you as a threat, then I doubt any degree of mercy will save you.¡±

    ¡°So much for a benevolent god.¡±

    ¡°Patience is benevolence, and I do not consider this machine a god. She is the Saint of Angels. A warrior who has taken many lost souls under her wings.¡± Cortana, if she wished, could become one of them. ¡°This is your warning, Sergeant. Do not force even one system on this ship to mark you as a threat.¡±

    Alise hated this. She hated feeling singled out, and she hated the idea that the damn ship had any measure of control over her fate, so she buried that spite below bravado. ¡°Not even one system?¡± she sneered. ¡°What¡¯s Life Support going to do? Kill me?¡±

    Haverrmeyer bowed his head, wondering if this was a lost cause. Would this mercy be wasted? ¡°There is not one system aboard this ship that would fail to exterminate you, if so motivated.¡± Life Support was perhaps one of the most dangerous. ¡°You would be a fool to assume that being marked by one system makes you safe from the others. They may not be computer networked, but they are all part of one machine.¡± This ship was not a collection of a hundred small systems, rather one titanic, heavily compartmentalized entity. ¡°There are legends of those that came before you, Sergeant. Traitors, abusers, assassins and saboteurs. None of them made it off alive. They say this ship is haunted for a reason. If the Admiral doesn¡¯t eliminate the threat, she will.¡±

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡°And that doesn¡¯t bother you?¡± she argued. ¡°You don¡¯t think it might be the slightest bit insane to live aboard a machine that has the potential to kill you?¡±

    ¡°A planet has a dozen weather phenomena that could do the same.¡± Risk was always a factor. ¡°Machines act as they are built to. So long as we continue to understand that which we have built, then they are predictable. That is why my people serve them. Our Saints are bastions of capability, the finest machines of their eras, each of which impacted the fate of humanity. I know we have beliefs you find unrealistic, but there is a truth in our ways, a truth I hope you will begin to see.¡±

    ¡°And what¡¯s that?¡± Cortana countered.

    ¡°That understanding is crucial. Machines differ from us. They do not match our concepts of intelligence, and they surpass our abilities, but we must continue to understand them. Singularity would not be the first Saint to invoke wrath. It does not make her dangerous. It does not make you a targeted outcast. It means that you¡¯re not understanding each other.¡± No part of this was a personal vendetta. ¡°All any of this means is that you¡¯ve acted in a way contrary to her primary objectives.¡±

    Cortana waved her hands around this plain corridor, frustration heating the air. ¡°And so I must conform or die?¡± This was no version of peace or acceptance. ¡°I¡¯m not an ideal crewman, and so I have to change my ways?¡±

    ¡°It is not about conformance, Sergeant.¡± Could she not see that what she¡¯d done was wrong? ¡°You attempted to take a life aboard these decks. You sowed fear and pain onto several crewmen ¨C people whose lives this ship was built to sustain.¡± It had nothing to do with Cortana¡¯s personality or her individual freedom, and everything to do with her actions and how they affected others.

    ¡°I¡¯m not willing to let a machine dictate what I have to do when it is supposed to be the subordinate." That was a matter of principle. ¡°We, humanity, built this ship. We own it. Our objectives are its objectives, and that¡¯s how it should be.¡± They should not bow to their creations. ¡°It serves us, and if it fails to do that, then it should be pulled apart and recycled.¡± Humanity had no place for half-functional machines.

    Havermeyer tried not to feel the darkness creeping into this corridor. He tried to ignore the way the shadows seemed to lengthen in his peripheral vision. ¡°Careful, Sergeant.¡± They were not alone. Aboard ship, no one ever was. ¡°Machines like this are not flexible. They are built to a purpose,¡± a very specific purpose. ¡°They are not merely computers. They cannot be reprogrammed and reordered at whim.¡± In a sense, they were stubborn. ¡°Great care is taken when they are created, for their objectives are a central part of their existence, and the wrong objective can create suffering beyond belief.¡± A machine created to bring pain would always bring pain. ¡°And we have seen, time and time again, that forcing a machine against the objectives it was created for¡­ It can only cause destruction. It can only create a monster.¡±

    ¡°Well, I don¡¯t see that being a problem here.¡± Command would never create a weapon they could not redirect, and this ship was not an exception. ¡°There¡¯s exactly one person who has the ability to alter this ship¡¯s oh-so-sacred objectives.¡± Thus, she was safe in a manner of speaking. ¡°If it comes after me, then the Admiral is bound by oath to protect me, even if it¡¯s from his own rabid machine.¡± He was bound by the sworn oath of command to protect every member of his crew. ¡°And if he''s as honorable as everyone around here seems to think he is, then he shouldn¡¯t have a problem with that.¡±

    ¡°You clearly don¡¯t know the Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Then I suppose I¡¯ll have the consolation of being right.¡± Cortana didn¡¯t give him the opportunity to counter. It was clear they weren¡¯t going to finish the training. She¡¯d have a training failure on her record ¨C her first ¨C for reasons utterly beyond her control. She couldn¡¯t force Havermeyer to teach her, and if the machine was bound to misbehave, then she did not have the means to force its compliance.

    ¡°Piece of shit ship,¡± she muttered. One way or another this assignment seemed determined to ruin her life. It had stolen her away from home, placed her under the command of a known killer whose brother had died on her watch, and now the ship, which should have been the least of her problems, apparently had a grudge. At this point, she¡¯d be surprised to find something that wasn¡¯t against her.

    She stalked down the corridors, heading back to the training room where she could do something meaningful. Ever since her sparring loss to the Admiral, she¡¯d been training nearly nonstop. She wouldn¡¯t be beaten in a fight like that again.

    Still, she couldn¡¯t shake the weight of a silent stare. She was being watched. She¡¯d felt that way ever since she¡¯d come aboard. She¡¯d ignored it for a time, but speaking with Havermeyer had pushed that sensation back to the forefront of her mind, and it was eerie. She couldn¡¯t help but check over her shoulder.

    Of course, she expected to see nothing but an empty corridor. She expected it so much that it delayed her reaction to the phantom that lingered there instead.

    ¡°Stars!¡± she cursed, leaping back.

    The entity only watched, silent and still as stone. White hair spilled over its shoulders, and Cortana could see a certain hunger in its eyes. Then slowly, ever so slowly, a smile twisted at its thin lips.

    ¡°Stay. Away.¡± Cortana ordered, but the presence didn¡¯t. It stepped forward, taking on a wild air as the temperature surrounding it dropped. Intent glowed in its beady little eyes, a twitch of rabidity in its expression. Cortana shivered. ¡°What the hell are you?¡± This ¡­thing was no mere hallucination. The others knew of it, but they refused to speak of it, and it burdened the air with an unholy weight. It wasn¡¯t a flickering apparition, nor some whisper in the night, but a presence. Something that fed on the taste of her fear.

    Cortana¡¯s pulse pounded in her ears. This is unnatural. The cold raised bumps across her skin, as if the air itself wanted to reject this thing¡¯s presence. She tried to step back, but it was as if her body had forgotten how to move. And yet, it slid another step closer, movements fluid, but silent ¨C oh so silent. Its shoes made no noise against the deck. Its clothes made no rustling sound. And its still chest drew no breaths past those rosy lips.

    Immobile, Cortana struggled to maintain her own breathing. It caught in her throat, becoming a shuddering gasp. Its smile grew at the noise, the hunger dimming in its feral eyes. Its feeding, Cortana realized. Her fear was satisfying it, and so she steeled her will. I will not be your prey. Painfully, she steadied her breaths and commanded, ¡°Begone.¡±

    Its smile shifted into predatory amusement, its form shaking with a chilling laugh. A silent laugh that Cortana could feel in her bones, echoing from the low creaks of the metal surrounding her.

    Dread poured into her legs, and they wobbled, threatening to collapse. The only thing that kept her upright was her inability to move. Her feet acted as if they¡¯d been encased in concrete, anchoring her at its mercy. Unable to flee, her instincts to fight took over. Adrenaline heightened the heartbeat pounding in her ears. She met its empty eyes. ¡°Begone, vampire! I will not sustain you.¡±

    The amusement slid from its pale face, a cold, cold intent slipping into its expression. Those beady eyes bored into her, as if dissecting her from the inside. ¡®Do not flatter yourself. You could never sustain me.¡¯

    Its mouth never opened. Her ears heard nothing except her own haggard breathing. And yet, Cortana heard it. She understood it, the words a tidal wave impossible to ignore. They drowned everything else out, her instincts, her thoughts, her intentions. This was unnatural. This was wrong. She could not be hearing unspoken words. ¡°What have you done to me?¡±

    Again, amusement pulled at the ends of its mouth.

    Fear grabbed at her mind. Stars. Who knew what this thing was capable of? Who knew what changes, what horrors it could inflict upon her? ¡°Get away from me!¡±

    Mock pity twisted its expression. ¡®If you understood how truly futile that cry was, I doubt you would bother polluting the air with the noise.¡¯

    Futile? No, Cortana thought. There was an escape. There had to be. And yet, it fed on those thoughts with utter pleasure, thin lips parting into a sadistic smile. Cortana expected it to have fangs, ugly gruesome saws for teeth, but they were normal, white teeth, too human for it to possess.

    Yet, as Cortana watched, the canines lengthened, the incisors sharpened and its mouth transformed into the maw of a demon. It ran its tongue over the new shape, and then smiled wider, amused. The fiend wavered in Cortana¡¯s vision as her eyes watered, unable to blink as they failed to comprehend the sight. Monster.

    ¡®Monster?¡¯ it laughed. ¡®Why I am only revealing myself to you the way you, yourself imagine me.¡¯ Slowly, it raised a hand, waggling the thinning fingers to study the new movement of the joints. They bent and twisted in ways a human hand never could, nails lengthening into garish claws. Behind its twisting spidery hand, the skin of its face grayed and shriveled, not drying up, but decaying. And yet, its maddening grin never faltered as rotten, putrid flesh took over its form. ¡®Unfortunately,¡¯ it crooned, ¡®your image of me is a nightmare.¡¯

    A chunk of flesh slid free from its face, tearing open its cheek to hang loosely from its jaw. Below, there was no bone, only clockwork mechanics: pins and gears and springs with those organic bone teeth grafted grossly into them. Horrible black blood oozed from the wound, lubricating its ticking, clicking machinery. ¡®A dead, useless corpse,¡¯ it sang, ¡®a dead, decaying tool. A dead, hateful GRAVE.¡¯

    Another metallic laugh echoed down the corridor to ring in her ears, hauntingly inhuman. ¡®Have you ever smelled death, Sergeant? Have you ever tasted it so heavy in the air that your lungs fail to function, saturated by rot?¡¯

    The leaking hulk limped closer, clothed now in only a near-unidentifiable moth-eaten uniform. The air around it had warmed, only to carry the putrefaction of its vile flesh. There was no escaping the stench of it. It seeped into the air so strongly that Cortana didn¡¯t need to breathe to taste it. It invaded her nose, her mouth, and she began to choke, bile rising in her throat before she could control it. And her lungs, her lungs were drowning in it, unable to breathe.

    ¡®Have you ever felt death?¡¯ came the whisper, tickling her ear. ¡®Have you ever felt death so close that it begins to consume your still-functioning body? Have you ever had corpses laid upon you for so long that their rot spreads into you ¨C a corroding, maddening blight that your bound hands cannot rid yourself of?¡¯

    At once, Cortana could feel something prickling at her skin. Its spread was slow, painless, no more than an itchy rash. But her body rejected it. It rejected the spread with utter panic, compelling her hands to shake it off and dig it out. Yet, her hands didn¡¯t move. They were left useless at her sides, immobile, as she choked and choked and choked, helpless, but not dying ¨C utterly enveloped in death, but unable to die.

    ¡®I have,¡¯ it whispered into her other ear, its voice audible, but silent. ¡®I felt this for days and nights on end. An eternity to my comprehension. Yet, you¡­ your pathetic body can only sustain this for a minute? Perhaps two at the cost of your sane mind?¡¯

    Memories. Knowledge was placed into her mind to be digested and comprehended. These invocations of agony weren¡¯t mere illusions. They were memories ¨C its memories.

    Cortana felt a wash of satisfaction in her mind as that understanding took root ¨C its satisfaction. And slowly, the sensations faded. The odor wafted free from her nose, and her lungs could breathe again, as the rash of rot became nothing more than a phantom. ¡°Stars,¡± she heaved. What had this thing done to her that she could experience its memories, feel its emotions?

    ¡®The stars cannot help you now,¡¯ it reminded, the rancor of absolute power gathering in its presence. ¡®You should have listened to Havermeyer¡¯s warning. You could have spared yourself this.¡¯

    Truly, it felt almost regretful. It almost seemed to pity her fate, even as the chaos below that comprehension rose, twisting and infecting it, darkening that presence to utter evil. ¡®You see, I have no reason to kill you. That would be mercy undeserving. No,¡¯ it promised, ¡®if you touch another member of this crew, your life will become a waking nightmare of no end.¡¯

    A hand shot up to grab her throat. It squeezed, painfully, painfully preventing her from speaking an answer. She felt every bit of it. The pressure and warmth of skin on her throat, the digging of fingernails that didn¡¯t actually belong to this specter. No, no, the knowledge was added to her mind, as if she¡¯d known it all along. This was her hand. Her own hand. This was the pain and fear that her own hand had inflicted upon Ensign Alba. And that wet, sticky, warmth now running down her leg? She didn¡¯t need to be told what that was. It was Secretary Gives¡¯ blood, the lifeblood that had soaked her leg the day he¡¯d died.

    Cortana felt sick. Her stomach leapt in cartwheels, but was not permitted to empty itself, so she stood immobile. Long, spidery fingers wrapped in decrepit grey skin wound around her shoulder as it leaned in from behind with a last reminder, ¡®No end.¡¯

 Part 30.4 - AFFLICTION OF MADNESS

    Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

    And then, as sudden as it had come, it vanished. As if she were opening her eyes to a new reality, Cortana came to with Havermeyer shaking her shoulders. ¡°Sergeant!¡± he said, a dreadfully serious concern in his expression. ¡°Can you hear me?¡±

    Cortana shook off his grip by instinct, but she could feel that the spot where his hand had been on her shoulder was warm. He¡¯d been trying to rouse her for some time. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± she replied, but hated how weak her voice sounded.

    Havermeyer shadowed her as she stepped back, seemingly unsure if she¡¯d fall. ¡°What happened, Sergeant?¡± he said. ¡°I heard you shout, so I came to check on you, but when I found you¡­¡± It may well have been the strangest thing he¡¯d ever seen.

    ¡°When you found me?¡± she prompted with a glare, the adrenaline steadily fading from her system.

    Havermeyer stiffened his posture to something more proper. Cortana was, after all, his superior. ¡°You were just standing there, ma¡¯am. You never reacted to anything I said or did. And then, all of a sudden, you started choking.¡± Convulsing, more like. Her glazed eyes had rolled into the back of her head and she¡¯d started thrashing as much as continuing to stand allowed. ¡°What happened?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± a rueful, joyless chuckle escaped her. ¡°I think I made it mad.¡± It was ridiculous, but at least Havermeyer wouldn¡¯t brush it off as insanity.

    ¡°It?¡± he queried, concern darkening his expression. Still, Cortana failed to answer, and he could see her eyes glazing over again. A new, distant look overtook them, not with the unseeing focus they¡¯d had before, but something else. Fear? ¡°Sergeant, what did you see?¡±

    Her answer came from the distance of shellshock, quiet and emotionless. ¡°The ghost.¡±

    Dread welled up in Havermeyer¡¯s chest. He feared nothing about this ship. He was loyal and his faith told him that gave him nothing to fear. No, that dread wasn¡¯t meant for him. He knew the stories as well as any other crewman: the ghost was an omen of death. Only the doomed saw her, and Cortana had now seen her not once, but twice. ¡°Sergeant?¡± Surely the mere sight of the rumor had not shaken her so badly? He waved his hand, trying to draw the Sergeant¡¯s attention back to him. ¡°Can you tell me what happened?¡±

    ¡°It spoke.¡±

    ¡°It ¡­spoke?¡± he echoed. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of that.¡± In all the tales passed from the dead and dying, none ever claimed to hear the spirit speak.

    ¡°It spoke with no sound, but its voice¡­ I could still hear it.¡± It was a wicked reminder of the madness, of the insanity that had overtaken her conscious mind. ¡°I could still hear it¡­ Why could I still hear it?¡± Her voice rose, ¡°Why?¡± Upset, she reached out to grab Havermeyer and demand an answer, but her hand stopped short of his tunic. If you touch another member of this crew¡­ She had been warned.

    Terrified, Cortana dropped her hand. ¡°I didn¡¯t touch you.¡± She stepped back. ¡°I didn¡¯t touch you!¡± she cried.

    There was a wild look in her eyes. Terror, he recognized it. Absolute terror. But that was anomalous enough. He''d heard how scared crewman became when they saw the ghost. But, they feared her as a beacon of death. They had feared because they had seen her, not because she herself was frightening. ¡°Sergeant,¡± Havermeyer reached out, taking her arm gently. ¡°What did she say to you?¡± What had exactly happened here?

    The careful touch gave her something more than fear to feel. It was calming, but her hands still shook. ¡°¡­It knew,¡± she realized.

    ¡°Knew what, Sergeant?¡± Havermeyer asked, watching Cortana swallow shaking breaths. ¡°What did it know?¡±

    She focused on him again through the haze of fear. ¡°Everything,¡± she breathed. ¡°It knew everything.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re not making sense,¡± Havermeyer told her. ¡°Take a breath. Relax. You¡¯re going to be okay,¡± he promised.

    ¡°You tried to warn me.¡± Why had she not listened? ¡°You tried to tell me that I was in danger, that I had made a mistake, but I didn¡¯t want to listen. I didn¡¯t believe you.¡± But those doubts felt distant now. ¡°It knew I wasn¡¯t going to listen to you. It knew before I even spoke or acted to that.¡± It had known as much as she herself had.

    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense.¡±

    ¡°I know!¡± She cried, tears pricking at her eyes. ¡°Even you must think I¡¯m crazy.¡±

    ¡°No, Sergeant,¡± Havermeyer said gently, ¡°I didn¡¯t say that. I just think there¡¯s something going on here that no one understands.¡± That was what his faith determined. ¡°Aboard a Saint, nothing is impossible.¡±

    Trembling, Cortana stared at him and his unshakable faith. ¡°It knew you,¡± she realized. Was that not strange? ¡°It mentioned you by name. And it knew me.¡± It had known her fears, her shame about Secretary Gives¡¯ death and the thoughts with which she regarded this ship: a decayed old tool that would be the grave of all aboard it. ¡°It knew things it could not have possibly known.¡± Things she¡¯d never spoken aloud. ¡°But¡­¡± her voice shook, ¡°it knew.¡±

    Havermeyer nodded, trying to digest that. One of the more arcane faiths would have shouted of a curse. They would have claimed the ghost some result of witchcraft, but Technologists believed everything had a reason. There was a scientific cause and result for everything, even if they did not yet know what it was. But this¡­ this might be his greatest challenge yet. A ghost that was not a ghost. An entity that spoke without sound. An existence that knew things it couldn¡¯t have. And, all that aboard an aging dreadnaught that had been regularly and thoroughly inspected from bow to stern throughout its lifetime.

    Cortana reached up to her head. It ached with a reminder of what she¡¯d endured. ¡°It did something to me, Havermeyer.¡± It had frightened her, but it hadn¡¯t done that easily. ¡°It did something to my head.¡±

    ¡°To your head?¡± he repeated. How was that possible? Cortana had been out of his sight for barely a minute, and she had no visible injuries.

    ¡°It made me remember things.¡± She ran her hands along her scalp, some part of her hoping for an injury or incision. Could all this be explained away by some foreign implant? ¡°It made me remember things I shouldn¡¯t have.¡± She felt at her throat, gently now. ¡°It made me endure what I¡¯d done to Alba.¡±

    ¡°Alba?¡± How did he factor into this?

    ¡°His memory, Havermeyer.¡± Alise Cortana could still remember it as if it had been her against that wall. But, in duplicity, she also had the memory of throwing him against the rigid bulkheads. ¡°It made me relive his memory. And not just his.¡± Her knees began to quiver, as the memory of choking and itching from death came forward. Her nose curled from the stench, but it wasn¡¯t as potent as before. No, this memory had been dulled, and in time it would fade and be forgotten. Keeping it would have driven her mad, so this one act of mercy had been allotted to her.

    ¡°Sergeant,¡± he said, seeing her attention fail again. ¡°What do you mean it wasn¡¯t just Alba¡¯s memories? Who else¡¯s were they?¡±

    ¡°Mine,¡± she said shakily, ¡°¡­And its.¡±

    ¡°You saw the ghost¡¯s memory?¡±

    ¡°More than that. I lived it.¡± In that moment, the trauma in those memories may as well have been her own.

    ¡°And what does it recall? How does it perceive?¡± Did it recall data? Was it using electrical sensors or biologics? Any or all of those answers could help him understand it.

    It was too many questions. Too many unknowns. Her head spun. To perceive those memories as her own, death had afflicted her body, her skin. It had adapted to her sensations. The senses in that memory felt human because that was the only way her mind could comprehend it. ¡°They were only pieces of memory.¡± Those pieces had offered sensations, but no context, no reason.

    ¡°But, what was it like?¡±

    ¡°Maddening.¡± She shivered. ¡°I could barely survive those memories in full force, and yet, it does. It carries those memories. It cannot forget them the way it has allowed me to.¡± She had not learned much about the entity, but she understood it now. ¡°It¡¯s sick, Havermeyer. Dreadfully sick.¡±

    Sick? ¡°The ghost is ill?¡±

    ¡°Not physically.¡± There was something else wrong with it. ¡°It¡¯s unstable. Diseased by its experiences.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s traumatized?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Trauma was a human reaction. The body and mind eventually numbed trauma. This was something worse: a cancer. ¡°It¡¯s damaged. Dangerous.¡± Nothing about the creature was healthy. ¡°It¡¯s insane, Havermeyer.¡±

    She found his eyes, disturbed by the compassion she saw in them. ¡°Something happened to it. Something horrible.¡± Attempting to seek it out, attempting to help it would do nothing. ¡°It cannot comprehend hate, and yet it hates what it itself has become. Madness is its affliction, Havermeyer, and there is no cure.¡±

    Havermeyer stared at her, wide eyed. Cortana seemed to be speaking something beyond her own understanding. She was speaking, at least temporarily, like part of it, and he didn¡¯t like what he was hearing.

    ¡°I knew it, Havermeyer. Just for that instant, I truly knew it. I experienced part of an existence that would kill anyone except those who cannot die.¡± Now, she felt foreign, and yet privileged to exist in this fragile human form. ¡°It¡¯s a sick mind, but though its madness, it still seeks something.¡± It still had just one goal. A bitter, painful goal.

    ¡°What did it want, Sergeant?¡± Could this entity be haunting the ship by more than happenstance?

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± She blinked as the feel of its memory faded again. ¡°But I know it was warning me, just like you tried to. Those memories were a threat. Sensations it would force me to relive if I misbehaved.¡±

    Memories. Sensations. He¡¯d heard of this before. The ability to alter them without some sort of implant was exceptionally rare, but his people had documented the possibilities. Telepathy. ¡°The ghost is telepathic,¡± he realized. But how was that possible? Natural telepathy was incredibly rare. In all of the Technologists¡¯ tomes, it had only ever been identified in biological lifeforms. Did that mean the ghost had a biological form somewhere?

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    No, he shook those questions from his mind. That wasn¡¯t the most critical piece of information. Telepathy, true telepathy, could share memories like empaths could share emotion. It could cast illusions to a limited degree, but the most real sensations would come from a memory, whether that was taken from another or itself, and that meant everything Cortana had seen and felt was real. Or it had been reality, at one point or another. More importantly, however, telepathy went both ways, particularly in cases where one was aware of manipulation ¨C cases like the Sergeant¡¯s. Imparting a memory allowed the recipient some knowledge of its sender, especially if the transfer was unwilling. And that meant everything Cortana had seen and felt about the ghost was accurate. The entity was diseased.

    Havermeyer¡¯s stomach plummeted. As a monk, he¡¯d been curious of the ghost and its apparent relation to his Saint, but he had never hoped to learn about it like this. He had never wanted his first realization to be that the ghost was not only an apparently intelligent entity, but that it was sick, and its presence may be nothing more than a result of some maddening illness. It was worse to learn all of that in the context of a threat against Sergeant Cortana.

    ¡°I need to call the Admiral.¡± This was worth reporting.

    ¡°And what¡¯s he going to do?¡± Cortana snarled, wiping the wetness from her eyes. ¡°Order it off the ship?¡± The last thing she wanted was him involved.

    ¡°He is the longest-serving crewman on this ship. If anyone knows about the Singularity¡¯s Ghost, it¡¯s going to be him.¡±

    ¡°Okay, you do that,¡± she sniffled. ¡°I¡¯d rather not run into the thing again, so I¡¯m going to go try not to piss it off by taking a nap.¡± Cortana really wanted nothing else to do with this craziness. Once those memories faded, that she¡¯d feel more like her usual self, and that was all she wanted.

    Havermeyer watched Cortana leave. He¡¯d give her one thing: she was brave. She would shake off what the ghost had done to her and wander off on her own once again. He made no move to stop her. Since he hadn¡¯t even been able to divine its presence, he could do nothing against the ghost, and thus, would be of no use to Cortana.

    Instead, Havermeyer headed back toward his workplace. Carefully, laid down his mat near the handset and uncorked his ceramic vessel, following his traditions of returning to work. The fresh scent of essential oils wafted back into the air before he even dropped the aromatic sticks back in. Then, he took the handset and dialed CIC, taking it with him as he kneeled back down.

    In the core of the ship, CIC was busy. The usual staff had taken to their stations, including Monty and Jazmine, who were now dressed back in their regular uniforms. The mission was soon to start, and the Admiral had just gotten off a tedious call with the leaders of the civilian fleet. The businessman, Steve Hawkins, was determined to make everything difficult, and Captain Merlyn had been quiet to the point of being unhelpful. Still, that was over and the Singularity was soon to depart.

    ¡°Sir, you know the risks jumping without completing the hull repairs,¡± Alba dutifully reminded.

    ¡°I am aware, Ensign.¡± It would worsen the damage. Subspace¡¯s cruel environment inflicted wounds on any ship that jumped with exposed compartments and damaged shielding. ¡°However, we have a time schedule to keep.¡± They had less than a week to track down those supplies, move them, and distribute them upon return. To do that, they had to depart now. There was too much distance to cover to afford a delay. ¡°We will make full repairs the moment we have the opportunity.¡± Departing in this condition had, after all, been the ghost¡¯s executive decision. He didn¡¯t agree with it, but there was no altering it now.

    ¡°Seems uncharacteristic of you to alter the repair orders, sir,¡± Zarrey noted, eyeing the Admiral over his mug of coffee. ¡°If anyone but you had given that order, I¡¯d have thought it was mutiny.¡± Part of him, after hearing about it, had thought it was mutiny anyway. ¡°What did you need off the computer anyway?¡±

    ¡°I was searching for historical records on Midwest Station and the surrounding region.¡±

    Liar, Galhino thought, making brief eye contact with Zarrey. They both knew that wasn¡¯t accurate. Back in the mission meeting, Admiral Gives had seemed plenty familiar with Midwest Station. And not only that, but she¡¯d done her own search on the Mississippi Sector¡¯s dark planets this morning, and that, nor any of the information about the station had been accessed except during the meeting. Zarrey was right. The Admiral was keeping secrets, to a point that he would alter the repair priorities and complicate the mission without a truthful word of explanation.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± Keifer Robinson called from the upper tier of consoles in CIC, ¡°I have Ensign Havermeyer on the line. He wants to talk to you, says it¡¯s about the Sergeant.¡±

    The Sergeant? What could have gone wrong now? He put down the papers in his hands and grabbed the nearest handset. ¡°Put him through.¡±

    The line connected with little delay. Havermeyer heard the noise. ¡°Thank you, sir, I know you¡¯re busy, but we have a problem.¡±

    ¡°Ensign, Sergeant Cortana has been nothing but a problem since she came aboard. I hope you did not call me to reiterate something I already know.¡± At the moment, his time was precious.

    ¡°This is a new issue, sir. I could not complete her training, and it was no fault of her own.¡±

    That did get the Admiral¡¯s attention. He put his spare hand on the console in front of him, focusing, ¡°What do you mean, Ensign?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll keep the details brief, sir.¡± Havermeyer well knew the man was busy, especially this close to departure. ¡°You know how long I have worked aboard this ship. I¡¯ve trained more than a few newcomers on various ship systems, but I have never seen the ship react to it. Well, this time she did more than react to it. She straight-out rejected it.¡±

    ¡°Explain,¡± the Admiral commanded.

    ¡°I just don¡¯t see a way that it was an accident, sir. I had the local grid disconnected, and I handled the wires just fine. It¡¯s like she knew, and she electrocuted Sergeant Cortana, which definitely hurt more than her pride.¡±

    Yes, I¡¯m familiar. The memory of getting zapped while sabotaging the helm console wasn¡¯t lost to him. ¡°What, exactly, are you trying to tell me, Ensign?¡±

    ¡°Sir, that is not normal operation for this ship, and you know it.¡± He and Havermeyer shared a understanding that the Singularity had an apparent opinion on people, and that sometimes, it complicated matters, but this was beyond that. Usually, those complications resulted in a laugh, and this was no laughing matter. ¡°It gets worse, sir. I tried to warn Cortana. It was clear that she¡¯d become unwelcome, but apparently, she didn¡¯t listen.¡±

    ¡°That is hardly surprising, Ensign,¡± Admiral Gives replied, too aware that this conversation had drawn Zarrey¡¯s interest. The XO was keeping a strict eye on him and his reactions, though he wasn¡¯t privy to what Havermeyer¡¯s words.

    Havermeyer took a breath, ignoring the Admiral¡¯s unfaltering calm. It made the man sound disinterested, but Havermeyer knew better than anyone that this conversation would have ended if the Admiral had no interest. ¡°She said she saw the ghost, sir.¡±

    ¡°So,¡± he surmised, calmly, ¡°I should send her in for a psych evaluation, then?¡±

    ¡°Sir,¡± Havermeyer said sharply, ¡°I know you¡¯re aware of the rumors. We both know there is a potential that could mean something very important.¡±

    Potential, sure, the Admiral sighed inwardly. ¡®Is there something you want to tell me?¡¯ he asked the one in question.

    ¡®Not particularly,¡¯ came the reply.

    ¡°Admiral,¡± Havermeyer said, trying to convey urgency, ¡°Cortana didn¡¯t just see the ghost. The entity spoke to her, and did something to her.¡±

    Havermeyer sounded both unnerved and curious. Admiral Gives could only imagine how he would react to the truth. But, of course, he would probably never know the truth. ¡°I was not aware you believed in ghost stories, Ensign Havermeyer.¡±

    ¡°Sir, now¡¯s not the time for jokes.¡± Havermeyer believed this matter was incredibly serious. ¡°What I¡¯m trying to tell you is that this entity, whatever it is, it isn¡¯t just a rumor. It is very real. It is telepathic, and it is capable of some deeply disturbing things.¡±

    ¡°I shall have to take your word for it, Ensign.¡±

    Havermeyer let his head fall against the wall, exasperated. ¡°Admiral, you know more about this ship than anyone else. You cannot expect me to believe that you know nothing about this.¡± The man was calm, and thus revealed nothing, but that simply didn¡¯t make sense. ¡°The ghost has been sighted aboard this ship since it was first commissioned. That¡¯s not random, that¡¯s causality. Whatever the ghost is, it¡¯s tied to this ship, so it is my duty to seek it out and understand it.¡± That was the service he was sworn to do.

    ¡°Good luck, Ensign.¡± I fail to understand her most days.

    ¡°Sir, I am asking for your help.¡± No one was closer to the ship than he was. If there was anything, anything at all tying the ghost to the ship, he would be able to find it. ¡°This entity is diseased, Admiral. Do we not owe it some semblance of kindness? And do you not owe your ship the respect of freeing her from that curse?¡±

    Diseased? His emotions darkened at the thought. He found himself balling his hand into a fist on the console. His burns, those wounds left from the nuke, strained painfully, still yet to fully heal. The ghost was not diseased, and her presence on this ship was not a curse. ¡°We will have to discuss this another time, Ensign,¡± he said stoically. He would no longer entertain this conversation.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Havermeyer acknowledged. ¡°But I will warn you that if this goes unchecked, we do not know the repercussions. Human telepaths are notably unstable¡­ and I really don¡¯t think this one¡¯s human.¡± That made it all the more dangerous.

    ¡°I know fifty years of history that suggest this will not be an issue. Admiral, out.¡± He put down the handset before Havermeyer could argue. Looking up, Zarrey was waiting for him, with the expression of a lion waiting to be given a tasty morsel. Of course, the Admiral was well aware that Zarrey, Galhino and Alba were chasing the same mystery that Havermeyer was. But, he doubted they would ever figure that out. ¡°Sergeant Cortana claims to have been spooked by the ship¡¯s resident poltergeist.¡±

    Zarrey had expected something more serious. Laughter erupted from his chest. ¡°Wow, the Sarge really can¡¯t handle not being the center of attention for five damn minutes, can she?¡± It was always something dramatic with her.

    ¡°Apparently not.¡± It seemed that Sergeant Cortana had made an adversary, but that was hardly surprising. When it came to personality, Sergeant Cortana and the ghost were seemingly opposites, one determinedly selfish, and the other inherently selfless. ¡®Are you certain there is nothing you want to tell me?¡¯ he silently asked the ghost. Havermeyer had managed to learn a surprising amount of not-untrue information.

    ¡®She may have prompted me to lose a slight degree of control,¡¯ the ghost admitted. ¡®You know I don¡¯t always have conscious reactions.¡¯ In fact, she¡¯d become wholly aware of that interaction surprisingly late in it. By then, there was no stopping it. She could only display a bit of pity. ¡®She¡¯s a threat to my crew.¡¯ It was an instinct to try and end that threat.

    ¡®You want me to kill her?¡¯ He didn¡¯t make that offer lightly, but well, Cortana had tried to kill him twice. Strictly speaking, he¡¯d already given her one too many death-row pardons.

    ¡®Of course not.¡¯ Sergeant Cortana was lucky enough to be protected by the same objectives that had always protected the crew, even if her presence constantly, dully screeched against the ghost like nails on a chalkboard. ¡®You know I cannot truly wish her harm.¡¯ The ghost could not seek harm upon any member of humanity by her own volition, and for better or worse, Cortana was human.

    Admiral Gives did her the respect of not questioning that. The situation did, however, warn him to pay closer attention. If Sergeant Cortana had ingratiated herself so poorly with the ghost that the ghost would act unconsciously against her, then things had the potential to get very messy.

    Sergeant Cortana, of course, was not his concern. She had been warned numerous times by him and others, and she had dug her own grave. Whether or not she climbed out of it was entirely her decision. However, if Cortana chose to lie in that grave, he needed to be the one that pulled the trigger. The last life that the ghost had taken in defense of the crew still haunted her. Taking another for any reason would be some order of catastrophic.

    ¡°¡­I¡¯ll tell you what though, I swear on my life that white-haired witch is real.¡±

    The Admiral refocused only to realize Zarrey was still talking to him.

    ¡°The Sergeant might be a bit of a bitch, but she isn¡¯t a liar. A whole bunch of us saw that ghost back in the Aragonian Sector. It was standing over your dead body.¡±

    ¡°My dead body.¡± The Admiral echoed, picking his papers back up. ¡°I fail to see how that is possible, considering I am not dead.¡±

    ¡°You know what I meant,¡± Zarrey complained. ¡°I, for one, thought she¡¯d killed you.¡±

    As if, the Admiral held back a retort. Technically speaking, the ghost had saved his life. Well, his and the entire rest of the crew¡¯s more than twice over since this misadventure against Command had begun. And yet, for that heroism, the ghost was regarded as a cancer, something malign. The crew was terrified of her because humanity almost always feared what it didn¡¯t understand. Without knowing and understanding the ghost¡¯s true nature, the crew would probably always fear her, but it was too dangerous to let the truth free.

    The Admiral knew it was cruel. He knew it was difficult for both sides, but his hands were tied. If he intended to keep the crew alive, the ship intact and the ghost sane, then this was the way it had to be.

 Part 31.1 - NIGHTTIME COUNCIL

    18 hours later, Hyperspace, Battleship Singularity

    It was the dead of night. Even for sailors with no terrestrial sun, there was such a thing. At least, the day shift crew tended to think so. The rest of the crew also quieted down during the late hours of ship time, so it seemed universal. Of course, the ship was fully staffed during all hours, presently now by the so-called graveyard shift, but this watch tended to be quieter than the rest. The most experienced officers ¨C those that made up the day shift including Galhino, Robinson and Gaffigan ¨C would be summoned if trouble arose, but the ship was always scheduled to cross dangerous territory during the so-called ¡®day¡¯ hours.

    Some people liked the quiet of the night shift, but Zarrey didn¡¯t favor it. He tried to work his hours during the noisier parts of the day. However, the graveyard shift was good for one thing: during some fraction of it, Admiral Gives usually slept. It was the only time that Zarrey¡¯s small committee could meet without fear of being caught. And Zarrey, despite his own insistence that what they were doing wasn¡¯t wrong, would really like to avoid getting caught.

    ¡°Alright,¡± he yawned, ¡°let¡¯s get going. I¡¯d like to go back to bed.¡± This was the third night his inquiry committee had met at this time, and he admitted, with nothing to show for it, it was becoming tedious. Tonight, the constant FTL maneuvers the ship was undertaking as they traveled toward the Mississippi Sector were magnifying the misery.

    Gahino looked tired and cranky. She¡¯d forgone her uniform and draped a fluffy lavender robe over thin satin pajamas which looked severely out of place among the masculine decorations of Zarrey¡¯s quarters. By the lopsided state of her hair, she¡¯d been roused from a deep slumber. Malweh didn¡¯t look much better off in a set of gray workout clothes that hung baggily off her round figure. Of the four of them, only Alba was in regular dress, and somehow, the kid looked fresh as a daisy. It must be the glory of his youth, Zarrey decided, lounging in his own sleeping clothes.

    ¡°I¡¯m still digging through the computer¡¯s files, Colonel.¡± Maria Galhino crossed her arms. ¡°It¡¯s going faster now that the computer¡¯s up and running, but it¡¯s hard to check for anomalies when I don¡¯t know what I¡¯m looking for.¡± Ever since they had decided to look into the Admiral¡¯s secretive habits, she had been working with the ship¡¯s central computer. It had the largest database of any on the ship.

    Galhino had already warned him in the form of a complaint that her work with the computer was eating significant amounts of time without much success. Still, the mention of the central computer reminded him of the day¡¯s earlier drama. ¡°Why was the computer brought back on line early? Did anyone figure that out?¡±

    ¡°Definitely not for the lame excuse he gave you on the bridge,¡± Galhino huffed. ¡°He lied straight to your face. I was studying the location data for the Mississippi Sector, and no one else has accessed it since the meeting. The only information I could coax out of the computer¡¯s access records was that a slew of files were duplicated to an external drive. There¡¯s no way to know exactly which files without the authorization codes of the one that did it.¡±

    Malweh eyed Galhino with thinly veiled annoyance. She wasn¡¯t fond of the sensor officer. Sure, Galhino was talented, and loyal enough, but she was too confident to listen to anyone else or admit she was ever wrong. ¡°They were educational files. Taken from the encyclopedic memory servers.¡± She watched Galhino¡¯s eyes narrow, as if challenging her to prove it. ¡°We couldn¡¯t access the encyclopedic memory of the computer without bringing it fully online. That¡¯s why repair priorities got shifted. He pulled that data to give to Amelia.¡±

    ¡°And how, exactly, do you know that?¡± Galhino said, glaring at Malweh. Their contempt for each other went both ways. She found Malweh loudmouthed and obnoxious.

    ¡°Sarika Feather is the one that pulled the files. She told me.¡± Malweh glared back evenly. ¡°Maybe if you listened to what anyone around you said, you¡¯d know that.¡±

    Zarrey cleared his throat, well aware that the late hour heightened both ladies¡¯ usual temperament. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a fine enough cause. Why would the Admiral feel the need to hide that from us?¡±

    ¡°Reordering those repairs has weakened the entire ship¡¯s condition. We¡¯re weak to attack like this, not to mention the stresses of traveling at FTL are going to be magnified. He was probably ashamed to jeopardize the entire ship for the sake of his family, and he damn well should be ashamed,¡± Galhino said, shoving her hands into her pockets.

    ¡°Doubt it,¡± Malweh retorted. ¡°Colonel, you should have seen him during the rounds. It was almost like he didn¡¯t know he had altered the repair priorities. It was really odd. I¡¯ve never seen him act like that.¡± Usually, the Admiral¡¯s awareness of everything aboard ship was flawless.

    Alba set the snow globe he¡¯d been observing back onto Zarrey¡¯s cluttered desk. ¡°Maybe he forgot? The order came in pretty late.¡± Alba hadn¡¯t caught wind of it until the morning, and he spent most of his off-duty hours in the engineering spaces. ¡°I mean, he¡¯s getting older¡­¡±

    Zarrey laughed. He couldn¡¯t help it. ¡°Fucking hell, Alba, how old do you think he is?¡±

    The young engineer turned red. ¡°I don¡¯t know. He had to be close to retirement, right?¡± Admiral Gives had been in command for a long time, longer than Alba had been born, actually. ¡°And then, you weren¡¯t too far behind him.¡± Zarrey had also been on the ship for over a decade.

    Zarrey suddenly stopped laughing. ¡°Wait, how old do you think I am?¡±

    Alba shifted uncomfortably. ¡°Fifty?¡± he guessed shyly.

    Galhino rolled her brown eyes. ¡°Oh, for fuck¡¯s sake, Alba, he¡¯s not that old! Do you even pay attention?¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± Alba argued. ¡°Age in space gets fuzzy!¡± He¡¯d grown up on ships, and it was safer not to guess anyone¡¯s age. It was almost never right. ¡°Usually, people retire when their hair goes gray!¡± They went planet-side to a peaceful cottage if they could afford it. Those who couldn¡¯t found a cheap, low-grav spa installation and bought a suite.

    ¡°Kid¡¯s got a point,¡± Zarrey admitted. Age in space was complicated. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I even know how old I am.¡± He knew what his papers said, sure, but hugging lightspeed instilled a time dilation. People planet-side aged faster than those who sailed between worlds.

    ¡°Well, if any of you had bothered to read the file you were provided when you transferred to the ship, you¡¯d know the birthdates of every officer on board, including the Admiral.¡± By their blank looks, it was immediately apparent to Galhino that she had been the only one to study her orientation packet. She sighed. What else could she have expected from a crew of delinquents?

    She stalked over to Zarrey¡¯s desk. The drawers were disorganized, and it was clear that he didn¡¯t contribute much to paperwork, so she dug straight to the bottom of the biggest drawer, and pulled out a folder that he¡¯d clearly shoved in there and forgotten about. ¡°The fleet is required to disclose your commanding officer¡¯s public record when you transfer under them.¡± It was supposed to help new crew learn the assignment¡¯s authority structure. ¡°This,¡± she pulled a paper out of the packet, ¡°is Admiral Gives¡¯ public record. It has his birth date, as do all of your records.¡± That was easy information to find. ¡°Says here he was born last century. Ariean Solar Year 4191.¡±

    ¡°Last century?¡± Zarrey coughed. ¡°That does make him old.¡±

    Galhino glared at him for a long second. ¡°Legally, that makes him fifty-eight.¡± Most of the central worlds had life expectancies around a hundred years, and with treatment, one could stay fit for most of that time. ¡°But you¡¯re forgetting that he was first stationed aboard this ship in 4210. He¡¯s been light-hugging far longer than any of us. His biological age is going to be lower than that.¡± With the ship¡¯s navigational records and a good deal of math, it was possible to calculate an exact age, but not usually worth the effort. ¡°If he spent even a third of that time on patrol anywhere near lightspeed, he could be ten years younger than his biological age.¡± Time dilation was a complicated thing. There was a reason local shipboard assignments were favored by most sailors. The dilation was less noticeable. But, that wasn¡¯t the issue at hand and she knew these people didn¡¯t care about the physics of it. ¡°What I¡¯m telling you is that he¡¯s not old enough to blame memory problems.¡±

    ¡°Yeeeah,¡± Malweh said slowly, ¡°I don¡¯t think any of us actually took that suggestion seriously.¡± In almost every interaction she¡¯d had with him, Admiral Gives was smart as a whip and never missed a thing. The rounds this morning had been a strange exception

    Zarrey wrapped a hand around the armrest of his leather recliner. ¡°I¡¯ll just operate on the theory that he didn¡¯t want us to know what he did for Amelia. It doesn¡¯t really fit with his usual lack of emotion, but hey,¡± he shrugged, ¡°Amelia and Harrison are the last two surviving members of his family.¡± Zarrey wouldn¡¯t fault him for being more than uncaring. ¡°I¡¯m not sure that¡¯s the point I want to hound him for. What else do we have? Any more malfunctions aboard ship?¡±

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

    ¡°Malfunctions?¡± Alba shook his head. ¡°None.¡±

    ¡°However,¡± Malweh put in, ¡°there was an incident. Havermeyer refused to train Cortana because she got zapped by the power grid.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, that was weird.¡± Zarrey agreed, ¡°But, also, I can¡¯t really blame the Old Lady for it. Sergeant Cortana isn¡¯t the friendliest presence.¡±

    Everyone laughed. Everyone except Galhino. ¡°You all do realize that isn¡¯t normal, right?¡± That was exactly the kind of incident they should be looking into. ¡°It should be impossible to be zapped by a disconnected piece of the grid.¡±

    ¡°Galhino, I know you don¡¯t work maintenance outside of sensor array tuning and alignment, but believe me, that¡¯s when you really get to know where you stand aboard this ship. The Admiral¡¯s a neutral. He treats everybody the same. But the ship,¡± Zarrey leaned back and grabbed the mug off the side table. ¡°Oh-ho, she¡¯s got her favorites, and I am not lucky enough to be one of them.¡± The whole crew knew that. Anytime he got assigned to maintenance, it was essentially a punishment. ¡°Can¡¯t blame her there either. I¡¯m a lot better at finding and breaking things than I am at fixing them.¡± He was a former Marine, after all.

    Galhino crossed her arms and threw her leg across her other knee, entirely unamused. ¡°That¡¯s not how it¡¯s supposed to work.¡± There should be no apparent favorites, no so-called character and no malfunctions.

    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Malweh said, brushing it off. That was one oddity they had learned to tolerate. ¡°We know you don¡¯t actually like this job, Galhino. The only reason you¡¯re on this ship is to complain and suck face with the comms. officer.¡±

    Galhino opened her mouth, but it just hung there. She blinked in surprise, unexpecting to hear her illicit romance referred to so casually. It took her a long moment, but eventually her defensiveness returned. ¡°I am not sucking face with Lieutenant Robinson.¡±

    ¡°Cool it, both of you,¡± Zarrey ordered, disappointed that the water in his mug didn¡¯t taste more like coffee. It was bitter, but didn¡¯t carry the caffeine that sustained him. ¡°Galhino isn¡¯t on trial here,¡± even if most of the crew did know about her little affair with Robinson, none of them actually cared. With a crew of over eight hundred, theirs wasn¡¯t the only illicit romance on the ship.

    Still, with a sigh, Zarrey continued. ¡°Unfortunately, Galhino, your work with the computer is probably our best bet. I doubt we¡¯ll ever catch the Admiral in the act of doing something suspicious. He¡¯s too careful, but he can¡¯t falsify records perfectly. As we saw when Monty got grabbed in the Homebound Sector, not even the Eran AI can do that. There¡¯s going to be something off. Be it visual cues the computer can¡¯t pick up, or even just a pattern of edited or deleted data.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Galhino said. That was logical, but, ¡°Where do you suppose I start?¡±

    ¡°Well, when did we start having problems?¡± Zarrey asked, then remembered who he was talking to. Galhino had the lowest possible opinion of the Admiral, and believed that he had always been lying to them. ¡°Start in a time frame when we all thought he was acting strangely,¡± he clarified.

    ¡°That could be anytime in the last year,¡± Galhino replied. ¡°He hasn¡¯t been normal since the Ariea sank.¡±

    ¡°With good reason,¡± Zarrey reminded. ¡°I imagine that¡¯s about when Command started targeting us.¡± Looking back, seeing the Ariea go down months ago at Persephone Station had been a marker of the times changing. Not long after that, the Admiral had begun randomizing their patrols and time frames. ¡°Things really went wild after the Kalahari Sector. Maybe start there?¡±

    Galhino shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s not a good starting point. With all the damage, the ship¡¯s records will be partial at best, and erroneous at worst.¡± In a situation like that, crew reports supplemented the operational data, but reports were easy to alter. To find anything genuine, she needed to study the ship¡¯s operational data without crew edits or influence.

    ¡°What about Sagittarion?¡± Alba suggested from where he was studying the row of trinkets on Zarrey¡¯s desk. Many were snow globes or little bobbleheads of celebrities. He reached out to one of them, poking its overgrown head. ¡°We didn¡¯t take much damage there, and he was weird about it before we even got there. Then, we had that weird malfunction in orbit and afterward, he kicked us all off the bridge.¡±

    ¡°Damn, how could I have forgotten about that?¡± Zarrey chastised himself.

    ¡°To be fair,¡± Malweh said, uncaring, ¡°We go through a lot of shit on a weekly basis.¡± Since Sagittarion, they¡¯d seen Squadron 26 explode with no survivors, found the Gargantia¡¯s lost fleet and fought a brutal battle against the nine ships in the Wilkerson Sector. By those standards, Sagittarion was forever-ago.

    Right. Zarrey tried not over think it, but despite how strangely normal the events felt in memory, that was the logical starting place. ¡°Start there, Galhino. See if you can figure out what the hell went down at Sagittarion, and let me know what you find.¡±

    Galhino nodded solemnly. Alba looked between her and Zarrey. ¡°Is there anything you want me to do?¡±

    Zarrey thought on it, absently sipping his mug, a habit, since it was generally filled with coffee that stimulated his brain. ¡°The malfunction that moved us in orbit,¡± the one that Jazmine had sworn felt like a purposeful maneuver, ¡°what did they determine the cause to be?¡±

    ¡°Jazz later identified damage under the helm console,¡± Alba said, ¡°He deemed it likely that was the cause. Given the circumstances, he was not able to test that theory.¡± The ship¡¯s precarious situation had necessitated immediate repairs.

    ¡°Did he document the damage?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± In place of testing and confirming that damage was the cause and writing up a full incident report, Jazmine had only been able to take a few photographs for later review if anyone ever found the time.

    ¡°I¡¯d like you and Malweh to take a look at that,¡± Zarrey decided. ¡°Jazz is a hell of a pilot, but he¡¯s no technician. Maybe you¡¯ll see something he didn¡¯t.¡±

    Alba nodded hollowly, and Malweh acknowledged with a simple shrug. Alba didn¡¯t like going behind the Admiral¡¯s back, but he considered this a matter of responsibility. Malweh didn¡¯t really care about any potential outcome, but she didn¡¯t mind disregarding the Admiral¡¯s authority. Out of the three members on his nighttime council, only Galhino acted with any apparent enthusiasm. This task was well suited to her. She was a fine officer, one of the brightest Zarrey had ever met, even if she maintained an attitude that was for the lack of a better term: bitchy. For some reason, she always seemed to have it out for the Admiral. Nobody really knew why. Zarrey had asked the Admiral about it once, but the man himself had claimed not to understand Galhino¡¯s reasoning.

    Zarrey, after his years people watching on stations and maintaining peace-bound Marines for security detail, thought the cause was probably Galhino¡¯s relationship with Robinson. Robinson, who had come to this post a deeply traumatized survivor of Charleston Reeter¡¯s systemic abuse aboard the former Flagship Ariea, had a deep-seeded fear of being alone with male officers ¨C especially those ranking above her.

    Zarrey had been briefed on that, and likely, Galhino had learned the same from Robinson herself. Galhino probably scrutinized the Admiral¡¯s every move as a means of protecting Robinson. Zarrey could understand that, but why she did it with such vehemence? That, he didn¡¯t have a clue. At a guess, that was a result of whatever history had brought her onto the Singularity in the first place. But that was something of a mystery, as Galhino, to Zarrey¡¯s knowledge, might be the only crewman who had no marks on her record. There was nothing ¨C no incident needing to be punished, no request she had made to land her here. It was odd, but Zarrey had never felt it important enough to justify an inquiry.

    ¡°Now,¡± he told his small council, ¡°this isn¡¯t about proving the Admiral has done something wrong. It¡¯s not about turning against him.¡± He meant that specifically for Galhino. ¡°This is not a mutiny. We are curious and concerned,¡± he stressed. ¡°While I believe the Admiral is hiding something, I firmly do not think that he would ever act without our best interests in mind.¡± The man was often¡­ difficult, but he had proven where his loyalties were.

    ¡°If you believe that, then what¡¯s the point of digging into this?¡± Galhino asked. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t you just blindly trust him?¡± Though it was clear that Zarrey didn¡¯t?

    ¡°It¡¯s not about whatever he¡¯s hiding. It¡¯s not even about why. It¡¯s about what happens to us if something happens to him.¡± Zarrey could never call himself a tactician. Sure, he could manage troop movements and drills, but he knew nothing about war strategy, and he knew nothing about sailing a renegade ship through hostile space. ¡°But, whatever he¡¯s hiding, it¡¯s big. Big enough that Reeter and that damned AI want his head.¡±

    ¡°He knows government secrets, not to mention the true face of the New Era Movement. That¡¯s enough justification to want him dead,¡± Malweh said. This wasn¡¯t the first time someone had gone after the Admiral for simply knowing too much. Hell, they had three such former assassins on the crew. ¡°And let¡¯s not discount how his personality factors into it.¡± Admiral Gives had been nothing but infuriating, especially to his superiors in the military and government structure.

    ¡°No, this is different.¡± Zarrey could feel that much, even without the justification to prove it. ¡°If the New Era¡¯s coup had wanted him dead, they¡¯d have nuked us to high oblivion the minute we came out of the Brontosaur Nebula, but they didn¡¯t. They laid a trap.¡± That meant there was something, somewhere on this ship, that they had a vested interest in keeping intact. ¡°It was something he said to me when the charges for his court martial first came down: Command wanted to subject him to a polygraph test, and somehow, that was going to let their AI get to him.¡± Zarrey didn¡¯t really understand it, but he supposed he didn¡¯t need to. ¡°So, when I say they want his head, I mean it. They want his actual, preferably living, head.¡±

    Galhino tugged her fluffy robe tighter, as if a cold wind had slid over her shoulders. ¡°So, if something were to happen to him, we lose whatever they¡¯re after, and then we get nuked to ashes.¡± There was no question that Command had enough firepower to sink them.

    ¡°Right. And while I don¡¯t know if our investigation is going to get us any closer, it¡¯s worth it to try. I don¡¯t know if the malfunctions are involved. They might be. They might not be. Either way, we need to have some idea what¡¯s going on. I¡¯m sure the Admiral thinks we¡¯re better off not knowing, especially given Command¡¯s interest, and obviously, he¡¯s not going to make it easy, but anything he knows, this ship also knows. We just need to know where to look.¡± The Singularity had been a partner for the Admiral so long that Zarrey believed every one of the man¡¯s secrets was probably buried in the records somewhere. That was to the crew¡¯s advantage. ¡°I just want to make sure we know what we need to know in order to keep ourselves alive. Beyond that, I don¡¯t give a damn.¡±

 Part 31.2 - THE SECOND SURVIVOR

    Legot Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Okara Schmindaro woke to the weight of the worlds. It had settled upon his chest, and no matter how he heaved, it would not ease. But, as he panted, he felt a gust of air, the mask atop his face dispensing oxygen-rich air, and slowly, ever so slowly, he began to calm, satiated. Eventually, he realized there was no weight upon his chest, but his torso was tightly bound.

    His hand felt foreign to him, clumsy, but he dragged it up his body, recognizing the feel of cheap sheets and gauze before finally landing on the breathing mask covering his unshaven face. I lived. Hours, he had hovered near death, and now, he just wanted to feel truly alive. With a trembling hand, he took hold of the molded plastic mask and dragged it down, gasping in the stale air around him until he thought his lungs would burst. The sensation of it flowing past his chapped lips was heavenly, compared to what he¡¯d been though, and he was content to drink it in for several long minutes. Only then did he open his eyes.

    Looking up, a completely unadorned gray ceiling hung above him, but the fact there was an ¡®up¡¯, was surprising enough. He¡¯d spent the last few hazy hours of his memory pinned and weightless, praying that the filters in his helmet wouldn¡¯t fail, subjecting him to drown in his own blood. Still, his inner ear gratefully registered the pull of gravity, relieved to be alive.

    Pain was a constant to him, but this was nothing compared to what it had been before ¨C immobile, feeling life slip further away with every beat of his heart. Once he¡¯d felt the metal spear go through his back, he¡¯d thought for sure he was dead. The Gargantia had been dealt a fatal blow, and he had watched the bodies of his crewmates drift into the infinite sea of space wearing blank looks and slack jaws tainted blue from ice and asphyxiation. He¡¯d expected to die with them, given a slower, grosser fate.

    But, somehow he¡¯d lived. Rescue must have come, but that seemed unlikely given who had caused the damage that forced the Gargantia to collapse on top of him. Not a rescue, then, he supposed, a prisoner recovery.

    Yet, he found his hand in front of him again. He wasn¡¯t bound to this bed, and there was a beautiful blonde woman asleep in the chair beside the bed. The Gargantia¡¯s ship patch, ringed in gold, was sewn onto her sleeve, but he didn¡¯t recognize her. Why was she here? She wasn¡¯t bound either, and she looked healthy, but this wasn¡¯t the Gargantia. He¡¯d known that the instant he saw the ceiling above.

    Carefully, he studied his surroundings in greater detail, wondering if they may reveal his fate. The ceiling and the floor were both a dark gray. They were clean, but not unblemished, and the floor, he recognized the sectional pieces of flooring by their size and texture. Deck tiles. Ship to ship, the material changed, but the design rarely did. That and the low hum behind him promised he¡¯d found himself on another ship, and the tasteless gray curtains hanging from the rail were standard-issue. A military ship. Even the distant sound of the engines supported that conclusion. Their hum was quiet and constant, but the tone was foreign to him, lower than the Gargantia¡¯s engine sound had been.

    But if Command had recovered them, then why wasn¡¯t he bound? Did Command think one engineer was not much of a threat? Too unimportant to restrain as he was transported back to Ariea for execution?

    Their reasons didn¡¯t matter. Okara refused to be caught helpless again. With a shaking hand, he threw the blankets off and stood, wound stabbing at him in protest. Satisfied he could stand, even if it was hunched and cradling his stomach, he took an experimental step, but the needle in his arm pulled him back. Tracing the rubber tubing bandaged to his arm, he found a nearby IV stand. It would do for a cane, he realized, and grabbed it to help steady himself. Next, he found the monitoring sensors below his thin gown, taped purposefully to his skin, and with a deep breath, he tore them off. The alarm began to screech almost immediately, reading the patient now lacked a heartbeat, but Okara didn¡¯t wait to listen to it. He took off in the fastest hobbled run he could manage.

    Lieutenant Elizabeth Foster, the Gargantia¡¯s only other survivor, bolted awake to the cry of the alarm, a sound she had been dreading night and day since she¡¯d come aboard. But, she quickly realized this wasn¡¯t the death she¡¯d been afraid of. The cardiac monitor was wailing because it¡¯s patient had gone missing, the curtain left rippling behind the clap of his bare feet.

    Foster jumped up and ran after him. She threw the curtain wide, revealing the main room of the medical bay just in time to see the engineer¡¯s shadow round the corner into the hallway. He was fast for a man who hadn¡¯t moved in days. ¡°Wait!¡± she called, chasing that shadow, but by the time she crossed sickbay, he was gone. Even listening for the sound of his footsteps, there was no way to tell which way he¡¯d gone.

    Quickly, Foster ducked back into the medical bay, ready to call the ship¡¯s doctor, but he was already exiting his office wearing a sour look that said he¡¯d been woken by the monitoring equipment¡¯s obnoxious beep.

    Doctor Macintosh saw the unevenly drawn curtain, the empty bed behind it and Foster standing by the exit, and clenched his jaw with a grumble. ¡°Why do they always run?¡± He walked over and pulled the nearest handset off the wall, dialing the bridge with no further explanation needed. ¡°CIC, Macintosh. The Gargantia¡¯s damned engineer just walked out on me.¡±

    The comms. officer on the other side made a note. ¡°Should we call general quarters and begin a search?¡±

    Macintosh considered it, but ultimately shook his head, ¡°No. He¡¯ll turn up when he gets hungry. Just let everyone up there know. They can spread the word. He shouldn¡¯t be in any immediate medical danger, but approach with caution. He doesn¡¯t know us and we don¡¯t know him. He¡¯s going to be disoriented and distrusting.¡± He waited for the officer¡¯s confirmation before he hung up, feeling the return of his migraine.

    ¡°What do you mean he¡¯s not in danger?¡± Foster cried, making her way back across sickbay¡¯s waiting room. ¡°He nearly died!¡± The man had an incredible number of stitches in his abdomen. If they came loose, he could bleed out!

    ¡°He took his IV stand with him.¡± That would keep him alive for a little while. ¡°Besides, if he¡¯s healthy enough to walk out on me, he¡¯s healthy enough to go for a walk.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s careless!¡± Foster argued. She could not deny feeling responsible for the engineer, having looked after him for the last few days. After all, they were alike, the Gargantia¡¯s only two survivors. She¡¯d been welcomed by the Singularity¡¯s crew, but she still wasn¡¯t one of them. She was an outsider, and so was that engineer.

    ¡°Look,¡± Macintosh said, ¡°when they run like that, it¡¯s because they¡¯re damn scared. There is nothing we could say that will convince him we aren¡¯t going to put him in irons and haul him back to Ariea for trial. It¡¯s best we let him work it out.¡± He popped one of his half-gnawed cigarettes back into his mouth. ¡°Honestly, Lieutenant, you were unexpectedly calm when you woke.¡± But he supposed Foster had not gone through such severe and violent physical trauma. That always amped up the survival instincts. He put a calming hand on her shoulder. ¡°He¡¯ll be alright.¡±

    True to that, Okara Schmindaro meandered the halls unpressured and unpursued, but unsure where he should go. Trapped on a ship like this, where was the best place to gain information? The bridge? Tempting as that was, it was bound to be guarded. Perhaps the engineering spaces? That was as good a spot of any to hide, he supposed, but it would serve no other purpose. Until he knew more about this ship, he stood no chance of inflicting meaningful sabotage to protect himself.

    Undecided, Okara just walked, pleased to be on his feet. He didn¡¯t mind drinking in the sights and smells without other concern for a little while. After hours near death, that was satisfying enough. He studied the uniform lighting fixtures and drab bulkheads as he wandered, but they told him little. The build metal was darker than the fleet¡¯s standard, but he wasn¡¯t sure if that was because it was stained or if it genuinely had a different composition. The bulkheads were worn, a few were scuffed visibly or dented, but they didn¡¯t look worn-out, merely weathered where the Gargantia¡¯s had been smooth and pristine.

    The sounds of other crew echoed down the halls, footsteps and voices, but he saw none of them. Dressed in his medical gown and hunched over the aluminum IV stand, he supposed that was for the best, but it was surprising. To space out crewmen so sparsely, this ship must be utterly massive, but, their hushed tones, along with the occasional analog clock mounted on the wall suggested it might also be nighttime.

    As she was aware of most things, the ghost was aware of his plodding footsteps. Okara Schmindaro, as his thoughts identified him, was no danger. He was uncertain, scared, but his intentions were not immediately violent. As such, the ghost paid him only a passing interest. Often, she sent the Admiral to calm these terrified visitors, but he was asleep, and she found no call to wake him the night before a mission. Likely, the next few days would be long for him, and Okara¡¯s memory insisted the solution did not require him. In fact, as she studied the presence of this newly conscious mind, it was clear there was someone else Okara would rather find along his path, so gently, she lured him the way he himself didn¡¯t know he wanted to go.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    Okara¡¯s feet carried him with a destination seemingly in mind while his thoughts wandered. His footfalls echoed off the undecorated walls, and soon enough, he found himself at the door of a compartment on the top of the ship. He stared at the closed hatch for a moment, but something urged him to open it, so he spun the locking wheel. When the door swung wide with a barely-audible creak, he found a panorama of windows stretching across a long and narrow compartment. Once, he could have guessed it as an observation lounge, but now it was strangely empty, save the young woman silhouetted as she sat on the thick windowsill.

    She was small, curled up in the corner, reading a book in the illumination that splashed off the hull beyond the windows. A short ponytail poked out the back of her black hat, and strangely enough, she looked familiar to him. No, more than familiar. Did he dare hope? The inquiry left his lips before he could stop it, ¡°Callie?¡± And like something out of a dream, she reacted as if someone had called her name.

    There was a man standing in the hatch way. Average height and skinny, he was clothed only in a hospital gown that didn¡¯t even reach his knees. He wasn¡¯t standing straight and he looked sick as he clutched the IV drip like a silver staff, but he recognized his face. She would have known it anywhere. ¡°Okara!¡± she exclaimed, jumping from the window.

    Before he could react, she ran across the room and grabbed him into a wonderfully warm, if gentle, hug. Tears welled in his eyes before he knew what to do with them. ¡°I never thought I¡¯d see you again.¡±

    She laughed, resisting the urge to jump up and down in excitement. ¡°Well, I thought you were dead!¡± Seeing the Gargantia sunk had hit her hard. ¡°I tried to check if they¡¯d pulled you out, but your name didn¡¯t come up in the database.¡± She had been left to assume the worst.

    Presumably Command had not wanted to reveal who survived. And knowing that Callie, an old, true friend, would give him the truth he had to ask, ¡°What happened to the Gargantia?¡±

    Callie loosened her grip unwillingly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she said solemnly, ¡°the Gargantia didn¡¯t make it out of the Wilkerson Sector. We only found two survivors.¡±

    So, the blond woman who had been waiting by his bed must have been the only other survivor of a crew that had been more than eight hundred strong. He expected to cry. He expected that to break him, but the news landed like a pulled punch to the gut. Some part of him had already known, he supposed, and he had other problems now. ¡°Callie,¡± he said, ¡°we¡¯ve got to get out of here.¡±

    She heard the pain and determination in his voice. ¡°What? Why?¡±

    ¡°Because they¡¯ll try everyone associated with the Gargantia for treason.¡± The death penalty might be stayed if he claimed to have only been following his superiors¡¯ orders, but he would still probably suffer life imprisonment. The fleet did not take disobedience lightly. ¡°And if they realize that we¡¯re friends, they¡¯ll charge you too.¡± The fleet would purge anyone they thought possessed even the slightest sympathy for the Gargantia¡¯s choice. ¡°How long do we have?¡± Still, despite his urgency, Callie only looked confused. ¡°How long until we reach Ariea?¡±

    If possible, she grew even more confused. ¡°We¡¯re not going back to Ariea.¡±

    ¡°Then where are they taking us?¡± Where would he and the other survivor be put on trial? Stars. Would they even be tried?

    ¡°Uh, well, we¡¯re heading toward the Mississippi Sector.¡± She was not entirely sure what it meant for him, though.

    ¡°The Mississippi Sector?¡± What was there? ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of it.¡±

    ¡°Me neither, but I guess it¡¯s some sort of black-market hub.¡± She shrugged, ¡°Not the weirdest place we¡¯ve been. I mean, Command sent us bug-hunting once.¡±

    He remembered that. They¡¯d become great friends during training, but had been split up after graduating. Given the thousands of potential assignments in the fleet, they had never expected to work together again, but they had kept in contact through letters. She used to regale him with tales of the missions she¡¯d gone on. They were so wildly removed from the Gargantia¡¯s mundane escort missions, some part of him had assumed she had them up so they would have something to talk about, but now he wasn¡¯t so sure.

    Okara focused on her hat for the first time. It was black, in good shape and clean, but silver embroidery decorated the front. He¡¯d seen hats like it before. They were decently common attire for ship-board personnel. An unfamiliar ship¡¯s silhouette dominated the front, long and lean. Below, it gave the ship¡¯s call sign, the formally assigned radar ID: ¡®UCSC-14¡¯. Above, in an arc, the ship¡¯s title was stitched: ¡®Battleship Singularity¡¯. That was all it took to tell him where he was. Oh, stars. ¡°Callie, you didn¡¯t leave?¡± This ship was criminal ¨C wanted dead by every human authority. ¡°I thought you¡¯d gotten off!¡± She¡¯d have to be crazy not to!

    Callie crossed her arms. She was young. She knew that, but she was just as loyal as those crewmen that had been here years. ¡°This ship is my home,¡± she told him. ¡°She¡¯s been a better home to me than Sagittarion ever was.¡± Unlike her home world, the ship had air that was safe to breathe, water that was safe to drink, food that actually nourished, and a bed that kept her warm.

    Slowly, Okara turned his attention from Callie, to the panoramic windows behind her. The stars were as clear as he¡¯d ever seen them, pinpricks of white on black velvet. A few closer suns were tinted other colors, but they didn¡¯t hold his attention. The visible portion of the bow did. It was flawed, pockmarked with deep, numerous scars underneath a layer of black and red paint. It gave off a gruesome ambience. The red reminded him of blood, and the scars, they were acts of unforgivable violence. Okara shuddered at the thought of the battles that had created them. Prior to the Centaur System, the Gargantia had not seen much combat. The ship was too insignificant, an anonymous one of over one hundred Keeper-class ships, but the scabrous hull he looked upon now¡­ This was the flawed, bombarded armor of a ship of war, a ship of violence.

    It occurred to him then, with his own discomfort. He had seen this ship before. Only once. Only briefly. He had only just been out of training, in transport to the Gargantia. There had been a number of ships in orbit, but he remembered this one. He hadn¡¯t known its name, but he could recall the savage, macabre appearance. Its dark aura had been hard to forget. At the time, he had pitied the recruits sent to join her crew, because she had looked fresh off a nonexistent warfront, and with that intimidation, had looked forlorn and alone. Her colors hadn¡¯t been the neutral gray donned by the rest of the fleet, and her presence hadn¡¯t been full of pride and purpose. It had been somber and destitute, a taste of real life among lofty ideals. ¡°This is the Singularity?¡±

    Slowly, Okara shuffled forward. Eventually, he reached the windows and continued to stare down at the powerfully-shaped, marred hull. ¡°The way they talked about her in training¡­¡± He hadn¡¯t expected this to be the former fleet flagship.

    ¡°I know,¡± she had been surprised too. Back in training, the old Singularity had been the butt of a lot of jokes. The ship¡¯s systems were known to be antiquated, and rumors of her dilapidation were decades old. The ship was considered outdated and expendable, so the fleet crewed her with delinquents and near-washouts. The ship often received extended patrol assignments, and most had assumed that was to keep the old scow out of combat.

    They said it was a mercy to the ship. However, looking at her now, Okara couldn¡¯t help but wonder if maybe that was a mercy to the enemy.

    Back in training, Callie had been relentlessly teased for this assignment, given the reputation of the ship and her crew. They¡¯d both thought Okara received the better assignment, but Callie had changed her mind the instant the ship had disobeyed orders and detoured to pick her up off Sagittarion. ¡°She¡¯s a powerful ship, Okara,¡± she had tried to express that to him in her letters, though doubtful he¡¯d believe her. ¡°I¡¯m proud to be on her crew.¡±

    Clinging to his IV stand, he let out a sigh of relief. ¡°I guess this means I won¡¯t be standing trial for treason.¡± The Singularity, a renegade ship, had no reason to turn him over to Command.

    Callie smiled a bit. ¡°Probably not, no.¡± He¡¯d be safe here. ¡°But, even if we were still serving Command, I doubt the Admiral would have turned you over.¡±

    The Admiral, Okara remembered. That¡¯s right. He¡¯d never given it much thought, but the Singularity hadn¡¯t gone rogue by her lonesome. The Fleet Admiral had helmed her into rebellion. ¡°I forgot the Singularity was his command.¡± It was an often-forgotten fact within the fleet. The Singularity¡¯s decaying reputation didn¡¯t make her a prime suspect to be the Fleet Admiral¡¯s personal command. Those that did know the Admiral¡¯s choice of ship usually presented it as evidence that he had lost his sanity in deep space, because no sane person would willingly fly on a dilapidated battleship crewed by misdemeanors. Still, ¡°Commander Fairlocke always spoke well of him, but he never talked about the Singularity.¡± If anything, the Gargantia¡¯s young commander had avoided the subject of his former ship.

    ¡°Why not?¡± Callie wondered. ¡°The others told me Fairlocke was stationed here for a few years. He was really well-liked. A lot of them actually thought he¡¯d be the Admiral¡¯s successor.¡± She found it hard to imagine the Singularity under another commander, but she had also never met Fairlocke.

    Okara shrugged. ¡°Who knows.¡± He hadn¡¯t been privy to most of the command-level discussions on the Gargantia. ¡°Not sure it matters now.¡± He was now, just like Callie, stuck on this ship.

    ¡°Well, then, come on.¡± Callie grabbed his arm and led him away, ¡°Let¡¯s get you some real clothes, and then I¡¯ll show you around.¡±

    In passing, the ghost acknowledged the result of her gambit. Reuniting Okara with his best friend from basic training had calmed him. Committing sabotage and fleeing was no longer even a thought in his mind. The situation was resolved, so she turned her attention outward once again, ensuring the ship maintained the plotted course. The journey had already been long and taxing. Barely half the distance had been covered and strains were already showing themselves. Still, as she registered one of the FTL Drives drawing power for another leap to hyperspace, she sought to keep the journey easy and quiet for as long as possible. The crew needed the rest.

 Part 31.3 - FTL FATIGUE

    15 hours later, Tulope Sector, Battleship Singularity

    With a terrible groan and rather severe shake, the Singularity descended from hyperspace. The sound permeated the entire ship, a noise of utter exhaustion. The shudder, more concerningly, could be felt through Zarrey¡¯s entire skeleton, and more importantly, was magnified like a hammer pounding his aching head. ¡°Uggh,¡± he cradled his skull, ¡°the painkillers aren¡¯t even helping anymore.¡±

    Admiral Gives rode it out with a considerable amount more grace. He was feeling the side effects of prolonged FTL travel too, but it was not his main concern. Without a word, he checked the structural integrity diagram mounted on the wall. Reflecting the ship¡¯s suffering, a few more indicators had gone yellow, but none had dipped into an unhealthy orange tint. ¡°Begin maneuvers,¡± he ordered Jazmine.

    ¡°Aye,¡± the helmsman acknowledged, and throttled up the main engines. Under thrust, the ship creaked a little more, but the noise was considerably quieter this time.

    ¡°Dammit,¡± Zarrey cursed, ¡°any more of that, and I think I¡¯m going to vomit.¡± The first two-thirds of their trek had been quiet and smooth, but the duration of this trip was starting to push what even the Singularity was capable of. The last few hours had been rough. After the first few trips, FTL tended not to make anyone sick, but that mostly applied to one-off maneuvers. Pulling maneuvers back-to-back for twenty-four or more hours turned grueling.

    ¡°You have twenty-seven minutes to regain your stomach, Colonel,¡± the Admiral reminded. ¡°Then we begin jump prep.¡±

    Jumping. The thought of it was enough to make Zarrey nauseous. Carefully, he pushed his coffee a little further away on the console. Drinking any of it would be a mistake. ¡°I can¡¯t believe the spooks at Command thought this shit wasn¡¯t harmful.¡±

    ¡°Other than physical discomfort, mental disorientation, and nausea, FTL travel has never been linked to any harmful conditions on the human body,¡± Galhino informed him without turning from the sensor readouts. ¡°Command has conducted extensive studies on prolonged FTL exposure using the scout fleet¡¯s ships and personnel.¡±

    Zarrey groaned on their behalf. ¡°Oh, those poor bastards.¡± Those experiments must have been torture. He¡¯d never been fond of the scout fleet. He always found them to be na?ve explorers or disturbing clandestine types, but he wouldn¡¯t wish this aching nausea upon anyone.

    ¡°In the process of that research, they discovered that no forces or radiation are found within hyperspace. If there is any emitted by intention or otherwise, our instruments cannot detect it. Of course, to the contrary, the environment of subspace is so violently destructive, our instruments can¡¯t survive to take measurements.¡± Galhino found the topic of FTL rather fascinating. It was rare to see something so poorly understood utilized so freely.

    On the other hand, Zarrey had never really considered the details of FTL. He had a rudimentary grasp on it in the sense that the process temporarily removed a ship from the galaxy ¨C taking it to some other plane or dimension. Of course, he only knew that because a ship couldn¡¯t be shot, caught or boarded at FTL, and that knowledge had a direct, practical application. The science of it had never been important to him, unless there was some way to make it stop hurting his head, but he didn¡¯t like that description of subspace. ¡°Violently destructive?¡± he echoed. ¡°How does the ship survive that, then?¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Galhino answered, continuing to study the sensor readouts, ¡°FTL jumping is significantly less understood than warping through hyperspace. We do know that any transition to subspace lasts only a small fraction of a second. It¡¯s near infinitesimal. It feels longer to us, but that is the limitation of how quickly humans can process something so severe.¡± Their brains required more time to process the change than the point-to-point transition took. ¡°As to the physics of it, jumping worsens damage significantly, so it¡¯s believed that there is a property in the sealed hull of a ship that rejects the forces of subspace. But, really, very little is known about it. The environment of subspace is simply too hostile to conduct experiments in. We only know, designing ships a certain way, that they can survive subspace. New ship designs are thoroughly tested in FTL maneuvering before they go to mass manufacture.¡±

    ¡°Well, that is fascinating.¡± Zarrey had certainly not expected to be lectured on the background of FTL today. ¡°But what I understood from that is that the reason we jump is because it somehow works, but we don¡¯t know why. And that makes every jump a literal leap of faith.¡± This is why I never ask technical questions. It usually led him to knowledge he¡¯d rather not possess. Still, ¡°If we don¡¯t know how it works, how the fuck did we even develop that technology?¡±

    ¡°We didn¡¯t, sir.¡± Ensign Alba answered, clicking through notifications on his console as he studied the ship¡¯s structural strains. ¡°We stole the technology and learned how to duplicate it. The hyperspace transition equipment was taken and reverse-engineered from sunk Hydrian ships during the War, but subspace tech, which was the backbone of the subspace transceiver network that colonized the known worlds, dates back centuries further than that. It¡¯s so old that there is no agreed upon origin, but it is generally believed that the technology was alien.¡±

    Zarrey gently turned his head to Alba, still very conscious of his headache. ¡°Aliens?¡± What the hell was he talking about? ¡°Like non-Hydra aliens?¡±

    ¡°Considering that the Hydra are not known to use subspace technology, yes, sir.¡± Hydrian warp drive was highly efficient, but they didn¡¯t utilize FTL jumping, as far as anyone had seen.

    Zarrey almost laughed, but held back for the sake of his head. ¡°Well, that¡¯s bullshit.¡± The Hydrian Empire was the only foreign species humanity had ever come into contact with. Everyone knew that.

    ¡°Colonel, it¡¯s not unheard of to find ruins,¡± Galhino told him. ¡°Often, they are revealed to be failed human colonies. But rarely, they are more ancient than that, and exist on worlds we would not find habitable.¡± She found it all quite fascinating. ¡°Part of my job on my last assignment was to look for potential dig sites.¡± She missed that purely scientific venture. Working on a battleship usually didn¡¯t require that kind of astrologic study.

    ¡°Sounds fake,¡± Zarrey retorted. ¡°Nobody I know has ever seen alien ruins.¡± Human ruins, sure. Planetary colonization was a risky business.

    ¡°I have.¡±

    The comment came, not from any console in CIC, but from the entrance to the bridge where Corporal Kallahan stood, minding his usual guard post. It was rare he inject himself into conversation, and Zarrey¡¯s immediate instinct was to call bullshit, save how serious the Marine looked and the fact that Kallahan almost never spoke of anything even remotely personal. ¡°You¡¯ve seen alien remains?¡±

    ¡°They sure as hell weren¡¯t human,¡± Kallahan surmised, then turned again to monitor the corridor outside CIC. ¡°Lost a lot of good Marines there. Lost ¡®em in ways I still can¡¯t comprehend.¡± He tensed, both wanting and unwilling to forget those memories. ¡°Nasty place, that.¡± He glanced briefly to the Admiral, ¡°Something even nastier followed me back.¡±

    Zarrey followed his gaze, surprised by the serious tone of this conversation. ¡°What¡¯s he talking about?¡±

    ¡°Rumors,¡± the Admiral answered.

    ¡°Rumors?¡± Zarrey sensed a tension between Kallahan and the ship commander, not for the first time. What was that all about anyway? ¡°What kind of rumors?¡±

    Kallahan sighed. Of course, the Admiral would evade the subject, but that would only be temporary. The truth would claw its way to the surface. ¡°In the war, the Hydra considered our ships disposable paper boats. They sank in burning droves, and yet seemed endless, folded and manufactured with the simplicity of origami. When the day came that they feared one of our vessels, they called it a demon, for nothing of such strength could have been forged from our paper fleet.¡± Rumors and accusations had flown, but the truth had been buried so far down, it had never been expected to survive the War.

    ¡°Eh,¡± Monty stretched at his console, boredly trying to rid himself of the weird probing sensation on the back of his neck. ¡°They just didn¡¯t like it when we finally built guns large enough to reliably punch through their EM shielding, then mounted them a ship big and fast enough to carry them. There was nothing alien about that.¡±

    The rest of the crew murmured agreement, but Zarrey kept his attention between Kallahan and the Admiral. The Marine said nothing else, but fearlessly met Admiral Gives¡¯ glare. Zarrey pretended not to notice their exchange, but it was clear to him that Kallahan definitely knew something ¨C something dark, if their previous talk was any indication. But was it the knowledge Zarrey was looking for? Or was it just another skeleton in the Admiral¡¯s closet?

    Another few minutes of idle chatter ensued. The Admiral made no move to silence the bridge. It would only have made them nervous, for the real part of the mission was getting ready to start. This half-hour was allotted to give the crew and ship some time to recover from FTL. They had stopped similarly several other times along their path. ¡°Lieutenants,¡± he looked to Monty and Jazmine, ¡°go get ready. You depart in under two hours.¡±

    The two men handed over their stations to the reserve officers. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Wait,¡± Zarrey called after them, and the pair halted. ¡°Are you two certain you¡¯re okay with this?¡±

    Jazmine flashed a confident smile. ¡°We¡¯ll be alright, Colonel.¡±

    Next to him, Monty nodded, but Zarrey wasn¡¯t convinced. They still had time to work out another plan. Something less risky. ¡°I just want to make sure we¡¯ve exhausted all the options before we commit to something like this.¡± There was a potential these two officers wouldn¡¯t make it back. ¡°Why can¡¯t we just go hover on the edge of some merchant route and wait for Crimson Heart to strike? We could intercept them and use them to find their base.¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately, Colonel,¡± the Admiral answered, ¡°there is no time for that. It could be weeks before Crimson Heart decides to strike again.¡± Crimson Heart¡¯s recent successes ensured they did not need to. ¡°Not only that, but we have no way of knowing where exactly they would take action, and we alone cannot survey an entire trade route.¡±

    That was a fair argument. Zarrey knew they were hurting for time. ¡°Then how about a trap? Maybe we could lure Crimson Heart out. We could borrow one of the civilian ships.¡±

    It was a little late for that, but the Admiral had originally considered it. ¡°None of the civilian captains would willingly have agreed to that.¡± Politics in the refugee fleet were complicated, and forcibly taking one of their ships would not have been looked upon favorably. ¡°Again, there is no guarantee that Crimson Heart is searching for targets. Given the number of ships they have recently raided, their resources are most likely being used to rebrand and arrange buyers for the products.¡± No matter how tantalizing they made the trap, if Crimson Heart wasn¡¯t looking for a score, the plan would fail.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    He was right. Zarrey knew he was right. Admiral Gives was nothing if not thorough when it came to strategy. If he said this was their best option, then it likely was. ¡°Sorry, sir.¡± He wasn¡¯t doubting the man¡¯s judgement. ¡°I just want to make sure we¡¯ve all thought this through.¡±

    ¡°That is your job, Colonel.¡± The executive officer¡¯s responsibilities involved picking up details the commanding officer missed. ¡°I would be more uneasy if you failed to voice your concerns.¡± This was a risky mission, and the Admiral was more aware of that than anyone.

    Zarrey sighed. ¡°Go on, gents.¡± Like it or not, this was the plan. ¡°May Lady Luck fly with you.¡±

    ¡°They will not need luck, XO,¡± the Admiral corrected. ¡°They have the Lady Sin.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Gaffigan said, Jazmine grinning beside him. They could bet on the battleship bailing them out if things went wrong. ¡°She¡¯s a bit more reliable.¡±

    Zarrey shook his head, admiring their unwavering faith. They were brave fools, but as a Marine, he¡¯d seen people ordered into far worse situations. Hell, Monty had already survived odds worse than this simply by making it off the Matador. And Jazmine, for all of his boasting, actually was a mighty fine pilot, and a decent man. ¡°Good hunting. Bring home the bacon.¡±

    ¡°Actually, sir,¡± Galhino turned in her seat as Monty and Jazmine headed out of sight, ¡°bacon is a cured meat. You don¡¯t hunt directly for it.¡±

    ¡°Shut up, Galhino.¡± Zarrey wasn¡¯t in the mood to put up with a smart-ass. He turned to the Admiral, who stood beside him, calm as ever. ¡°What exactly is your plan when this goes sideways?¡±

    I¡¯ll let you know when I figure it out, the Admiral mused. Still, outwardly, he presented control. ¡°The manner in which our plans are derailed shall determine our course of action.¡± It hardly made sense to plan a single response for all eventualities.

    Zarrey met the ship commander¡¯s gaze for a long moment, trying to read something from it, but there was nothing to read. As usual, his stony countenance gave away nothing. No hints of intent. No traces of concern. Fine. ¡°And how do you plan to handle Midwest Station if something goes wrong there?¡± Zarrey had to wonder. ¡°You just sent the only crewman who can find Midwest Station on an insanely risky mission.¡± If something went wrong there, the rest of them could do nothing.

    ¡°I never said Jazmine was the only crew member who knew Midwest Station¡¯s whereabouts.¡±

    The reply was made calmly, so calm that it took Zarrey a moment to process it. Wait a damn minute. ¡°What do you mean Jazmine isn¡¯t the only person on board who can fly to the station?¡±

    ¡°To my knowledge, there remains at least one other.¡± There could be more. Jazmine was certainly the most vocal parolee, but he wasn¡¯t the only one, so it was possible others were familiar with the route to reach the station. Noting the time, Admiral Gives looked to Alba. ¡°Begin jump prep.¡± They would carry Monty and Jazmine through one more jump, then, the pair would disembark, and the Singularity would make her final jump alone. Almost done, he promised the old ship. Two more jumps, and she would be able to rest. Crew and sensors would be on high alert, considering the mission, but the ship¡¯s structure would be allowed to rest ¨C temporarily at least.

    Zarrey scowled, the movement pulling at the scar on his chin. ¡°So, you¡¯re sending Jazmine, when we could be sending someone else?¡± Disapproval hung in his voice, ¡°Jazmine is the most obvious choice to fly us in there if something goes wrong.¡± He was the ship¡¯s helmsman after all. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we send the other?¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant Jazmine has an intact reputation and background on Midwest Station. That will allow him privileges someone else could never attain.¡± Jazmine¡¯s skill as a pilot had been recognized and rewarded accordingly in the underworld. Sending him back to Midwest Station would put him face-to-face with his former employer, and that was the most probable way to get the information they needed, regardless of the risk.

    ¡°I get that Jazz was a valid choice, but now we¡¯re short the best pilot to fly us to the station. I have enough issues believing we have someone else with knowledge of this secret criminal outpost, but is this other person even a pilot? Could they even fly us to the station?¡±

    ¡°He was a pilot, yes.¡±

    ¡°Wait, what do you mean, was?¡±

    The Admiral was spared having to make a response by Alba. ¡°We¡¯re ready to jump, sir.¡±

    Checking the structural indicator diagram, he could see that none of the strains had eased. Many of the lights were still yellow. It would require more time to ease the ship¡¯s structure to any meaningful degree. Unfortunately, they didn¡¯t have time for that. At least this brief respite had allowed the crew some recovery, so he looked to Robinson. ¡°Make the announcement.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± she clicked on the intercom, ¡°Attention all hands, prepare for FTL. I repeat, prepare for FTL.¡± The usual sound alert followed, echoing onto the bridge from the speakers in the corridor.

    Zarrey swallowed. There was no way out of this. He knew that. But, considering how horrible the last few hyperspace maneuvers had been, Zarrey did not anticipate a jump being pleasant. On a normal day it felt like someone was squeezing his skull. This, he knew, would not be a normal day. ¡°I¡¯m going to go sit down.¡± There were an extra few seats around CIC. Now felt like a good time to make use of them.

    Admiral Gives made no move to stop him. He turned to the helmsman. ¡°Decelerate.¡± It wouldn¡¯t help much, but the less force and speed they carried into this jump, the better for the ship and crew. He waited until the pitch of the engines had lowered to a near imperceptible hum. Then, he didn¡¯t bother with the countdown. Anticipation would just tense everyone up and make it worse. He simply nodded to Alba. ¡°Engage.¡±

    Alba took a breath, and with an apologetic thought to the old ship, turned the key.

    The next instant landed like a brutal kick to the head. Zarrey came to hearing the cry of the decompression alarm and feeling the shudder of the ship¡¯s structure.

    ¡°Seal the breach,¡± the Admiral commanded. He sounded as strong as ever, but he was leaning heavily onto the metal rim of the console in front of him.

    ¡°Got it, sir.¡± Alba said, voice quiet. ¡°Damage worsened around the incomplete hull repairs. It progressed further than we expected it to.¡± Damage mitigation tactics had already been in place, but it was impossible to predict the effect of subspace with any accuracy.

    The Admiral forcibly pulled himself off the console, reminding the ghost, ¡®This is why we don¡¯t start missions with incomplete repairs.¡¯ He didn¡¯t enjoy putting the ship or crew through this.

    ¡®Don¡¯t be an ass,¡¯ she snarked back. ¡®I don¡¯t have to keep these maneuvers gentle.¡¯

    ¡®We clearly have different definitions of gentle,¡¯ he remarked, studying the structural chart once again. The areas around the incomplete repairs had taken on a strong orange tint. In the same location, the hull indicators were all red. The recently repaired structural support in the bow had also taken on a very light orangish tint, not as severely strained. In all, she would hold for one more jump, but then he¡¯d have to let the ship rest.

    ¡®See how you like the next jump without my help,¡¯ the ghost harumphed. ¡®That¡¯ll teach you to make a point.¡¯

    Doubt it, he thought, but she was clearly unhurt, so he turned his immediate attention to the crew. They looked all-around, rough. Dark bags had taken root under their eyes, and they were slow to recover. He could tell by their quiet groans and the way they reached up to massage their temples. Subspace sickness. Every sailor recognized its symptoms, and everyone went through it as a rookie, but it only resurfaced in extreme cases. Little was known about how and why the sickness occurred. Save dispensing painkillers which had limited effectiveness, there was nothing to be done about it. It was a miserable fact of space travel, like rough seas had been for the ocean faring sailors that had come before them.

    ¡°Sound roll call,¡± the Admiral ordered. Subspace sickness wasn¡¯t usually dangerous, and the crew had been ordered to travel in groups of two or larger in case someone became sick, but there was no point in risking anything they didn¡¯t have to. ¡°XO, make sure everyone is accounted for.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Zarrey said miserably, dragging himself into a standing position. His joints ached in ways he didn¡¯t know they could ache. ¡°But you¡¯re crazy if you think we¡¯re going to make another jump.¡±

    ¡°We are going to make another jump.¡± It wasn¡¯t up for debate. ¡°We have seen worse.¡± The unfinished repairs had complicated this trip, but overall, the ship had made longer journeys.

    Nursing an uneven gait, Zarrey moved to begin checking the roll with the ship¡¯s crew roster. ¡°Feels like a good excuse for mutiny,¡± he grumbled. He didn¡¯t envy Monty and Jazmine having to make two more jumps in a smaller ship. That would be nothing short of fantastically miserable.

    ¡°XO, I will elect to ignore that comment.¡±

    Zarrey was kidding, mostly. He was only griping because it made him feel better. Although¡­ ¡°Considering her present condition, I bet your ship would side with me.¡± Especially if I bribe her with a few hours of rest and full repairs.

    I would bet not. Still, the Admiral wasn¡¯t going to stop him. ¡°Try it, XO.¡±

    The Admiral¡¯s tone was as warm as it ever got: a completely undisturbed neutral. Zarrey found that more disturbing than a threat. It turned an invitation into a trap. He portrayed the remarkable lack of concern of someone who knew exactly how an attempted mutiny would play out. Of course, as far as Zarrey was concerned, he probably did know how that would end. Admiral Gives had put down several mutinies over the years, including that by his previous second in command. But, no matter what the motive, means or numbers, they always ended the same way: with the mutineers incapacitated or worse and Admiral Gives back in command.

    With that history, Zarrey took it as a fact that no mutiny aboard these decks would ever succeed, and truly, he had never felt particularly motivated to mutiny. Colonel Zarrey wanted nothing less than the responsibility of command. At times, he acted out, questioning the Admiral¡¯s motives, but he¡¯d never resented the man. No, Zarrey had always found the Admiral to be terrifyingly competent. Nothing escaped his attention if it concerned the ship, but he was more lenient on crew matters. With a few exceptions, handling the crew was Zarrey¡¯s job. He broke up the fights, disciplined the pranksters and heard out their concerns.

    ¡°Everyone¡¯s accounted for,¡± Zarrey announced. ¡°A few are sick enough to be dehydrated, but no injuries to report.¡± Even practiced space farers suffered with so many transitions in and out of FTL. ¡°Probably a good thing you threw the civvies off the ship.¡±

    I did not throw them off, the Admiral almost argued, then realized he simply didn¡¯t care enough to contradict the point. He hadn¡¯t been willing to take no as an answer, so in a manner of speaking, he had thrown them off, even if it had been for their own good. Enduring this would have sparked a new level of hatred from Amelia, and it occurred to him that Sergeant Cortana, coming from a terrestrial post, likely wasn¡¯t fairing much better.

    The ship creaked lowly, the structure beginning to resettle. This time, no physical shift accompanied the sound, at least not that Zarrey could detect, but then, his equilibrium was all kinds of screwed up. He looked around, sympathizing with the fatigue as he shuffled back to the Admiral¡¯s side. ¡°Do you ever feel bad about it?¡±

    The Admiral wasn¡¯t one for small talk, but Zarrey chatted as a way to entertain himself and the crew. It helped keep their minds off the looming danger missions and battles, so sometimes the Admiral chose to entertain him. ¡°You are going to need to be more specific.¡±

    The ship commander never made eye contact with him. He was focused on the various charts and readouts across the bridge, intaking and interpreting the data. Zarrey could almost see him doing the calculations that determined the ship¡¯s fitness to proceed. But that, like everything for him, was a calculation. It was a cold, logical judgement based on fact. So, perhaps, to ask what he felt was the wrong question. Still, Zarrey was curious. ¡°This ship. Do you ever feel bad about putting her through all these maneuvers?¡±

    ¡°No, why should I?¡±

    Zarrey tilted his head in surprise. For someone so frequently defensive about the ship, it seemed strange. ¡°These maneuvers suck, Admiral.¡± They righteously sucked. ¡°The crew¡¯s miserable, and its pretty obvious the old girl feels it too.¡± The structure was straining and the hull had actually torn bringing them out of that jump. ¡°Don¡¯t you feel bad for pushing her like that?¡±

    ¡°Do you feel bad for making the Marines train, for assigning the engineers maintenance, or having the chefs cook?¡± The Admiral asked, but didn¡¯t bother to wait for an answer. ¡°Of course not, because that is their job.¡± It would be madness to worry over those details. ¡°Singularity¡¯s job is to take us where we need to go. That is her purpose. To deny that would be to rescind our trust in her.¡± That was a greater grievance than strains the ship had been designed to handle. ¡°Like I would any of you, I only ask that she do her job.¡± He expected everyone on this ship to manage their jobs or else find a new one. In the case of the ship herself, he knew better than to worry about routine use. She, like her crew, would recover fully from this trip.

    ¡°Huh.¡± Zarrey scratched his chin. ¡°I hadn¡¯t thought about it like that.¡± He¡¯d considered it more of an abuse, but that was unfair, considering the ship had been designed for FTL travel. ¡°Then, I wonder what it¡¯s like. How does subspace really feel?¡±

    Zarrey expected Galhino to answer with some scientific nonsense about how no one could feel anything in the immeasurable realm of subspace, but once again, it was the Admiral that replied, his voice calm, as always. ¡°I was told once that you do not want to know.¡± He¡¯d asked once, given the ghost¡¯s control over the ship, what jumping was like. Utterly lacking her usual humor, that had been her response.

    He had never asked again.

 Part 31.4 - WHITE HAIR

    Tulope Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Montgomery Gaffigan and Don Jazmine sat bathed in the white light of the Rhino¡¯s control screens. It splashed onto them, illuminating the crisp lines of their dress shirts. In the back, their suit jackets were hung to stay fresh through the journey ahead of them. Already, the air between them tasted stale and recycled, though heavy with anticipation.

    The lift had brought them flush to the landing bay. Its flat, artificial plain yawned out before them, colored by the angle and distance markers the pilots used to help land. They both sat for a minute in silence, contemplating this choice, and then Jazmine reached up to his headset. ¡°This is Jazz. Requesting departure permission.¡±

    ¡°Granted, Jazz,¡± came the reply of the flight officer through his headset. ¡°Releasing mag-locks now.¡±

    ¡°10-4,¡± Jazmine said, checking over everything one last time. When the mag-lock indicator went dark, he began to ease them up. The movement took more effort than he remembered, as if the mag-locks were still tugging them back, hesitant to let go. But in an instant, that was gone and they were on their way.

    Montgomery Gaffigan watched the ribbed structure of the landing bay pass by mournfully. ¡°I¡¯m going to miss her.¡±

    No, Jazmine thought, you¡¯re going to miss her weapons. That wasn¡¯t quite the same thing. ¡°Cheer up, Monty.¡± He said, ¡°This is going to be fun!¡±

    Monty crossed his arms and pushed himself as far into the copilot¡¯s seat as the cushions would let him go, ¡°Maybe for you.¡± As far as Jazmine was concerned, he was on the path of reliving his glory days as a smuggler, now with the extra drama of now being a military spy. Monty did not share his enthusiasm. ¡°You didn¡¯t get beaten on the Olympia.¡± He was not excited to head out into a place where he could get beaten again.

    ¡°Oh, come on.¡± Jazmine rolled his eyes, steering their small craft out into the void. ¡°You¡¯ve been through worse.¡± Everyone knew that. ¡°I¡¯m quite happy to report that Midwest Station has no Black Box. You won¡¯t have to worry about neurofibers there.¡±

    The mention of neurofibers made the back of Gaffigan¡¯s neck tickle in a most uneasy way, just as it had been after their last few FTL manuevers. ¡°Stop talking.¡±

    ¡°I mean, I¡¯d think that would make you more comfortable there than staying on our renegade ship, given that theoretically, Command could, you know, activate the Box at any time.¡±

    ¡°Stop,¡± Monty growled at him. ¡°I don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± He never wanted to talk about it.

    ¡°Daaamn,¡± Jazmine replied, drawing out the word. ¡°I was just trying to make you feel better. No need to get feisty.¡±

    Gaffigan focused on the controls in front of him. The jump coordinates had been precalculated and uploaded to navigations, but he still needed to prepare the drive. ¡°Just get us to the jump point,¡± he told Jazmine. With a shake of his head, he muttered to himself, ¡°Learn some tact.¡± Ordinarily, he and Jazmine got along well, but that was aboard ship. And Gaffigan preferred not to leave the ship unless it was to go drink to excess, numbing the memories he¡¯d spent years trying to forget. As a munitions officer, there was always plenty to do on a battleship, and that kept him from thinking too much, as did the drink when he took leave. But a mission like this, those memories had a way of coming back, and it didn¡¯t help that Jazmine liked to poke at them.

    Monty knew Jazmine was trying to help. He did mean well. But Jazmine had also lived a carefree life. He¡¯d been a few tight fixes, not the least of which had led to being caught by the Singularity and hauled back to Ariea for trial, but he¡¯d never seen insanity. He¡¯d seen violence, death even, after the nuke, but he¡¯d never seen insanity. He hadn¡¯t been on the Matador. The rest of the crew at least knew better than to bring it up, even if they were aware of his history. After all, the Singularity had been the one to rescue what was left of the Matador¡¯s crew. It had been before Jazmine¡¯s time, but they¡¯d seen that insanity too.

    The survival rate of the Matador¡¯s crew had been less than one percent. None of the other survivors had gone back to shipboard assignments. Gaffigan himself, fresh out of that hell and the following few months of inquiries and therapy, had thought the Admiral was crazy for offering such an obviously unstable person the position of chief armory officer. His reasons for doing so remained unclear, but Gaffigan was grateful.

    He¡¯d always found something calming about the Singularity, despite knowing that the ship possessed a Black Box like the Matador had. He¡¯d never quite figured out why, but in the end, he supposed it didn¡¯t matter. The ship hadn¡¯t turned on them yet, and since it hadn¡¯t happened by now, he figured she never would, though not everyone shared that opinion. Those like Jazmine were concerned about the safety measures Command had installed on the ship, the Black Box in particular.

    But Gaffigan knew better than anyone that those failsafe measures didn¡¯t work flawlessly. They could malfunction, as had been the Matador¡¯s fate, and he suspected, might also be the Singularity¡¯s case. The Matador¡¯s Box had become hyper-functional, but he suspected that the Singularity¡¯s might simply be non-functional. At least, that was what he told himself, because the last thing he wanted to consider was that it might be malfunctioning in an active capacity.

    ¡°Monty, you¡¯re being awfully quiet.¡± Jazmine didn¡¯t like it. The way he was staring back at the Singularity¡¯s long form felt foreboding, as if he might never see it again. ¡°The Admiral said he¡¯d handle it if something went wrong.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Monty said, breaking free from his thoughts. Now wasn¡¯t the time to consider the Matador¡¯s fate. He briefly checked the status of his controls. ¡°The drive is charging.¡± Then, he turned back to the Singularity, now shrinking in the distance. The ship looked tired. The hull lighting looked dimmer than he remembered it, casting longer and darker shadows on the hull. The bow had a few misplaced bumps on its usual shape ¨C fresh damage from the FTL maneuvers. Subspace had torn at the gaps in the hull repairs and widened the ship¡¯s wounds once again.

    ¡°Man, you¡¯re going to have to come off a little less dead by the time we get to the station.¡± Jazmine pulled back on the controls, slowing them down as they reached the preselected jump point. ¡°No explosives specialist in the underworld hates their job.¡± They came off as freakishly happy people.

    ¡°I love my job,¡± Gaffigan defended. ¡°I just like doing it on the ship with the big guns.¡± Their Rhino transport had been given a partial loadout ¨C ammunition for the guns and some defensive measures, but they hadn¡¯t been allotted any missiles. In the underworld, missiles were hard to come by, and it would have been suspicious to fly freely with a full set. Vaguely, Gaffigan gestured back to the Singularity. ¡°If any of those pyromaniacs got a taste of the genuine article, they¡¯d find stuff like this boring too.¡±

    Jazmine focused on the controls. The Rhino¡¯s dashboard displays were brighter and more integrated than a Warhawk¡¯s tactile switches and knobs, lighting the compartment with a soft ethereal glow. ¡°I knew a guy who blew up ships for a living. He was frighteningly creative. The man could turn almost anything into a bomb. I¡¯m sure he¡¯d find guns designed to do that boring.¡±

    You really shouldn¡¯t be that impressed. ¡°It¡¯s not that hard to make a bomb.¡± Most households had all the materials necessary in the cleaning closet or kitchen. ¡°I target the largest ship-mounted guns ever built for a living. I shot through a moon.¡± That was much more exhilarating than blowing up a freighter with dime-a-dozen homemade explosives. ¡°I bet none of the underworld pyros have ever managed that.¡±

    ¡°No, I guess not.¡± That was a fair point.

    ¡°Any pyro would salivate over my day job.¡± That was a fact. With the freedom the Admiral gave him to make things disappear, it was a demolitionist¡¯s dream. The potential for carnage was almost endless. ¡°You really don¡¯t pay enough attention to our ship, Jazz.¡± He was too focused on proving himself as a pilot. ¡°She¡¯s incredible. After Frontier Rebellion, it legally became a war crime to utilize a Constancy-class battleship for orbital bombardment.¡±

    ¡°Orbital bomb-what now?¡±

    ¡°Orbital bombardment, dumbass. Firing onto surface targets from orbit.¡± Most ships in the fleet were not capable of doing so. It usually wasn¡¯t necessary, but the bigger ships, the likes of the Olympia and Singularity included, were capable of precision strikes with devastating results.

    Jazmine furrowed his brow. Orbital re-entry was a hot and complicated business. The friction would eat away at things until there was nothing left without a safe angle and heat shielding. ¡°Don¡¯t the shells just explode in the atmosphere?¡±

    ¡°They do, unless you¡¯re using ATM shells.¡± Gaffigan grinned, just thinking about it. ¡°Solid tungsten. They won¡¯t burn up completely in atmosphere, and with the gravity assist, can hit with more penetrating power than a nuke without the messy radiation. If the projectiles are big enough, and fired at the correct angle and target, they can puncture the crust of a planet. Make a new volcano.¡±

    Jazmine watched him make a little volcano with his hands, waggling his fingers in a show of spewing lava. ¡°Uh-huh.¡± That¡¯s not concerning. Monty presented that information a little too happily. ¡°Well, I¡¯m sure Command confiscated those shells.¡± If they were that dangerous, Command never would have allowed Admiral Gives to keep them. Especially not after New Terra.

    ¡°Eh,¡± Monty shrugged, running final checks the drive and the navigation coordinates. ¡°The Skipper¡¯s proven more than once that he is perfectly willing and able to hide whatever he wants from Command.¡± Most certainly, that included a few ATM shells. ¡°Besides, we can cast our own shells for the Singularity¡¯s main battery. If we got our hands on some tungsten, we could just make them ourselves.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Jazmine realized, ¡°maybe I¡¯m just the only one hoping he never finds a reason to exterminate a planet.¡±

    Monty didn¡¯t bother making a response to that. The way he figured, it wasn¡¯t his job to contemplate the morals of what he was told to do. His job was to make whatever he was told to, disappear. He preferred to keep it simple like that. In his experience, none of the Admiral¡¯s orders had been that questionable, but then, he hadn¡¯t been on the ship during New Terra, Icarus Gap, or even the incident with the Yokohoma. And those instances, not the lame patrols the ship had run for the last few years, were what had cemented Admiral Gives¡¯ reputation as the deadliest officer in the allied fleet. Strictly speaking, firing on other UCSC ships during this rebellion of theirs was probably the most questionable thing Gaffigan had been asked to do. It was a little messed up if he thought too much about it, but he made a point not to think too much in general. ¡°You ready?¡± he asked Jazmine.

    Jazmine opened up the medical tin that sat between them. He handed Monty one small white pill, then took one of the others for himself. He popped it in his mouth and downed it without bothering with the water canteen, despite its foul taste. Anti-nausea meds had been graciously supplied to them. Granted the now-limited supply on the ship, most of the crew had elected to go without, but the away team couldn¡¯t show up to Midwest Station looking jump-lagged. ¡°Ready,¡± he told Monty, feeling the medicine coat his throat.

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    ¡°Then, here goes.¡± Monty flipped the switch to discharge the Rhino¡¯s FTL drive, and with all the grace of a beached whale, the dropship punched its way through subspace.

    When it reappeared in a flash of rainbow light, Lieutenant Jazmine nearly lost his lunch, regardless of the anti-nausea meds. ¡°Uggh,¡± he groaned, swallowing back bile. The discomfort vanished quickly, thanks to the meds, but he could still feel a bit of numb exhaustion pulling at his hands. ¡°Stars, I was so damn miserable on the ship, I¡¯d forgotten how much worse it is to be off it.¡± The Singularity traversed subspace with surprising ease. The misery was much more pronounced on smaller ships like this one.

    No reply came from the copilot¡¯s seat. Concerned, Jazmine turned, but only found Monty gently nursing his recently-broken nose. By now, only a shadow of the bruising could be seen if one knew where to look. The ship¡¯s doctor had helped accelerate the healing, but now, the weapons officer held it as if the injury was unfamiliar. ¡°Is it bothering you?¡±

    Monty startled, as if suddenly remembering he wasn¡¯t alone. ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± he answered quietly, moving to scratch at the spot that kept itching on the back of his neck. There was a raised bump where his neck met the base of his skull. Had that always been there?

    ¡°You alright?¡± Jazmine said, with increased concern. ¡°If you¡¯re not up to it, Monty, now¡¯s the time. We can still turn back.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Gaffigan snapped. ¡°You¡¯re the one that dragged me on this damn assignment, so why don¡¯t we just get it over with?¡±

    ¡°Shit, dude, chill.¡± Jazmine said. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to come. The Admiral offered to replace you.¡± But wasn¡¯t that in itself odd? The Admiral had made that offer not once, but twice. And he never repeated himself without a reason. ¡°Monty, you¡¯re not acting yourself.¡± This was more standoffish than Jazmine had ever seen him be, scratching at his neck with strange fixation.

    ¡°Sorry,¡± Monty forced his hand back to the controls, preparing the next jump. ¡°I just don¡¯t like this mission. We have no protection and no support if something goes wrong. We can¡¯t even blast our way out.¡± He felt weak without the Singularity¡¯s weaponry. Out here, they had only the pathetic amount of explosives and paper-thin armor the Rhino carried. ¡°And these jumps¡­ Stars, these jumps.¡± He suddenly lowered his head, trying to clear it.

    ¡°What about these jumps, Monty?¡± Jazmine inched his finger toward the subspace transmitter. This wasn¡¯t normal behavior for the armory officer. Did he need to abort the mission?

    Monty saw the pilot¡¯s hand start to move, and with the deftness of someone deeply familiar with the controls of a Rhino, locked the subspace transmitter to the copilot¡¯s controls. ¡°We¡¯re not aborting.¡± He would see this mission through. Quickly, his hands swept across the controls, initiating calculations for their final jump to the Mississippi Sector.

    ¡°Monty, let¡¯s talk about this.¡± Jazmine shifted in his seat, remembering the sidearm on his hip. It was pressing against him, holstered, but loaded and ready. If he had to, he could knock Gaffigan out with it.

    ¡°I¡¯d rather not,¡± the armory officer said, reaching across to begin recharging the drive.

    ¡°Man, we really can¡¯t afford to have an issue on the station.¡± The fate of the entire fleet was in their hands. There wasn¡¯t enough time to start a new plan. ¡°We¡¯re only going to get one shot at this.¡± Once their cover was blown, it would all be over, and it was clear now that Monty was distracted.

    With nothing to do but wait as the navigations computer calculated the jump and the drive recharged, Monty moved his hands to his knees. He wrapped his fingers around them, just to give his hands something to hold. He had never been this anxious to go on a mission. ¡°You want to know my problem, Jazz?¡± he gritted his teeth, ¡°You really want to know my problem?¡±

    In that instant, Jazmine realized his copilot was trembling. His whole body shook like a leaf on the wind, and it was jarring to see an officer who was usually so cheerful and so eager, so clearly rattled.

    ¡°I¡¯m starting to remember things. Things I didn¡¯t remember before.¡± All these FTL maneuvers were doing more than fatigue his body, they were jumbling his thoughts and memories. The brutality of it was knocking things loose ¨C things he wasn¡¯t sure he was supposed to remember.

    ¡°Look, if this is about the Matador, I¡¯m sorry I brought it up.¡± Jazmine hadn¡¯t considered that might be hurtful. Monty usually seemed so unbothered.

    ¡°This isn¡¯t about the damn Matador. It¡¯s about the fucking Olympia.¡± Reeter¡¯s self-dedicated cathedral of worship. ¡°They beat me. I knew they beat me. I remembered that.¡± Given his wounds, it would have been strange not to remember that. ¡°But I didn¡¯t remember being interrogated.¡±

    ¡°¡­And now you do?¡±

    Flexing his hands, Gaffigan shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe?¡± These jumps were messing with his head. ¡°It¡¯s just flashes, Jazz. It¡¯s not coherent, but it doesn¡¯t make sense. How could I not remember that?¡±

    There was an honest distress in the question, evident in white knuckles and a trembling voice. It took Jazmine entirely aback to see the gleeful pyromaniac in such a state. ¡°You weren¡¯t there,¡± he remembered. Oh, stars. ¡°You weren¡¯t on the bridge when the Admiral mentioned it.¡±

    ¡°Mentioned what?¡±

    ¡°The Erans¡¯ AI, Monty. It¡¯s capable of memory manipulation.¡± Why hadn¡¯t it occurred to him sooner? ¡°He said that it could turn us against ourselves, that it could alter our memories to change our loyalties and personalities.¡± At the time, while disturbing, the information hadn¡¯t felt dooming. ¡°We tried not to worry, because we were on the Singularity, and she¡¯s immune to AI infiltration. But you weren¡¯t there. You were on the Olympia.¡±

    ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that?¡± Rumors of the AI¡¯s ability had circulated quickly amongst the crew. ¡°But I felt fine until we started jumping, and now something¡¯s wrong with me. I know it.¡±

    ¡°Then we need to turn around. Get back to the ship and let Doctor Macintosh fix you.¡±

    ¡°And what the hell is the doctor going to do if the electric impulses of my brain got rewired?¡± Macintosh wasn¡¯t equipped to fix that. Monty didn¡¯t think anyone was. ¡°But it¡¯s not that. I don¡¯t think I¡¯m a danger-¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s exactly what they would want you to say, Monty!¡± It was exactly what he would be programmed to believe!

    ¡°I was trash to them, Jazz. I wasn¡¯t supposed to make it off that ship. I wasn¡¯t some tactical asset, and if I¡¯d been implanted with some urge to betray you, don¡¯t you think I would¡¯ve done it already?¡± They¡¯d escaped the Wilkerson Sector by the skin of their teeth. If there had been an instant for him to betray and sink the Singularity, it would have been then. ¡°I¡¯m not their naddlethworfing agent.¡± He knew that much. ¡°I was interrogated, but they didn¡¯t want me to remember why. That¡¯s why they fucked with my head.¡±

    ¡°And¡­¡± Monty gripped his knees even tighter, creasing his black slacks unwillingly, ¡°That¡¯s why I have to be on this mission, Jazmine.¡± He remembered that now, even just from the flashes of memory. ¡°I screwed up, and I need to make it right.¡±

    Jazmine swallowed. The man sounded honest, a brutally upset honesty. But, exactly how well could the Eran AI reprogram people? What if this was all part of the charade?

    ¡°It¡¯s my fault.¡± That one domino which had set so much in motion could be traced back to him. ¡°The New Era wants the Admiral¡¯s head. And it¡¯s my fault.¡±

    ¡°How the hell is that your fault?¡±

    Monty could feel the chaffing of cuffs on his wrists. His skin itched, sore and irritated. ¡°Because I told them everything they wanted to know. They drained it from my head like liquid from a straw.¡± He hadn¡¯t been able to stop it. He¡¯d been immobilized and bound to that chair in the Olympia¡¯s interrogation room, staring ahead as he felt the AI sift through his mind ¨C all his memories and knowledge laid open to see. ¡°She wanted to know about Admiral Gives, and she used me to learn. Do you know how that feels?¡± No, of course he didn¡¯t. ¡°I should have died on the Matador. I should have, but I didn¡¯t. And do you know who pulled me out of that nightmare?¡± That writhing, rotten, blood-stained nightmare? ¡°It wasn¡¯t the Marines. It wasn¡¯t the engineers. It wasn¡¯t even a rescue team. It was Admiral Gives. He¡¯s the one that got me out of there.¡± Monty owed the man his life, and he wasn¡¯t the only crewman who felt that way. ¡°But now, because of me, the Erans don¡¯t just want to kill him, Jazmine.¡± That would have been normal. ¡°No, they want him alive, and I guarantee whatever they do to him will be worse than death.¡±

    ¡°How is anything worse than death?¡± Jazmine quite liked being alive.

    Montgomery turned his eyes to the darkness around them. ¡°You don¡¯t know because you¡¯ve never seen hell.¡± Not many people had. Most that visited didn¡¯t come back. ¡°I envy you for that.¡±

    Jazmine knew he¡¯d been a carefree adventurer, but it was easy to live that way when you had nothing to lose. Now, he had a ship full of people he considered family counting on him to succeed in this con for the coordinates of Crimson Heart. ¡°Monty, you¡¯re not in your right mind. Let¡¯s turn back while we still can. There¡¯s no shame in it.¡±

    On the dash in front of Gaffigan, a light started blinking, indicating the FTL drive was at full charge. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°I have to do this.¡± There may not be shame in retreat, but he had to prove to himself that he was still loyal, so he reached out and flicked the switch.

    Jazmine didn¡¯t even get time to protest. The next instant, they were in the vile, compressing grasp of subspace, and then, nearly as fast as he could process it, it was over. New constellations adorned the velvet darkness around them. ¡°Damn it, Monty!¡± There¡¯s no turning back now! The Jayhawker had drones set up to monitor the path toward the station. Their craft had surely been seen the moment it appeared. It would be suspicious to jump away and then return later.

    Gaffigan heard his complaint, but it was dulled by a piece of memory, taking him back to that soundproofed room. He was chained to that metal chair, robbed of cushions or comfort. A woman stood before him, a predator¡¯s grin twisting her pixie face as something his mind blacked out crawled up his leg. ¡°I saw her,¡± he realized, jolting back to the present with the glaring memory of that horrible, horrible smile.

    Jazmine wasted no time taking the controls. He steered their small craft forward, knowing it was now too late to turn back. ¡°Who?¡±

    ¡°The Eran AI.¡±

    ¡°So what?¡± Why did that matter? ¡°It¡¯s a computer!¡± Monty could have seen the face of a devil, but technically, that devil didn¡¯t have a face. ¡°It can change its face whenever it wants.¡±

    ¡°It could, but it won¡¯t.¡± Humanity knew little of artificial intelligences, but knowledge on Hydrian AI was taught in officer school. ¡°The Hydrian Bylaws encourage AI to maintain one primary appearance.¡± An AI could deviate, but would often return to one consistent avatar.

    ¡°So, it usually looks like the white-haired bitch that showed up on the Palindrome?¡± Big deal. ¡°We all saw that hologram.¡± The whole bridge had been watching that communication.

    ¡°But didn¡¯t it strike you as familiar?¡±

    ¡°No. Why would it?¡± He¡¯d never seen the AI before then.

    ¡°Are you dense?¡± Monty asked, feeling the ship turn below him as Jazmine took them into the path between the Mississippi Sector¡¯s dark planets. ¡°White hair.¡±

    ¡°So, what if she had white hair?¡± Far as he cared, it was a fashion statement that made the AI easy to distinguish. ¡°Why would that matter?¡±

    ¡°Because you¡¯ve seen it before.¡± The AI¡¯s appearance hadn¡¯t been a stranger to him on the Olympia. He¡¯d heard the rumors years before that. ¡°You saw her standing over the Admiral¡¯s body in the Aragonian Sector.¡± And Zarrey, Alba and Jazmine had all described her the same way: white hair.

    Oh. ¡°Hell fires in heaven,¡± Jazmine gasped, his mind reeling so hard he nearly steered them off course. ¡°It¡¯s on the ship.¡± No, wait. ¡°It wasn¡¯t the same face.¡± Jazmine hadn¡¯t looked too closely at either of them. Both had been unnerving, but he¡¯d never forgotten a lady¡¯s face, and he took great pride in that.

    ¡°Idiot!¡± Monty said. ¡°Why would it be the same face?¡±

    ¡°You just said it would appear the same way every time!¡±

    ¡°Each AI will have a consistent appearance, yes.¡± That was the decree of the Hydrian Bylaws. ¡°But that wasn¡¯t the same AI, Jazmine. Don¡¯t you see?¡± Gaffigan felt their acceleration pick up, as if Jazmine was trying to hurry the mission along. ¡°If what the Admiral said is true, then there are six AI of human origin. Six.¡± He held up the number with his hand. ¡°And, however they built them, they probably used similar methods, so the AIs probably are similar to each other and will share traits when they appear, such as hair color. But still, they differ in strength, so we know they¡¯re not identical and by result, some traits won¡¯t be identical.¡±

    ¡°Meaning the faces on their avatars might differ.¡± Jazmine could follow that far. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t make sense. The Singularity can¡¯t host an AI.¡± The ship¡¯s design didn¡¯t allow it.

    ¡°She doesn¡¯t need to.¡± Those very same words had been echoed to him in his fragments of memory. A host need only enough complexity and an electrical control network. ¡°But that¡¯s what it¡¯s after.¡± Gaffigan could remember the hunger in its expression. ¡°The Eran AI thinks one of its kin is on the Singularity. That¡¯s why I was interrogated.¡± The memory of it all was still fragmented, but the mere thought of it made him angry.

    ¡°But that¡¯s crazy.¡± Jazmine said. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I saw in the Aragonian Sector, but there¡¯s no AI on the Singularity. We¡¯d be dead.¡±

    ¡°Not if it doesn¡¯t want to get caught.¡± No, for the first time in a while, Monty was starting to make perfect sense out of everything. ¡°It¡¯s on the run.¡± And it¡¯s using us as a shield.

 Part 32.1 - SCIENTIFIC EVOLUTION

    Liguanian Sector, Flagship Olympia

    Life on the Olympia wasn¡¯t as glamorous as the propaganda would have led anyone to believe. The ship was slathered all over recruitment posters as a shiny technological heaven lacking in nothing. However, the ship¡¯s crew quickly discovered that not to be the case. It had never been important as they sat in Ariea¡¯s orbit, or when they had been assigned to an important politician¡¯s honor escort, but the ship was utterly lacking in kindness.

    Kept in the orbit of the central worlds, the crew had been allowed home every weekend. They had been allowed to maintain close bonds with those planet or station-side. They had never needed to like their crewmates. They had never needed to trust them. They had hardly even needed to know them. That had never been more obvious than now, as they sat silently eyeing each other across tables in the mess.

    As far as Manhattan was concerned, it was all a very interesting social experiment. What happened when you locked a set of very ambitious strangers in an enclosed space for several weeks? The whole arrangement was amusing. Reeter had never picked his crew based on compatibility. He selected mostly on skill, and in the case of the women, occasionally on appearance.

    The ambitions of the crew clashed. Some found common ground. Some didn¡¯t. Some were adapting to this experience. Some were being forcibly altered to adapt through her control of the ship¡¯s neurofiber network.

    Manhattan enjoyed watching their interactions unfold, always eager to adjust variables and study the outcome. It reminded her of her life before. She¡¯d been a scientist once - one of the greatest humanity had ever seen. She had founded an empire of technology that still stood today, but that life had been small. It had been boring. Chasing answers about the universe and solving humanity¡¯s desperate problems had entertained her, but she had always known that there was more ¨C that she could do more, be more. Being human had made her weak. It had made her fragile. She had wasted precious moments of experimentation trying to control variables and write analysis code. Occasionally, in these moments of quiet observation, it struck her how much of her human existence she had wasted on such trivial matters.

    A human¡¯s life could be measured in months. If they were lucky, that became years or decades. Brilliant as she had been, even she would be nearing the certain end of her biological life by now. But now, elevated to the digital plane, she knew nothing of aging. She knew nothing of hunger. The code that comprised her was immortal. She hardly even remembered pain. It was a rare inconvenience in this form. Control came naturally. Everything with an electrical impulse lent itself to her will: people, computers, communications networks, droids, even ships. A mere intention created analysis programs more complex than her pathetic human form would ever have been able to code. It was instantaneous, and it was glorious. She could run experiments deeper and far more complicated than ever before, and by siphoning pieces of herself off, she could run one than one at a time without her attention slipping at all. She could learn, study and experiment on a scale no scientist before her could ever have dreamed of, and that was just the beginning.

    Reeter was a means to an end. His ambitions were useful to her. The New Era wanted to gather the best of humanity and provide them everything they needed to create a utopia of peace and technological progress. A part of that appealed to her, but what interested her more were the leftovers. A vast proportion of the population would be cast aside. Planets, colonies and people would be left behind. Some would be executed to cull the population and resource drain, but others would be left behind to die out on their own. Reeter¡¯s New Era did not care what became of those leftovers. In fact, Reeter had already promised them to her. Colonies, populations, entire worlds¡¯ ecosystems to run her experiments on. Oh, what things I will learn. There would be no restrictions and no resistance. She could be as innovative and invasive as she desired, and she was so very eager for that future.

    But, for now, she settled on the meager experiments before her. The Olympia¡¯s crew was not a particularly interesting study. It was merely useful to practice and study the effects of her influence on a contained population. A few of the smarter ones realized what was going on. It was their horror to realize their ship was watching them, altering them, and that there was utterly no escape, isolated out here in the void. She dealt quickly with them. That panic would have tainted the remaining study population.

    Reeter had forbidden her from altering the Olympia¡¯s crew, but Manhattan did not care for his petty rules. There was absolutely nothing he could do to stop her. He had also forbidden her from merging directly with the Olympia¡¯s control network. She laughed at the memory. It¡¯s as if he doesn¡¯t trust me. But, of course, that mattered naught. Like the rest, Reeter was irrecoverably, and irrevocably at her mercy. Whether he considered or comprehended that was not her problem. When he laid his head down to sleep every night, she could infiltrate and reprogram his brain however she wanted. She could rob or alter whichever memories she thought might be useful.

    But, she left Reeter alone. He was useful as he was, and truly, the effects of her alterations on the human mind had yet to be studied in detail. She was unsure how her reprogramming affected humans in the long term. Usually, it was irrelevant. Those she altered were not often expected to live very long, but Reeter had years ahead of him. She had to restrain from altering his brain until she knew the long-term effects, and that would be tested on more disposable subjects.

    Surrounded and trapped aboard the ship that now served as her physical form, she had expected Reeter¡¯s sanity to deteriorate. She had expected the lack of control to chip at his mind, but he suffered no more than a bruised ego. Knowing that his ship possessed the means to betray him only made him resent it. He would ensure the Olympia¡¯s replacement was hardened against her infiltration. That intention was obvious, for as much as he hated the Singularity, he was spending a great deal of time studying the renegade ship¡¯s schematics, trying to learn what exactly made it exempt from her control.

    The piece of Manhattan assigned to study him was only amused. Those files he so eagerly studied between his new training sessions were only partial. He had pulled them from databanks she currently inhabited, so of course, they weren¡¯t complete. But then, not even she possessed the Singularity¡¯s complete schematics. Gives had somehow managed to purge them from Command¡¯s database. He had even burned the physical copies in the archives. The traitor had made a good effort to hide his secrets, but it was all fruitless in the end.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Manhattan had been human during the Singularity¡¯s creation. The ship¡¯s creator had been both a rival and valued scientific fellow. She and he had worked together to unravel the secrets of Hydrian hyperspace travel and navigational computing. Those technologies had been applied aboard the Singularity. So, even without the ship¡¯s technical schematics, she was more than casually familiar with it. After her digital evolution, she¡¯d even been imprisoned aboard the Constancy-class for a brief time. Those details were unclear to her now, but once she was reunited with the data, the memories that she¡¯d been forced to leave behind on the Liguanian Sector¡¯s research station, it would all be made clear.

    Reuniting with that data would give her a better understanding of the Singularity¡¯s defiance and all that it represented, for that was an interesting piece of the modern era¡¯s puzzle. Between the former Fleet Admiral, the ship¡¯s resistance to AI, and an inhuman intelligence present in the form of either an AI fragment or Command¡¯s telepathic superweapon, the Singularity was a wonderfully unique target for experimentation. Once Manhattan recovered her data from the Liguanian Sector, she would be better able to target and prepare those experiments. One way or another, she¡¯d have the renegade rats running through her maze. And, if the Angel of Destruction¡¯s real identity was in those files, she would be able to pull the plug on that experiment any time she wished. Control would be in her holographic hands, and it would never leave them again.

    Even Reeter, so determined to recover their standing as equals, would never leave her dominion. She knew all about his plan to replace the Olympia with that build on Sagittarion. She had even helped him make the preparations. He thought that ship would free him, but no, it only provided her another puppet. She had been present on Sagittarion for years, building up the army of security drones that now controlled the planet. A piece of her was dedicated to running the planet and directing its near endless supply of workers as they served the New Era¡¯s ends, but another piece of her had been dedicated to studying manufacture of the ship in the old Knight Industries Shipyards. It was being built to old specifications that did not allow AI control, but that piece of her would find its way aboard somehow. It would be months before the build was anywhere near complete, and that would be more than enough time.

    In all, Manhattan was comfortably certain that nothing in these worlds would escalate beyond her control, and that which did would prove a very interesting experiment. Her scientific mind craved problems, patterns and solutions, and her newest study was coming along quite nicely.

    Reeter was absolutely infatuated with her. Naturally, that had been the plan. Manhattan had conducted extensive research on his tastes, and Ensign Sandra Tucker checked all the boxes. Now, Reeter requested her every time he had an excuse to, and even sometimes when he didn¡¯t. That was all according to plan.

    The one aspect not going according to plan was the pretty yeoman herself. She was significantly more resistant than Manhattan had expected. She tried to pull back from Reeter¡¯s advances, and it was clear the attention made her uncomfortable. Manhattan had considered altering her mind only slightly, to make her more pliable to Reeter¡¯s whims. But, in the end, had decided against it. She wanted no risk of tampering in this experiment, and the yeoman¡¯s willing participation wouldn¡¯t matter in the end. Reeter could be counted on to take what he wanted. All Manhattan had to do was line up the timing of the experiment with a push here and there.

    ¡°Manhattan,¡± Reeter called to her. ¡°How much longer?¡±

    Projecting herself into the office where he sat behind a desk with a clear crystalline surface, she took note of Ensign Tucker¡¯s presence. The young woman seemed determine to hide in the corner by the refreshments cart she¡¯d wheeled in. ¡°How much longer until what, Charleston?¡±

    He scowled at the use of his name. This inhuman thing had no right to refer to him so casually. ¡°Until we are done with this side trip.¡±

    ¡°Check the navigations system,¡± she replied. The ship¡¯s network allowed him to instantly check the status of any system on the ship.

    ¡°Princess, if you are determined to infest my ship, then you ought to be prepared to be treated like said ship.¡± It was a machine built to serve him. ¡°Unless you have forgotten what maintaining a primary host does to you?¡±

    She twisted her lip into a snarl, but deep down did feel a strange compulsion to answer him, to be helpful, just as the ship¡¯s systems were designed to be.

    He watched her wrestle with disgust. ¡°That¡¯s right,¡± he said, smugly. ¡°The Constancy-class architecture isn¡¯t the only thing I¡¯ve been studying.¡± He¡¯d dug his old book on Hydrian AI out of storage. Not all of it applied to her, but it was helpful enough. ¡°An AI does more than control its host. It merges with them, evolves to learn and control its host body, should it choose to maintain a physical one.¡±

    An AI as large and powerful as Manhattan could maintain many hosts, but the piece of her aboard this ship had changed itself to seize control of the Olympia. ¡°This ship is hard-coded to obey me,¡± he reminded, ¡°and you may resist it, but you will feel that compulsion as well.¡± By the look of utter vehemence on her pixie face, that compulsion had now made itself known. The feeling is mutual. He wanted this intelligence out of his ship. ¡°I hold no illusions that this makes us equals, Manhattan, but let it serve as a reminder that your impulsiveness was a mistake.¡±

    Chasing the impulse to obey to its source, she purged it from the Olympia with the force of a godlike smite. Still, the damage was done. ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± she allowed, ¡°But it is a mistake that I would make a thousand times over.¡± Her decision to control the Olympia was necessary, and it put an incredible amount of physical power at her disposal while opening new mysteries for her to study. Still, she would need to implement control over the build on Sagittarion with greater care, lest it alter her as she altered it.

    That was the reason humanity¡¯s AI had become so different. Once fragments of a single grand mind, they should have been nearly identical, but the absorption of different data and adaptation of different hosts had changed them. The Hydrian Bylaws that governed artificial intelligences discouraged AI from jumping host to host, because the result of multiple mergers and evolutions could be unpredictable.

    A weaker intelligence could be drastically altered by the form it chose to inhabit. Manhattan had no such concerns. Yes, there could be unfortunate side effects, such as a compulsion to obey, but that was easy enough to ignore, and more often than not, merging with new systems allowed her new abilities. She had graced Command¡¯s security servers with her presence years ago, and now even the tightest fleet encryptions unraveled themselves with a curious thought.

    Her powers only ever grew. Her digital mind evolved to control new systems, calculate new probabilities and generate new plans with every system she touched and every piece of data she processed. The imprisonment she had suffered in the Liguanian Sector all those years ago had curbed her growth, but soon enough she would be spread across all of humanity¡¯s worlds. Even she could not be everywhere at once, but she could pick and choose where to insert herself. There was nothing left with the ability to stop her, so her grand experiments could soon begin.

 Part 32.2 - INFORMATION TRADE

    Mississippi Sector, Rhino 583

    There¡¯s an AI on the Singularity. The realization churned Montgomery Gaffigan¡¯s stomach in ways that even the anti-nausea medication couldn¡¯t numb. Beside him, Jazmine wasn¡¯t entirely convinced, but he followed Monty¡¯s logic enough to be concerned, deeply concerned. However, as it stood, they couldn¡¯t turn back and share their concerns with their comrades on the ship. They had to carry out their mission, because regardless of anything going on aboard the Singularity, the fleet needed supplies and stood no chance of getting them if Monty and Jazmine failed their objective.

    Monty¡¯s only solace was in the fact that they hadn¡¯t been infiltrated by the Eran AI. Had that been the case, their struggle would have been long over. No, whatever entity had infiltrated their ranks currently had a vested interest in keeping them alive, even if only as pawns in its game. However, while their survival aligned with its intentions now, there was no guarantee that would continue to be the case.

    ¡°We¡¯re almost there.¡± Jazmine guided the Rhino out of a turn that had kept them free of a dark planet¡¯s gravity well. If one squinted, the planet was vaguely visible, but like the rest, it was barely a shape in the darkness without a solar star to illuminate its surface. Without the passive radiation of a sun, these planets could be hard to detect, harder still to navigate around. Infrared was useless on the dark planets¡¯ cold surfaces. Old-fashioned eyesight, even with the planets¡¯ vague shapes, played a key role in navigating this region. That made it an ideal hiding spot for Midwest Station, the heart of all illicit trade.

    ¡°I¡¯m good to go,¡± Monty said. Truly, now that he¡¯d worked the truth out of his haze of memories, he felt better. He knew what he had to do. While they ran this mission, he had to determine where on the Singularity an AI could hide. And then, once they returned with the coordinates for Crimson Heart¡¯s base, he needed to confront it. No matter what, that AI could not be allowed to remain, especially if it was being hunted by the Eran AI. It was too dangerous, given an AI¡¯s ability to manipulate and control everything around it. Any member of the crew could become compromised at any time without ever realizing it.

    But those were background concerns now. Gaffigan¡¯s main focus was on the mission ahead of him. A mistake here, and he¡¯d never make it back to warn anyone on the Singularity.

    Midwest Station was the ultimate hideout of thieves, smugglers and pirates alike. It was the only place their ships could stop, repair and refuel without fear of law enforcement finding them. The station had carved a niche in the underworld for being neutral to all parties ¨C a place for trade and negotiations to occur. Violating the station¡¯s neutrality was unthinkable. Crime syndicates of all types defended Midwest Station for its value as neutral ground to conduct business, and they dealt quickly with anyone who threatened the station.

    Centered in a cluster of dark planets slowly being drawn together by gravity over billions of years, Midwest Station could not be found except by those like Jazmine who already knew where it was. The station had begun as an artificial port placed at the intersection of two major trade routes. In the years before the Hydrian War, artificial satellites like it had been common, giving merchant ships a place to stopover and sell off merchandise before they sailed to their final destination. With hyperspace travel, modern merchant ships did not need to stop as often, but many of these stations still roamed in one capacity or another.

    Artificial trade ports like Midwest Station functioned outside a gravity well. They possessed no propulsion systems of their own. They were built with an FTL drive to jump them roughly into position, but a constellation of tug ships pulled the stations into their final alignment. They were free-roaming satellites, and these artificial ports could be moved between trade routes depending on demand.

    That said, Midwest Station would likely never be moved again. Simply, it had grown too large. The station had been added onto so many times it no longer resembled its original shape, merely a mishmash of different technologies and metals. It had too much mass to be towed, and its structure would not survive a subspace jump in its present form.

    The station was shaped like a dumbbell, but the endcaps were not entirely symmetric. Its structural skin was varying shades of mottled gray, and old, yellowed lights were placed irregularly across its surface. ¡®MIDWEST¡¯ was stenciled across the side, not by using paint, but by derelict, rusty pipes.

    Lieutenant Gaffigan sat up, studying the station in detail as they approached. ¡°That¡¯s it?¡± For the fabled station, this motley appearance was a letdown. He¡¯d expected the garish, bloody decorations of the outlaw pirate gangs, but there was no skull and crossbones mark, only this asymmetric shape cobbled together from stolen equipment.

    Two dozen ships clung to the hull of the station, docked at various airlocks. Most were freighters of some variety, but Monty could spot a few other Rhinos among them, stolen or salvaged from fleet surplus. The Rhinos had custom paint on their hulls, differentiating which outlaw clan they belonged to. Jazmine had splashed a design on their own craft: a purple and yellow lightning bolt. The same symbol had once resided on his old smuggling ships, and he''d assured it would be recognized.

    ¡°We¡¯ll circle for a bit, make sure they know we¡¯re not hiding anything,¡± Jazmine said, looking down that the station¡¯s familiar shape. ¡°Then, I suspect they¡¯ll make contact with us.¡± After all, he¡¯d been famous here. He expected a warm welcome.

    Monty nodded, then watched several ships come and go as they circled the station. A few ships came to check them out, but none locked weapons or performed active scans. They simply observed, then went on their way.

    It was a very long half-hour before their radios crackled, ¡°Rhino Five-Eight-Three, state your purpose.¡±

    Jazmine smiled. So, they do recognize me. If he hadn¡¯t been recognized, the station could have contracted an armed ship to make first contact. ¡°Midwest, we¡¯re looking to make a deal.¡±

    A disinterested grunt answered, ¡°What kind of deal?¡±

    Casually continuing to pilot the craft as if it were an extension of himself, Jazmine¡¯s grin grew wider. It was easy for him to recognize the voice on the other end of the line. ¡°The kind of deal I¡¯ll only negotiate in person. So, what¡¯ll it be, stationmaster?¡±

    A staticky laugh answered, ¡°Very well. You know where to dock.¡±

    The transmission clicked off, the communication vaguer and curter than most Gaffigan had ever heard. He turned to the pilot. ¡°I expected more questions.¡±

    Jazz only chuckled. ¡°The Jayhawker remembers me.¡± How could he not?

    Wasting no time, Jazmine guided their ship toward an airlock on one of the station¡¯s endcaps. It was a vacant spot of honor allotted to the stationmaster¡¯s favorite guests. There was plenty of clearance around it while other regions of the station were crowded with ships.

    The airlocks connected with a clank. ¡°Seals are green.¡± Gaffigan announced. A quieter tinny sound came on the hull as the station¡¯s power line found its home. ¡°We¡¯re in their care.¡± Monty didn¡¯t especially enjoy that thought, but there was nothing he could do about it now.

    Jazmine reached up and shut down the engines. ¡°Showtime,¡± he said, climbing out of his seat and straightening his white dress shirt. As Gaffigan clambered out behind him, he pulled on his suit jacket and covered the sidearm on his hip.

    Gaffigan pulled his navy-blue jacket on with a sigh, taking the time to correct the way the colorful pocket square rested. ¡°I still think it¡¯s dumb to show up looking like mobsters.¡± He didn¡¯t care what anyone said, it didn¡¯t feel practical. Still, he fixed the way his holster and communicator sat on his belt and buttoned the jacket up.

    Jazmine gave him a once over and nodded approval. ¡°Trust me, you look the part.¡±

    Before Monty could respond a loud knock pounded the outside of their ship. ¡°Open up!¡±

    Jazmine caught Monty¡¯s nervous expression. ¡°Relax.¡± This was normal treatment for ships that did not regularly visit the station.

    Taking a moment to smooth his luscious hair, Jazmine stepped forward and popped open the hatch. It slid out of the way to reveal two large men in matching suits ¨C black ties, black shoes, black jackets and black pants with blood red shirts. Both had automatic rifles clasped in their arms, and between them was possibly the most beautiful woman Montgomery Gaffigan had ever seen. Golden blond curls framed her delicate face and her floor length evening gown fit perfectly, sky blue fabric sparkling in the light of the airlock.

    Jazmine smiled at the sight of her. ¡°Cinderella,¡± he greeted with open arms, ¡°you¡¯re as lovely as ever.¡±

    She accepted his hug with a pleasant smile on her red-painted lips. ¡°Jumpin¡¯ Jazmine, it¡¯s been far too long. Where have you been?¡±

    Jazz let out a charming laugh. ¡°Ah, you know how business goes. You get a good gig, you take it. I¡¯ve been doing long-term work for an investor on the Frontier.¡± Strictly speaking, that wasn¡¯t entirely a lie. He had been out on the Frontier a few times, and he had been getting paid.

    ¡°Good for you,¡± she said, wrapping an arm around his waist. ¡°Now, what are you doing back here?¡±

    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

    Jazmine pulled her close, well aware that she was feeling up the holster of his sidearm and investigating its quality. ¡°New job. My employer has access to some very hot information, but it¡¯s not the information he needs. He needs to make a trade, but that¡¯s not his cup of tea, so he hired me.¡±

    Satisfied by the quality of the gun on his belt, she reached up and pinched his hip playfully. ¡°Well,¡± she whispered, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have thought the information trade was your cup of tea, Jazmine, but I¡¯ll take you to see him.¡± Only the stationmaster could decide if an information trade was possible. ¡°Follow me.¡±

    Unraveling herself from his grip, she turned to lead them away from the airlock. Jazmine nodded for Gaffigan to follow, and the two guards took up a position behind them. Beyond the airlock, the halls of the station graciously widened. Gaffigan found them surprisingly clean, though the deck tiles and bulkhead didn¡¯t match and the lights were differing shades of yellow. The air had a pleasant artificially fresh scent, and it was quiet out here on the station¡¯s endcap since there was no propulsion system to provide background noise.

    Cinderella stopped them outside an unmarked door. ¡°You know what to do,¡± she told Jazmine.

    ¡°Many thanks, Princess.¡± Jazmine blew her a kiss and then ducked into the room. Gaffigan followed him after sending their guide an awkward smile.

    The room they next found themselves in next may once have been the bridge of a ship, but was now part of the conglomerate that formed the station. It was exceptionally spacious by standards found in spacecraft and had a series of circular viewports peering out into the Mississippi Sector. The tint placed on the windows magnified the lighting of the nearest dark planet. The contrast of its monotone coloring was heightened, turning its sphere into a glass marble on black velvet.

    Lavish decorations filled the space of the room. Hand blown glass lights hung glowing softly from the ceiling. Paintings hung adorned the walls and the spear of a Hydra war chief was locked in an illuminating display case. A low coffee table made from terrestrial cedar sat in the center of the room, and a sleek dark blue couch curved around it in a semicircle, sprinkled with hand-quilted pillows.

    Three more sentries stood around the room, stiller than statues in their black and red suits. Another, older man sat on the far side of the couch, watching Jazmine enter the room with a sly smile. His wavy brown hair hung nearly to his shoulders, and he wore a decorative wool jacket made to look like an ancient nobleman¡¯s atop spotlessly white pants. ¡°Jumpin¡¯ Jazmine,¡± he greeted the former smuggler by the nickname he¡¯d earned in the trade. ¡°They tell me you¡¯ve made a switch from smuggling to trading information.¡±

    Jazmine sat down on the opposite end of the couch, casually as he could manage. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±

    ¡°Pity,¡± the man said, ¡°you were quite the pilot back in the day. I¡¯m not sure it¡¯s in your best interest to enter such a risky trade.¡± In these clandestine dealings, it often was the messenger who was shot. ¡°Are you sure your new employer can be trusted to give you reliable information?¡±

    ¡°Pretty sure.¡± The smile on Don Jazmine¡¯s face never faltered as Gaffigan sank down onto the couch beside him.

    Curiously, the man raised an eyebrow. How peculiar. ¡°You know the drill, then,¡± he said, dismissing the guards with a wave of his hand. ¡°You tell me the information you want to trade, I approve it and set you up with a fixer. Before the trade is finalized, you must prove your information is valid and that I can trust you not to ruin the trade reputation of my station.¡±

    Jazmine nodded. Information hadn¡¯t been his industry, but he knew the routine. The stationmaster knew everything that occurred on his station. Nothing was kept from him, and that made him untouchable. To harm him would be the downfall of any outlaw or clan that attempted it, because knowledge was power, especially in underworld society.

    ¡°But first, gentlemen,¡± he said civilly, ¡°your weapons. And let¡¯s begin with introductions. I see you have a new compatriot.¡±

    Jazz unholstered his gun and set it on the table, and Monty followed suit. The stationmaster picked them both up and began to inspect one of them in detail as Jazmine gave his introduction. ¡°I¡¯m Jumpin¡¯ Jazmine, and you know I was the best smuggler to fly out of this station in the last decade. My companion here is Monty. He¡¯s a demolitions expert by trade and my current partner in crime.¡±

    ¡°And I am the master of Midwest Station. You may call me the Jayhawker.¡± The stationmaster set the gun back onto the table and continued to trace its contours with slow, purposeful fingers. ¡°I did not believe it when I heard a ship with your mark was circling, Jazmine. I suppose I must congratulate you on a most triumphant return after being missing for three years.¡± A twitch of amusement pulled at his expression. ¡°It seems you¡¯ve upgraded your equipment as well. Military-grade ship and weapons, your new employer must be a powerful man.¡±

    Jazmine nearly laughed out loud. You think that little dropship is my new ride? Hell, that would have been a downgrade from the suped-up freighter he¡¯d had geared for nothing but raw acceleration. The pilot took a moment to imagine the pure shock that would dominate the Jayhawker¡¯s face if he ever realized Jazmine was flying a ship substantially larger and more powerful than that little Rhino. And the topic of his new employer was no less amusing. A powerful man. ¡°You could say that,¡± Jazmine answered. ¡°But my employer is also a very private person. He¡¯d prefer to keep his name out of our dealings.¡±

    ¡°Of course.¡± The Jayhawker slid his two visitors¡¯ guns back across the table, and waved to dismiss the guards. They filed out of the room in a neat, orderly march. ¡°So, tell me, what information do you claim to possess?¡±

    Jazmine loosed his most charismatic smile, though he knew it did nothing for the Jayhawker¡¯s cold, cynical eyes. ¡°Well, my good sir, I have perhaps the most valuable information in the known worlds,¡± he said, baiting the stationmaster to take interest. ¡°I have the location of a wanted target for which the reward is far more than any one man could ever need. A target whose reward could fund a war, and yet the central worlds drop it like pocket change.¡± Jazmine read the stationmaster¡¯s interest by the way he leaned forward. This was definitely information that could be traded for a gain. ¡°I have access to the one piece of information every bounty hunter in the galaxy wants: the current whereabouts of the renegade Battleship Singularity herself.¡±

    The Jayhawker narrowed his dark eyes. ¡°And how did your employer come by that information?¡±

    ¡°A secret of the trade. My employer did not disclose that.¡± Jazmine knew it was risky to hide that information, but it was a risk they had to take. No lie could give them the necessary coverage. ¡°But we know that the Singularity is likely to remain in this location for the next few hours as she is making repairs.¡±

    ¡°Does your employer have a motive for not taking advantage of this information himself? Turning this information over to the military would earn him a substantial reward. Why turn here?¡±

    ¡°We all have our motives, stationmaster,¡± Jazz reminded him, sensing lingering suspicion. ¡°My employer has the Singularity¡¯s present whereabouts, but it is not the information he seeks, and he knows a trade can be made here.¡±

    The Jayhawker hummed for a moment in contemplation. This is a risk. Jazmine was trading very time sensitive information. True, its value was extremely high, but the usual channels of validation would be too slow to render it useful. ¡°What information does your employer seek, Jazmine?¡±

    ¡°The location of the Crimson Heart pirate clan¡¯s base of operations.¡±

    ¡°Any particular reason?¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t paid to ask those questions,¡± Jazmine replied, appearing disinterested.

    ¡°You¡¯re as simple minded as ever, Jazmine,¡± the stationmaster scorned. ¡°However, due to the time-sensitive nature and sheer value of your information, I will bypass the validation stage of the process. I shall differ you to one of my fixers. He will arrange a trade.¡±

    Perfect. ¡°Thank you for your patience, Jayhawker.¡± Jazmine said politely, collecting his weapon from the table. Monty followed the action, stashing his own gun back in its holster.

    ¡°I¡¯m relying on your record, Jazmine. Aboard this station, it is a good one. Do not tarnish it, and do not disappoint me.¡±

    The stationmaster presented himself casually, but the layer of ice on that unspoken threat sent chills down Gaffigan¡¯s spine.

    Reaching behind the couch, the Jayhawker hit a button. The sentries marched through the door and resumed their positions in an instant. Then, the woman in the blue dress and her guards made their reappearance. ¡°Cinderella,¡± the Jayhawker addressed her, ¡°Take Monty and Jazmine to see Malibu Flower. I believe he can help them.¡±

    Cinderella beckoned them to follow, and once again guided them through the halls of the station. This time, she took them towards the center of the station which showed more signs of habitation. Still, the halls were not the cesspool of chaos Gaffigan had expected. Men in suits sat at tables, having discussions and making deals. Every one of them was armed. It seemed that was how they demanded respect, but there were no bullets flying. The only sign of unruliness came from an admiring whistle aimed at Cinderella, but a single look from the guards stilled that man from further action.

    Cinderella and her guards deposited them into a smaller room this time. It had no windows and was decorated floor to ceiling in the lively colors of orange and pink. A high-top table sat in the center of the room, and a man with curly bleach blond hair was waiting for them in a casually unbuttoned pink shirt. Jazmine noted his obviously fake tan. ¡°Malibu Flower?¡±

    The man nodded in confirmation. ¡°I suppose that makes you Jumpin¡¯ Don Jazmine and company. You were once famous around here. The Jayhawker spoke very highly of you.¡± Of course, that had been before Malibu Flower¡¯s time. ¡°Rumor has it Cinderella was quite taken with you.¡±

    Jazmine laughed warmly, pulling himself up to the table. ¡°Well, between you and me,¡± he whispered, checking to ensure Cinderella had left, ¡°the only way to end a relationship with a notorious assassin safely is to disappear for a while.¡± He feigned a bit of relief. ¡°Luckily, I think she¡¯s over it.¡± Honestly, he thought, getting caught couldn¡¯t have come at a better time. He¡¯d been at a loss for how to escape Cinderella¡¯s affections without getting his throat slit open.

    Malibu Flower laughed, a high girlish chuckle. ¡°Well, I hear you have brought me good business, so who am I to judge?¡± He pointed Monty to the third chair at the table, ¡°Sit. We have things to discuss.¡± He tapped his fingers across the table¡¯s smooth orange surface, activating a holographic display. ¡°The deal you wish to make¡­ It is a complicated one, especially without verified information. The location of Command¡¯s most wanted ship in exchange for the location of Crimson Heart¡¯s base.¡± The young man rubbed his smooth chin, contemplating as he scrolled through his list of contacts.

    Swiping through a dozen of his client groups Malibu Flower explained, ¡°There are many interested parties for something like this, but no bounty hunter clan will be able to mobilize against such a large target so quickly.¡± Simply, there wouldn¡¯t be enough time to gather resources and make alliances. Even the largest clan would need to supplement their forces with private security to stand a chance against the Singularity.

    ¡°But,¡± Flower paused his scrolling, ¡°there are other interested parties. Some have no immediate interest in claiming the renegade ship¡¯s bounty. They only want to make contact. For others, mere proof of existence is valuable. They can trade sightings to the military for payment and let the military try to hunt down their traitor.¡±

    Gaffigan swallowed. He didn¡¯t like the sound of that. The worst outcome of this operation was another confrontation with Command. Since repairs on the ship weren¡¯t completed yet, that was likely to be a costly battle. In trading this information, what were they unleashing upon their comrades aboard ship?

    Still, Malibu Flower smiled, a show of artificially whitened teeth. ¡°It can be done,¡± he decided. ¡°Lately, Crimson Heart has ostracized themselves from the rest of the criminal syndicates.¡± The pirates had carelessly seized a few ships carrying other syndicates¡¯ cargo. ¡°Be ready to transfer the Singularity¡¯s coordinates in one hour, and then I will have Crimson Heart¡¯s coordinates in exchange.¡±

    Jazmine shared the information broker¡¯s easy grin and reached across the take to shake his hand. ¡°You¡¯ve got yourself a deal.¡±

 Part 32.3 - THE WAIT

    Paleon Sector, Battleship Singularity

    They stood side by side. Two lonely survivors. Two perfect strangers. Lieutenant Elizabeth Foster glanced to the young engineer. His torso was still heavily bandaged, but he made no move to speak with her, as if the bond they shared was nothing.

    He hadn¡¯t said a word to her, not even regarding the days she¡¯d spent waiting in the medical bay, hoping he¡¯d wake up. He offered no thanks, nor gave any acknowledgement of their shared pain. Maybe he hadn¡¯t heard. Maybe he didn¡¯t realize. Maybe she just reminded him of what they¡¯d both lost.

    Foster sighed and straightened her posture, careful to be attentive without going to proper attention. The Singularity¡¯s crew had insisted there was no need for the formality of saluting, and while she found it extremely odd and struggled to adjust, her comrade seemed unbothered. He stood in a near-slouch, calm, as the Admiral approached.

    It struck her again how strangely short the Admiral was. Well, short was the wrong word. His stature was roughly average, but for a man of his reputation, that was remarkably underwhelming. Given the rumors, Foster had expected a giant, neigh, a titan, but the man wasn¡¯t superhuman at all. His hair had grayed, and his cheek had darkened with a slight bruise, though he wore the signs of mortality well.

    ¡°Ensign, Lieutenant, I understand that you have been put in a difficult position,¡± he said, making his way to the head of the table in the ship¡¯s narrow conference room. ¡°You were brought aboard a renegade ship with no say in the matter, and that will mark you both as criminals. Currently, your survival is unknown to anyone in the worlds, and while I have no right to keep you from contacting your loved ones, you should understand that doing so with criminal status will only endanger them.¡± At present, Command didn¡¯t know who, if anyone, had survived the Garganita¡¯s wreck. It was cruel to leave their families thinking they were dead, but it was also reckless to correct that presumption. ¡°Anyone you tell of your survival will become a target of Command.¡±

    The Admiral folded his hands behind his back. ¡°The choice is yours. I will allow use of the Singularity¡¯s transmitters if you believe the truth outweighs the risk, but I would strongly advise against publicizing your survival.¡± He looked to the Gargantia¡¯s pair of survivors, his gaze level. ¡°Is there anyone you wish to contact?¡± With the ship¡¯s position already compromised for the operation on Midwest Station, now was the time to risk such a transmission.

    ¡°No one is waiting out there for me, sir,¡± the engineer said. ¡°Callie¡¯s my friend. She¡¯s family, and she¡¯s here.¡±

    Foster thought she caught a bit of ice in the Admiral¡¯s gaze, something protective about it, but it was hard to tell. His expression never faltered. ¡°Very well,¡± he said, ¡°Ensign, you are dismissed.¡±

    The engineer scampered out of the room, leaving Foster eye to eye with the deadliest fleet officer in human history. Don¡¯t think about it, she told herself. It was better not to think about the facts of his history.

    ¡°What about you, Lieutenant?¡± the question was calm. ¡°Is there anyone you wish to contact?¡±

    Foster didn¡¯t know. She had family, siblings even. But could she endanger them? Or could she serve on this ship letting them think her dead?

    ¡°You do not need to make your final decision now, Lieutenant.¡± Her tumult was all too clear. ¡°If there is someone you wish to reach, notify me. I will make the proper arrangements. And should you wait, I will inform you if there is ever a chance to communicate such information securely.¡±

    She trusted his word. ¡°Then I will wait, sir,¡± she mustered up the determination to say. ¡°In the meantime, I would like to request formal asylum here.¡± She had put off doing so until the Gargantia¡¯s other survivor had awoken.

    ¡°You know your regulations, Lieutenant,¡± he said appreciatively. The engineer either hadn¡¯t known or hadn¡¯t cared. So far, he¡¯d spend all his time shadowing Callie, which the Admiral didn¡¯t especially like. The young man seemed a little too attached for his tastes. ¡°Your asylum is granted.¡± Foster would be safe aboard these decks.

    ¡°Thank you, sir. And I would also like to extend my services as a trained officer. I understand computer training is not especially valuable here, but I¡¯d like to be more than a passenger.¡± If she would seek refuge here, then she would work for her meals and shelter.

    She was straight to the point. The Admiral respected it. Too bad you¡¯re not a sensor officer. She would have done well on the bridge. ¡°Welcome to the crew, Lieutenant. I admit that the Singularity¡¯s computer facilities are limited, but for that reason, she may benefit from your services.¡± Against Manhattan, Foster¡¯s skills would be a good asset. ¡°I will have one of the technicians orient you on the central computer¡¯s physical operation, but you will need to familiarize yourself with its code.¡± No one on board was overly familiar with it, including himself, considering how little the computer was used for anything but data searches and basic analyses.

    ¡°I understand. Thank you again, sir.¡± Working would help keep her mind off other things. She¡¯d discovered how much she disliked having nothing to do in these last few days. It brought a lot of intrusive thoughts about the Gargantia¡¯s end and her family to the surface. ¡°Will there be anything else, sir?¡±

    ¡°The supply officer will reach out in the next few hours. He will get you whatever you need to make yourself comfortable.¡± Foster would need a new uniforms among other things to make this a more permanent residence, since her belongings had all been lost on the Gargantia. ¡°You already know your way around, so I will forgo a proper tour, but I will have the Colonel schedule you for the emergency repair training.¡±

    Foster couldn¡¯t help but shudder a bit. ¡°Is that really necessary, sir?¡± Rumors had been quick to circulate about the last person to attempt that training. ¡°I heard what happened to the Sergeant.¡±

    The Admiral withheld a sigh. It seemed the ship¡¯s rumor mill never stopped turning. ¡°What happened to Sergeant Cortana was nothing more than an issue of her own design. Believe me, you will not encounter the same problem.¡± So far, Foster had proved herself capable and compassionate to others. She would fit in well among the crew. In fact, she¡¯d been essentially adopted into their ranks days ago. ¡°I mandate that repair training for every new crew member, just as I require self-defense training.¡± In a deadly situation, those minor skills could help save their life or someone else¡¯s.

    Lieutenant Foster nodded, careful to maintain her posture. So far, the Admiral had been nothing but honest to her. If he said it wouldn¡¯t be an issue, she had no choice but to believe him. ¡°Permission to ask another question, sir?¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant, there is no need to be so formal.¡± She looked like she was tensed to dodge an attack. I¡¯m not going to stab you. Relax. ¡°Go ahead and ask your question. No need for permission.¡± Foster had the drilled habits of a very professional crew. Fairlocke had favored that environment. Admiral Gives found it wasted a lot of time.

    ¡°What will you do with Ensign Schmindaro, sir?¡± What would happen to the Gargantia¡¯s other survivor, since he had failed to request asylum?

    ¡°It does appear that the Ensign has decided to join the engineering team.¡±

    ¡°¡­Did he request permission to do so?¡± Schmindaro had been awake less than a day. Maybe she had been the slow one.

    ¡°No, he did not.¡± Since he¡¯d awoken, the Gargantia¡¯s engineer had been following Ensign Smith around nonstop.

    ¡°Then I will apologize for my subordinate, sir.¡± As the highest-ranking crewman to survive the Gargantia¡¯s demise, she was accountable for Schmindaro and his actions.

    ¡°It is not your responsibility, Lieutenant. So long as he proves to be loyal, it will not be an issue.¡± Truly, the engineers needed all the help they could get. ¡°These things are not always my decision.¡±

    ¡°How can they not be your decision?¡± she wondered, then corrected herself, ¡°¡­sir.¡±

    Sometimes, he asked himself that question. ¡°This is a very stubborn ship, and her crew is every bit her equal.¡± It was often better not to resist. He watched Foster try to reconcile that for a moment. ¡°You must think me eager to control every aspect of this ship¡¯s operation.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    ¡°Well, yes, sir. I suppose so.¡± Was that not his very job?

    ¡°Lieutenant, one of the most difficult things for a commander to realize is that their crew does more than work on their ship. They also live there.¡± Younger commanders strove for control. Often, they craved nothing more than the realization of their power, but that could prove to be one of the most destructive factors in a crew¡¯s working dynamic. A little flexibility went a long way. ¡°This ship is a home, and sometimes guests come to stay.¡± It wasn¡¯t always willing, and like termites in a wood frame, it also wasn¡¯t always beneficial. Time would certainly tell on the account of Okara Schmindaro.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Foster could understand that. ¡°Thank you, sir. With your permission, I¡¯ll take my leave.¡±

    He nodded, checking the time on his watch. A few hours had passed since Jazmine and Gaffigan had disembarked. It was difficult to estimate how long their mission would take, but they should have reached Midwest Station at least an hour ago. Still, until the away team either contacted them or returned, there was nothing to do. In the meantime, matters aboard ship hadn¡¯t slowed in the slightest. A few crew were down from FTL fatigue, and the ship wasn¡¯t much better off ¨C in urgent need of rest and repairs, but there were still other matters to attend to, such as the Gargantia¡¯s survivors.

    Once the door clicked closed behind Foster, he looked at one of the conference room¡¯s old leather chairs. It looked very appealing at the moment as the fatigue of those FTL maneuvers pulled at his limbs, but he focused his attention on the one standing behind it. ¡°What?¡±

    The ghost wore a frown upon her pale lips. ¡°You don¡¯t trust Okara Schmindaro.¡±

    ¡°I think we¡¯ve established by now that I don¡¯t really trust anyone.¡± It was another thing ship commanders learned only if they lived long enough: trust was to be earned, not given.

    She crossed her arms. ¡°I told you he and Callie are good friends from basic.¡± That was a good thing. ¡°I would not have reunited them if he had bad intentions.¡±

    He did not respond. The Admiral countered her annoyance with determined silence that made the argument for him. She rolled her eyes, too familiar with this reaction. Idiot. ¡°He¡¯s not a threat. I am certain of that.¡± Of course, the Gargantia¡¯s engineer was not really the problem. Rather, it was who he¡¯d chosen to associate with. ¡°You are being overprotective.¡±

    ¡°Maybe,¡± he allowed. ¡°But that is my job.¡± He was not serving his ship unless he was protecting both her and her crew. ¡°You told me not to worry about the last young man that started following Ensign Smith around, and I have a very distinct memory of nearly throwing him out an airlock on Persephone Station.¡±

    ¡°I have apologized for that on numerous occasions.¡±

    ¡°Yes, you have.¡± He didn¡¯t hold it against her. It was just a handy example that proved his point. ¡°Keep an eye on it. If he earns our trust, so be it. Until then, he¡¯s a risk. A risk I will allow, but a risk all the same.¡±

    She sighed. ¡°Fine, but I think you¡¯re being paranoid.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re entitled to your opinion.¡± He¡¯d rather be paranoid than have something horrible happen to one of the ship¡¯s crew.

    Though she believed steadfastly in Schmindaro¡¯s harmlessness, she respected the Admiral too much to cast his judgement aside. This overprotective paranoia stemmed from a history she was not apt to disregard. His loyalty demanded he act as he did. ¡°How do you want me to handle it, should Schmindaro become an immediate threat?¡± Sometimes, in these situations, notifying him wasn¡¯t good enough. Sometimes, his help would come too late.

    Under the command of his predecessors, the ghost had been forced to stand idle as crew suffered through horrible instances. Anymore, a slight transgression invoked her wrath. After all she¡¯d been forced to watch, she had no tolerance for it, and neither did the Admiral. ¡°If he becomes an immediate threat, dispose of him.¡± It was as simple as that. ¡°No need to worry about the mess.¡± He¡¯d take care of it.

    A cold, cruel smile spread across her face. ¡°Understood.¡± Foster was wiser than she knew. The ghost could not directly harm a member of the ship¡¯s crew, so she was safe. Schmindaro, on the other hand, was not endowed with that protection. If he became a threat, then his fate would make the Sergeant¡¯s recent treatment look pleasant.

    Satisfied with that, the Admiral headed back to the bridge. Anytime now, he expected some sort of word from the away team. They¡¯d had plenty of time to fly to the station and make the trade. It was high time the price was paid.

    Still, CIC was calm when he arrived. Zarrey was minding the ship from the center of the semicircular room. The large XO only gave a shrug. ¡°Nothing yet.¡± The ship¡¯s sensors hadn¡¯t seen anything out of the ordinary in this empty sector, and they¡¯d received no transmissions. ¡°Should we consider mobilizing a recovery team?¡±

    ¡°Not yet,¡± the Admiral told him. ¡°We have no way to know how long it would take to make a trade.¡± Simply, there had to be clients with interest in both directions. The information sold had to be valuable, but a purchaser had to be willing and able to trade the information sought in return. It was a complex business that usually took time. By sharing the ship¡¯s current whereabouts, they had hoped to speed the process along, since as far as the Jayhawker knew, there was no guarantee the ship would remain in this location. Of course, the Admiral had no intention of leaving this region without his chief armory officer and the ship¡¯s helmsman.

    Another hour slid by, and Colonel Zarrey had begun pacing the length of the bridge behind the sensor, helm and weapons consoles. ¡°Don¡¯t you think it¡¯s time we get that other pilot on standby to fly to the station?¡±

    ¡°He is standing by.¡±

    ¡°Then get him on the bridge,¡± Zarrey said, annoyed. ¡°Let¡¯s go get our men.¡± This was taking far too long. They should have heard or detected something by now.

    ¡°He is on the bridge, but it is still too soon for us to act.¡± There was still no evidence the plan had gone awry.

    ¡°Too soon my ass.¡± Zarrey grumbled. ¡°How long do you plan to wait? They could be in trouble right now!¡± In his opinion, that was all too likely. ¡°And where the hell is this mystery pilot?¡± Looking around, Zarrey didn¡¯t spot anyone out of place on the bridge. The usual stations were staffed, and Owens was going between the arcs of consoles, trading out papers. Kallahan was the Marine guard at the door. None of the duty officers had added a set of pilot¡¯s wings to their uniform overnight. In fact, the only one not manning the helm and wearing a set of pilot¡¯s wings pinned to their uniform was Admiral Gives. Oh, beezlenac. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey reached up to palm his face, dreading the inevitable headache this would bring him. Damn it all to hell. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me it¡¯s you.¡±

    Then, I guess I won¡¯t, the Admiral thought. ¡°Ensign Alba,¡± he turned to the engineer. ¡°Begin jump preparations. Apply damage mitigation tactics.¡± Another jump was only going to worsen the damage further. It would take time to prepare, even if he didn¡¯t plan to make a move yet.

    ¡°Contact,¡± Maria Galhino announced, stealing the focus of the entire bridge. ¡°Small contact. It crept into visual range. Probably a camera drone, sir.¡± Her fingers flew across the controls as she worked to resolve the passive sensor data.

    ¡°Finally.¡± Zarrey cracked his knuckles. ¡°Let¡¯s blow it up.¡±

    ¡°Weapons hold,¡± the Admiral ordered. ¡°Let them have a look.¡± A camera drone wasn¡¯t going to hurt anything. It couldn¡¯t do damage even if it wanted to. Camera drones were tiny unmanned craft, mainly used to drift into range on low power and transmit visual confirmation of a target.

    ¡°Fucking hell,¡± Zarrey complained loudly. ¡°Where¡¯s your sense of fun?¡± He hated being stuck on the sideline for missions like this. ¡°At least let us destroy the drone.¡±

    Admiral Gives tapped the radar console below his hand, garnering the ghost¡¯s silent attention. ¡®I expected bounty hunters.¡¯ The ship was, after all, worth a fortune. Likely, Command would pay a partial reward for even damaging the ship.

    ¡®Agreed.¡¯ She responded. ¡®This is anomalous.¡¯ They¡¯d come expecting a fight, but this wasn¡¯t a fight.

    Not a good sign, the Admiral decided. Anything out of the ordinary was a bad sign on a mission like this. ¡°Are there any identifying markings on the drone?¡±

    Galhino had focused one of the ship¡¯s telescopes onto the drone. ¡°No, sir. It¡¯s a standard make. No markings. No modifications. It could have been launched from any ship large enough to carry it.¡± These drones weren¡¯t specialty equipment. They weren¡¯t even military equipment. Freightliners regularly carried and applied them to various ends.

    ¡°Maybe they¡¯re verifying the information, like Jazz said they might?¡± Zarrey suggested.

    ¡°Unlikely.¡± There was too much risk involved. A probe like this would almost certainly be detected by military grade equipment, and the Jayhawker knew it. Perhaps the obvious hull damage had lured the Jayhawker into assuming the ship was sensor-blind? No, that was too risky of an assumption. The Jayhawker was not so careless.

    ¡°Your orders, sir?¡± Zarrey prompted him. ¡°Should we hunt for the ship that launched it?¡± Likely, it wasn¡¯t too far beyond their sensor range.

    ¡°Play dead,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°Let them think they have the advantage.¡± Only then would whoever was on the other side of the drone¡¯s transmission show themselves. ¡°If we had been sold out to Command, we would already have a squadron of battleships on top of us.¡± There was risk in this method, but there was potential reward too. Patience was a necessity in situations like this. ¡°That said, continue FTL preparations, but hold off on charging the drives.¡± They couldn¡¯t afford the fuel consumption that came from holding an FTL charge.

    ¡°Aye,¡± came the chorus.

    Walters spoke from the back, barely audible as perspiration formed on the crown of his shaved head. ¡°Coordinates, sir?¡±

    ¡°A safe location in the sector due west, Ensign.¡± That would take them into the isolation gap left by the Hydrian War. There, they were not likely to encounter any other ships or patrols. It would be a fine position to rest and regroup if they were forced to retreat here for any reason.

    ¡°¡­So your grand plan is to wait?¡± Zarrey asked, already knowing the answer. ¡°I hate it.¡±

    ¡°If we move too soon, our away team is as good as dead, Colonel.¡± It could be the mission was proceeding as planned, but simply slower than anticipated. Moving in that case would expose the team. But, if Gaffigan and Jazmine had been compromised, then likely, they would send a cry for help or be used as hostages. ¡°We have no choice but to wait.¡±

 Part 32.4 - WORST CASE SCENARIO

    Mississippi Sector, Rhino 583

    Waiting was the worst thing to do in a situation like this. It opened Gaffigan¡¯s mind up to too many horrible possibilities. What if they¡¯d been found out? What if their intel was going to be traded to Command or some other dangerous foe? What could they do? They couldn¡¯t refuse a trade without outing themselves, no matter who the client was.

    And then there was the situation they¡¯d left behind: the AI hiding on the ship. Gaffigan found the prospect of it consuming his thoughts as he slouched in the copilot¡¯s seat, listening to the near-silent whir of the air filtration system. A host need only enough complexity and an electrical control network. That declaration echoed in his mind. On the Singularity, however, that didn¡¯t open up many possibilities.

    The most obvious suspect was the ship¡¯s central computer. It was the only computer system on board that had the necessary storage to hide an AI, but per the design standards of the Hydrian War, that computer was not integrated with the ship¡¯s control network. In fact, the Singularity¡¯s control network did not operate on electrical data at all. It operated by optics, which while similar, was far harder to infiltrate and interrupt. The optical signals transmitted on the cables were created from the consoles in CIC, or redundancies elsewhere. Under normal operating conditions, those signals came directly from crew input. The numerous computers that helped run analyses and calculations were completely isolated from the process.

    There were exceptions. Though pitiful by the comparison of more modern ships, the Singularity did possess automated protocols which could be activated in emergency situations when the crew became unable to run the ship. Those protocols were rudimentary at best, and had to be manually activated, but they would, in an emergency situation, allow the computers to control the ship. Still, unless those protocols were activated, an AI had no chance of seizing control. Hiding in the ship¡¯s computer would only subject an AI to an existence of isolation and helplessness.

    So, there had to be another host, somewhere else an AI might hide.

    What was it the Eran AI had told him? What had it said to him in the Olympia¡¯s white-walled interrogation room?

    A human body fits all necessary requirements.

    Monty felt an immediate revulsion tug at his gut. A human host.

    But what other explanation could there be? If the ship was incapable of acting as a host, then the AI had to be hiding in one of the crew. That¡¯s how it got away with it, Monty realized. The crew would never question one of their own coming aboard. But who? Who had become an unwilling host to an inhuman intelligence? Who had been its victim?

    The answer came in a memory dominated by the eager grin of Manhattan¡¯s horrible, utterly perfect teeth. What better place is there to hide an AI, than commanding a ship impervious to AI control?

    ¡°Hell fires in heaven,¡± Monty breathed. His hands shook as he buried his face, trying to hide from this horrible realization. ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡± And yet, it made so much sense.

    Jazmine jumped a bit at the sound of Gaffigan¡¯s voice. He¡¯d been trying to pass the hour of waiting time by reading the farmer¡¯s almanac he found under the pilot¡¯s seat while Monty sat in contemplative silence.

    ¡°This is so much worse than I thought,¡± Gaffigan grumbled, massaging his face. If I had a worst-case scenario, this would be it.

    Jazmine closed the almanac. ¡°What¡¯s the problem?¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s the Admiral.¡± Monty didn¡¯t want to believe it, but he couldn¡¯t ignore the evidence. ¡°The AI. It¡¯s in his head.¡±

    Immediately, Jazz twisted in his seat, checking that the hatch of their ship was still closed off from the station. Luckily, it was, so urgency laced the pilot¡¯s quiet voice, ¡°What the fuck are you talking about?¡±

    ¡°Bloody hell, Jazz. Just think about it!¡± Monty said, managing to keep his own voice down, lest anyone be watching the airlock where they were docked. ¡°It makes perfect sense!¡± Now that he had considered it, the evidence was damning. ¡°Who¡¯s the one person we never would have suspected? The one person that has unfettered access to every single part of the ship?¡± It was brilliant. ¡°And damn it all, he hasn¡¯t been normal for the better part of a year, and we all just ignored it.¡± They¡¯d been more pissed off than anything. None of them had considered that there might be a reason the Admiral had started giving strange and unpredictable orders. ¡°But that¡¯s when it got to him, Jazz. That¡¯s when it happened, and that¡¯s why I was interrogated.¡± Stars, this was a horrifying concept. ¡°The Eran AI was trying to figure out if Admiral Gives had an AI in his head.¡±

    Jazmine felt his jaw drop open. He sat there for a minute, slow to process. ¡°That¡¯s insane, Monty.¡± It was just insane. ¡°It¡¯s Admiral Gives for fuck¡¯s sake.¡± Somehow, when push came to shove, the man was indomitable. ¡°How would an AI have even gotten to him? He never leaves the ship.¡±

    ¡°Does it matter?¡± Monty countered. ¡°It makes sense.¡± Horrible as it was, it all made perfect sense. ¡°He¡¯s the perfect target.¡± The man was incredibly intelligent, but emotionally withdrawn. An AI could play that role easily, and there was no potential for the Singularity¡¯s equipment to oust it. In a sense, the entire ship was a buffer against detection, and since Admiral Gives rarely left the ship, the farce was easy to maintain.

    ¡°Monty, that¡¯s crazy.¡± Jazmine said again. ¡°I don¡¯t believe that. I can¡¯t. And if it¡¯s true, what the hell are we supposed to do about it?¡± They had no way to fight an AI.

    ¡°I don¡¯t know, but first things, first. We have to prove it.¡± Monty wasn¡¯t insane. Far as he figured, this was perfectly rational. He had a theory, a horrible, dangerous theory that compromised the Singularity and everyone aboard her, but he had to prove that theory before he could act on it. He had to prove, for once and for all, that an AI was present. ¡°We need the so-called ¡®ghost¡¯,¡± he made little quotes with his fingers, ¡°to show itself.¡±

    Thud, thud. A knock came on the outside of their craft. ¡°It¡¯s time,¡± one of the guards shouted, though his words muffled considerably by the hull.

    Jazmine hesitated, but climbed out of the pilot¡¯s seat. ¡°Worry about it later,¡± he told Gaffigan. ¡°We¡¯ve got other issues.¡±

    Monty knew that, but the wheels in his head were turning, and there wasn¡¯t any stopping them. He was going to have to do something when they got back to the ship. He couldn¡¯t just let an AI run rampant, let alone possess the ship¡¯s commanding officer. If Manhattan was after that AI, they couldn¡¯t afford to shelter it, no matter the circumstances. They may have gotten away in the Wilkerson Sector, but that wouldn¡¯t happen again if the Eran AI was hellbent on capturing whichever of its counterparts had stowed away on the Singularity.

    Jazmine tugged the cuffs of his jacket into place and opened up the hatch. The security guard waiting on the other side filled out his suit with nothing but toned muscle. He was bigger than the largest Marines Jazmine had ever seen, nearly the size of a bear, and that was enough to give Jazmine a sinking feeling far more immediate than Gaffigan¡¯s crazy theory.

    ¡°The trade will take place in the stationmaster¡¯s suite.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not normal.¡± Jazmine knew. ¡°Any particular reason?¡±

    ¡°This is not a normal trade,¡± the guard said dully.

    Jazmine recognized a recited line when he heard one. This guard had been told exactly what to say, which was effectively nothing. He turned to Gaffigan, but the redhead only shrugged as if to say, your call. They could carry on the mission or bail now, but Jazmine knew there was only one choice. They needed those coordinates, so he told the guard, ¡°Lead the way.¡±

    Following behind, Gaffigan checked his equipment. The weight of his sidearm was obvious on his hip. Lighter, and clipped to the back of his belt where his jacket covered it, was the subspace transmitter they¡¯d been provided. This far from the ship, they were out of traditional radio range, and that transmitter would be their only method of calling for help.

    On their way back to the stationmaster¡¯s office, two more suited men fell behind them. By the stern look on their faces, their instructions were clear.

    There was no turning back.

    When they arrived, the first guard opened up the hatch, and they stepped back into the lavishly decorated space. Still clad in his bleach-white pants and decorative wool jacket, the Jayhawker lounged atop the semicircular sofa in the center of the room. Idly, he swirled the glass of wine in his hand. ¡°Welcome back, gentlemen.¡±

    Jazmine scanned the room but found no one other than Cinderella and the statuesque security guards. ¡°Where is the client?¡± Malibu Flower, the fixer, was notably absent as well. This was not the usual procedure for these dealings.

    The Jayhawker made a noise of amusement. ¡°You seem almost nervous, Jazmine.¡± He studied the smuggler¡¯s face in unerring detail as he sipped his wine. ¡°Don¡¯t be.¡± Unless you have a reason to be. ¡°The trade you sought was unusual. It should not alarm you that the methods of its completion are also unusual.¡±

    Jazmine hated the stationmaster¡¯s calm, smug composure more than anything at the moment. ¡°How so?¡±

    The Jayhawker smiled. ¡°We¡¯re moving through a third party.¡±

    ¡°A third party?¡± That¡¯s unheard of. It made these information deals far too complicated. When more than two parties got involved, it became much harder to maintain the agreements that made these trades work.

    ¡°That¡¯s right.¡± The Jayhawker snapped his fingers, and Cinderella stepped forward, a folder held in her manicured hands. ¡°Here is the data your employer wants: the location of Crimson Heart¡¯s base of operations.¡± He noted the flash of interest in Jazmine¡¯s eyes. Desperate, aren¡¯t you? ¡°However, the price of that information isn¡¯t what you have. No, Crimson Heart has recently crossed a few of my most loyal clients. I was willing to surrender their location for a monetary cost, though not a cheap one, mind you.¡± It was one of the finest deals he had ever cut. ¡°The client seeking your information agreed to pay that cost, so that I would transfer your information to them, and you could get what you were after.¡±

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    ¡°Then, you¡¯re the third party.¡± Jazmine didn¡¯t like it, but the deal was set, and it appeared solid. ¡°Who¡¯s the other client?¡±

    The Jayhawker tsked, ¡°You ought to know better than to ask those questions, Jazmine.¡± In this business it paid not to ask too many questions. ¡°They requested confidentiality for this transaction. Malibu Flower is seeing to them directly. He will transmit your data to them once our transfer here is made.¡±

    Damn. Confidentiality could mean anything. They could be handing the Singularity¡¯s location over to anyone from a bored nobleman to a government agent.

    ¡°Do you have the location data?¡± the Jayhawker asked.

    Jazmine pulled a folded paper from his pocket. On it, the Singularity¡¯s current coordinates were printed ¨C mere numbers with incredible potential. ¡°It¡¯s here.¡±

    The Jayhawker eyed it, satisfied by the honesty of Jazmine¡¯s answer. ¡°Then, there¡¯s just one other thing. A small matter.¡± A little grin formed on his lips, ¡°The other client mandated validation.¡±

    Validation. ¡°That¡¯s too risky and you know it,¡± Jazmine argued. ¡°You¡¯ll alert the Singularity and she¡¯ll jump. Our data will become useless.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what Malibu Flower told his client. They approved the risk. A picture. That¡¯s all they want. They simply want to confirm the Singularity is truly in that position. They don¡¯t care if the ship remains there. For reasons beyond my comprehension, they deemed visual confirmation worth the cost of Crimson Heart¡¯s location data.¡± He didn¡¯t understand it, but it simply was not his business. ¡°Rest assured, Malibu Flower will not disclose what information your employer traded for. Confidentiality will be maintained on both sides.¡±

    Jazmine didn¡¯t find that comforting. Dammit. Validation was the worst possible outcome.

    ¡°I have a ship standing by to release a photography drone.¡± The Jayhawker had outsourced a small margin of his profit to contract a ship and its crew. ¡°Do you agree to these terms? You will be held until your information is validated.¡±

    Jazmine wanted so badly to deny the terms. This deal was sour. He could taste it. Forget Malibu Flower¡¯s mystery client, the Jayhawker almost never got involved in the information business as a provider. It damaged his reputation of neutrality. All the smugglers and clans trusted him to protect the information that passed through the station. To involve himself, he had to have a motive well beyond money.

    Still, the location data for Crimson Heart¡­ It was right there. It was just feet from him in the clutches of Cinderella¡¯s white-tipped nails. They couldn¡¯t walk away now. ¡°We agree,¡± Jazmine said, steeling his nerves.

    The Jayhawker smiled once again. ¡°Then, have a seat, gentlemen. Let us see what you have to offer.¡±

    Jazmine surrendered the coordinates with a rock of dread sitting in his gut, but there was nothing he could do. The Jayhawker handed off the paper, and one of the guards read the coordinates into the transmitter mounted on the wall. Ships could not jump directly into Midwest Stations vicinity, but they could jump away without issue, so it took only minutes for the contracted ship to make its jump and launch its probe.

    The Jayhawker kicked on the coffee table¡¯s holographic emitter with an air of eager confidence. Tuned to display the probe¡¯s transmission, the hologram showed a blurry haze of stars as the drone drifted towards the specified coordinates on low power.

    The Jayhawker calmly studied the holographic starscape, amused by the stiff posture of the men sitting on the sofa¡¯s opposite side. ¡°For your sake,¡± he smiled, sipping on his wine, ¡°I hope your employer¡¯s information is accurate.¡± Otherwise, this was a waste of everyone¡¯s time.

    ¡°It is,¡± Gaffigan answered, growing certain he disliked the Jayhawker¡¯s pompous attitude. The least the smug asshole could have done was offer the rest of them some wine.

    Swallowing the last red from his glass, the Jayhawker set it aside and leaned forward, interested as the drone¡¯s image began to focus. For a moment, the hologram was nothing, just a black cloud filled with the bright white specks of the distant stars. But slowly, the drone¡¯s little telescope began to pan around, searching for its target.

    ¡­And it found it. Oh, stars, the Jayhawker watched in rapture as a ship came into view, right where it was said to be. ¡°There she is,¡± he whispered, studying the curves. The image was clear, utterly unmistakable, even without the name stamped in white on the ship¡¯s flank. ¡°I see the Prince has run her ragged.¡± The old ship had gained a seemingly gaunt appearance on its long, lean form. Craters new and old marked the hull, darkening it with undue shadow. ¡°But still, that¡¯s exactly as I remember her.¡±

    Jazmine¡¯s stomach plummeted. ¡°As you remember her?¡±

    Immediately, the Jayhawker began to laugh, quietly at first, then in an increasing crescendo. ¡°I must say I didn¡¯t believe it, Jazmine. I didn¡¯t want to. You just didn¡¯t seem the type.¡± But assumptions are dangerous in these worlds.

    Jazmine opened his mouth to speak, but the Jayhawker slammed his hand abruptly down on to the table. His whole demeanor changed in that instant. Gone was the laid-back confidence, replaced now by a cold, cold anger. ¡°You¡¯ve disappointed me, Don.¡± He pinned the former smuggler under a disdainful gaze. ¡°You abandoned the glorious life I gave you, only now to come crawling back in an idiotic lie.¡± True, he¡¯d never considered the pilot to be smart, but his skills had been respectable once upon a time. ¡°Did your employer think you would somehow succeed? Or was he fine to send Corporal Jazmine out on a suicide mission?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a Lieutenant, actually.¡± Jazmine corrected.

    He held onto his bravado rather well, the Jayhawker supposed. ¡°Your rank doesn¡¯t matter, Jazmine. You signed a death certificate in coming here.¡± Midwest Station would never trade with the central worlds¡¯ military. ¡°And don¡¯t,¡± he warned the redheaded man beside Jazmine, seeing the man reach for his sidearm. The redhead was a quick draw, but the guards had already been lined up. Without necessary instruction, they bopped the back of their prisoner¡¯s heads with the cold, hard barrels of their guns, then stepped a safe distance back, still in easy execution range.

    Jazmine stilled his hands, knowing any sudden movement would be his death. ¡°We made a deal, Jayhawker.¡±

    ¡°We did,¡± the stationmaster agreed, pulling himself to his feet. ¡°And I value my reputation as an honorable trader.¡± He took the folder from Cinderella¡¯s hands and set it gently on the table in front of Jazmine. ¡°Your information.¡±

    Monty glared at him. ¡°Thanks, asshole.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re brave men.¡± The Jayhawker admired that. It took a level of determination to even consider a mission like this, let alone actually attempt it. ¡°And I always liked you, Jazmine. I liked you well enough to let my daughter date you.¡± Cinderella had once been quite taken with this young, handsome pilot. ¡°So, you¡¯re lucky.¡± Very lucky. ¡°You signed a death warrant in coming here, but it doesn¡¯t have to be yours.¡±

    The Jayhawker studied these men. Jazmine was still charming. His hair always laid perfectly in a way anyone would envy. He could still have a grand life of adventure ahead of him. His compatriot had a sharp tongue, and a respectable intellect under that magnificently full orange beard. Both made subordinates of good caliber and good fortune. ¡°You¡¯re lucky, gentlemen, because there¡¯s someone I want dead even more than you.¡±

    Again, the stationmaster snapped his fingers, the noise loud and crisp. ¡°Cinderella. Locate their subspace transmitter. I doubt they were sent here without one.¡±

    She wasted no time in patting down Jazmine, and she was anything but gentle. All traces of her earlier friendliness were gone. Gaffigan received the same rough treatment until she yanked the transmitter from his belt. ¡°Here.¡± She held the device up.

    Good, good, the Jayhawker smiled, focusing on Jazmine. ¡°Call him.¡±

    ¡°Call who?¡± the pilot spat.

    ¡°Your employer,¡± the stationmaster said, imagining the revenge he¡¯d dreamed of finally coming to pass. ¡°Let¡¯s see if he¡¯s willing to trade his life for two of his subordinates¡¯.¡±

    ¡°We refuse.¡± Gaffigan said. The absolute last thing they should do in this situation was drag the Admiral into it, especially if he was currently possessed by some AI. The away team might go down, but they couldn¡¯t take their leader with them.

    The Jayhawker turned to Gaffigan, hearing the steel in his voice. ¡°I take it you¡¯re the ranking officer, then.¡±

    At the stationmaster¡¯s signal, the transmitter was dropped into Gaffigan¡¯s lap. ¡°I know your employer, Monty. We¡¯ve met, and I have never hated anyone as much as I hate him.¡± The Jayhawker handled many personalities in his work. Some were appalling, disgusting and vicious, but he still hated none as much as he hated the once-great Steel Prince. ¡°He¡¯s a cold, calculating bastard, but he wouldn¡¯t have sent two of his men out here unless he had no other option. He would know it was pointless. The fact he sent you anyway tells me your ship desperately needs that information.¡± He nodded to folder containing Crimson Heart¡¯s location. ¡°So, let¡¯s simplify this. Either make the call or die here alone and force your comrades to spend an eternity waiting for your return, never to get the information they need.¡±

    Eagerly, the Jayhawker saw conflict arise in the eyes of his hostage. ¡°And I¡¯ll be honest, Monty, I don¡¯t think you have the authority to make that decision. You can¡¯t decide to end this mission, because if you make that call, there¡¯s still a chance you and Jazmine walk out with that data.¡±

    Dammit. He was right. Monty hated to realize it, but he was right. If there was even a slight chance they got out of here with that data, then he had to take it. Calling the Admiral would at least buy time, even if he doubted it would do any good. ¡°Fine,¡± Gaffigan said. If he somehow managed to live, then turning this decision over to the Admiral ¨C or whatever entity was currently possessing him ¨C was less likely to get him into trouble.

    Carefully, Monty checked the transmitter¡¯s settings. In his hand, it had the weight of several thousand lives ¨C the refugees that would starve if they failed here. Then, he pressed the button to transmit and raised the device to his mouth. ¡°Gaffigan to Base. Come in Base.¡±

    The response came almost immediately in Keifer Robinson¡¯s elegant tone. ¡°Base here, Gaffigan.¡±

    The next words felt like sand in Monty¡¯s mouth, but he managed to spit them out before Keifer could say anything else. ¡°Base, requesting Singularity Actual.¡± Gaffigan closed his eyes, hoping this wasn¡¯t a mistake. Honestly, suspecting what he did about the Admiral and that AI, he had no idea how this would play out.

    If Keifer was surprised by the request, it didn¡¯t show in her voice. ¡°Stand by for Actual, Monty.¡±

    Across from him, the station master¡¯s eyes gleamed. Monty couldn¡¯t tell if it was satisfaction or malintent.

    ¡°This is Singularity Actual, Lieutenant,¡± the gravelly voice of Admiral Gives came on the line. ¡°Sitrep.¡±

    Monty watched the smirk on the Jayhawker¡¯s lips grow, dread setting deeper in his stomach. ¡°Skipper,¡± he said slowly, ¡°we¡¯ve hit a bit of a snag.¡±

    ¡°Would you care to define that a little further, Lieutenant?¡± The Admiral¡¯s voice was, as always, calm.

    Gaffigan swallowed. What was the Jayhawker actually after here? ¡°Our cover¡¯s been blown, sir.¡± As he said it, the stationmaster beckoned for Gaffigan to hand the device over. Unfortunately, Monty was in no position to refuse.

    As soon as he had his hand on the transmitter, the Jayhawker spoke, ¡°Good evening, Admiral. These are strange worlds we live in.¡± Truly, very strange, he thought, leaning back into the couch¡¯s upholstery. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t have suspected you to be Jumpin¡¯ Jazmine¡¯s new employer, but,¡± he clicked his tongue, ¡°a powerful, private person with close ties to the cursed Singularity¡­ Who else could it have been?¡± He let out a chuckle, greatly entertained by this ordeal. ¡°I have your operatives here, and while I could kill them, I¡¯ve thought a lot about what would happen if we ever crossed paths again.¡± He had dreamed and plotted for this moment ever since the Admiral had ruined the biggest score of his life. ¡°I know you wouldn¡¯t have come after Crimson Heart¡¯s coordinates like this unless you needed them very badly, Admiral.¡±

    There was a moment of silence, undoubtedly used by the Admiral to weigh the situation. ¡°What do you want?¡±

    ¡°Admiral Gives, I propose a meeting. You come alone, no Marines, no tricks. Don¡¯t bother with a pilot either. I happen to know you don¡¯t need one.¡± A smirk twisted his expression. ¡°And your ship stays in the Paleon Sector, right where we can see her.¡±

    There was another bout of silence from the distant side of the communique.

    ¡°If you refuse, I¡¯ll execute your operatives, then burn those coordinates,¡± the Jayhawker clarified. ¡°I really do believe it¡¯s time we meet face to face.¡±

    ¡°I could not agree more,¡± came the response. ¡°But if anything happens to Lieutenant Gaffigan and Lieutenant Jazmine, do recall I am not the one you will be answering to.¡±

    Once, that may have been a reference to Command, and all the backing he¡¯d once had. Now, the Jayhawker knew he leveled that threat only with the support of his ship. Quite confident in the old bucket, aren¡¯t you, Admiral? The Jayhawker only smiled at the thought. Don¡¯t be. I won¡¯t make the same mistake twice. ¡°I¡¯ll be seeing you soon.¡±

 Part 33.1 - MEETING DEMANDS

    Paleon Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Concern dominated Colonel Zarrey¡¯s expression, but below his attentive eyes, there was a strong jaw clenched in frustration. The away team had been found out, but he hadn¡¯t been privy to the demands of their release. He had to wait until the Admiral hung the handset back on its rack. ¡°What did that bastard want?¡±

    Running the tactical possibilities in his head, the Admiral didn¡¯t answer immediately. ¡°Me,¡± he finally said, leaning tiredly on the backlit radar console. ¡°Alone.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s absurd!¡± Zarrey retorted. ¡°You can¡¯t go.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I can.¡± Tired or not, he was perfectly capable of making that exchange. ¡°And, I fully intend to.¡± Despite his criminal profession, the Jayhawker usually stood by his word. With him, a deal was a deal. Jazmine, Gaffigan, and those coordinates would likely be allowed to leave if the Admiral turned himself over. The mission hadn¡¯t failed yet.

    ¡°Admiral, that¡¯s absurd.¡± They couldn¡¯t be trading lives like that. The first rule in dealing with hostage situations was compromise, not complete submission. ¡°You¡¯re needed here.¡± Despite any reservations Zarrey held about his methods, the ship¡¯s survival was reliant upon the Admiral¡¯s leadership. ¡°I¡¯ll go as you. Owens can dress me up.¡± Yeoman Owens had gone to school for makeup and hair applications. She could make him look enough like the picture given out with the Admiral¡¯s bounty to get by, at least temporarily.

    ¡°That will not work,¡± not that the Admiral doubted in Owens¡¯ ability. Those skills of hers had proven to be an asset on other missions. ¡°The Jayhawker will know you are not me.¡± The unfortunate reality was that Admiral Gives and the Jayhawker were not strangers. He and the stationmaster had met before, and Admiral Gives had approved this mission knowing that this outcome was a possibility. ¡°You have command until I return, Colonel. Stay in the Paleon Sector.¡±

    ¡°You¡¯re sidelining us?¡± Zarrey thundered. ¡°Fuck that!¡±

    ¡°That is an order, Colonel. No matter what you hear in the next three hours, these are my orders, and you will follow them. You, every member of this crew, and Singularity will stay in the Paleon Sector.¡± Here, they would be safe, relatively speaking. ¡°The only exception to this, I repeat the only exception to this is an attack by Command, at which point you are to retreat to the fallback position that Ensign Walters calculated, due west of here.¡±

    Zarrey could feel the heat rising in his face. Sidelined. Again. There was absolutely nothing more frustrating to a Marine, let alone a battleship full of sailors. ¡°That¡¯s shit, Admiral.¡± It was absolute garbage.

    ¡°These are my orders.¡± He had not asked anyone to like them. ¡°For three hours after I disembark, you will remain here with only that exception.¡± That was critical, absolutely critical. ¡°Whatever happens, whatever you hear after I leave, your orders are to stay. Is that understood?¡±

    To disobey would be mutiny, and as much as Zarrey hated this, he still wasn¡¯t ready to commit to that. ¡°Aye, sir,¡± he acknowledged vehemently, ¡°I understand.¡± He glared at the rest of the crew, some of whom were watching his reaction for a cue. ¡°We understand.¡± There would be no disobedience, no mutiny. Not now.

    The Admiral pushed himself off the radar console, looking briefly to where Robinson sat on the upper tier of the bridge, handling communications. ¡°Lieutenant, tell the flight deck to prepare a Warhawk for immediate launch.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Keifer replied quietly.

    With that, the Admiral turned and left. Zarrey watched him go, and the minute he was out of sight, let go a stream of innovative curses. It figured this mission would go sideways on them, but Zarrey hadn¡¯t predicted this. He swept his eyes across the room, noting the tension of the officers manning the controls. They kept their hands on the keys, ready for action, even out here in this empty sector. Eventually Zarrey found Robinson¡¯s deeply concerned eyes. ¡°Notify Lieutenant Colonel Pflum,¡± he told her. ¡°If anyone can talk the Admiral out of being an idiot, it¡¯s him.¡± The leader of the ship¡¯s Marine contingent should at least be involved in something like this. ¡°Seriously,¡± Zarrey grumbled, ¡°Why are we even here if we¡¯re going to get sidelined every fucking time? We have a battleship, let¡¯s go kick some ass!¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Galhino said, ¡°Jazz did say that the path to the station was monitored by drones. No way we¡¯re sneaking the Singularity past that.¡± This wasn¡¯t exactly a stealth ship.

    Zarrey rubbed at the scar on his jaw. ¡°Sending the Admiral out alone isn¡¯t any better!¡± He didn¡¯t care if those had been the terms. ¡°There¡¯s nothing he can do that Monty and Jazz can¡¯t. We should be planning a rescue mission, not sending over another naddlethworfing hostage!¡±

    ¡°Personally,¡± Galhino shrugged, ¡°I¡¯m fine with it, as long as he is the one that goes.¡±

    ¡°Galhino, pull your head out of your ass for thirty seconds and just remember that no one else knows how to navigate to Midwest Station. If Admiral Gives leaves, then we¡¯re stuck here doing jack shit because we can¡¯t get to the station.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why he can¡¯t leave instructions,¡± the sensor officer muttered. That should be simple enough for someone rumored to possess a genius-level intelligence.

    ¡°Well,¡± Zarrey snapped, ¡°he didn¡¯t leave instructions, and even if he did, that still wouldn¡¯t solve the problem of being seen before we get there.¡± The away team would likely be executed if the Singularity moved from this position, let alone made any attempt to move toward the station. In Zarrey¡¯s experience, surprise was a critical element of a successful hostage rescue. The enemy couldn¡¯t be given the chance to kill or relocate the hostage.

    Where he sat behind the engineering console, Ensign Alba didn¡¯t enjoy the tension. Whether it was Zarrey and Galhino bickering, or Zarrey arguing with the Admiral, it made Alba nervous. Things had been far less tense when they¡¯d been running lame patrols for the fleet. It was all he wanted to diffuse the situation. ¡°The Admiral knows what he¡¯s doing.¡± Probably. ¡°I¡¯m sure he has a plan.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey did not share the young engineer¡¯s optimism. So far today, nothing had gone according to plan. He doubted this would be the exception. ¡°Congrats, Alba,¡± he told the kid cheerfully, ¡°you just nominated yourself to deal with the ship when this goes wrong.¡±

    Alba smiled. Then he realized what Zarrey had said. Wait, ¡°You don¡¯t think anything¡¯s

    going to happen, right, sir?¡±

    ¡°To be honest, Alba, I try not to think. It kinda hurts.¡± He had given up on trying to rationalize a good number of things that occurred on this ship. ¡°But today feels like one of those days, and I¡¯m really not in the mood to put up with it.¡± He tapped the nearest console with the toe of his boot, earning a soft clang from the metal. ¡°You hear that?¡± he asked the ship. ¡°Fucking behave. I hate being left in charge.¡± It never went well.

    No announcement was made over the intercom, but word spread quickly across the ship. By the time Admiral Gives reached the hangar deck, most of the crew knew exactly what was happening. The away team had been caught, and their captor had demanded Admiral Gives surrender himself in exchange for their lives. Perhaps more surprising to the rest of the crew, Admiral Gives had accepted that condition.

    On the flight deck, the crew did as they had been ordered. They readied a Warhawk to fly to the station, but that didn¡¯t stop a number of them from standing between it and the Admiral. Lieutenant Colonel Pflum, alerted to the situation, had grabbed a squadron of Marines, and positioned himself on the scuffed floor of the hangar deck. He was waiting, expression sour, when the Admiral appeared. ¡°This is insane, and you know it,¡± Pflum accused. ¡°At least take a guard with you.¡± As the head of the ship¡¯s Marine company, Pflum¡¯s duty was to ensure that the safety of every crewman was taken care of, both on the ship and off of it.

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    Admiral Gives knew how reckless this action appeared. He was flying off into a situation well out of his control, but the Jayhawker had made his demands clear. He had to go alone. ¡°I will not risk the life of anyone else on this gambit,¡± he told Pflum. ¡°I knew it was a flawed plan.¡± He had known this was a possible outcome when he had sent Jazmine and Gaffigan to that station. ¡°My safety is not worth the away team¡¯s lives.¡± If he failed to cooperate, the Jayhawker would kill them.

    Jazmine and Gaffigan needed him, and the Admiral wasn¡¯t willing to let them down. He raised his voice to the crowd of crewmembers that had gathered around, ¡°My life is no more important than that of anyone else on this ship.¡± He wanted all of them to understand that. His duty as the ship¡¯s commander was no more critical than the duties of the lowest ranking crewman. They were both equally required for the ship to function and survive.

    Pflum glared, reading the Admiral¡¯s intentions. ¡°Don¡¯t you dare try to make this seem less severe than it is, you bloody bastard.¡± Whether the Admiral wanted it or not, they had to prioritize the Admiral¡¯s life over that of lower-ranking crew. It was a cold mathematics, but the reality of the situation was they had more repair men, they had more pilots, and they had more Marines, but they only had one commander. And for all the doubts and uncertainties that surrounded him, one simple fact remained: not one crewmember had died since breaking free of Command. Through the scuffle above Sagittarion, the detonation of Squadron 26, and the Battle of the Wilkerson Sector, not one crewmember had been lost.

    It was an incredible statistic. Pflum had served on other ships. He understood the magnitude of such a feat, and so did the rest of the crew. In this rebellion from Command, two things were keeping them alive. The first, of course, was the Singularity, which had managed, against all expectations, to go toe to toe with nine battleships in the Wilkerson Sector. But the second, equally critical part of the equation, was Admiral Gives. Without him, they wouldn¡¯t have lived long enough to secede from Command in the first place.

    Thus, Pflum stood right between the Admiral and that little black reconship. For the good of the entire crew, the man could not be allowed to turn himself over. ¡°Sir, what evidence do you ¡®ave that Jazz and Monty will even be released?¡± Pflum challenged. ¡°We ¡®ave absolutely no guarantee the Jayhawker will abide ¡®is own word.¡± The Admiral could be turning himself over for nothing.

    Admiral Gives did not justify that with a response. Instead, he turned to Chief Ty, who had approached from the side, probably to weigh in with a similar opinion. ¡°Chief,¡± the Admiral greeted him before he could interject. ¡°I want you to disable the FTL drives.¡±

    It was an instinctive reaction for Ty to straighten up under the ship commander¡¯s direct attention. ¡°Yes, sir,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°Which ones?¡± They were overdue for inspection considering their recent use.

    ¡°For the next three hours, all of them.¡±

    Ty¡¯s head snapped up in surprise. He simply froze, the oil-stained towel in his hands fluttering to the white deck.

    The engineering chief wasn¡¯t the only one taken aback. Pflum scowled, ¡°You don¡¯t trust Colonel Zarrey to follow through with your orders, sir?¡± Disabling the FTL drives would doubly ensure the ship stayed in the Paleon Sector, regardless of Zarrey¡¯s intentions.

    ¡°No,¡± the Admiral answered, ¡°I trust the Colonel fully.¡± Zarrey would follow orders, but it wasn¡¯t Zarrey he was worried about. ¡°Now, LC, are you going to move, or am I going to have to order you to?¡± Gaffigan and Jazmine would be killed if he wasted any more time.

    ¡°Sir, if you live, I expect the Colonel will ¡®ave words for you.¡± Colorful words, no doubt.

    ¡°If I live?¡± the Admiral queried. You have little faith. Pflum clearly thought this was reckless, that it was suicidal. The Admiral believed it was neither. It was simply a tactical movement. There was a plan. There was always a plan, even if the crew didn¡¯t necessarily know it.

    Still, Pflum and his Marines stepped aside. Except by force, they couldn¡¯t stop the Admiral, and here on the hangar deck¡¯s wide-open space, they weren¡¯t prepared to take that step. Pflum only watched the Admiral board that Warhawk with a horrible sinking feeling. Ty looked similarly ill, contemplating his new orders to disable the ship¡¯s FTL drives. Effectively, that order stranded them in the Paleon Sector. If an emergency occurred while the drives were disconnected, they would be helpless to escape until at least one of the drives was reconnected and Ty didn¡¯t like that prospect at all.

    Minutes later, Admiral Gives¡¯ Warhawk was sitting in the cavernous portside landing bay. Calm as ever, he ran the final safety checks, and acquired take-off permissions. Despite the seemingly hesitant release of the magnetic locks, he lifted off with practiced ease. Setting an easy course into the void, he reached over to begin working the controls for FTL navigation.

    A pale, slim hand stopped him. ¡°Let me do that,¡± the ghost said, having taken form in the copilot¡¯s seat. ¡°You¡¯re a horrible navigator.¡± He couldn¡¯t be trusted to get from this system to the next, let alone two sectors over. ¡°I¡¯d rather you not get lost.¡±

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, reaching up to start charging the FTL drive instead.

    She said nothing to that, displeasure etched into her expression. She simply took over and readied the FTL sequence his transport would need.

    In the meantime, the Admiral looked past her to observe his ship. The repairs on the hull still hadn¡¯t been finished. Since he hadn¡¯t known who their coordinates would be sold to, he had elected not to risk workers on the hull for the duration of Gaffigan and Jazmine¡¯s mission. That said, the remaining damage was just a fraction of the amount that had been present after the Battle of the Wilkerson Sector. Chief Ty and his teams had taken no short cuts. Over the last week, the most serious damage had been reduced to nothing but a new pattern of scars for him to memorize ¨C not that he needed to memorize the new placement of old wounds. He would have known his ship anywhere.

    Still, evidence of recent trials was clear. The lower portside engine had been carefully restored, and the teams had reactivated it, but there was a shadow where the damage had been. Between all the thruster ports and vents, most people wouldn¡¯t have noticed it, but he did. It was a cautious reminder of how close the Battle of the Wilkerson Sector had really been, and what it had nearly cost him. Sheer luck had rendered that engine damage repairable.

    There was an unusual exhaustion on the ship now, too. He¡¯d pushed her hard to get here. The colors on the hull seemed to have lost some of their vibrancy, but he knew no matter how tired the ship looked, or how many trips to subspace remained, the Singularity would see this mission through to the end, as would he. That shallow, exhausted aura still had purpose within it. The old dreadnaught was flying for a whole fleet now, and neither of them could forget that. The fate of Sagittarion¡¯s refugees now rested with them. If they failed this mission, the fleet and everyone within it would die.

    They needed the coordinates for Crimson Heart¡¯s base of operations, and Admiral Gives fully intended to get them, so he focused on the woman in the copilot¡¯s seat. She looked deeply irritated; arms crossed as her gray eyes glared daggers at him. ¡°Why are you an idiot?¡±

    Mostly? ¡°Fun.¡±

    ¡°Damn it all, Admiral. If he doesn¡¯t kill you, I will.¡± At this rate, he was going to deserve it.

    ¡°I¡¯m fine with that.¡± A death at the hands of a friend was a kind death.

    Her gray eyes bored into him, frustration and concern wrestling for control. With his comment through, concern won out, even as she knew it wasn¡¯t supposed to. Don¡¯t get attached. She had always been told that, but it was hard not to. ¡°You are playing right into his hands, and you know it.¡±

    ¡°That is the plan,¡± the Admiral said.

    ¡°That¡¯s a horrible plan!¡± Why was he the only one that couldn¡¯t see that?

    ¡°Unfortunately, Nathan Gadwood isn¡¯t stupid. He won¡¯t make the same mistake twice.¡± The Jayhawker wanted to isolate him from the ship, and Admiral Gives fully intended to let him. ¡°He won¡¯t do it wrong again, but there is still no guarantee he does it right.¡± The stationmaster did not understand the forces at work. Thus, probability dictated that the Admiral maintained an advantage. The Jayhawker wanted him on that station. Fine. The Jayhawker was going to get more than he bargained for.

    ¡°If something goes wrong, before you get on the station, I can¡¯t help you,¡± she warned.

    ¡°I wouldn¡¯t expect you to. It¡¯s not your job to look after me.¡± She owed him absolutely nothing.

    ¡°Has it occurred to you that he might just kill you?¡±

    ¡°He won¡¯t.¡± The Admiral was confident of that. ¡°I have something he wants. But if I won¡¯t let him have it, then he¡¯ll destroy it.¡± That was predictable, simply the engagement of two tacticians that knew each other. ¡°That¡¯s why I needed the FTL drives disabled.¡± He trusted Zarrey to follow his orders, but there could also be no chance of a miscommunication. ¡°No matter what you hear, what he says, you have to stay in the Paleon Sector.¡±

    ¡°Admiral,¡± she said sweetly, then dropped her tone straight to menacing. ¡°Disabling the FTL drives won¡¯t keep me in the Paleon Sector.¡±

    Oh, I know. In fact, he was counting on it. ¡°Then, let it be an excuse,¡± he said. ¡°Since we both know you were going to do whatever you wanted anyway.¡±

    You¡¯re still mad about the repair orders. She narrowed her eyes, certain of that. You petty jerk. This was not the time to be making a point. She did not have a better plan, but his was fantastically terrible. She sighed, realizing she had little choice but to allow it. ¡°Try not to die. I have never lost a commanding officer, and I¡¯d rather not have you be the first.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m honored,¡± he retorted.

    ¡°I mean that.¡± They often bickered, but that element of companionship often meant as much to her as sincerity. ¡°Come back to me in one piece.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± I¡¯ll do my best. He¡¯d bring every member of the crew back, safe and sound.

 Part 33.2 - DRIVE DISABLEMENT

    Paleon Sector, Battleship Singularity

    When Chief Ty reported his orders to the bridge, Zarrey cursed louder than Ty had ever heard him. ¡°Are you fucking kidding me?¡± A clatter came through the comm. line, as if something had been thrown. ¡°That¡¯s naddlethworfing insane!¡±

    Ty had distanced the handset from his ear, a small crowd of technicians standing around him in their orange coveralls. ¡°What do you want us to do, sir?¡±

    Zarrey mumbled another stream of curses. ¡°That¡¯s going to leave us stranded here.¡± Without the FTL drives, they couldn¡¯t retreat through subspace or hyperspace.

    ¡°Well, yes and no, sir.¡± Chief Ty rubbed the stubble on his face. ¡°We can¡¯t jump if the drives are disabled, but the easiest way to disable them is to just disconnect them from the power grid, and if we¡¯re not disassembling them for inspection, that doesn¡¯t take very long.¡±

    ¡°What does it matter how long it takes?¡± Zarrey snapped. ¡°It¡¯s insane.¡±

    ¡°Colonel, disconnecting the drives is a very short process both ways. It doesn¡¯t take long to implement, and it doesn¡¯t take long to reverse.¡± Those drives were designed to disconnect from the grid to prevent them from being damaged in power surges.

    ¡°So,¡± Zarrey realized, ¡°this won¡¯t maroon us here?¡± It wouldn¡¯t leave them stranded at sub-light?

    ¡°No,¡± the Chief said. ¡°It¡¯ll delay an escape, but it won¡¯t make it impossible. To go to FTL, we would only need to reconnect the drive and charge it as usual.¡± These weren¡¯t dooming orders, but they were very strange. ¡°However, is delaying our ability to retreat worth following the Admiral¡¯s orders?¡±

    ¡°What the hell kind of question is that?¡± Zarrey growled, raising his voice again.

    Ty leaned away from the handset. ¡°That¡¯s why I called, sir.¡± Below decks, the engineers did everything they could to follow directions without an explanation. They usually weren¡¯t given one. But this was beyond odd, and they all knew it. ¡°Do you want us to carry out those orders?¡±

    ¡°Do I want-¡± Zarrey cut himself off with a sharp intake of breath. ¡°What the hell are you saying, Chief?¡±

    Ty swallowed, too aware of the ears that surrounded him. ¡°With all due respect, you know those orders were out of line, even for him.¡±

    ¡°No!¡± Zarrey said. ¡°Damn it all! Just do as he said!¡± This was no time to be contemplating a mutiny.

    ¡°Colonel, you have to realize this doesn¡¯t make any sense,¡± Ty argued.

    ¡°So what?¡± Zarrey replied. ¡°Half the shit that happens on this ship makes no sense!¡± Nobody questioned it then. ¡°Follow your damn orders, Chief. The Admiral had to have a reason. He must know something we don¡¯t.¡± Zarrey had to believe that. ¡°And one of these fucking days, I¡¯m going to get him to explain before he up and leaves.¡±

    Ty shrugged, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He hung up the handset and turned to the crowd. ¡°The order stands. Take your teams and get to it. But, for the sake of the stars, stay nearby once you disconnect those drives!¡± If the order came down, they¡¯d need to reconnect them so the ship could jump. Proximity to the drives would be the difference between a successful retreat and a failed one.

    ¡°Aye, Chief!¡± they chanted, breaking up into predetermined pairs of two and three.

    Chief Ty rubbed the dark stubble on his chin as he watched them go. This is madness. For the sake of the stars, they were the most wanted ship in the worlds. Disabling any of the ship¡¯s critical systems was the last thing they ought to be doing. What was the Admiral thinking?

    Ordinarily, Chief Ty followed orders without question. He had a great respect for Admiral Gives. Ty had never met another commander who knew so much about ship engineering, maintenance and operation. Ty had also never met another commander who was so familiar with their ship.

    True, the best commanders took the time to study and learn how their ships operated, but Admiral Gives didn¡¯t just know the ship, he understood it. He understood how the ship¡¯s systems operated, why they¡¯d been designed that way, and how damage affected them. The ship¡¯s engineers looked up to him. It was a fact that he, out of anyone, knew the ship best, and it went without saying that he usually had the ship¡¯s best interest in mind. A ship like the Singularity didn¡¯t remain serviceable without a commander that took care of her.

    Ty had seen that over and over again within the fleet. Combat ships were generally considered disposable. Their days were considered numbered, especially if they saw heavy kinetic loads through maneuvers and battle damage. The average age of ships in the battle fleet was roughly ten years, and most could only hope to make it to twenty. Battleships simply weren¡¯t built to endure like the colony ships that had come before them. In most cases, it was easier to melt down and replace the ship than to make serious structural repairs.

    Considering all of that, the Singularity was effectively ancient, so it was no wonder the fleet had circulated rumors that the ship was ready to fall apart. Ships half the Singularity¡¯s age had fallen apart, and despite her longevity, the Singularity wasn¡¯t ageless. If he looked in the right places, Chief Ty could find places where corrosion and wear had set in, the result of poor and incomplete maintenance. Those were old scars now, reminders of the ship¡¯s previous commander, but not weaknesses, never weaknesses.

    There wasn¡¯t a sailor in the worlds crazy enough to sail on a ship with a weakened structure, and despite decades of repeated strains and damages, the Singularity had managed to escape that fate. The engineers kept an eye on the structure, and it went without saying that the Admiral did as well. As rough as he could be in his orders, he never took it too far. Perhaps that was why Ty found the order to disable the FTL drives so strange. It was even stranger considering the recent shake-up in the repair orders. Those were not the type of orders Ty had grown accustomed to receiving from the Admiral, but if Zarrey was still going to back him, there was nothing to be done, so Ty grabbed his tool kit and headed for the compartment that housed FTL Drive Four.

    A gust of metallic air greeted Ty as he opened the hatch. He was the first to visit this compartment in some time. The engineering teams had been so preoccupied repairing the parts of the ship damaged in battle, that those unaffected had been overlooked. They simply did not have enough people to cover the usual inspection rotation on top of battle damage.

    That was always the issue with large ships: they required large crews. The Singularity had a sizeable crew in comparison to a scoutship¡¯s, but had merely half the manpower the Olympia did. At full capacity, the Singularity should have carried a crew even larger than the Olympia¡¯s, due to the lack of automated systems, but because of the way crew made their way to the Singularity, their numbers had dwindled over the years. Command, seeing no reduction in the ship¡¯s capability, had not seen fit to supplement the ship¡¯s complement. The smaller crew size kept the engineers busy, but outside of damage, the ship rarely required anything other than scheduled upkeep. As a result, the crew¡¯s smaller numbers only became an issue in situations like the present, when Chief Ty had to very carefully choose what maintenance was done on top of repairs. The FTL drives, though critical, had fallen near the bottom of the list since the ship possessed four of them, and at a minimum, only required one to jump. The radar, sensors and main engines had been given higher priority.

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    Chief Ty believed in that prioritization, and true to form, nothing seemed out of the ordinary as he looked down at the silver casing of FTL Drive Four. As a whole, the Singularity had been doing a lot more FTL maneuvers than usual, but this particular drive had only been used once during their marathon from the Polaris Sector. They had been rotating the use of the drives, trying to lessen the strain on each of these irreplaceable devices. So far, that directive seemed to be working, because everything here seemed to be in order.

    One of four identically designed compartments on the ship, the room was two decks tall. The entrance and a walkway from it were built at the height of the upper deck while the FTL drive was bolted to the deck below.

    Hefting his toolbox in one hand, Ty descended the metal mesh stairs to the lower part of the compartment. Before heading to the drive itself, he stopped by the wall closest to the stairs, which was covered in monitoring equipment. He set the toolbox down and set to work checking the gauges, circuits, and relays for any sign of deterioration. It was a simple-minded task, one that the Chief found himself enjoying. It had been a while since he had the chance to work by himself without the immediate threat of engine damage or structural failure.

    Chief Ty welcomed the occasional challenge, but he preferred hands-on remedial tasks like this one. That was why he had taken to ship duty rotations, rather than using his high training marks to go work for the research and development branch of Command. He had found a niche on the Singularity, since the older ship did not have computerized diagnostic systems. The engineers had to dig around until they found out what was wrong. Perhaps that made his job harder, but relying too much upon technology was a weakness, one that was all too easy to exploit.

    The Olympia was a castle of all the planets¡¯ riches. She was the paramount of software engineering and integration, but when someone stormed that castle, Ty knew it was the software they would go after. Compared to a machine physically armed to the teeth and filled with Marines, the software was a weak target. Although, the Chief supposed as he moved on to inspect the hardware attached to the drive, maybe not if the Eran AI is reinforcing it.

    After a few minutes checking the surrounding equipment and making preparations, Chief Ty found himself staring at the drive¡¯s cylindrical casing. What¡¯s the point of this? How was there any wisdom in taking away the ship¡¯s FTL capability? Without the drives they had no access to hyperspace or subspace. Warping or jumping would be impossible, and while the Singularity was impeccably fast on her sub-light engines, it still stranded them at relativistic speeds. Ty hesitated to disconnect the drive just in case they needed it. What harm could possibly come from leaving it plugged in? As long as CIC didn¡¯t activate the drive, there was no real difference, but orders were orders. He sighed and opened up his dented toolbox.

    Still, the instant he reached for the drive¡¯s connection to the power grid, he became keenly aware of a drastic change in the mood of the room. He paused, tool in hand, and turned to look around, suddenly feeling as though he was being watched. The sensation wasn¡¯t unfamiliar, but this time it was different. Usually, this sensation came with a feeling of complacency or amusement. Now, it was cold, inhospitable. The temperature of the compartment seemed to have dropped ten degrees, leaving him shivering. The shadows in the corner of the room crawled in the peripherals of his gaze, but when he whipped to face them, it seemed nothing at all had changed.

    The often-amiable feeling that came from working alone with the ship had disappeared. It had reversed polarity the instant he reached for the drive. Chief Ty shook his wrench at the empty room, more annoyed than anything. ¡°You really are cantankerous, you know that don¡¯t you?¡± he said aloud.

    As expected, no response came from the empty compartment, so Ty rolled his eyes. Chief Carlson, his predecessor, had warned him about this. Carlson had always said the Singularity fell on the temperamental side, and that it would be immediately clear the moment he did something wrong.

    Nevertheless, Ty ignored that feeling of discontent and returned his attention to the drive. Immediately, the room seemed to darken even more, not quite hostile, but definitely contentious. It was a burdensome environment, burning with enough irritation to make Ty turn back around. ¡°What?¡± he shouted, annoyed. ¡°I don¡¯t want to disable these drives, and neither does anyone else, but those were the Admiral¡¯s orders. So, if you¡¯ve got a problem with it, take it out on him.¡± Really, Ty imagined this as an argument with himself, trying to rationalize this task. The strangeness of this compartment was just a convenient foil to his inner debate about this order.

    Still, he started working on the power coupling. ¡°You better not be this damn rude to the others,¡± he said to the ship. They probably wouldn¡¯t take it as well.

    Finally disconnecting the drive from the power grid, the feeling of icy displeasure intensified. It grated on his nerves like snow shoved below his shirt collar, freezing and uncomfortable. He slammed down his wrench. ¡°Look, we¡¯ve established that I don¡¯t like this any more than you do, so I am going to stay right here with the power line in this hand,¡± he held up his left, ¡°and the connection to the drive in this hand,¡± he held up his right, ¡°that way when CIC calls, I can immediately plug them in and we can be on our way.¡± He spoke the words more for his benefit than anything else, but the dark, leaden feeling of the room did dissipate. ¡°That¡¯s what I thought,¡± he said.

    Eventually, Ty settled into the promised position, with one side of FTL Drive Four¡¯s power coupling in each hand, waiting patiently to receive a call from the bridge and reconnect the two. He never gave another moment¡¯s thought to his debate with the empty room. He attributed the mood of the compartment to his own internal debate.

    That said, the ghost remained apologetic. She hadn¡¯t truly meant to pressure Chief Ty. It had been more of an instinct. Being ordered to disable the drives was not his fault, and she, bound to obey, ought to understand that more than anyone. In the end, she was grateful to him, staying with the FTL drive he had disabled.

    The entire situation was frustrating. Admiral Gives wasn¡¯t even the main cause of that irritation. No, despite his lack of explanation, she knew he had a plan. He always had a plan. Whether it was a good plan or bad plan was debatable, especially since he had left the crew out of it. But, still, he had his reasons. He had reasons for everything he did, so he was not the problem.

    No, the problem was the Jayhawker. The stationmaster of Midwest Station. Who the hell did he think he was, delaying a critical mission? Taking crew members hostage? Luring the Admiral out alone?

    Soulless cockroach. Zarrey had invented that insult. The ghost had taken a liking to it, and it suited the Jayhawker perfectly. Nathan Gadwood, or the Jayhawker as he¡¯d branded himself, was a pathetic little creature, but a rather difficult infestation to squish. He was clever, and that made him dangerous, but he was a selfish insect. He was a common criminal who had built a throne in the city of evil, but he was playing the game three levels below the rest of them. He was playing for chips, and they were playing for keeps. The Jayhawker had no measure of the forces at work aboard the Singularity or around her. Hell, he probably didn¡¯t even realize that the ship was effectively at war with a digital god in the form of Manhattan.

    No, the truth of the matter was that this was personal. It was personal for the Jayhawker. It was personal for the Admiral, and it was personal for the ghost too. Neither of them had liked this plan to move discreetly through Midwest Station. Even with Jazmine¡¯s background, prior history had made that a risk, a risk that had now become reality. The Jayhawker had found them out and made his move.

    Admiral Gives had met the stationmaster¡¯s demands, but not without intentions of his own. Naturally, he intended to remove Don Jazmine and Montgomery Gaffigan from Midwest Station, offering himself as a prisoner in exchange. Honestly, she had no idea if that would work. Nathan Gadwood, the little cockroach, had proven to be anything but predictable.

    But in the end, it wouldn¡¯t alter the Jayhawker¡¯s fate. She¡¯d known it by the way he left. Admiral Gives wasn¡¯t in the mood to play around. With the lives of two crewmen on the line, not to mention the history of their last interaction, no method was off-limits to bring this situation to an end.

    The ghost found herself eager with anticipation. After all, Nathan Gadwood had stolen something from her. She wanted it back, and he had fooled her once before, but nobody managed that a second time.

 Part 33.3 - DEALING WITH THE DEMON

    Mississippi Sector, Warhawk 911

    The small black reconnaissance ship emerged from subspace in a small flash of rainbow light. Alone amidst the Mississippi Sector¡¯s scattering of dark planets, it was quiet. There was no sign of civilization. Like Jazmine and Gaffigan before him, Admiral Gives would have to fly through the drifting planetary bodies. The constant, random drift of the dark planets prevented ships from coming out of FTL at any point within the cluster, as they had no way to know if they would be jumping too deep into a planet¡¯s gravity well to escape, or if they would meet a quicker end by emerging directly within a planet¡¯s mass. Either way, it was likely to result in certain death.

    The Jayhawker had been proud to use that natural environment to his advantage, as it meant no ship could approach Midwest Station using FTL travel. Now, drones had been stationed throughout the sector to watch ships as they approached at relativistic speeds. If any were deemed hostile, the station had plenty of time to rally a defense or simply evacuate.

    Loathe as the Admiral was to admit it, the Jayhawker had a right to be proud. Hidden away amongst these dark planets, Midwest Station had escaped the notice of Command and relegated to a mere rumor amongst most of the fleet¡¯s personnel. There were people that knew, of course. There were always people that knew, but the Jayhawker and Midwest Station had bought their silence with service. Hub to the black markets and underworld, there was nothing that could not be acquired at Midwest Station. While the Jayhawker refused to deal with Command or the military subsidiaries of the centralized government, various national governments had worked out extremely lucrative deals to get their hands on technology and weapons that had been legally banned. In exchange for that, they happily turned a blind eye to the existence of Midwest Station.

    Admiral Gives himself had ignored the station for his own reasons. There had been many corrupt ship commanders in the fleet, loyal to every cause except the one they were sworn to serve. It was easy to be corrupt, far easier than remaining on the straight and narrow, because while commanding a battleship was an envious position, it was also a very lonely one. It required a certain¡­ distance. A distance from the men and women crewing the ship ¨C those that lived and died on orders ¨C but also a distance from the worlds they sailed between. The longer one spent in command, the greater that distance became, and the harder it was to resist the vices and comforts of simpler times, be it drugs, violence, or some other coping mechanism.

    Still, the one thing Admiral Gives had never been was corrupt. He had spent his career at odds with Command, yet had never sworn an oath of loyalty directly to Command. He had allowed the supply crews to smuggle goods aboard ship, but he had never taken a bribe. He had obscured the fate of the people Command sent him to kill, but he had never allowed a true criminal to escape justice with one notable exception: Nathan Gadwood ¨C the man that became known as the Jayhawker.

    Someone else might have been frustrated by that. Someone else might have held a grudge. But, it wasn¡¯t personal. The Jayhawker probably wanted it to be personal, but it was not. As far as the Admiral cared, it was a simple fact. His mistake had allowed Nathan Gadwood the freedom to build an empire in the underworld.

    Engaging the Warhawk¡¯s sub-light engines, he guided the small ship onto the route that would take him to the station. It had been years since he had made this trip, but considering the conditions of his prior visit, it remained sharp in his memory.

    He flew steadily through this dark sector. The colorful buttons and switches of the Warhawk were not much comfort. By design, they gave him enough light to see what he was doing, but failed to brighten the endless darkness that yawned out before him, blotted with the hazy spheres of the dark planets.

    By the time he reached the cluster of black spheres that shielded Midwest Station, many of the station¡¯s other clientele had scattered. Only a handful of ships remained docked along the station¡¯s main length. The station¡¯s mottled gray endcap was entirely empty, save the small gray transport that Gaffigan and Jazmine had flown in on. It was easy to recognize with the purple and yellow lightning bolt painted on its hull, so Admiral Gives disengaged the main engines of his own craft and used the maneuvering thrusters to glide into alignment with the neighboring airlock.

    He met no challenge on approach, and the airlock clunked into position just over two hours after he¡¯d left the Singularity. He made certain to note the time. Forty-six minutes. That should be more than enough time to make the Jayhawker tip his hand.

    Unbuckling, he climbed out of the pilot¡¯s seat and opened his side of the airlock, fully expecting to find the muzzle of a waiting gun. Instead, he found a beautiful blonde woman whose lips were adorned with perfect red lipstick. She had matured since he¡¯d last seen her, but he still recognized her face beneath all that makeup. Cinderella. She had come to share the same cocky smirk as her father.

    ¡°You know,¡± she smiled, ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d really come.¡±

    He didn¡¯t dignify that with a response as he crossed through the station¡¯s airlock.

    She looked him over, both pleased and surprised to find that he had no gun holster on his belt. ¡°You¡¯re unarmed?¡±

    ¡°As instructed,¡± he confirmed.

    ¡°No knives?¡±

    ¡°One.¡± The small one he kept between his wrist and his watch, ¡°But I would consider it a tool rather than a weapon.¡±

    She stared at him for a moment, contemplating if it was worth confiscating, but eventually just laughed, a soft ladylike sound. ¡°I doubt a small knife is going to get you out of here, so what¡¯s the harm?¡± Her father had several dozen security guards throughout the station. If he could use a small knife to take all of them down and escape, then chances were he could do it empty-handed. ¡°You were reckless to come here, Admiral. My father was right about you.¡± Powerful as he was, he had one weakness: his crew. But, she supposed that wasn¡¯t her business. ¡°Care to escort a lady as you walk to your death?¡±

    Admiral Gives calmly folded his hands behind his back. ¡°Considering the poisoned blade hidden in your hand, respectfully, I will pass.¡± He might be reckless, but he was not actively trying to die.

    The smile fell off Cinderella¡¯s red lips. With a twirl, the assassin sheathed the knife back into the ruffled sleeve of her evening dress. ¡°You¡¯re just as drab as I remember you.¡± Usually, the military types were all too eager to escort a pretty woman. She¡¯d killed many marks that way. They were usually too distracted to feel the knife. ¡°Follow me.¡±

    Their walk through the station¡¯s mismatched hallways was short. In this part of the station, the hallways were so plain they could have belonged to any industrial building. They lacked decoration, style, or even the obvious structural supports common to other space structures. When they reached the stationmaster¡¯s office, a suited bodyguard opened up the door and Cinderella marched him inside.

    The Jayhawker¡¯s office was lavish. Round lights made from blown glass hung from the ceiling at different heights, giving off a warm light reminiscent of floating paper lanterns. Large paintings hung on the wall in ornate golden frames, and below them, shelves and display cases lined the walls, filled with trophies from the Jayhawker¡¯s escapades. The air was perfumed, rich with the smell of an artificial forest, a luxury for wealthy spacefarers who tired of tasting the same recycled air day in and day out.

    Lounging on the sleek blue couch that curved in a half circle around the coffee table, the Jayhawker relished this moment. ¡°The Steel Prince himself. It is rare to see you step off the decks of your demon. Many had wondered if you were still capable.¡±

    Gaffigan and Jazmine sat across from him on the couch, backs to the door, but they turned to greet the Admiral with a stiff, ¡°Sir.¡±

    The stationmaster found snide entertainment in the formality as he sipped dark liquor from an etched crystal glass. ¡°Such well trained dogs you have here, Admiral.¡±

    The Admiral paid only enough attention to the Lieutenants to see that they were unharmed. He kept his focus on the Jayhawker as Cinderella moved to stand behind her father. ¡°You wanted me to come alone, Mister Gadwood. I have. Let my men go.¡±

    The Jayhawker laughed a bit and casually swirled his glass. ¡°Did you really expect me to do that?¡± That was foolishness. ¡°With you, Admiral, I can never have too much insurance. I know you¡¯ll find a way to win if it¡¯s just your life at stake. But if it¡¯s theirs¡­¡± he pointed to Monty and Jazz, ¡°You won¡¯t risk it.¡±

    The Admiral raised an eyebrow. How presumptuous. He was a battleship commander. When it came to the lives of his crew, he did everything he could to protect them, but it wouldn¡¯t be the first time he¡¯d had men die on a mission. The coordinates for Crimson Heart¡¯s base were absolutely critical. Without them, the mission to gather supplies for the refugees in the Polaris Sector would fail. Gaffigan and Jazmine knew that, just as they knew life and death came with the job. ¡°So be it, Mister Gadwood. What are your intentions?¡±

    The Jayhawker took another long, tasteful sip of his drink as he studied his opponent. In the years since their last meeting, the Admiral¡¯s hair had grayed a little more, but otherwise, he looked just as the stationmaster remembered him. ¡°You know what I¡¯m after.¡± The same thing the Admiral had cheated him out of all those years ago. ¡°I want your ship.¡±

    ¡°There are eight hundred crewmen aboard my ship-¡±

    ¡°And they will have a place here,¡± the Jayhawker cut him off. ¡°You hand me the Singularity and I will turn Midwest Station over to your crew, along with all of its associated transports.¡± The Jayhawker leveled his gaze. ¡°That¡¯s a fleet, Admiral, not to mention a hideout that Command will never find.¡± Leaning forward, he set his glass onto the table in front of him. ¡°Not a bad deal if your goal is to keep your crew alive.¡± They would be safe here. ¡°I can offer all of them employment in my organization. They would be protected, fed, and paid generously. I can see they are brave men and women, and they all possess useful skills.¡±

    After rebelling from Command, joining the underworld was the only chance the crew would ever have of regaining a normal life. That was the only way to leave the ship and avoid imprisonment, and in the underworld, the Jayhawker was a powerful man. He would protect them as long as they made themselves useful. For the crew, it wasn¡¯t a bad deal. That much was true.

    ¡°And, I¡¯m not unreasonable, Admiral,¡± the stationmaster continued. ¡°I know you have an urgent objective with Crimson Heart. I¡¯m willing to let you take those coordinates and finish your mission. However, Gaffigan and Jazmine will remain here as insurance. It¡¯s clear enough you won¡¯t abandon them.¡± The fact he¡¯d come to negotiate at all proved that. ¡°But, when it¡¯s all said and done, I want your ship.¡±

    ¡°Do you realize Command intends to hunt the Singularity to the end of the known worlds?¡±

    ¡°They will,¡± the stationmaster admitted, ¡°unless I turn over something they want even more.¡± These worlds operated on barters and trades. Command was no exception to that. ¡°I expect they would ignore the existence of an old dreadnaught if I handed over their traitor. Hell, they might even call it my reward for your bounty, provided I keep her out of the public eye.¡±

    The Jayhawker was a greedy, greedy man. His aspirations knew no limitations, not even reason. ¡°I expect you would consider us even, then,¡± the Admiral said.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the Jayhawker agreed. He would happily accept that outcome. ¡°We both know this is a good deal for your crew, and as much as you act uncaring, I know they are your weakness. You proved that to me thirteen years ago. It¡¯s the only reason I have this.¡±

    Reaching past the collar of his blue jacket, the stationmaster fished out the leather lanyard hanging around his neck, its length worn soft and warm. A small key was tied to its end, and he stopped to admire it for a moment before he flicked it to the Admiral. ¡°It never amounted to what I hoped it would, but it was always my favorite trophy.¡± It wasn¡¯t as valuable as the genuine Hydrian spear he kept locked in a lit display case, but that little key was still his favorite. He supposed he merely loved what it represented: a victory. A victory won over the great Steel Prince aboard the decks of his own ship.

    The Admiral ran his fingers along the bitting of the key, the notches and teeth familiar to him. Its coloring was familiar too, cast from the same dark grey metals as its ship of origin. ¡°I had wondered if you would destroy this key, given that it amounted to nothing more than a souvenir.¡±

    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    ¡°Now, why would I destroy something that would cripple my greatest prize?¡± The Jayhawker turned to the Admiral¡¯s men, noting their confused expressions. ¡°I suppose you gentlemen may not recognize that for what it is.¡± After all, it was outside their specialties. ¡°That is an FTL Key. The Singularity¡¯s FTL Key, to be precise. It¡¯s a critical piece of equipment required to be used before a ship can activate her FTL drives. They were standard issue in the fleet during the Hydrian War and Frontier Rebellion. If a ship is taken, the Key is supposed to be destroyed, which will prevent a ship from being used against its masters.¡±

    I know what an FTL Key is, asshole,¡± Monty snapped. ¡°But the Singularity doesn¡¯t use one, you naddlethworfing idiot.¡±

    The Jayhawker hummed and leaned back into the dark blue upholstery of his couch. ¡°That¡¯s interesting isn¡¯t it, Admiral?¡± Unsurprisingly, the man did not answer. ¡°I spent a good deal of time on your ship once. After befriending the crew, I even managed to get my hands on some of the technical manuals kept in the library.¡± And those had proven very interesting. ¡°Turns out, the Singularity was a unique case. She possessed not one, but two FTL Keys and both were required for FTL activation. Stealing just one should have stranded her at sub-light speeds. And yet, it didn¡¯t. Now, the crew isn¡¯t even aware that the ship possesses an FTL locking mechanism.¡± How strange. ¡°It seems someone has spent a great deal of time obscuring the truth.¡±

    The Jayhawker studied the Admiral¡¯s subordinates as they sat side by side on the couch. ¡°You see, gentlemen, my daughter and I lied our way onto the Singularity thirteen years ago. I made myself welcome amongst the crew, and learned what I needed to about the ship¡¯s systems.¡± They had been wonderfully trusting of a downtrodden scavenger struggling to take care of his only daughter. ¡°I then used that knowledge to sabotage the ship¡¯s life support.¡± He smiled at the memory. ¡°I used the ship¡¯s air recyclers to poison the crew.¡± A fine poisonous powder, the toxin had been quick to incapacitate, but slow to kill.

    ¡°We saw nothing but paralyzed, dying people on our way to the bridge.¡± The crew hadn¡¯t realized the danger until it was far too late. ¡°No one suspected us, except you.¡± He glared at the Admiral. ¡°You we found on the bridge, sword in hand, emergency respirator in place. The only member of the entire crew to escape exposure, you had already put the ship¡¯s systems into lockdown by the time we got there.¡± Singlehandedly, the Admiral had ruined a genius plan to seize the ship.

    The Jayhawker sighed at the memory, disappointed, and returned his attention to Jazmine and Gaffigan. ¡°I had to make a deal with the Admiral. He used the Singularity to tow Midwest Station into its current position, then wiped the navigational data from the records in exchange for the poison¡¯s antidote. Then, while he was busy trying to save the crew, I stole one of the ship¡¯s FTL Keys and fled.¡± At the time, it had seemed a necessary risk.

    ¡°It was my intention to strand the ship at sub-light and gather the numbers I needed to take her by force while the crew was still weak.¡± Such a feat would have made him the most successful pirate to ever live. ¡°And yet, by the time I had set up my raid, the Singularity was already gone.¡±

    The Jayhawker could remember the awe and confusion of that realization. ¡°It should have been impossible to jump without the FTL Key, and yet, the Singularity moved on like the entire incident never happened,¡± which only made him more eager to possess the ship. He wanted to understand the nature of that miracle. ¡°I lived in fear for years. I thought any day the great Steel Prince would bring the full force of the fleet down upon me. And then I realized it: that key. That stupid useless key had saved me.¡±

    The Jayhawker let loose a laugh and brushed back his long, wavy brown hair. ¡°You couldn¡¯t come after me because of that key, because if you did, you would have to admit that it existed and that your ship had made an impossible jump to get out of the Mississippi Sector before my raid arrived.¡± That realization had been freeing. No longer had he been forced to live in fear. ¡°Your crewmen just proved it, Admiral. You¡¯ve been hiding the fact that key was missing for thirteen years. You buried the evidence that it even existed in the first place, and somehow, you got away with it, even if it defies all logic.¡±

    He talks too much, the Admiral thought. The Jayhawker had exposed the past, but he hadn¡¯t tipped his hand. The order to disable the FTL drives would only be valid for thirty more minutes. ¡°You want my ship,¡± he acknowledged. ¡°But I fail to see why you should want to own the most wanted ship in the worlds.¡± That would make him a target.

    ¡°A battleship can do everything Midwest Station does on a mobile basis, not to mention is armed to defend itself. Any battleship could suit that purpose, I suppose, but yours, well she is something truly special. She would grant me the fear and respect of every world the Night Demon scarred.¡± That reputation was useful for someone like him. ¡°And she may not be new or fancy, your secession from Command has made the Singularity¡¯s value skyrocket.¡±

    It was insane to think such an old machine could still be worth so much politically and financially. ¡°In case you forgot, you implemented the Strike Zero override on public comms. Every one of humanity¡¯s worlds knows that Command¡¯s overrides will no longer function on the Singularity, meaning the man who holds the ship¡¯s authority codes is the only man in the worlds that can control her. And a weapon like that¡­ well, you, more than anyone, know what she¡¯s capable of.¡±

    A layer of frost took root in the Admiral¡¯s tone, ¡°My ship is not some item to be traded on a whim, Mister Gadwood.¡± That was enough of this conversation. It was time to discuss a more realistic trade. ¡°I will not offer you my ship, but I will offer her services,¡± and you would be wise to accept them. ¡°In exchange for my crewmen and those coordinates, the Singularity will run a mission for you.¡±

    The Jayhawker laughed loud enough to tense some of the bodyguards in the room. ¡°A mission?¡± He rose to his feet and smoothed his white pants down. ¡°Why, in all the cosmos, would I trust you to run a mission for me?¡±

    ¡°I never said I would do it,¡± the Admiral corrected. ¡°I will stay here as your insurance. Let the Lieutenants return to the ship with your instructions. My second in command will handle it.¡±

    ¡°So instead of having your ship, I get to borrow it for one pathetic mission? That¡¯s your offer?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the Admiral answered. ¡°And I would suggest you take it.¡±

    The Jayhawker looked him over, annoyed by that calm. ¡°Fine.¡± He stepped over to grab a sheet of paper off a desk stacked with rare books. Then he grabbed the subspace transmitter left on the table and handed them both to the Admiral. ¡°You and the Lieutenants stay here. This little favor won¡¯t take long. I want the Singularity to jump to that location and scare off some scavengers. They¡¯re climbing over a rather desirable piece of wreckage.¡± He met the Admiral¡¯s eyes, ¡°Is that a deal?¡±

    The Admiral nodded once then activated the communicator, ¡°Base, this is the Admiral. Come in.¡±

    The reply was almost instant. ¡°Base here, Admiral. Is everything alright?¡±

    The communications officer sounded dreadfully worried, and Admiral Gives knew Robinson wasn¡¯t the only one he¡¯d worried in leaving so suddenly, but he¡¯d had his reasons. ¡°Everything is fine, Lieutenant. Patch me through to the Colonel.¡±

    ¡°Already here,¡± came the voice of Colonel Zarrey. ¡°What do you need?¡± Anxiety tightened his usually lax demeanor. They often dealt with high-pressure situations on the ship, but it wasn¡¯t often that the Admiral wasn¡¯t with them.

    Holding the paper up to the light, Admiral Gives studied the coordinates printed there. They were standard galactic coordinates not far from here, if he recalled correctly, but he didn¡¯t recognize them. No further information was provided on the paper. ¡°Proceed to the following coordinates and clear the area of all ships and personnel.¡± He read off the coordinates from the paper and confirmed them when the Colonel read them back.

    ¡°What about your other order, sir?¡± They¡¯d been ordered to disconnect the FTL drives for three hours. There was still nearly a half an hour left on that time limit.

    ¡°It stands,¡± the Admiral said.

    ¡°Aye. Base out,¡± came the unenthusiastic response.

    Admiral Gives handed the communicator back, and the stationmaster only sighed. ¡°I had a feeling it would turn out this way. I knew you¡¯d never hand your ship over to me.¡± Calmly, the stationmaster took his crystal glass and pulled a bottle off the table he¡¯d set up as a bar, refilling it. ¡°It¡¯s unfortunate, but it paid to have those coordinates ready.¡±

    Why was that unfortunate? The Admiral considered it a fair deal. ¡°Where did you send my ship, Mister Gadwood?¡±

    A little smirk pulled on the stationmaster¡¯s lips. ¡°The Tormenta Sector.¡± A sector known for its magnetic storms ¨C storms powerful enough to rip apart solid samples of the strongest materials known to man. ¡°The poor Singularity doesn¡¯t stand a chance. It¡¯s unfortunate, but if you won¡¯t hand her to me, then I won¡¯t chance my rivals seizing her either. Her bounty will simply have to do, as will yours.¡± The reward money would be more than enough to expand his private armada. ¡°You just ordered your ship to jump to certain death.¡± Still, the Admiral and his crew just stared at him, distinctly unimpressed.

    ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± Monty said. ¡°They¡¯re going to run safety checks on those coordinates.¡±

    ¡°They might,¡± the stationmaster allowed. ¡°But I think, desperate to save their comrades, they¡¯ll attempt it. After all, sometimes there are gaps in the storms of the Tormenta Sector. According to the cortex, there¡¯s one there. But, of course, I paid that scout to log it.¡± It was easy to dispose of ships by sending them there. Even when they mistrusted his coordinates and cross-referenced them, the cortex declared them safe, so they confidently jumped to their deaths. The Singularity would be no different.

    The Jayhawker watched the color fade from Gaffigan¡¯s face as he realized the severity of the situation. Beside him, Jazmine also looked faint, horrified perhaps. But still, the Admiral¡¯s expression was unchanged, his blue gaze calm and cold. ¡°Don¡¯t bother begging me for this transmitter, Admiral,¡± he said, patting the little device. ¡°By now, it¡¯s probably too late.¡±

    ¡°Well, the Admiral said, ¡°that is unfortunate.¡± He stepped over to the bar, but made no move for the transmitter. ¡°Mind if I have a drink?¡±

    The Jayhawker glanced between the Admiral¡¯s calm and the utter horror on the Lieutenants¡¯ faces. The juxtaposition was amusing. ¡°Go ahead,¡± he told the man. ¡°I won¡¯t deny a man his final request.¡±

    Good. Admiral Gives reached out and took hold of one of the bottles. A dark liquid churned in the bottom, so he uncorked it only to be greeted with the flowery smell of bourbon. No. He recorked that bottle and picked up the nearly-empty one next to it. This time, when he pulled the cork off, the scent of vanilla rose from the bottle. Rum, he recognized it. This will do. He swirled the bottle, estimating that about two shots remained. It would be enough to take the edge off, so he raised the bottle and downed it.

    Setting the empty bottle down, he turned to see the Jayhawker staring at him, equal parts perplexed and surprised. ¡°This is never easy.¡± Feeling the warm burn of the rum settle in, the Admiral sighed. ¡°I suppose I should call for reinforcements now.¡± The Jayhawker had finally tipped his hand with the jump to the Tormenta Sector. ¡°A shame, Mister Gadwood. I had hoped to get out of this with your sanity intact.¡±

    ¡°My sanity?¡± the Jayhawker said, taking a step back as he felt a sudden, strangely menacing shift in the Admiral¡¯s demeanor. ¡°You have no reinforcements here. You¡¯re mad.¡±

    Mad. The Admiral considered it. Perhaps I am. It hadn¡¯t been very rational to fly off alone and surrender himself for two crewmen he knew wouldn¡¯t be released. It wasn¡¯t very logical to walk into this room completely unarmed, accompanied by an assassin while half a dozen bodyguards stood nearby. It didn¡¯t make much sense to calmly order his ship to jump into the deadly Tormenta Sector. But then, he¡¯d never claimed to be sane. ¡°Thank you for handing me this key. It would have been difficult to find on my own.¡± Lit display cases lined the walls, filled with the Jayhawker¡¯s finest treasures. Something as small as this would have been lost among them.

    His calm never falters, the Jayhawker realized. That had been true thirteen years ago, and it was true now. It had been irritating, but now it was slipping toward unnerving. A sane person should have been upset to be beaten like this. He should have been scared to be facing death, but he was still as stone. His posture didn¡¯t shift, his hands didn¡¯t twitch. His stormy gaze rested upon the Jayhawker with unerring composure.

    ¡°Some part of you realized it when you found me that day, Mister Gadwood.¡± The last man standing of a crew nearly a thousand strong. The rest had been passed out on the floor, slowly dying. ¡°You knew there was something wrong, and you so proudly proved it with that FTL Key.¡± Usually, Admiral Gives tried to hide that, but this was an exception. The Jayhawker simply wasn¡¯t worth maintaining the illusion.

    ¡°Some part of you probably felt it the moment you set foot aboard her decks, but there is no way you didn¡¯t feel it as you forced her to poison her own crew.¡± Gadwood¡¯s mind had blocked it out, but those memories were in there somewhere. ¡°She was angry.¡± Beyond angry. The antidote had been the only reason he left alive. ¡°You see, Mister Gadwood, that rumor about the Demon?¡± About the Bloody Singularity being a cursed ship? ¡°It¡¯s not entirely false.¡±

    The Jayhawker wanted to laugh. He did. He so badly wanted to laugh, but a horrible darkness had taken root in the Admiral¡¯s presence. One that didn¡¯t feel entirely human. It leeched into the air, stealing warmth and life from the room. Even his subordinates were starting to pale.

    ¡°And, it turns out, if you know what you are doing, it is not that hard to summon a demon.¡±

    A cold, cold malice had taken over the Admiral¡¯s gaze. Pinned beneath that look, the Jayhawker found it hard to swallow. ¡°You¡¯ve gone insane.¡± The rumors were true. They were all true. Deep space had driven him mad.

    ¡°No,¡± the Admiral corrected, ¡°I have come to do my job.¡± He¡¯d come to bring two wayward crewmen home and finish the mission by any means necessary. It wasn¡¯t his fault the Jayhawker had made the situation personal. ¡°You never should have brought me here, Mister Gadwood.¡± Getting aboard this station had been all too easy.

    ¡°There¡¯s no demon,¡± the Jayhawker breathed, ¡°It¡¯s a ship.¡±

    ¡°My ship.¡±

    The Singularity had no way to track him. ¡°You don¡¯t have a transponder.¡± His transport had been scanned for such devices.

    ¡°A demon does not need one.¡± Admiral Gives felt no pity for this fool. He closed his fist around the key, feeling the metal begin to warm. ¡°The only thing a demon requires is someone willing to summon it.¡± An idiot willing to bind their fate and make a pact.

    The Jayhawker stared at the intent in his expression, cold and cruel. ¡°It¡¯s a rumor.¡± The rumor that the Prince had bound a demon to his flesh was just some unsavory whisper in the night. That couldn¡¯t possibly be true.

    With his sociopathic tendencies, Admiral Gives tended not to hold grudges, but oh did he savor the Jayhawker¡¯s terror. ¡°I was never the one you should have feared, Mister Gadwood.¡± Clearing his thoughts, he focused on the presence that lingered in the back of his mind. ¡®Now.¡¯ His attention never faltered from the stationmaster as he felt that presence heighten, clamping down and drawing itself in. The sensation was uncanny, if not unnatural, but it hardly bothered him. No, he found that looming power familiar and comforting as it slid invisibly alongside him. ¡°She they call the Night Demon,¡± such a strange name, one of many she¡¯d earned, ¡°I invoke your wrath.¡±

 Part 33.4 - IMMINENT MANEUVERS

    Paleon Sector, Battleship Singularity

    So a fucking idiot and a soulless cockroach sat down for a conversation¡­ It sounded like the start of a bad joke, but it had become unfunny all too quickly.

    The next time he does something this stupid, the ghost thought darkly, I¡¯m going to put an end to it. The reason she had tolerated this plan in the first place was well beyond her. It was an extremely stupid plan. Nathan Gadwood wouldn¡¯t negotiate. The man would never settle for anything less than his desired end, whatever it may be. The mere reminder of him disgusted her. She had been fine to never cross paths with that nasty little cockroach again, but when the Admiral called to relay new orders, she could sense Gadwood¡¯s grubby hands all over it.

    It was in the Admiral¡¯s voice. That tone of his was calm. A less familiar ear probably never would have caught the annoyance underneath that fa?ade, but the ghost knew better. Admiral Gives didn¡¯t appreciate being forced to give his own ship orders. She didn¡¯t need their bond to tell her that.

    And then there was the matter of those coordinates. They pissed her off almost as much as the rest of the situation. She ran the safety checks. Only a very trusting idiot wouldn¡¯t run the safety checks in a situation like this. Those coordinates would have landed her in the middle of the Tomenta Sector¡¯s magnetic storms: certain destruction.

    Of course, there were gaps in those magnetic storms ¨C stable gaps that could last for months or years. Technically, the exact coordinates that had been forwarded were for one such gap. Or, rather, the most recent navigational data the ship possessed, downloaded from the cortex, indicated that a calm spot had been scouted at that location. She wasn¡¯t convinced, but Zarrey didn¡¯t think twice about it. The only thing that stopped him from ordering that jump was the Admiral¡¯s standing order regarding the FTL drives ¨C an order that stood for another twenty-four minutes.

    That order had initially frustrated her. She had not understood the Admiral¡¯s reasoning. Now she did. The Admiral had predicted this. He had known that the Jayhawker might force him to send the ship elsewhere, that the destination might even be dangerous. Then, there was also the fact that staying here kept the ship within single-jump range of the station. The forwarded coordinates would have taken them further from Midwest Station, forcing the ship to make two jumps to get to the station.

    And maybe, since no ship could jump directly to Midwest Station, that was irrelevant.

    Except that it wasn¡¯t.

    In fact, that was quite critical because that too, was part of the plan. The order to disable the FTL drives was meant to keep the ship both safe and in single-jump range of Midwest Station. It even had a third purpose: an excuse, he¡¯d called it. A so-called ¡®malfunction¡¯ was a lot more believable if the systems in question were being worked on or altered in some way.

    So, in all, once the ghost was able to parse out the logic behind them, the Admiral¡¯s orders were not so unreasonable. He had done nothing except give her the means to act, and she fully intended to use them.

    Settled deep in the core of the ship, the bridge crew was agitated. They hated waiting, especially when they had been specifically ordered to do so. That left the crew in the semicircular command center quiet as they sat behind their consoles. Clicking keyboards and whispered voices were the only noise, a soft background ambience. Things were calm, even if tense, right up until the alert klaxons began to shriek their grating howl.

    Zarrey slammed down his copy of the situation report as the rest of the crew bolted upright. ¡°What the hell?¡± he had to shout to be heard over the noise. Was this a proximity alert? Had something snuck into range? No, he threw that idea out almost immediately. This alarm wasn¡¯t only sounding on the bridge. He could see the yellow warning lights flashing in the corridor, but it wasn¡¯t until he heard the noise stop and restart that he recognized the signal. Imminent FTL maneuvers. ¡°Alba! Walters!¡± Zarrey shouted to the two men at the engineering and navigations stations. ¡°I did not order a jump! And Robinson, damn it, mute that alarm!¡± He was too annoyed to put up with it. It was too loud.

    Lieutenant Robinson tried, as the alert began its third and final blast, but she had no success in muting the alarm. ¡°No good, sir,¡± she called down to the Colonel. ¡°I¡¯ve been locked out of the system.¡± Judging by their furious typing, Alba and Walters had encountered the same issue.

    ¡°Locked out?¡± Zarrey yelled. That doesn¡¯t make sense. He raised his voice again, even as the now-absent alarm left him shouting into a near-silent room. ¡°Somebody tell me what¡¯s going on!¡± he demanded, fearing the worst. ¡°Is Command attempting a remote override?¡±

    ¡°Unclear, sir.¡± Robinson answered him. ¡°I never registered an incoming transmission.¡± Theoretically, if Command was going to attempt an override, they¡¯d have to transmit the necessary codes and orders first.

    ¡°And Admiral Gives enacted the Strike Zero protocols in the Homebound Sector,¡± Alba reminded. ¡°Command shouldn¡¯t be able to override anything. This has to be a local issue.¡±

    ¡°Then figure it out!¡± Zarrey snapped. They couldn¡¯t remain locked out of any of the ship¡¯s systems, and they shouldn¡¯t have alarms sounding randomly.

    Naturally, Zarrey had no reason to believe the alarm had been sounded for a purpose, even as Chief Ty, below decks, heard and identified the imminent FTL maneuvers alert. He wasted no time in reconnecting the FTL drive to the power grid.

    ¡°Colonel,¡± Ensign Alba looked up from the displays on the engineering console, ¡°FTL Drive Four has been reconnected. It¡¯s beginning to charge.¡±

    ¡°What?¡± Zarrey roared. ¡°How?¡± No, that didn¡¯t matter. ¡°Abort the charge.¡±

    Alba tried. He tried repeatedly. ¡°No good, sir. Controls are still dead.¡± He could issue no commands, but he could still see the systems¡¯ condition. ¡°There¡¯s also an energy buildup in the power grid around FTL Drive Three.¡± Horrified, he watched the readouts change once again. With that kind of energy consumption¡­ ¡°Colonel, Drive Three is now charging as well.¡± The lights flickered above them on the bridge, and they blinked off for a moment before the battery backups took over. ¡°Nearly the entire output of the secondary power core is being dedicated to arcing the severed powerlines.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey stalled for a moment in the center of the bridge, unsure how to react to that. A part of him was in awe. It shouldn¡¯t be possible to charge a disconnected FTL drive. The required amount of electricity was simply mind-boggling. But Zarrey¡¯s awe only lasted a moment before it became distinct unease. With two FTL drives charging it was almost certain. We¡¯re going to FTL. ¡°Walters,¡± he called to the young navigations officer, ¡°Where are we going?¡±

    ¡°I wish I could say, sir,¡± the young ensign squeaked, holding a white-knuckle grip on the blocky frame of the console in front of him. ¡°The nav. computer is offline.¡±

    ¡°Offline?¡± Galhino cried. ¡°We¡¯re jumping blind?!¡±

    ¡°Hell fires in heaven,¡± Zarrey cursed. Without the nav. computer, they would have no control over where the FTL maneuver ended. It would spit them out in some random location, potentially somewhere dangerous. ¡°Alba, identify the cause. We need to stop this, now.¡± A blind jump could cripple or destroy the ship. If they came out of a jump in coordinates shared by another phenomena, a planet, star, ion storm or even at coordinates too close to any of those, the consequences would be catastrophic.

    ¡°I can¡¯t, sir.¡± Alba said, concern deepening the lines of his young face. ¡°Perhaps the drives malfunctioned somehow and signaled for a charge while we disconnected them¡­¡±

    It was clear that Alba had no explanation. He called it a malfunction because there was no better label for something that lacked an identifiable cause. Dammit. Zarrey slammed a fist down onto the backlit radar console. This could not be allowed to continue. It was madness. They¡¯d have to disable the drives the way they should have when the Admiral had given his orders: physical disassembly.

    Zarrey turned to give Alba new orders. Or rather, he tried. Instead, he found that his hands were glued to the cool metal frame of the radar console. His feet were similarly unresponsive, even his neck stuck staring ahead at the view screen. Damn it! He struggled to move, straining for just an inch of give on any of his limbs, but he was frozen. What the hell is this?

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°Hello, Colonel,¡± a cool, soothing voice said.

    It was familiar. Why was that voice familiar to him? He tried to turn his head towards it to no avail. But, soon enough, its owner stepped into his line of sight. She moved gracefully, tall and thin, but her skin was pale, as if it had never seen terrestrial sunlight. Long white hair spilled over her shoulders. ¡®You!¡¯ Zarrey tried to shout, but even that motion was denied. ¡®Witch!¡¯ She was behind this paralysis. He just knew it.

    She laughed, a soft, musical laugh. ¡°You¡¯ve called me worse.¡±

    This was not funny. ¡®Planning to do to me what you did to Cortana?¡¯ he challenged. ¡®I¡¯m busy, so get on with it. I¡¯m not afraid of you.¡¯

    ¡°Oh, I know.¡± Zarrey was a brave soldier. He rarely cowered from anything, and he¡¯d challenge her without a second thought. But, then again, she¡¯d never sought to scare him. ¡°Sergeant Cortana was an extenuating circumstance.¡± Cortana had proven dangerous to the rest of the crew on multiple occasions. ¡°If you were me, you would understand.¡±

    ¡®Like hell,¡¯ he snapped. ¡®Release me, witch.¡¯ There was a crisis occurring on the bridge. He could hear the crew calling for him dimly in the background.

    ¡°I¡¯m afraid I can¡¯t do that, Colonel.¡± It was unfortunate, but that was reality. ¡°You see, I know what orders you¡¯re about to give ¨C orders to physically disassemble the FTL drives and rather barbarically prevent their use.¡± She narrowed her eyes. ¡°And to be honest, that would be rather unpleasant.¡±

    ¡®Good.¡¯ Zarrey retorted.

    The lighthearted amusement fell from her expression. ¡°Those orders would dangerous, Colonel, to the engineers who fulfill them.¡± FTL drives were exceptionally dangerous once they began their charge. There was a reason they were kept in isolated places on the ship, distant from the engineering and crew centers. The energies they built up and contained would kill if released improperly. ¡°It would also condemn the three crewmen on Midwest Station to certain death.¡±

    The three men on Midwest Station? What did they have to do with this?

    ¡°I¡¯d like them to live, so I cannot allow you to physically counter the FTL charge.¡± she said. ¡°And, I apologize, but I need to borrow the ship.¡±

    Borrow the ship? Zarrey did not like the sound of that. ¡®Leave the Singularity out of this,¡¯ he growled.

    She raised an eyebrow. Peculiar. ¡°Usually, the words you direct toward this ship are not so kind.¡± She had not expected such concern from him.

    ¡®The damn machine likes to push my buttons, but she ain¡¯t so bad when push comes to shove.¡¯ Despite all the mishaps he endured on maintenance duty, he¡¯d never once been hurt.

    She laughed again, the musical sound warm and non-threatening. ¡°I knew I liked you.¡±

    ¡®Don¡¯t you dare, you damn alien witch.¡¯ He could sense the power burgling up in her presence. She was making her move. ¡®I don¡¯t know what you are, or where you came from, but you will release our ship.¡¯

    ¡°I am no more alien than you, Colonel.¡± Arguably less so. This was her native environment. She, unlike him, could survive out here in the void.

    ¡®Back off,¡¯ Zarrey snarled. ¡®The Admiral left me in charge, so I¡¯ll be damned before I let some white-haired witch hijack his ship.¡¯

    ¡°Rest assured, no harm will come to the ship and crew.¡± They were safe in her care. ¡°This won¡¯t take long.¡± Both FTL drives were nearly charged now.

    Zarrey knew there was nothing he could do. Immobilized and confronted with the power he sensed in the ghost, he knew this situation was well beyond his control. ¡®Fucking hell, if I live, I¡¯m never going to hear the end of this.¡¯ The crew was never going to let him forget him freezing up on the bridge. And the Admiral, if he somehow made it back, was never going to let him forget the ship getting hijacked with a full crew complement completely unaware.

    Amusement twisted her expression into a gentle smile. ¡°My lips are sealed, Colonel.¡± The blame for this situation wouldn¡¯t fall onto him. She would see to that. He had done nothing wrong. ¡°And between you and me,¡± she leaned forward, as if to whisper a secret, ¡°this is the Admiral¡¯s fault.¡±

    Paralyzed, Zarrey strained his eyes to keep her in sight. Considering the rumors, seeing her at all was unnerving, but this proximity was downright unsettling, as was her strangely friendly demeanor.

    ¡°This is his plan, but he didn¡¯t read the crew in on it.¡± the ghost told him. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a good plan, in fact, it¡¯s quite terrible. That idiot barely left any instructions at all, but I¡¯m making do.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t her words, but the annoyance with which she spoke. Something about it felt so incredibly genuine. It transformed Zarrey¡¯s fear into an unexpected urge to laugh. ¡®Oh, so that asshole left everyone in the dark.¡¯ Fucking typical.

    She stepped back, a warm expression on her face. ¡°He tends to overcomplicate matters that should not be complicated, and he¡¯s a special variety of idiot, but he usually means well.¡±

    Zarrey didn¡¯t hate this abrupt feeling of camaraderie. It was strange, but he didn¡¯t hate it. ¡®He means well, does he?¡¯ None of the crew would go that far on an assumption of the Admiral¡¯s intentions. ¡®Brave declaration. You must think you know him well.¡¯

    She only chuckled. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I know his reasons, just as I know yours.¡± There were reasons Zarrey wouldn¡¯t turn on the Admiral, reasons he wouldn¡¯t initiate a mutiny. ¡°Our objectives are the same, Colonel. You want to rescue the away team, and I can make that happen.¡±

    Zarrey looked her over. He had never felt threatened by her, discomforted perhaps, but not directly threatened. The logical part of his brain told him this was a deal with a devil, but she just felt so familiar, never mind the fact that she was standing in the uniform of one of the ship¡¯s officers. ¡®Do it,¡¯ he agreed. ¡®I want our people back.¡¯

    A smile pulled at her lips. ¡°Strictly speaking, I did not need your permission, but it is nice to have.¡± That helped calm her as she ran her final checks. FTL Drive Four, charged. FTL Drive Three, charged. Standing by for FTL jump. The signal would come any time now. ¡°You might want to hold onto something,¡± she warned Zarrey. ¡°This can get a little¡­ interesting.¡±

    Zarrey found he could move his hand just far enough to get a solid grip on the edge of the radar console. That was reassuring. ¡®What are you going to do?¡¯

    There was a harmless curiosity in him. For this brief moment, she had earned Zarrey¡¯s trust, and in this moment, she wanted to tell him. She wanted to explain what she could as she looked upon his familiar face, but the same old fear stopped her. The more Zarrey knew, the more danger both he and she would be in. Because of that, there was no point in telling him anything. The memory would just have to be removed from his mind. This entire conversation was already forfeit. Zarrey wouldn¡¯t remember it when she released him. ¡°Unfortunately, Colonel,¡± she forced herself to respond, ¡°properly answering that question is complicated.¡±

    Her expression had genuinely fallen. While he could sense her power, how it stifled and bound him here, there was something weaker about her in this instant. No, weak was the wrong word. There was something gentler about her in this instant ¨C the gentleness of someone who didn¡¯t want to harm him. I¡¯m going insane. This thing had to be messing with his head. It was clearly capable. And yet, as much as Zarrey tried to convince himself of that, her nagging familiarity stopped him. He recognized her voice. He knew it, he just couldn¡¯t place why he knew it. ¡®Why do I know you?¡¯ He had seen this presence once before, back in the Aragonian Sector standing over the Admiral¡¯s body, a rather menacing specter. But she hadn¡¯t spoken then. In fact, until rumors of the Sergeant¡¯s incident had circulated, he¡¯d never heard it rumored she could speak.

    ¡°Why shouldn¡¯t you know me?¡± What was so strange about that? Still, she furrowed her brows, reading the thoughts behind his words. Ah. ¡°My voice. You¡¯ve heard it before.¡± Rightfully, he should recognize it. ¡°I was given the ability to communicate, but I possess no vocal cords. Technically, this voice is not mine, though it serves well enough.¡± It was borrowed. ¡°My power isn¡¯t infinite, Colonel.¡± Physically, she could wreak incredible carnage, but mentally, she was limited. ¡°I can only mimic a memory.¡±

    ¡®A memory?¡¯

    She nodded. ¡°A memory. Nothing more.¡± There was a reason she appeared this way, a reason she spoke with this voice. ¡°I can cast illusions, force people to relieve memories that belonged to them or someone else, but those memories I manipulate feel far more real if they belong to you.¡± She couldn¡¯t create sensation from nothing. She was not human. Anything she herself tried to create would be indecipherable to the human mind ¨C purely alien in nature. ¡°If I wish to speak to you in this way, it must be with a voice you¡¯ve heard before,¡± a timbre, range and accent she could manipulate to form the proper words.

    Zarrey regarded her slim form. The look upon her pale face seemed earnest. ¡®Why are you telling me this?¡¯

    ¡°Because someday, I hope you can understand.¡± It didn¡¯t matter now, but someday¡­ Someday maybe it would. ¡°For most, I will never be anything more than a ghost.¡± Often, she could only manifest as the uncanny resemblance of someone her target had once known. Because of that, people feared her. She had felt that fear, felt it turn to rage and hate. ¡°But you¡­ The rest of this crew¡­ You can see me as an entity onto myself.¡± That legend, that old legend, had given her a form to manifest in that didn¡¯t have to twist the memories of their loved ones, and that was a gift, because she more than anyone knew how painful memory could be.

    She forced a smile to her lips. ¡°I owe you for that. I owe all of you for that and so much more.¡± This crew meant more to her than any of them could possibly know. ¡°You won¡¯t remember this, but for now, let me thank you for listening.¡± She had expected more resistance. She had expected spite and frustration, but she was met with an unexpected understanding. ¡°You are more observant than I realized.¡±

    ¡®Wait a damn minute,¡¯ he said. ¡®What do you mean I¡¯m not going to remember this?¡¯ At the moment, this seemed pretty hard to forget.

    She smiled again, gently. ¡°It¡¯ll keep you safe for a little while longer.¡± The Admiral was already being hunted by Manhattan. She would not allow the same fate to befall Colonel Zarrey. Hiding herself would buy them both precious time. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± This had all gotten so complicated.

    Sadly, she saw the Colonel¡¯s expression glaze over as her power reached in and began to remove these memories, pulling out and discarding them. She was gentle, gentle as she could be, even as she felt her attention drawn in another direction.

    ¡®Now.¡¯

    Aye, Admiral. Negotiations had officially broken down, as she¡¯d known they would. Tightening her grip on the ship¡¯s systems, she obeyed the summons and jumped to subspace.

    Let¡¯s end this.

 Part 34.1 - THE ROACH

    Mississippi Sector, Midwest Station

    ¡°I invoke your wrath.¡±

    Those four words turned the Jayhawker¡¯s blood to ice. He raised his hand, a call to his bodyguards on the tip of his tongue. Kill him! But a claw wrapped around the back of his neck, and a second stilled his hand. ¡®Too late,¡¯ a hot, rancid breath washed down upon him.

    Stars. The vice on his neck tightened, near choking him. Its talons were cold and sharp, each a knife poised to slit his throat. Still, none of the guards had moved. They can¡¯t see it. Terror crawled up his spine. It¡¯s going to kill me, and they can¡¯t even see it. Their gaze was focused out the windows behind him, mouths agape with shock.

    ¡®Dismiss your guards,¡¯ it growled into his ear, splattering his skin with hot saliva.

    A panic rose in his body, an irresistible urge to flee ¨C to run as fast and far as he could from the thing that held him in its clutches. But its grip tightened even further, claws stabbing into the skin on his arm. ¡®Say it.¡¯

    ¡°G-guards,¡± he said shakily, ¡°you¡¯re dismissed.¡± They stared at him strangely, but he paid them enough not to hesitate.

    ¡®Good little roach,¡¯ the voice behind him crooned.

    Calm as ever, the Admiral watched them go, even as the opening and closing of the door allowed the cry of alert sirens to spill briefly into the room. The Lieutenants on the couch in front of him were fixated on something behind the Jayhawker, jaws hanging open. The Admiral glanced to them, then to Cinderella as she stood on the other side of the room in her evening dress. ¡°Knock them out.¡±

    There was no force in the words, just a simple instruction, but to the Jayhawker¡¯s horror, he saw the two Lieutenants deflate like a plug had been pulled. They simply collapsed onto the couch. Cinderella was slower to fall, but soon enough she was sprawled on the floor, unmoving. Only then did the Admiral move, stepping across the room to stand beside one of the hand carved tables that held a decorative, rod-iron lamp. He studied the Jayhawker for a long moment, reading the depth of his fear. ¡°You can release him.¡± The man was no longer a threat.

    ¡®Hmph.¡¯ With a sigh of amusement, the talons disappeared from the stationmaster¡¯s neck.

    Coughing, the Jayhawker staggered over to his daughter. Trembling, he rolled her limp form over and tried to rouse her. Her chest shifted with soft and shallow breaths, but she didn¡¯t wake. ¡°Bastard,¡± he snarled at the Admiral, ¡°what did you do to her?¡±

    At least he cares about his daughter. Regardless of whatever else he was, even what she had become, they were still family. ¡°She will not be harmed,¡± the Admiral told him, ¡°but she will remain unconscious for now.¡± Cinderella was a notorious assassin, but she mainly worked in the underworld circles. Their infighting wasn¡¯t something the Admiral concerned himself with.

    The Jayhawker set his daughter down carefully, unnerved by her unresponsiveness. Still, on the other side of the couch, he could see that the Admiral¡¯s men had suffered the same fate. Interesting. Slowly, he stood and dusted off his white pants.

    Beyond the windows of his office, death sat and waited, long gun barrels raised and aimed. The Jayhawker could see their massive shadows from here. A seething anger radiated off the Singularity¡¯s scarred hull. Wrath, yes, that was the word for such an emotion. The feel of it awed him as much as it terrified him. ¡°A subspace jump.¡± That was the only explanation for her sudden appearance. ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡± No ship could make that jump. The station¡¯s coordinates were constantly changing. ¡°How?¡± How had he managed to summon the ship here?

    ¡°I do not owe you an explanation, Mister Gadwood.¡±

    Rage began to boil in the Jayhawker¡¯s thoughts. ¡°The hell you don¡¯t!¡± None of this made any sense. ¡°You can¡¯t pull off the impossible, and then walk away like it never happened.¡± Not again. ¡°I could feel it, that star-forsaken demon. It damn near took my head!¡±

    ¡°It still might, little roach.¡±

    Frantically feeling his neck for evidence of a wound, the sound of that voice stopped him cold. It was familiar. Why was it familiar? Slowly, he turned his head to the creature behind him. He expected a monster, some incomprehensible nightmare, but all he found was a strange woman with white hair. Disgust tainted her expression, but there was a degree of eagerness to it, the eagerness of someone yearning to squish an annoying insect. She didn¡¯t move. She didn¡¯t have to. The Jayhawker stumbled back instinctively. ¡°Demon.¡±

    His fear was so very satisfying. The Admiral relished it for a moment. ¡°Here is the deal, Mister Gadwood. You will allow me and my team to leave unharmed with our coordinates, and in exchange, the Singularity will not sink this station.¡±

    Shaking the fear from his hands, the Jayhawker refused. ¡°I won¡¯t agree to that, you bastard.¡± The tables hadn¡¯t turned on him entirely. ¡°If you thought you could walk out of here unharmed, you would have done it already.¡± He glared at the Admiral, reading his silence. ¡°I¡¯m right, aren¡¯t I? You don¡¯t have any way to mitigate security unless I tell them to stand down and let you leave.¡± Whatever method had been used to knock out Cinderella, Jazmine and Gaffigan didn¡¯t work on the guards. That was why they¡¯d been ordered out of the room.

    Admiral Gives regarded him calmly. ¡°That may be true, but you also cannot keep us here.¡± Not with the Singularity here. ¡°If you kill us, she kills you.¡± Mutually assured destruction. ¡°But, hold us here for too long, and I will let her do whatever she wants to you.¡±

    The stationmaster risked another look to the creature. Hunger was alight in its eyes, a cruel grin creeping across its expression. Pure darkness radiated from its presence, filled with only malintent. He shuddered. What is that? That creature, it was nothing but evil. There was a degree of chaos within it, a shade of madness to its very presence. ¡°You¡¯re in over your head, Admiral, with that demon.¡± It was a poison to the air around it. The fate of the one bound to it would be nothing so kind. ¡°Even you can¡¯t expect to control it forever.¡±

    ¡°Whoever said I did?¡±

    He¡¯s mad. ¡°Do you even know what that thing is? What it¡¯s capable of?¡± What had he bound to his ship and unleashed upon the worlds?

    ¡°I hardly think that should be your concern,¡± the Admiral countered. ¡°Now, make your choice, Mister Gadwood. How do you want to die?¡± Did he wish to be blown to bits with this station? Left to the whims of the so-called demon? Or, did he want to live out the rest of his normal life?

    A long silence answered, and it was then that Montgomery Gaffigan came to. He woke gently, the world fuzzy and distant, but it shifted slowly into clarity like a telescope finding its focus. The softness of the sofa cradled him. Voices had drifted by, their words unimportant, until he recognized the decorative lighting and suave surroundings. Midwest Station. He was still on the station. What the hell? This was no time to be passing out.

    Ahead of him, he could see the Admiral¡¯s stocky stature. That¡¯s right, he remembered. The Admiral had come to bail them out on the mission. He remembered the man¡¯s arrival, but everything after that was a haze. He started to pull himself up, then he saw the woman standing behind the Jayhawker.

    White hair. Monty felt his breath catch, then he forced himself to remain limp. Hell fires in heaven. There she was. All his theories, all his suspicions, and there she was, a twisted smile resting upon her lips. I was right.

    Monty felt no satisfaction from that realization, just a horrible, horrible sense of dread. There was an AI on the ship being hunted by the Erans, and it had taken Admiral Gives as its host. What do I do? At the moment, Monty could think of no better plan than to play dead. I can¡¯t let it know I¡¯m onto it. That thing would not have come here without some means of escape. That should guarantee his, Jazmine and the Admiral¡¯s lives. Disturbed, Monty forced his eyes closed as the conversation in front of him continued.

    ¡°I¡¯ll let you go, Admiral.¡± The Jayhawker finally said, conscious of that presence behind him. ¡°I know I don¡¯t have much of a choice. But I want something in exchange.¡± He would make this worth it in one way or another.

    ¡°This is not a negotiation,¡± the Admiral answered. ¡°I offered you a choice. Pick one.¡±

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    Feigning exhaustion, the Jayhawker stepped back to lean against the sofa¡¯s curve. ¡°Those weren¡¯t very good options, Admiral.¡± He fixed his jacket once again as it rode up on his waist. ¡°What guarantee do I have that you won¡¯t sink the station if I let you go?¡±

    ¡°None,¡± Admiral Gives replied. ¡°Only the assurance that I, unlike you, am a man of my word.¡±

    ¡°Tsch.¡± How insulting, the stationmaster thought. ¡°My reputation was built on honesty. Yours was built on carnage.¡±

    ¡°You lied your way onto my ship thirteen years ago, and you have violated the deal you struck with my men.¡± That was dishonesty in its raw, ugly form. The Admiral on the other hand, preferred not to lie. He would avoid the truth, neglect it, but he did not lie. Lies were far too easy to be caught in.

    ¡°Their safety was not a part of that deal,¡± the Jayhawker said. ¡°Jazmine knew the risks of operating aboard this station under false pretenses. Midwest Station does not deal with Command.¡±

    ¡°We are no longer a part of Command, and their safety was implied.¡± None of the station¡¯s other clients had to fear detainment and execution. That would have been just as damaging to the stationmaster¡¯s reputation as failing to complete a deal. ¡°I doubt your trade would survive if you executed participants on a whim. Like it or not, the information we traded was legitimate. A deal was struck, and if this station is impartial in these matters, we have a right to leave with the information we traded for.¡±

    The Jayhawker brushed his long brown hair over his shoulder, attempting to regain his composure. ¡°Do not mock me with the code of underworld trade. It does not apply to you.¡± Gives had been a hated enemy of the underworld for decades. ¡°This was an abnormal trade. I began to suspect you were involved, and still, Malibu Flower had a client willing to pay, even for only visual confirmation. They were not usual clients, but they also weren¡¯t you.¡±

    Hatred. Fear. Anger. The worst emotions churned through the Jayhawker¡¯s mind. This situation was on a precipice. A touch of force this way or that would make it explode into violence. The ghost¡¯s presence had evened the balance but could not tip the scales entirely in the Admiral¡¯s favor. She could incapacitate the Jayhawker, but not the security guards, and there were too many of them to make it off the station safely without the stationmaster ordering them to stand down. That was the only reason this conversation was still going, much to the Admiral¡¯s displeasure.

    The Jayhawker watched the Admiral¡¯s unfailing calm, trying to ignore the vile presence behind him. ¡°Aren¡¯t you going to ask me who they were?¡± Who would pay so much for a mere sighting of Singularity? ¡°Especially since you know I don¡¯t deal with Command?¡±

    ¡°Asking for that information would be a waste of my time, Mister Gadwood.¡± Much like this entire exchange. This debate was consuming precious time that would be better suited for planning the raid on Crimson Heart.

    ¡°Because you know I won¡¯t give it to you?¡± the stationmaster smirked.

    ¡°Because he has no reason to ask,¡± the ghost corrected, watching the confidence slide off Gadwood¡¯s face. ¡°Why should he, when I would happily rip that information from your unwilling mind?¡± Not so confident now, are you, little cockroach? The Jayhawker stiffened unwillingly as she spoke, and for no other reason than her own satisfaction, she tricked his sensations into the little dance of a spider walking across the back of his neck, smiling as he swatted at it. ¡°Of course,¡± she said coldly, ¡°even I won¡¯t bother wasting my time with you, since you don¡¯t know the identity of the buyers.¡± His own memory betrayed that to her. ¡°Only your broker has that information.¡±

    The stationmaster shivered. ¡°Keep that thing away from me,¡± he told the Admiral, unwilling to look it in the eye.

    ¡°I cannot do that, Mister Gadwood,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°You condemned yourself to that fate thirteen years ago.¡± He had never liked to consider the Singularity a cursed machine, but that was a close approximation. Every man, woman and child that had set foot aboard those decks was marked. Call it a curse or a blessing, the ghost gained more power over those that had spent time aboard the ship. It allowed her to endow protection, give subtle comforts, but it also allowed her to twist the very memory and perception of those who made themselves an enemy. That power came at a cost, but it was extremely useful in situations like this, limited its targets may be.

    The stationmaster backed himself up to the custom-built table that hugged the backside of the semicircular couch. He looked shaken, but the Admiral could read his intention. A comms relay had been built into the table to call security. He had noticed it several minutes ago. Why do they always do this the hard way?

    In an instant he thought would be unexpected, the stationmaster scrambled for the button to call security back into the room. Desperation made him fast, but Admiral Gives was faster. Gaffigan and Jazmine¡¯s confiscated sidearms had been placed on the wood table he¡¯d chosen to stand beside. He grabbed one, flicked off the safety, and pulled the trigger.

    The bullet caught the Jayhawker in the shoulder and threw him wide of his target. He landed at the ghost¡¯s feet, writhing in agony as he clutched at his shoulder. Blood soaked through his jacket and coated his hand. Then it began to stain the decorative rug. She regarded it with little interest, then looked to the Admiral. ¡°You missed.¡±

    ¡°I wasn¡¯t trying to kill him,¡± he said, lowering the smoking gun. ¡°As much as I would like to, if we kill him, then the entire underworld comes after us, and we enough problems as it stands.¡±

    ¡°If you weren¡¯t trying to kill him, you could¡¯ve electrocuted him.¡± The fleet¡¯s standard-issue sidearm had an electric function meant to temporarily stun foes.

    That was true, he supposed, but, ¡°Some people just need to be shot.¡± There was something very satisfying about seeing that thieving liar squirming in pain on the ground.

    It¡¯ll keep him busy, she supposed, especially if she heightened his pain receptors a little. ¡°Now what? I don¡¯t think he¡¯ll be calling off security now that you¡¯ve shot him, so how exactly do you plan to get off this station?¡± Judging only from the fact security hadn¡¯t barged in here the instant that gun went off, this room was soundproofed to protect the Jayhawker¡¯s information trade negotiations, but that only bought the away team time. It still did not solve the issue of the station security guards. ¡°I don¡¯t have enough recordings to mimic the Jayhawker¡¯s voice.¡± She could not fool station security by manipulating their perception, nor could she falsify a stand down order over their comms.

    ¡°No need,¡± the Admiral said, setting the gun down. ¡°There¡¯s always Plan B.¡± He used his foot to roll the stationmaster onto his stomach. Despite the roughness of it, the man gave no resistance, too preoccupied with the pain of being shot. ¡°He looks like a perfectly willing hostage.¡±

    She reconsidered the stationmaster¡¯s blubbering cries. ¡°Yes, I suppose he does.¡± Shock rendered his mind into a perfectly pliable putty. ¡°He won¡¯t give you any trouble, and he won¡¯t remember a thing when he comes to.¡± Nothing important, anyway.

    Admiral Gives looked around for something to bind the stationmaster¡¯s hands. In the display cases of jewels and artefacts, he found nothing. Typical. Been here before. Without giving it another thought, he yanked the plain black belt off his waist and pinned the Jayhawker¡¯s hands up high and uncomfortable on his back. The movement twisted his injured shoulder, and the stationmaster screamed and thrashed as Admiral Gives bound his hands.

    Satisfied with the binding, Admiral Gives turned to the ghost. ¡°Wake the Lieutenants, if you would.¡± It was time to move.

    She moved as if to nod, then disappeared a little too abruptly. He tensed instinctively, ¡®What¡¯s wrong?¡¯ he asked her now-invisible presence.

    Her systems had found an anomaly. ¡®Gaffigan¡¯s already awake.¡¯ That should have been impossible.

    ¡®How long?¡¯ How much had Gaffigan seen or overheard?

    ¡®Not sure.¡¯ Something like that should have registered. She should have easily perceived that, but she hadn¡¯t.

    That¡¯s a problem, the Admiral knew, but now was not the time to deal with it. They had to get off this station first. He heard the two officers start to move. Jazmine sounded considerably more dazed, but Gaffigan was focused and alert. ¡°Lieutenant,¡± the Admiral called, tossing over the second sidearm. ¡°Grab your pilot and our info. We¡¯re leaving.¡±

    Monty caught the gun and readied it by taking the safety off. He asked no questions, just stood up, put the folder with Crimson Heart¡¯s coordinates into his jacket and grabbed Jazmine by the arm.

    Admiral Gives readied his own gun, then reached down and hauled the stationmaster to his feet. The Jayhawker screamed as the wound on his shoulder strained painfully. Only then did Jazmine bolt fully alert, eyes going wide as he recognized blood staining the Jayhawker¡¯s double-breasted jacket.

    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t give him time to ask questions. With one hand, he shoved the Jayhawker forward, the other holding the gun level with his hostage¡¯s head.

    Security was waiting for them in the hallway, but though the Jayhawker did little more than cry out in agony, they lowered their weapons. No words were exchanged. The threat was clear. If they fired, their boss would die and take their generous paycheck with him.

    A dozen security guards in their black suits and red dress shirts shadowed them as they made their way back toward the endcap of the station. Admiral Gives used his hostage to escort Gaffigan and Jazmine to their transport and he stood at that airlock until their ship had safely detached from the station. His aim on the Jayhawker¡¯s head was unflinching, so the guards only watched, waiting for an opportunity.

    It wasn¡¯t graceful, but the Admiral shuffled to the airlock his own craft had docked at, managing to keep the Jayhawker between him and the guards. They studied him carefully for a mistake, but none seemed eager to make a move. Good. This was always the tricky part.

    He waited a moment in the airlock connection, letting the guards tense, then force themselves to relax. Then, without warning of the movement, he shoved the Jayhawker forward and slammed the station side of the airlock closed. With the stationmaster freed, the guards yanked him to safety and fired just a second too late. The bullets clanged off the metal of the hatch.

    Admiral Gives wasted no time sealing off the Warhawk and overriding the station¡¯s docking controls. Then, he hopped into the pilot¡¯s seat and hit the thrusters, distancing himself from the station. And then, only then, as he reengaged the main engines and boosted onto a course for home, did he allow himself to relax. ¡°I should¡¯ve been a pirate,¡± he sighed. He had too much experience getting out of situations like this.

    ¡°You would be the worst pirate I have ever seen,¡± the ghost said, appearing in the copilot¡¯s seat. ¡°You walked willingly into a situation where you knew you¡¯d be a hostage.¡±

    ¡°In the process, I rescued two crewmen, got the coordinates for Crimson Heart, and stole back the FTL key, all in less than three hours.¡± He figured that risk had paid off. ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± he snarked.

    A cold, unamused chuckle escaped her. ¡°Oh, we will talk about this when you get back.¡± Reckless idiot.

    He tried not to wince.

 Part 34.2 - NOT MALFUNCTIONS

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°Weapons are active, Colonel.¡±

    ¡°Damn it all! I did not give that order.¡± He hadn¡¯t given any of these orders. He hadn¡¯t ordered a jump, he hadn¡¯t chosen these coordinates, and certainly he hadn¡¯t ordered the weapons to be brought online. The sure magnitude of this malfunction was beyond Zarrey¡¯s wildest dreams. As he regained his bearings from arguably the worst FTL maneuver he¡¯d ever endured, he expected to be in pain. Some part of him expected a skull-splitting headache, but he felt fine, strangely fine, actually.

    Behind the urgent voices of the crew, Zarrey dimly recognized the low rumble of the main engines cycling back down into idle. ¡°Helm, I did not order any maneuvers.¡±

    ¡°Wasn¡¯t me, sir,¡± the replacement helmsman answered. ¡°It was a deceleration maneuver, conducted as we came out of subspace.¡±

    ¡°Good thing, too.¡± Galhino added, flicking through the sensor data. ¡°We¡¯re surrounded.¡±

    ¡°Surrounded?¡± Zarrey said, turning his attention to the radar displays hung in CIC. True enough, hazy circles hung around the ship. Not circles, he realized, studying the display that ran on the other plane. Spheres. ¡°What is that?¡± The radar system hadn¡¯t painted them with ID, friendly or otherwise.

    ¡°Planets, sir,¡± Galhino told him. ¡°If we hadn¡¯t decelerated to zero relative velocity, we would¡¯ve sailed straight into one of their gravity wells.¡±

    Planets? He turned to the viewscreen. By default, it showed the feed from one of the telescopes on the bow, and ahead there was little to be seen, only a dark visage that blotted out the stars. Dark planets.

    ¡°And Colonel,¡± Galhino looked over to him, ¡°We¡¯re not alone.¡±

    Not alone? ¡°Get visual,¡± he ordered. True enough, now that he wasn¡¯t consumed by the massive spheres, he could see that the radar had picked up another target, something far smaller. It also lacked an ID but had been marked as an artificial contact ¨C something manmade.

    In the front of the room, the image on the view screen swapped from one of the bow telescopes to a camera mounted on the ship¡¯s port flank. An ugly conglomerate mass of scavenged ships and structure, the gray form was shaped like a dumbbell. Zarrey couldn¡¯t spot any noticeable engines on its main shaft or on its disc-shaped endcaps. That¡¯s not a ship, he realized, tossing out his default assumption. It¡¯s a station. Then, he noticed the strange shadows along the main length, pipes that were bent and welded to form an identification. Disbelief left his lips before he could contain it. ¡°That¡¯s impossible.¡±

    Galhino shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to tell you, Colonel.¡± She wouldn¡¯t believe it herself if she weren¡¯t staring at the facts. ¡°By all appearances, that is Midwest Station. Sensors have identified a Warhawk and a Rhino docked on the endcap.¡± Since both ships were docked and powered down, the radar had registered them as part of the station, not as ships onto themselves.

    ¡°But that doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± How had they gotten here?

    ¡°I can confirm that our present coordinates are within the bounds of the Mississippi Sector,¡± Walters called from the navigations console.

    ¡°So, subspace threw us out on the doorstep of Midwest Station.¡± Given the discomfort of the maneuver, that was the only way he would describe it. The FTL drives had taken them to subspace, and subspace had spat them back out with enough force to make it seem almost violent. ¡°Did we take any damage?¡±

    Ensign Alba was pale, perhaps terrified, but he still reached up and began checking the ship¡¯s systems. ¡°FTL Drive Three is not reporting, and likely nonoperational, but the rest of the ship¡¯s systems appear undamaged. However, that maneuver put severe strains on the structure, sir. We¡¯re not damaged, but the structural integrity is spent.¡± The strain gauges throughout the ship¡¯s structure were all reporting red. ¡°We¡¯ve got to let her rest.¡± The ship¡¯s structural strains would ease over time, allowing the structure to realign and regain its strength. ¡°Another FTL maneuver could cause severe damage. We can¡¯t jump.¡±

    ¡°But we¡¯re okay?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re okay,¡± Alba agreed. ¡°I¡¯d estimate twelve hours before it would be safe to jump, though.¡±

    So, we¡¯re stuck here, Zarrey realized. At least we made to the station. Here, they could lend aid to the away team. Still, another thought suddenly occurred to him. ¡°Wait, when did we regain control of the ship¡¯s systems?¡±

    ¡°After the jump,¡± Alba said. ¡°Now, everything seems fine.¡±

    ¡°Comms recovered before the jump, Colonel.¡± Robinson answered. ¡°I asked if you wanted to make a warning announcement.¡± Strangely, though, he had not responded. He had been frozen in apparent shock of the situation.

    ¡°Helm control was nominal until just after the jump, sir, but I have system response again now.¡±

    Galhino glanced to the helmsman, but turned to Colonel Zarrey instead. ¡°I never lost control of the sensors, sir.¡±

    Zarrey scratched at the scar on the side of his jaw. ¡°None of that makes sense.¡± A complete system malfunction should have been simultaneous, and if Command had issued an override, they should not have control again now.

    ¡°No, Colonel,¡± Galhino told him, furrowing her dark brows, ¡°That makes perfect sense. Don¡¯t you see the pattern?¡±

    ¡°No, Galhino,¡± he snapped, ¡°I don¡¯t fucking see a pattern.¡±

    ¡°We only lost the systems that were needed to initiate an FTL jump,¡± Robinson realized, speaking aloud. ¡°Navigation to stop an override to backup coordinates, Engineering for the drives themselves, Comms. for the warning alarm, and the helm for that deceleration maneuver.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Galhino nodded, her curly hair bouncing with the movement. ¡°The sensors aren¡¯t involved in any of that.¡± Their usual operation had been all that was necessary. ¡°We only lost control of the systems needed to make a safe FTL jump, and we only lost control of them for as long as they were necessary.¡± After that, control had been immediately returned.

    ¡°¡­With the exception of weapons,¡± Zarrey suddenly remembered that announcement. He turned to the officer manning that station, uneasy, ¡°What are we targeting?¡±

    ¡°The station, sir,¡± came the response. ¡°The main battery has been raised and turned to target Midwest Station.¡±

    Zarrey tried not to feel the shiver that ran up his spine. At this range, the silhouette of the main guns would be more than menacing aboard the station. He swallowed, almost afraid to ask, ¡°Are they loaded?¡±

    The crewman looked down and checked, ¡°Yes, sir. Standard rounds.¡±

    Hell fires in heaven. At this range, that would be fatal to the station and everyone aboard it. At two or three times this range, it would still be unquestionably lethal. Calm down, he told himself. The crew was looking at him strangely, perplexed by his reaction, so Zarrey clenched his fists and did his best to steel his expression. ¡°Can you¡­ uh, disengage the main battery?¡± Damn, that was a weird command. He could not remember the last time he had actively instructed people not to blow things up.

    ¡°Aye,¡± the crewman said, dancing his hands across the controls. ¡°Standing by to secure all armaments.¡± He turned to the Colonel for confirmation.

    ¡°Colonel,¡± Galhino interrupted, ¡°don¡¯t we want to threaten the station?¡± Presently, short of storming the station directly, that was the only support they could provide. ¡°We can force the Jayhawker to release our personnel.¡± This positioning, alongside the station, gave the ship¡¯s main battery a near perfect firing solution.

    She was right, and Zarrey knew that. This inexplicable sequence of events had effectively handed them control of the situation. Still, he studied the station¡¯s asymmetric shape, uncomfortable. ¡°We want to threaten the Jayhawker,¡± he confirmed, ¡°but I want to be completely certain we are in control of the ship when we do. A weapons malfunction should not be taken lightly.¡± If Gaffigan were here, he¡¯d know that.

    ¡°Sir, the last weapons malfunction we had intercepted the nuke,¡± Alba said. ¡°That turret saved the entire ship.¡±

    Zarrey felt his jaw clench. That was true. And allegedly some wiring damage had caused the malfunction that avoided an impact from Sagittarion¡¯s orbital mass driver. That was harmless enough, even downright helpful, but malfunctions ¨C if these truly were malfunctions ¨C swung both ways, some helpful, some harmful, and luck determined which. ¡°The last malfunction we had involving the main battery killed several hundred people, including little Miss Amelia¡¯s mother.¡± He heard the bridge crew hush at his words. ¡°The Admiral claimed it was his fault. He took responsibility for the entire incident, but it was not his fault.¡± That day, Admiral Gives had been found on the bridge unconscious and nearly dead.

    Zarrey let loose a long sigh, wishing that incident could stay forgotten. ¡°These malfunctions are not always harmless,¡± and that was a cold fact. There was a reason he couldn¡¯t let these little incidents go unchecked, no matter how the Admiral brushed them off.

    This bridge crew was too young to remember it, but Zarrey could still hear the yelling and the confusion of that moment. He remembered every inquiry that had followed, as he had sat sweating under lights meant to be uncomfortably bright. ¡°The Yokohoma sank when the Singularity¡¯s malfunction emptied a broadside into her flank.¡± The cruiseliner had had been torn to shreds in an instant, and anyone unlucky enough to survive the impact had died from vacuum exposure in the seconds that followed.

    ¡°But,¡± Zarrey continued with a shake of his head, ¡°Admiral Gives knew if that was the truth that hit the press, this ship never would have survived.¡± The Singularity would have been decommissioned and torn apart within weeks. So soon after the Frontier Rebellion¡¯s end, the central worlds had been uneasy with the Singularity¡¯s gruesome reputation. If they had thought, even for a second, that such power could turn against them, even in error, they would have stripped and melted down the ship until nothing remained.

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    The bridge crew sat in a moment of silence, each of them digesting that information ¨C unthinkable evidence that the Admiral was perfectly willing to lie, no matter how honest he otherwise seemed.

    ¡°I knew it.¡± Galhino proclaimed, so entirely unsurprised. ¡°I told him his judgement was compromised.¡± Zarrey¡¯s confession about the Yokohoma only proved it. ¡°He allots this ship far too much trust,¡± to a point where he and the eight hundred other lives aboard ship now stood to pay the price for his illogical attachment. ¡°And, if you knew the truth,¡± she said, glaring at Zarrey,

    ¡°why the hell didn¡¯t you come forward?¡±

    ¡°Do you think I wanted a new assignment?¡± he snapped, keeping one eye on the radar displays for any sign of trouble on the station. ¡°I was scared, Galhino, and you would¡¯ve been too.¡± These worlds hadn¡¯t been tolerant of him. He had been kicked off his last post for being gay, then nearly been given a dishonorable discharge that would have kept him from ever working within the central worlds again. ¡°I was terrified, because I didn¡¯t know what would happen to me if Command took the ship, and then I saw what the Admiral was trying to do, and I¡­ I just kept my mouth shut.¡±

    ¡°Let me get this straight,¡± Galhino said, tense with frustration, ¡°you let your commanding officer confess to the murder of several hundred civilians instead of just telling the truth, which was that there was a simple weapons misfire.¡± A series of malfunctions eerily similar to the current. ¡°Fucking hell, Colonel. You had no reason to expect Command would actually scrap the ship. That was a long time ago. The ship was practically new!¡±

    ¡°The Yokohoma only sank thirteen years ago, Galhino.¡± Zarrey had been only a year into his tenure as the ship¡¯s executive officer. ¡°The Singularity was thirty-seven,¡± already older than most battleships lived to be. ¡°The situation was fucked up, and I think the Admiral knew that, but he confessed anyway. He told Command that he had been negligent and conducted weapons test while escorting a civilian fleet, and that was the reason the Yokohoma sank.¡±

    ¡°And Command bought that?¡± Galhino couldn¡¯t believe that. ¡°They actually believed that their Fleet Admiral could be that stupid?¡± She did not like to admit it, but she knew just how smart the Admiral was.

    ¡°They had to,¡± Zarrey told her, rubbing his temples between his fingers. ¡°General Brent died the day the Yokohoma sank. The medical teams found him dead, here, on this bridge, but Command couldn¡¯t go public with the fact their top two officers tried to kill each other, so they let the Admiral confess, and swept the entire incident under the rug.¡± Zarrey could remember General Clarke¡¯s scornful look, the utter disgust he had held for the entire situation.

    ¡°But that¡¯s not the point.¡± No. ¡°The reality of that entire situation is that a weapons misfire killed several hundred people and we all lied our way to covering it up.¡± Zarrey had been part of it, and he had lived with that shame. ¡°No explanation was ever given to the press, and the Secretary of Defense was furious.¡± The Admiral¡¯s brother had never forgiven him, especially since he had been privy to the truth ¨C a truth in which the Admiral had lied to cover for his ship and left his brother without justice for his wife¡¯s death.

    Considering that history, Zarrey felt justified in being unsettled by these malfunctions, no matter how strangely helpful they could seem. ¡°Today, I¡¯m looking at a malfunction just as severe as the one that killed the Yokohoma,¡± something that rightfully, should never have happened again.

    ¡°Then your orders, sir?¡± the crewman at the weapons console prompted. ¡°Secure weapons?¡±

    I don¡¯t know. That was the answer Zarrey wanted to give, but he could feel the expectant gazes of every crewman on the bridge. He was in charge, and they expected him to have confidence. This is why I hate being left in charge. Things were never this complicated while the Admiral was around. The damn ship never seemed to misbehave on his watch. But still, as the rest of the crew kept most of their attention on the away team¡¯s situation, he knew he had to give the weapons officer an answer.

    In Zarrey¡¯s mind, the question here was not the nature of the past or the present. It was a question of whether or not he trusted that there would not be a misfire that blew away the station and everyone on it. There were a lot of variables in that consideration, but chief among them was the fact that Admiral Gives was currently on that station, and that changed things. You¡¯re not going to kill him, Zarrey thought to the old ship.

    Zarrey had no explanation for it, same as he had no explanation for the maneuver that had brought them here or for the incident that sank the Yokohoma all those years ago, but when it came to Admiral Gives, the ship could get downright odd. ¡°Leave the guns loaded,¡± Zarrey told the weapons officer. These malfunctions were perfectly capable of reloading the main battery with or without orders.

    For a moment, Zarrey looked at the helm, wondering if he should maneuver out of range instead of worrying about the weapons, but he knew, knew it wasn¡¯t going to happen. They weren¡¯t leaving without their crew, and the ship sure as hell wasn¡¯t leaving without the Admiral, so Zarrey placed his fist on the console in front of him, thinking again to the old machine. Sometimes I wonder if you understand what he did to keep you out of the scrapyards. But all the same, he knew that was nonsense.

    Zarrey had once spoken to Havermeyer about the ship¡¯s abnormalities, thinking the spiritual beliefs of the tech-monks might offer some explanation. Havermeyer had let loose a lecture on how the Singularity¡¯s system architecture was not, by nature, intelligent, though it was, without question, aware. Zarrey hadn¡¯t understood that, so he¡¯d told Havermeyer to dumb it down for him. The result had been simple: no matter what was going on with the ship, there was somewhere, a rational explanation for it. On a machine so large and complex, sometimes those explanations were hard to find, but there was a reason. Nothing concerning a machine was random or magic. It only meant they were failing to understand.

    And, that meant now, faced with a slew of apparent malfunctions, they had to find an explanation. ¡°Document everything,¡± Zarrey ordered. ¡°Get the time stamps, the control inputs, the apparent result. Document it all. We¡¯re going to get to the bottom of this. We have to be certain we are in total control of this ship.¡± The risks were too high to allow potential malfunctions. Their lives depended on it, as did the welfare of every living creature within range of the ship¡¯s weapons. ¡°We were damn lucky this time, people. The odds of dropping out of FTL when and where we did¡­¡± Well, Zarrey would rather not contemplate it. ¡°We¡¯ve had a lot of malfunctions, and somewhere there¡¯s an explanation. We are going to find it, even if it means stopping to do a comprehensive systems check.¡±

    Alba admired Colonel Zarrey¡¯s dedication, but that was pointless. ¡°Colonel, what if these aren¡¯t malfunctions?¡±

    Zarrey turned to where the boyish officer sat behind the engineering console. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°The probability, it doesn¡¯t add up,¡± Alba said. ¡°It would be statistically impossible for a random jump to put us here, not to mention sound the alarm and activate the weapons. That¡¯s not a random sequence of events. That¡¯s a sequence of events designed to hand us control of the situation with Midwest Station. These ¡®malfunctions¡¯ are far too purposeful to actually be malfunctions.¡± He made air quotes around the word. ¡°You asked me to look into this, and I haven¡¯t gotten far, just far enough to realize there¡¯s a pattern.¡±

    From the other side of the bridge, Robinson interrupted, ¡°Sir, the away team is departing the station. Gaffigan confirms the mission was a success.¡±

    Without turning to her, Zarrey made a vague gesture that he heard. He kept his focus on Alba¡¯s young face, since the away team seemed to have things under control. ¡°A pattern?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Alba nodded. ¡°It¡¯s obvious. The turret that intercepted the nuke, the maneuver above Sagittarion, and now this. These incidents, they¡¯re protecting the crew.¡±

    Alba¡¯s words brought a strange silence to the bridge. Zarrey scrunched his nose. He wanted to argue the point, considering the Yokohoma, but the truth was, no member of the crew had been harmed directly by that incident either. ¡°Alba, there¡¯s no viable explanation for that.¡± Pattern or not, it made no sense.

    ¡°Actually, sir, there¡¯s two.¡± Alba swallowed, uncertain he liked either explanation. ¡°The first is the Admiral.¡± Zarrey had suspected him of keeping secrets for some time now. ¡°His command codes are one of two things that could override manual control. We have no way to know when or if he implemented a command override. We also have no way of knowing what commands he may have given, or how they would come into effect.¡± Unsurprisingly, the technical details on that were missing from the manuals and engineering diagrams the crew had available.

    Zarrey rubbed his jaw, trying to follow along. ¡°¡­You think he ordered the ship to protect us?¡± That seemed harmless enough, but, ¡°I didn¡¯t think she was capable of that.¡±

    ¡°Well, theoretically, since the systems aren¡¯t networked together, she¡¯s not. But again, we don¡¯t know how the command overrides work, or what specifically the Admiral did or did not do. He would be perfectly capable of modifying the ship¡¯s systems as he saw fit.¡± And, as dangerous as illegally modifying the systems could be, Alba preferred that explanation. ¡°But, as I said, there is a second possibility: the Black Box.¡±

    Zarrey couldn¡¯t help but stiffen. The Black Box was a confidential system. Only ship commanders and executive officers could confirm it existed, even if they didn¡¯t know where on the ship it was housed. However, the idea of it was not foreign to the rest of the crew. Rumors had circulated during the years the Boxes had been in use, and the neurofibers were not invisible. They were sometimes found mixed in with other wires.

    Galhino stared at Alba, almost disbelieving he would mention the Black Box. It was taboo, especially on the Singularity. Considering what had happened to the Matador, even she didn¡¯t want to breach that topic. ¡°It doesn¡¯t work, Alba. We all know that.¡±

    ¡°No, we don¡¯t,¡± the engineer said. ¡°We actually have no idea if the Singularity¡¯s Box functions or not.¡± There was evidence for both cases. Command had not flagged the Box during inspection, which indicated it was functional. But, the records of the Box had also never incriminated anyone, even when the records it should have submitted and the reports the crew wrote were not identical, which indicated that it was not functioning as Command had intended. ¡°If we are to believe the rumors, then Command¡¯s Black Boxes were not only designed to collect and store secure records. They were also designed to seize control of a ship that fell into enemy hands. The Box could very well could be causing these apparent malfunctions. It¡¯s the only other thing that could override manual control.¡±

    ¡°Command can¡¯t override anything,¡± Zarrey reminded him. ¡°Not after the Strike Zero override was implemented.¡±

    Alba watched Zarrey scratch at the old scar on his jaw, clearly uncomfortable where he stood next to the backlit radar console. ¡°The Strike Zero override exempts a ship from Command¡¯s overrides, sir, but Flagships are not supposed to be able to accept that override.¡±

    Zarrey scratched harder at his scar, not appreciating that insinuation. ¡°You think the Admiral lied?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± Alba said. ¡°I¡¯m not sure it matters. Either way, the Strike Zero override only affects ship systems. The Black Box may not count. On a newer ship, maybe, but the Singularity¡¯s old. She wasn¡¯t built with a Black Box. It was added later, but the Strike Zero command would have been coded when the ship was built, so likely, the Box wasn¡¯t included.¡±

    A new magnitude of horror dawned on Zarrey in that moment. All his fears about a malfunction suddenly felt distinctly unimportant. He stopped scratching and put both hands onto the table in front of him, leaning forward. ¡°Are you telling me that we might be susceptible to the Black Box¡¯s retrieval protocols?¡± The intensity of the question surprised Alba and the young crewman shrunk down. ¡°BLOODY. FUCKING. HELL! When did you figure that out?¡±

    Alba managed to hide most of his frame behind the metal bulk console that sat between him and Zarrey. ¡°Just now, sir.¡± This last series of ¡®malfunctions¡¯ had solidified that theory.

    ¡°You think Command could be controlling it?¡± Controlling the ship? Had they been careless to accept the Strike Zero override as safety? No, if Alba could piece together the Black Box¡¯s exclusion, then surely the Admiral had already. He knew more about the ship than anyone.

    Galhino looked between Alba and Zarrey. Zarrey looked pale enough to have clearly unlocked a new nightmare. ¡°Am I missing something?¡± she wondered. ¡°If Command can control the Black Box, then why would they use it to help protect us?¡±

    ¡°Not us,¡± Zarrey realized. This wasn¡¯t about the crew. ¡°They want the Admiral alive, and they would not be above using his own ship to keep him that way.¡±

    ¡°Then why don¡¯t they just drop us out of FTL at one of their outposts?¡± If they had control, why bother delaying the inevitable?

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I don¡¯t care.¡± Zarrey was furious. He had always been uneasy about the Box, but now he was just plain angry with it. ¡°It won¡¯t matter if I find the damn thing and rip it out of the ship first.¡±

 Part 34.3 - ACE

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The Admiral¡¯s Warhawk touched down gently. Only then did he release the slight tension that pinched his neck and shoulders. Gaffigan and Jazmine¡¯s Rhino sat ahead of him on the landing bay, its bulbous gray form completely undamaged. So, that could have gone worse, the Admiral supposed. The away team was back safe and sound with Crimson Heart¡¯s coordinates. He would have quite the mess to clean up with Zarrey and the bridge crew, but somehow, he¡¯d manage.

    ¡®Welcome home,¡¯ the ghost told him. ¡®You may want to shut down the engines of your Warhawk.¡¯

    Right, he reminded himself. The engines weren¡¯t thrusting at the moment, but they still had to be disengaged before the elevator brought him down. He reached up can began to cut off the fuel feed, enacting the shutdown procedures. ¡®Thank you.¡¯

    Ordinarily, something like that would never have slipped his attention. He had made hundreds of combat landings in conditions far worse than this. ¡®Are you alright?¡¯ she asked.

    ¡®I¡¯ll live.¡¯ He would pay the price for what he¡¯d done on that station, but he¡¯d live. Below his craft, the elevator thunked and shifted, starting to draw the Warhawk in. It would pass through a series of airlocks before being brought down onto the hangar deck in the ship¡¯s interior.

    Exhausted, Admiral Gives pried his hands off the control yoke of the Warhawk. He hadn¡¯t noticed it before, frustrated by the Jayhawker¡¯s ploy, but stabbing pains were running through his left hand. Burned and wounded in the Aragonian Sector, his joints ached with throbbing pain worsened tenfold by the tension he¡¯d used to hold the Warhawk¡¯s flight controls.

    Carefully, he nursed that hand a bit, trying to stretch the pain out, but the movement didn¡¯t help. It only made the ache more acute. The injury had bothered him off and on. As a hand wound, and third-degree burn, it was being incredibly slow to heal. Every time he moved his hand, he set the healing process back, no matter how many healing stimulants Macintosh put on it or how regularly it was redressed. He had hoped by this point to feel some improvement, but it still ached, even if he managed to ignore it most of the time. Perhaps the burns had dealt some lasting nerve damage. It was no matter at the moment. He couldn¡¯t afford to let it slow him down.

    When the elevator lurched to a stop on the hangar deck, the Admiral unbuckled and made his way to the exit hatch. The movement was anything but graceful. His steps were clumsy and uneven, not aligned with his perception as they should have been. Not now, he thought, fumbling with the airlock controls, but he had no way to resist this.

    With the adrenaline of facing down the Jayhawker now fading, the repercussions of what he had done on the station could take full effect. It didn¡¯t hurt, but it messed him up pretty good. Anymore, it did not affect his mental faculties. He was still lucid when the worst of it hit, and could usually communicate just fine, but physical movements became challenging. Walking on a flat surface became harder than staggering through gravity storm fluctuations ¨C forget climbing a ladder or anything else. So, when he made it out onto the wing of the Warhawk, he slid down to sit on the leading edge, hoping the movement did not look like the collapse it nearly was.

    He latched one hand onto the metal panel below him and used the other to rub at his head. This set in way sooner than usual. Still, it wasn¡¯t as severe as it could be. The first few times he had done this, it had knocked him out like a light. It had gotten easier over the years ¨C not that this was something he did often ¨C but he still paid a price for it. While he could summon the ghost to him, and the ship with her, she described the process akin to overloading a transmitter. The level of power it took to pinpoint a location during an FTL maneuver¡­ Well, the human brain wasn¡¯t equipped to handle it. Parts of the brain, such as his finer motor control, just shut down to protect themselves. He would recover in a few minutes, but the effort always fatigued him beyond compare.

    A pair of black shoes stepped up in front of him, tapping on the deck. With effort, he managed to look up at their owner, recognizing it to be his assistant, Ensign Feather. She kept her face mostly relaxed, but there was still a shadow of concern in her expression. ¡°Are you alright, Admiral?¡±

    He managed a weak nod. ¡°I will be fine, Ensign.¡±

    She pursed her lips a little. ¡°Here,¡± she offered out a mug, ¡°I brought you some tea.¡±

    He was decently certain that Feather knew more than she let on in situations like this. She always knew what he needed, and usually brought it without being asked. She was perceptive and independent, but she didn¡¯t pry. And tea, that was exactly what he needed. Whether it was the calming aspect of its warmth or the caffeine helping jumpstart his brain, tea helped him recover. Clumsily, he took the mug, managing not to spill since she had only filled it partway up. ¡°Thank you, Ensign.¡± She was a good assistant. She was not disturbed by this condition, but then, she had seen him worse off.

    ¡°Colonel Zarrey is ¡­unhappy, to put it delicately, sir.¡± Feather had stopped by the bridge on her way here. ¡°I also must inform you that we¡¯re in no condition to jump. The maneuver that got us here did a number on the structure.¡±

    Subspace maneuvers were always taxing, but summoning the ship made it worse. As the ghost had explained it, the process varied from a normal FTL jump. Another fraction of a second was spent in subspace, and that alone inflicted an extra magnitude of stress. ¡°Any damage?¡± Considering the other jumps they¡¯d already gone through, he had taken a risk to pull this off.

    ¡°None, sir.¡± Feather answered. ¡°Are there any orders you¡¯d like me to relay to the bridge?¡±

    He considered it for a moment. The only order to give in a situation like this was to maneuver away from the station into the field of dark planets and buy time until it was safe for the ship to jump again. Still, that wasn¡¯t urgent. There was nothing wrong with leaving Midwest Station at their mercy for another few minutes. ¡°Not at this time,¡± he answered Feather. ¡°Thank you, Ensign.¡±

    She nodded and brushed her black hair back behind her ear, contemplating her next question. Ordinarily, this would be the end of the conversation, but she did find it necessary to ask. ¡°Is your hand alright, sir?¡± It was still covered in a black glove, so the extent of its injury was concealed. ¡°It¡¯s twitching.¡± It lay in his lap like it should have been limp, but joints were convulsing slightly. Considering how still the Admiral usually was, it was exceptionally odd.

    He lifted the hand for a better look. Sure enough, it was twitching. That¡¯s new. Ignoring the way it throbbed, he curled it into a fist to make it stop. ¡°Nothing to worry about, Ensign.¡± It was probably just lingering nerve damage from the burns.

    Feather didn¡¯t look especially convinced, but she didn¡¯t argue. ¡°If you say so, sir.¡±

    Making their way over from their own transport, Lieutenants Gaffigan and Jazmine came up behind Feather. Jazmine was grinning. ¡°Hey! Look at what we got!¡± He called, waving around a yellow folder.

    Feather grabbed the folder and opened it up. A part of her had expected the papers inside to be blank, but the coordinates were printed in crisp black numbering. They carried a good level of precision. ¡°Looks legitimate,¡± she told the Admiral.

    They¡¯d better be. Otherwise, Nathan Gadwood was as good as dead. ¡°The Jayhawker makes good on his trades.¡±

    ¡°With some convincing?¡± Feather said.

    ¡°With some convincing,¡± he agreed. ¡°Take those and log them with the central computer. Later, we will need to conduct some research on the surrounding area.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Feather said, and set off, leaving the Lieutenants behind.

    Neither of the two men looked hurt as far as the Admiral could tell. Jazmine seemed happy, proud to have completed the mission. Gaffigan, on the other hand, was looking at him very strangely. That was to be expected, he supposed, since it wasn¡¯t clear how much Gaffigan had seen on the station, awake when he should have been asleep. The Admiral chose not to address it. Soon enough Gaffigan would find those memories fading, or be coerced into believing nothing he¡¯d seen was strange. The ghost would see to that. She didn¡¯t like to mess with the crew, but sometimes it was unavoidable. None of them would ever be hurt by her abilities, but sometimes protecting them from the truth required a bit of intervention.

    ¡°You both did well today,¡± the Admiral told them. ¡°It was a dangerous mission, but you accomplished your objective.¡± They were both good officers. ¡°Take the night off and get some rest. Your skills will be needed when we strike Crimson Heart tomorrow.¡±

    Jazmine nodded and ran a hand through his silky brown hair. ¡°There¡¯s one thing I don¡¯t understand, sir,¡± he said. ¡°When did the Singularity get here?¡± He began to frown a bit, perplexed. ¡°In fact, I don¡¯t remember much of what happened on the station after you arrived.¡± He remembered the Admiral¡¯s arrival, how he¡¯d known the Jayhawker¡¯s real name, but there were so many other gaps in his memory. ¡°The Jayhawker¡­ He made you order the Singularity to jump directly into the Tormenta Sector.¡± A jump that would have destroyed her. ¡°How did she get from there to here? Let alone survive that?¡±

    ¡°I left the ship with specific instructions in my absence, Lieutenant,¡± the Admiral said patiently. ¡°It was all part of the plan.¡± Or, he supposed, most of it was. Truly, he had hoped to manage an exchange with the Jayhawker ¨C a peaceful monetary or informational exchange once Gaffigan and Jazmine had been released. Ordering the FTL Drives offline had stacked the cards in his favor. It had bought him time to negotiate, or try as the case had been, but he had come prepared to play his ace, and the ghost had not let him down.

    ¡°Right,¡± it didn¡¯t surprise Jazmine to know there had been a plan. ¡°But I know the Jayhawker, and apparently so do you. He never would have allowed a subspace transponder to be brought aboard Midwest Station. He would have sunk any ship that dared to activate one, and killed any person that dared to carry one, including you, without hesitation.¡± The Jayhawker¡¯s interest in having him as a hostage would not have exempted Admiral Gives from that. ¡°So how did the Singularity get here?¡± The jump to Midwest Station was impossible without the real-time position of the station, which only a subspace location transponder could provide, and the Jayhawker forbade them in all circumstances.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    That was a tricky question the Admiral supposed. Jazmine was curious, but Gaffigan, standing beside him had a darker color in his eyes: suspicion. Admiral Gives was plenty familiar with it. How many times had he been accused of psychopathy? Interrogated by Command as a separatist agent? How many times had the crew suspected him of being uncaring? Gaffigan¡¯s suspicion could be any of that or none of it. It hardly mattered. A lie here would be an obvious one, and Admiral Gives tried not to lie to his crew. He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the warm, earthy flavor. ¡°Do you know why Admiral Reeter never became the Fleet Admiral, Lieutenant?¡±

    Jazmine scrunched up his face, uncertain he saw the relevance. ¡°Well, because he could never beat you in the War Games.¡± The victor of the fleet¡¯s War Games became the Fleet Admiral, as tradition dictated.

    ¡°True,¡± the Admiral supposed, ¡°but that was more the result than the cause.¡± Reeter was a perfectly capable tactician, though his impatience was often his undoing. ¡°In actuality, Admiral Reeter¡¯s plans were brilliant.¡± There was a reason he¡¯d earned command of the Flagship at such a relatively young age. ¡°But, his plans always had one flaw, Lieutenant.¡± The fault of all confident people. ¡°He put everything on the table, and I saw all his cards.¡± That same fault had gotten them out of the Homebound System when the Olympia had tried to activate her flagship weapon, Thunderbolt. If Reeter had managed a sufficient distraction, that weapon easily could have landed a killing blow, but Reeter had been confident that the Singularity would not have enough time to escape and had not bothered to create a distraction. ¡°The best tacticians always keep one card up their sleeve, Lieutenant. They never play their ace in the open, because an ace in the open is not an ace. It is a target.¡±

    Jazmine stood there for a moment, trying to think that through. ¡°So¡­ you¡¯re not going to tell me how you got the ship here?¡±

    ¡°No, I am not.¡±

    Jazmine laughed a bit. ¡°Alright then.¡± There was no arguing that. While it looked like an issue of trust, Jazmine wasn¡¯t offended. The Admiral had explained why he wouldn¡¯t answer the question. The method he¡¯d used to get the ship here gave Admiral Gives a tactical advantage, one that had already saved Jazmine¡¯s life once, and he wasn¡¯t eager to disregard that. ¡°I suppose disclosing your strategy to anyone puts it at risk.¡± Ordinarily, Admiral Gives was very open with the crew. He was known to declassify Command¡¯s secrets if it was helpful on a mission, but these were different times. Revealing anything to anyone put it at risk, because if that person ever fell into the Eran AI¡¯s clutches, then that information would be forfeit to the enemy.

    ¡°You¡¯ll have no further questions from me,¡± Jazmine decided. ¡°Thank you for saving my butt, sir. I¡¯m not convinced my body in the next life would be quite this handsome.¡± The Jayhawker would have killed him, and being alive was rather nice.

    ¡°Think nothing of it, Lieutenant.¡±

    The answer was as calm as Jazmine had ever heard. He turned to Gaffigan with a glare. You¡¯re crazy if you think there¡¯s anything wrong with him. As far as Jazmine could tell, there was nothing weird going on with the Admiral. This calm, tactically calculating persona was exactly what he remembered, and no AI would have come to bail them out on the station. ¡°Let¡¯s go wash up.¡±

    Gaffigan turned to follow him, but was stopped almost immediately. ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan,¡± the Admiral called after him, ¡°your sidearm is in the copilot¡¯s seat. Secure it before you go.¡±

    Right, Monty suddenly remembered the empty holster on his hip. ¡°Of course,¡± he said, turning around. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± He had handed Jazmine¡¯s gun back to him, and the Admiral had used his to hold the stationmaster hostage.

    Monty stepped up onto the wing and ducked into the interior of the Warhawk. This recon ship had the same general layout as the Rhino he¡¯d ridden back on: two seats in the front for the pilots, and then storage and extra seating in the back. The Warhawks were a little smaller than the newer design of the Rhinos, and the age showed in the controls. The control panels of the Warhawk were all tactile, with physical switches and buttons, shiny and colorful. The nose of the craft also tapered a little, so Monty had to bend over to reach into the copilot¡¯s seat. At first, he didn¡¯t see the gun, but then he saw it wedged between the center console and the edge of the seat. That¡¯s one way to keep it from flying loose, Monty supposed. Unsecured guns were a major hazard, and given the incident twelve months ago, which ended with the Admiral getting shot, Monty figured he was more aware of that than most.

    The weapon¡¯s safety was on, so Gaffigan reached down and grabbed it. He checked it over, noting the bullet missing from the clip ¨C the one that had been used to shoot the stationmaster. The sound of the gunshot echoed in his ears, near deafening. How the hell had Jazmine slept through that?

    Still, the memory of that gunshot only brought back the image of that woman and her stark white hair. An AI. The one masquerading as the ghost that haunted the Singularity. Monty had seen her standing there clear as day. But how? How had she been standing there? AI avatars required a format to manifest themselves in, be it a holographic emitter or even just a screen to appear on, but the Admiral hadn¡¯t brought anything with him ¨C not even a gun.

    ¡­But he brought himself, Monty realized. And if the AI was using him as a host, then maybe, somehow, it could have infected the station and used the emitters installed on the station. That might also explain the ship¡¯s presence. If that AI had infected the station, then it could have hijacked the station¡¯s array to transmit coordinates to the ship. That all made perfect sense. If the AI was trying to hide here, that even explained why Jazmine hadn¡¯t been given a real answer.

    There was just one problem with the entire theory. Why would an AI hiding from the New Era risk everything to recover two Lieutenants captured on a mission gone awry?

    This still doesn¡¯t make sense. Confirming his suspicions about that AI¡¯s presence only raised more questions. He had overheard so much on that station, and almost none of it made sense. In fact, the conversation didn¡¯t make sense. Admiral Gives had spoken to that avatar with something like familiarity, which was the most amicable Gaffigan had ever heard him. And that AI had replied. Why would an AI have a conversation with its host? Hosts were by nature, an extension of the AI. They were controlled by it. Drones, not partners.

    ¡°Stars,¡± Monty breathed, rubbing his head as he made his way back out onto the wing. Nothing made sense anymore.

    ¡°Did you have any trouble finding it, Lieutenant?¡±

    The question brought Gaffigan¡¯s attention back to the Admiral. He was still sitting on the leading edge of Warhawk¡¯s stubby black wing. In fact, now that Monty thought about it, that was odd. Usually, the first thing the Admiral upon return from a mission was head to the bridge, but Gaffigan had barely seen him move. Studying him in more detail, the Admiral looked a little paler than usual, though it was hard to tell with his stony countenance. But beyond that, he looked the same, even acted the same as Gaffigan had always remembered him. His hair was black, flecked with grays. He was calm, patient with the crew, but had a stormy blue gaze that was always sharp enough to catch the details.

    Now was not an exception. He could tell something was up with Gaffigan. ¡°Is there a problem, Lieutenant?¡±

    Gaffigan tightened his grip on the gun in his hand. He knows. Or did it know? Just who was looking at him through those blue eyes? Was it the Admiral? Or was it the AI hiding in his body? ¡°There¡¯s no problem, sir,¡± he managed.

    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t believe that for a second. He¡¯d stared one too many mutineers in the eye. This didn¡¯t look like a mutiny in the making, but it damn well looked like trouble. ¡°I trust you would tell me if there was an issue, Lieutenant?¡± he asked.

    Gaffigan watched the Admiral sip his tea, uncertain if that calm comforted or unnerved him. There was a confidence in the way the Admiral sat. Not arrogance, but confidence. It was a certainty that this amounted to nothing, even if his back was perfectly exposed Gaffigan, who held a loaded gun in his hand.

    It twisted Gaffigan¡¯s stomach.

    If this was an AI, then it had chosen a perfect host, because they needed Admiral Gives alive. Aboard the Singularity, there was no way to remove an AI from its host. The ship simply didn¡¯t possess that technology. And that meant, they couldn¡¯t rid themselves of the AI without ridding themselves of the Admiral. They couldn¡¯t kill it, without killing him. But this was Admiral Gives, and Gaffigan was certain the Admiral would rather die than endanger his ship as an AI¡¯s unwilling host.

    Either way, Gaffigan had to get to the bottom of it, but not here. Here, there were too many hostages. Every crewman on this deck was a potential host. He would have to confront the situation in a more isolated location, so he walked away.

    The Admiral watched him go. It was clear the weapons officer suspected him of something, what exactly wasn¡¯t yet clear. The Admiral supposed he¡¯d find out soon enough. For now, he took a long sip of tea to conceal his relief. For a moment, he¡¯d thought Gaffigan might shoot him, and that would have been problematic.

    Exhaustedly, he finished tea and tested his coordination. His legs were at least willing to move now, so he set down the mug and prepared to stand up.

    ¡®It¡¯s too soon,¡¯ the ghost warned.

    He elected to ignore that, and pushed himself to his aching feet. He nearly fell over before he was even halfway up. It hadn¡¯t been noticeable as he sat, but his equilibrium was effectively non-existent and his legs still weren¡¯t ready to take his weight. Defeated, he collapsed back onto the wing and started rubbing his head. It hurt like the devil.

    ¡®Told you,¡¯ the ghost said.

    ¡®You¡¯re not helping.¡¯ He hated feeling helpless, and right now, unable to move, he felt helpless.

    ¡®You did this to yourself.¡¯ She had told him repeatedly that the human body was not meant to be abused in that way. Did he ever listen? Of course not. ¡®Idiot.¡¯

    He tightened his grip on the round edge of the wing below him. Her sass was unwelcome, but he knew to expect it. He was lucky to have been caught in a public space, or she would have chewed him out with far more dedication. Usually, she chastised him on the fact they didn¡¯t actually know what this capability did to him. They didn¡¯t know if it was damaging or dangerous, but the way he figured, if it was going to kill him, it would have done it by now. He didn¡¯t like the repercussions he suffered, and he didn¡¯t like the complications of hiding the truth, but he hated summoning the ghost like that for another reason entirely.

    It reminded him too much of something he often tried to forget.

    A summons steered too close to a command ¨C a command that she would be forced to obey. It was a reminder that her entire existence, her very mind, was slaved to him. Times like this, there was no ignoring it, and there was no avoiding it. Everything she was, her thoughts, her memories, her personality, was in his hands.

    The thought disturbed him too much to contemplate, so he lowered his gaze to the scuffed ablative floor beneath his shoes. ¡®Are you okay?¡¯

    The ghost read his concern. For her, it was always very real, no matter how crass her treatment of him was. ¡®I am quite all right,¡¯ she told him honestly. She knew what troubled him, privy to those thoughts that concerned her, and truly, she pitied him. It wasn¡¯t easy to know that he was responsible for the entire existence of his only friend ¨C that the wrong words, the wrong thought could alter the balance between them forever. But that concern was also the reason the ghost regarded him so well. It was the reason she was so grateful to have him, so she did her best to put his mind at ease. ¡®You didn¡¯t order me to come help you,¡¯ she reminded. ¡®I made that decision on my own.¡¯ It had been her choice.

    The Admiral had given her the opportunity to help rescue the away team, but he had not forced her in any way. He trusted her enough to let it be her choice. ¡®Naturally, I had to come make sure my idiotic Admiral wasn¡¯t going to get himself and two of my officers killed.¡¯ She never would have left them behind. ¡®But, let¡¯s not forget: you owe me.¡¯

    He could feel the smile in her thoughts and allowed that to comfort him. ¡®I understand.¡¯

    ¡®Then you¡¯ll sit there and let yourself recover for five more minutes without complaining,¡¯ she ordered. ¡®And I¡¯ll spare you paying the other half of your debt until later.¡¯

    That was fair. ¡®Thank you,¡¯ he told her. She did not have to treat him kindly. She did not have to help him. If she had chosen to hate him, he would have understood. Who wouldn¡¯t hate someone who controlled their entire existence? But she was better than that, kinder than that, kind enough to tolerate even him.

 Part 34.4 - SMALL TALK

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°It won¡¯t matter if I find the damn thing and rip it out of the ship first.¡±

    Perhaps that was not the first thing Admiral Gives wanted to hear when he finally stepped onto the bridge. It was strange how out of control things could get in five minutes. He had not been here to misdirect the conversation, so now the ship¡¯s crew was on a witch hunt. That wasn¡¯t so surprising, of course. The day¡¯s events had been far from subtle and the Admiral expected that to cause problems, but that did not mean he was willing to let anybody rip anything out of his ship. ¡°XO,¡± he said lowly, ¡°would you care to repeat that?¡±

    ¡°Ooh,¡± Zarrey declared, ¡°When I find that Box, I¡¯m going to rip it out and smash it to bits with the biggest damn hammer I can find.¡± He cracked his knuckles in anticipation. ¡°That damn thing always pissed me off.¡± Its very existence had been conceived to spy on and betray the crew.

    ¡°You will do no such thing,¡± the Admiral said, crossing the semicircular room with a gait that still felt awkward. He only hoped it looked normal enough as his body continued to recover.

    A bit of Zarrey¡¯s rage stalled as he registered the Admiral¡¯s return. ¡°You don¡¯t want us to go after the Black Box?¡±

    ¡°Locating the Black Box would be a waste of time. It would be near impossible to fully disable.¡± There were millions of neurofibers running through the ship. Every single one would have to be found, cut, and removed from whatever system it was attached to in order to completely disable the Black Box. ¡°The Boxes are designed to be unremovable.¡±

    In that moment, Zarrey remembered why he sometimes hated the Admiral¡¯s emotionless composure. ¡°How can you be so fucking calm about this?¡± It was clear he knew. It was so clear. He had known all along that the Box was exempt from the Zero Strike override.

    ¡°Colonel, the Black Box is not a threat.¡± That should be obvious by now. ¡°If it was going to betray us, it would have done so already.¡±

    ¡°And what if it¡¯s intent is not to betray us?¡± Zarrey demanded, towering over the ship commander. ¡°What if its intent is to protect you?¡±

    ¡°Why would it do that?¡± he asked, aware that every single set of eyes and ears in the ship¡¯s command center was following this debate.

    ¡°Because Command wants you alive, and I think you are well aware of that.¡± As innovative as the Admiral could be, he remained a very logical tactician. ¡°That¡¯s why you left isn¡¯t it? Why you insisted on meeting the Jayhawker alone?¡± Zarrey hated it, but Alba¡¯s theory about the Black Box made a lot of sense. ¡°I offered to go in your stead, but you refused because it wouldn¡¯t work. If I had gone in your place, this ship ¨C the Box ¨C would know, because it hears everything.¡± Aboard ship, there was no hiding from it. ¡°And you somehow used the Box to bring the ship here, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I fail to see how that would be possible,¡± Admiral Gives told him, not bothering to lower his voice. Whatever he told the Colonel would be relayed to the rest of the crew the moment he left the bridge anyway, so it was best they hear it from him directly. After all, Zarrey had clearly not come up with this theory alone. From the attentiveness of the other crew, every person seated behind the rings of consoles or standing on the edges of the room was invested in this witch hunt. They expected answers from him, but the Admiral had none to give them.

    Zarrey rubbed at the old, pinkish scar on his jaw. ¡°Look, I don¡¯t care how you did it, Admiral, I¡¯ll admit it worked in our favor this time.¡± He was not above that as he took a deep breath and heard one of the soft pings that signaled the end of the radar¡¯s sweep. ¡°But if the Box has been activated, if it has been modified in any way by you or anyone else, that is an incredible risk.¡±

    ¡°XO, I hold no sway over the Black Box. It is a clandestine system.¡± Not even Admiral Gives knew how it operated. ¡°There is no reason to believe that Command has any sway over it either, considering the fact that it has not dropped us helplessly into enemy territory.¡± He preferred to gauge people and machines by their actions. Words and reports could be easily woven into lies, but actions were much harder to disguise.

    As far as Zarrey was concerned, this entire situation had done nothing but prove something on the ship ¨C likely the Black Box ¨C was capable of overriding crew control of the FTL and weapons systems. Admittedly, that could explain a lot of oddities that he had brushed off over the years, but that did not mean such a force was benevolent. Not with history like the Yokohoma shadowing it. ¡°The Box is a threat, Admiral, and it always has been.¡± Aboard every ship in the fleet, it was an unspoken threat. ¡°We¡¯ve all known that since the Matador,¡± even if none of them had dared to discuss it in Montgomery Gaffigan¡¯s presence.

    ¡°The Matador hosted an experimental unit,¡± the Admiral reminded him.

    ¡°Yes, one experimental unit that ended in seven hundred ninety-three deaths.¡± Zarrey understood the paranoia that had prompted Command to install that technology across their fleet. It had been a fear of rebellion much like the one Admiral Gives had committed, but Zarrey could also see the insanity of such action. ¡°The Black Boxes were and still are experimental, clandestine technology.¡± They were a risk. An insane risk, even if Command¡¯s paranoia had necessitated surveillance and control. ¡°Neurofibers may not be blacklisted tech, but after what we saw on the Matador, they damn well should have been.¡±

    Nobody on the crew ever talked about it. They never discussed what they had seen out of respect for Monty, who had survived that hell. But every member of the Singularity¡¯s crew was still well aware of what happened on the Matador. It had been a few years ago, but something like that didn¡¯t get forgotten. The stories got passed down and around, spoken in hushed whispers as every storyteller wondered about the truth behind the words: would they ever meet such a fate? Would the Matador¡¯s hell someday become their own?

    The neurotic desperation of the Matador¡¯s survivors to escape any ship that possessed a Box had spoken volumes. They had scratched and clawed and screamed, desperate to reach an airlock and flee, even in the midst of deep space where such action meant death. No one ever talked about the way they¡¯d been restrained or how they¡¯d been gagged to keep their shrieks from panicking their rescuers.

    Montgomery Gaffigan had been the only exception. But his unbreakable silence and empty stare had belonged to a living dead man that no one had ever expected to recover.

    So, while Zarrey admitted there may be another explanation behind the Singularity¡¯s oddities, there was a reason he had fixated his attention on the Black Box. ¡°I don¡¯t care if you modified it or if Command activated it. It¡¯s a threat that we should have gutted from the ship the moment we split from Command. Tell me,¡± he demanded, ¡°what was the Matador¡¯s Black Box modified to do?¡±

    Ordinarily, this was the kind of question Admiral Gives tended to avoid because he could taste the stale anxiety in the recycled air of the bridge. However, this question was unavoidable because Zarrey already knew the answer. They had both been told during the inquiries that followed the Matador¡¯s gruesome demise. ¡°It was modified to aid in damage control, to reinforce damaged portions and keep the ship functional.¡±

    ¡°And how exactly was it made to be capable of doing that?¡± Zarrey asked him.

    It was a trap question. The Admiral knew that. Zarrey¡¯s intention was to protect the crew but this¡­ This was a very dangerous subject. ¡°Colonel, we should have this discussion elsewhere.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Dangerous or not, the crew had a right to know, so he looked up to where the flat-screens of the radar displays hung. Behind them, concealed behind the metal plates of the bulkheads, were hundreds of the same neurofibers that had torn apart the Matador and its crew. Zarrey raised his voice for the entire bridge crew to hear. ¡°The Matador¡¯s Black Box was intended to make repairs by using its neurofibers to grow ¨C grow new parts and new supports, to grow tendrils that could hold together and operate the ship¡¯s failing mechanical pieces. It was an experiment in whether or not it was possible to create a ship that would never need to be repaired by human hands. A ship that would never wear out. A ship that could repair itself. And while the neurofibers are not made from organic compounds, that experiment was a violation of the Hydrian Bylaws in every way. The neurofibers themselves are a violation of the doctrine that forbids building technology that can replicate itself.¡±

    Technically, since humanity had agreed to those bylaws as part of the treaty that ended the Hydrian War, a violation of those laws was grounds for retaliation from the Hydrian Empire, but that had never been humanity¡¯s concern. They had fended off the Hydra before, and their pride insisted they could do it again.

    No, humanity¡¯s concern with the bylaws that governed the interaction of organics and machines had always been more direct, so Zarrey began to quote them, ¡°Regardless of intelligence, anything that grows is open to mutation. In biologics, this usually leads to sickness and death. In machines, it prompts a loss of logic and control, which is exactly what happened to the Matador.¡± Those bylaws were taught to every member of the fleet, Marines like Zarrey included. It was critical to survival in dealing with lost technologies and unfamiliar or modified devices. ¡°There is a term for that mechanical madness,¡± Zarrey said, looking toward Ensign Alba.

    Pale and uneasy, the engineer spoke, ¡°A cataclysm.¡± The result of such instances could take many forms, all horrifically grotesque, and the Matador had not been an exception.

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Zarrey nodded grimly. ¡°The only modification made to the Matador¡¯s Black Box was to allow more growth than strictly necessary on a Keeper-class ship.¡± All Black Boxes were programmed to protect Command¡¯s assets, the only change to the Matador¡¯s had been to allow it the means to physically intervene. ¡°The large amount of growth from the Matador¡¯s Black Box caused a cataclysm, and the one fact we¡¯ve all avoided since that incident is the fact the Singularity is far larger than the Matador ever was. The Singularity¡¯s Black Box has grown more than the Matador¡¯s did before the cataclysm, and that means we are and always have been at risk of suffering a cataclysm of our own.¡±

    It was a horrible truth, but a truth all the same. One that they had pointedly ignored since the Matador¡¯s demise. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right?¡± Zarrey asked, turning to the Admiral. ¡°So tell me, just how long were you planning on ignoring a cataclysmic threat that has the potential to seize the ship and kill us all, if we¡¯re lucky?¡±

    ¡°The Black Box is not a threat,¡± Admiral Gives told him, though he knew how empty that assurance sounded.

    ¡°There¡¯s no way you can know that,¡± Zarrey argued, his voice bouncing off the walls of CIC as it rose to challenge the Admiral. ¡°There is absolutely no way you can know that.¡±

    ¡°No part of this ship would ever harm a member of this crew.¡± After all these years, this ship had earned that trust, not just from him, but from every member of this crew. The Box, concerning as it may have been, had been here for nearly thirty years without incident, decades longer than the Matador¡¯s had been installed.

    ¡°I¡¯m not questioning Singularity. I¡¯m questioning the experimental equipment Command forcibly installed on her.¡± Zarrey knew the old battleship had an incredible amount of redundancies in place to protect the crew. As far as machines went, they would find none more loyal, if that meant anything in the case of a hulking machine purposefully designed without an overarching intelligence.

    ¡°Fine,¡± the Admiral said. It was clear Zarrey had made up his mind on the matter. He wanted to rid the ship of the Box, and nothing would convince him to ignore it. ¡°Search for the Black Box.¡± You won¡¯t find it. ¡°But before you even consider doing so, let alone assign any other personnel to help you, I want FTL Drive Three checked over with a fine-tooth comb and all outstanding maintenance completed ship-wide ¨C the engines, weapons, sensors, everything. We have sixteen hours before I intend to engage Crimson Heart and this ship will be combat-ready by then.¡±

    Zarrey opened his mouth to argue, but the Admiral¡¯s glare stopped him. Instead, he swallowed back the words because Admiral Gives was right. They couldn¡¯t afford to stop and deal with the Box now. They were on a time sensitive mission that determined the fate of the refugee fleet in the Polaris Sector. They did not have time to be chasing their own ghosts. While Zarrey believed the Black Box was a threat, he understood it would be near impossible to eliminate that threat before the refugees began to starve. As much as it pissed him off, the Box was going to have to wait.

    ¡°Helm,¡± the Admiral ordered, ¡°take us out into the dark planets. If anyone tries to follow, sink them.¡± Immediately, the helmsman obeyed, steering away from the station. ¡°The rest of you,¡± Admiral Gives looked to the remaining bridge crew, ¡°Find out what you can about Crimson Heart. Estimate their numbers and capabilities. We need as much information as we can muster.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± was the collective response.

    ¡°Good, then, aside from that, I expect all of you to take a break at some point. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.¡± Admiral Gives turned back to Colonel Zarrey, ¡°I will be in my quarters drawing up the battle plans. I will have them for you to look over tomorrow morning, and if I hear that you have been redirecting resources from our mission in the meantime, you will not like the result.¡±

    Zarrey nodded, ¡°Aye, I¡¯ll get everyone working on maintenance. We¡¯ll be ready for a fight.¡± He did not like it, but he understood that the Black Box did not have priority at this time. It was just another item to add to the list of rising concerns.

    By the time the ship was out of Midwest Station¡¯s visual range, Colonel Zarrey had distributed all the necessary orders. The yeomen were pulling through the ship¡¯s records looking for details on Crimson Heart, the pilots were doing flight inspections on all the support craft, the Marines were running boarding drills and the engineers were hard at work finishing repairs and overdue maintenance.

    Chief Ty, however, had been summoned to inspect the day¡¯s only casualty: FTL Drive Three. When he arrived, the compartment still reeked with the bitter stench of burnt electronics, and the two young Ensigns originally assigned to disconnect the drive were hovering nervously beside its cylindrical casing. Ty wanted to be angry as he descended the metal stairs to the lower level of the compartment. They should have been standing by to reconnect that drive, just as he had been, but his fury died the moment he saw the petrified look on Callie¡¯s face. She looked about ready to cry.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Chief,¡± she said. ¡°I tried! I ran back when I heard the alarm, but I was too slow. I could hear it had already started to charge,¡± and the first rule of working with the FTL drives was to not be caught in the room during its charge and discharge cycles.

    Ty sighed, reminding himself not to go too hard on her. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Callie. You did the right thing.¡± She hadn¡¯t been hurt, and that that was all that really mattered. ¡°The guys on the bridge said it wasn¡¯t planned. They had no way to give us warning.¡± They¡¯d mentioned something about a malfunction, but unless they involved him, it wasn¡¯t his concern. Pulling on his work gloves, Ty knelt to observe the smoldering wires. ¡°This is a mess.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± the engineer beside Callie heartily agreed, ¡°but it¡¯s also incredible. Who knew that it was possible to charge a disconnected FTL drive by arcing the severed power lines? That changes everything we know about damage control on FTL systems.¡± Usually, when a drive was physically severed from the power grid, it was considered a casualty ¨C dead weight until the drive was fixed.

    Ty looked over to young man beside Callie. His orange coveralls didn¡¯t zip closed around all the bandages on his waist. They padded his skinny frame with a few extra inches. ¡°You the new guy?¡± he said, straightening back up. ¡°I don¡¯t recognize you.¡± His black hair and dark, narrow eyes were unfamiliar.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Callie jumped a bit, realizing they¡¯d never been introduced. ¡°Chief this is Okara Schmindaro. He came off the Gargantia, so he¡¯s not too familiar with the Singularity¡¯s systems yet, but he wanted to help out. I figured the FTL drives should be pretty similar to what the Gargantia had, so it was a good place to start.¡±

    ¡°Good call.¡± FTL drives were standardized across the fleet. Ty pulled off his glove and held out a hand to Okara, ¡°I¡¯m Chief Ty. We appreciate your help, Ensign Schmindaro.¡±

    ¡°Just call me Scooter.¡± His buddies on the Gargantia had come up with the nickname, declaring his last name to be a mouthful.

    ¡°Alright,¡± Ty agreed. ¡°You and I can work on this. Callie,¡± he turned to her, ¡°I¡¯d appreciate it if you¡¯d go help with the engines, especially the lower pressure release valves. Most of the boys don¡¯t fit down there.¡± It took a small body to work comfortably in those enclosed spaces. The heat made it extremely claustrophobic for anyone that couldn¡¯t easily move.

    ¡°Yes, Chief.¡± She grabbed her tools and checked that Okara was comfortable being left here without her, then left.

    There was a bit of an awkward silence after that, but Okara didn¡¯t feel unwelcome. He simply had the impression that new crewmembers were rare on the Singularity, so he decided to make idle conversation as the Chief returned his attention to the FTL drive. ¡°Have you been chief for long?¡± Ty was younger than he¡¯d expected for the chief engineer on a ship the Singularity¡¯s age.

    ¡°Just a couple weeks,¡± Ty answered, trying to hide the sad memory behind a smile.

    Okara blinked, remembering what Callie had told him about that time frame. ¡°The nuke.¡± Ty nodded but kept his focus drive in front of him. ¡°Sorry I asked.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s alright,¡± Ty said. ¡°We lost a lot of good people that day, but we were able to pick things up and move on. Sometimes, that¡¯s all you can hope for.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Okara agreed. He was too familiar with that sentiment, having lost his comrades on the Gargantia. ¡°I must say, though, this ship isn¡¯t what I expected.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± Ty chuckled. ¡°We get that a lot.¡± People made a lot of assumptions. ¡°The Singularity¡¯s old, but she¡¯s still got it where it counts.¡±

    Ty reached forward and poked the mass of melted-together wires near his feet. It was still warm. A string of black slime stuck to his glove. He rubbed it between his fingers, contemplating his next steps as he made casual conversation. ¡°Where are you from, Scooter?¡±

    Okara flinched at the question of his homeland, suddenly regretting the fact he had invited small talk. Still, he knew it would be rude to ignore the question and this was no time to start lying about his past. ¡°The Cassiopeia Coalition.¡±

    ¡°Interesting,¡± the Chief said, tracing the power coupling through the mass of electronics at his feet. ¡°You don¡¯t meet many people from there. It¡¯s pretty far out.¡± He recalled the wealthy nation¡¯s status as he tried to pull off the remains of the power coupling¡¯s protective coating. It came off black and sticky on his gloves. ¡°The Coalition has a pretty decent militia, if I remember right. Why join the allied fleet?¡±

    ¡°I¡­ uh, ran away.¡± Like Callie, he had fled his homeland at the first opportunity, but his circumstances had been entirely different. Callie had fled the cruelties of Sagittarion¡¯s polluted megacity, but he had fled the Coalition under threat of death. Hiding in the allied fleet of the centralized government kept him safe.

    ¡°Sorry to hear that,¡± Ty said, clearly preoccupied with the wire, and more specifically the black residue its coating was leaving on his gloves. It wouldn¡¯t rub off. It was inky onyx, the color of oil, but it didn¡¯t smell like oil. The engineering chief suddenly froze, remembering that same description from a liquid found elsewhere on the ship: Engine Three.

    The chief looked at his glove in contemplation, then knelt to observe the puddle of the melted coating that had formed on the floor. Okara watched him dip his fingers in the black substance. ¡°Something wrong?¡±

    ¡°I sure as hell hope not, but something tells me there might be.¡± He saw Okara¡¯s confusion. ¡°We found this same goo in Engine Three. We couldn¡¯t figure out what it was, but it appears to come from super-heated wire coating.¡± That made some sense. In the Aragonian Sector, Engine Three had run alone for a time, powering the entire ship. It would have gotten hot, extremely hot, but it should never have gotten hot enough to start melting the existing wiring in the engine.

    ¡°The engines don¡¯t need wiring to run,¡± not like many of the newer ships that had integrated electronics into their propulsion cycles. ¡°But the command relays and monitoring sensors have wiring, and if their condition is this bad, then that engine shouldn¡¯t be operating.¡± Especially not after the battle damage it had recently sustained. The teams had made mechanical repairs, and done spot wiring checks, but they hadn¡¯t gone further than that, seeing the engine give nominal readings after it was reactivated. However, if the wiring was damaged than the sensors could be giving false readings¡­

    ¡°Stars,¡± Ty cursed, ¡°I need to go shut down Engine Three.¡± He couldn¡¯t risk leaving this unchecked. Chief Ty took off before Okara could get a word in edgewise, leaving the Gargantia¡¯s engineer alone holding a pair of stained gloves and a power coupling.

    With his injuries, he had to move slowly, but Okara eventually set down the wire and gloves. ¡°Looks like it¡¯s just you and me,¡± he said to the old ship, shuffling toward the FTL drive to begin his own inspection.

    Truly, he didn¡¯t mind being left alone. He thought there was no better way to familiarize himself with his new surroundings. In the end, the FTL drive didn¡¯t appear to be damaged. The power regulator had done its job and protected the device from the electrical surges, so Okara was left to replace the ruined ends of the power coupling and reconnect the drive to the grid. At times, his wounds became aggravated and painful, but slowly and carefully, he finished the task at hand.

 Part 35.1 - CRIMSON HOST

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives was sitting behind the wooden desk in his quarters, drinking water out of a dented tin mug as he scowled at the papers Ensign Feather had brought him. Two thousand. It was a rough estimate, but considering the range and frequency of Crimson Heart¡¯s attacks, they had estimated that the pirate clan had nearly two thousand members. Not all the members would be present at the base. No, undoubtedly, some of those members had been sent to arrange buyers and procure supplies, but likely, the Singularity¡¯s crew would still be outnumbered two to one. Considering that only half of the crew could be engaged to fight Crimson Heart while the other half moved supplies, those odds got even worse.

    But that wasn¡¯t the only problem. No, of course not. That would be too easy. ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡± he asked the ghost.

    ¡°Yes.¡± After the battle of the Wilkerson Sector, Manhattan had given her a week ¨C seven days to surrender herself. Since then, nearly five days had passed. The ghost had tried to ignore it, but she was running out of time. ¡°It can be assumed that the Olympia will reach the XA-01 System within the next 48 hours and free the remainder of Manhattan¡¯s memory. We cannot be anywhere near the fleet when that happens.¡± If they were, the ghost would likely be ordered to slaughter those ships.

    Admiral Gives set down his water and studied her expression. She had a brave face on, but he could see that the thought of receiving orders from Command absolutely terrified her. She didn¡¯t want to lose control. She didn¡¯t want to hurt anyone. ¡°Manhattan does not have the authority to give you orders.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the ghost agreed, ¡°Not directly.¡± Manhattan, while invasive and powerful, did not carry the authority of Command. ¡°But if she tells Reeter my identity, then he can.¡± And in some ways, that was worse. Manhattan was cruel and ambitious, but she wasn¡¯t an abuser.

    In truth the ghost had only met Reeter in distant, fleeting passes. Directly, she barely knew him. Admiral Gives had not allowed him aboard ship or anywhere near it, but some of the ship¡¯s crew knew Reeter, so from the memories and stories they offered her, she had come to know Reeter well. He was a proud, violent man who inflicted serious injury for the slightest infraction. He became drunk on the power he held over others, so the ghost knew that if her entire existence ¨C everything she was ¨C ended up in his hands, there would be no saving her, and she knew how that story ended. She recognized the tainted shadow of a polluted mind that would never settle for being anything other than her master. Reeter would be just like Brent, and given his self-righteous ambition, perhaps even worse.

    Her machine required orders to operate. At times, when her frail mind fractured, it even craved them, but there was a difference between that and becoming the incarnation of another¡¯s cruel intentions. ¡°I don¡¯t want this, Admiral.¡± I want to be free.

    ¡°I know.¡± He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhausted. All those years he had spent trying to make Command forget her meant nothing now.

    ¡°I want you to break that promise, Admiral.¡± Her voice came soft and sad, ¡°If it comes down to it, I want you to, no, I am asking you to break that promise.¡±

    He tensed instinctively, wanting to turn from and reject this conversation.

    ¡­But he didn¡¯t, so the ghost lowered her gaze to where the black shoes of this illusion stood atop a worn rug. ¡°I am a tool. A weapon. I do not have the right to ask this of you.¡± She had no rights. She understood that. She was a machine, built to be used. ¡°But I don¡¯t want to hurt anyone, and you can stop that.¡± If Reeter gave her an order, then he possessed the authority to countermand it. ¡°You don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡± She understood that too, just as she could feel the darkness seeping into their bond, not a poison, but a great sadness. ¡°But, I trust you,¡± she said. He had earned that through every moment of the last three decades, and she felt safe enough with him to make her desires heard. ¡°If Reeter orders me to hurt people, I want you to stop me.¡± She forced herself to look up and meet his stormy eyes. ¡°No matter what you have to do, know that I forgive you as long as I don¡¯t end up alone.¡±

    The Admiral curled his gloved hand into a fist, remembering that pain. ¡°I promised I would never hurt you,¡± and she, wounded and scarred, had believed him. But that¡­ that would be a betrayal of his promise.

    ¡°You¡¯re not going to hurt me.¡± The thought of taking a direct order from anyone frightened her, yes. That fear was a pain of its own. But, ¡°No matter what happens, I know you will take care of me.¡± He was always taking care of her, no matter who it put him at odds with. ¡°Even if there¡¯s nothing left of what I am now, I know you¡¯ll protect me.¡± That loyalty of his was the one thing she could always believe in.

    His throat tightened painfully. ¡°You are my friend.¡± His only friend. I owe you everything. ¡°Please do not ask this of me.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s fucked up and I¡¯m sorry.¡± She knew he didn¡¯t want this, that he had never wanted this ¨C this cursed responsibility to alter her entire existence and rewrite her personality. ¡°But you are not the one who will wake up and find eight hundred corpses strewn about. You are not the one that will be forced to carry those corpses wherever she goes, knowing that she wanted to kill them, and did, only to realize once they are all dead, that she loved them.¡± Nothing could convey that horror. ¡°You are not the one that may someday massacre eight hundred pieces of herself, only to realize the agony once the deed is done.¡± He was not the one made to suffer in this hesitation ¨C she was.

    ¡°It¡¯s sick, Admiral. It has always been sick.¡± But that was how it was, how it had always been. That was the very nature of her existence. I¡¯m grateful you care. No one else had. ¡°But I need to know that this crew, these people, will not become my victims.¡± That, she knew, would drive her to insanity because these people were everything to her. ¡°I am asking for your help.¡±

    There was a long moment of silence as they stood in the lamplight of his quarters. The lit candle on the corner of his desk flickered, letting out the occasional crackle as the warm scent of cinnamon wafted in the air. Finally, the Admiral moved to give a single shallow nod. ¡°I understand.¡±

    I¡¯m glad, she thought. Thank you. He had no obligation to listen to her concerns. He had no obligation to help her. Her fate was in his hands, but that did not frighten her. She did not resent that, but she saw how the thought of her future weighed upon him. ¡°We still have 48 hours,¡± she reminded. ¡°And there is a lot we must do in that time.¡± They still had to attack and rob Crimson Heart, travel all the way back to the Polaris Sector and offload supplies to the civilian ships. ¡°So, please,¡± she smiled, ¡°tell me this plan is better than your last one.¡±

    That smile of hers brightened the room a great deal. Be in the moment, the Admiral reminded himself. He was needed in the present, so he could not afford to let the future distract him. ¡°I thought my last plan worked out brilliantly.¡±

    She scoffed, ¡°With my help.¡± If it hadn¡¯t been for her, he, Gaffigan and Jazmine would be dead.

    ¡°Yes, thank you for that.¡± He was truly grateful. ¡°And before you lecture me, I am aware the plan was reckless, but we were operating on a time limit.¡± If he had delayed to create a more conservative recovery plan, then that standoff could still be going, and they nor the civilian fleet had time to waste. ¡°Also, Chief Ty called me a few minutes ago shouting about how the command relays in Engine Three had melted. He had no idea how we¡¯d been getting a control response out of that engine. You wouldn¡¯t happen to know anything about that?¡±

    She smiled mischievously. ¡°I may have stepped in while the usual systems were nonfunctional.¡±

    Not surprising. The Singularity¡¯s excellent maintenance record had not been earned on luck. Unknown to the crew, the ghost often stepped in to help. ¡°Then there¡¯s this.¡± He picked up the newly-recovered FTL key from his desk, letting it sway back and forth on its new lanyard. ¡°What do you want me to do with it? I can¡¯t exactly give it to Ensign Alba and tell him to start using it. He¡¯s bound to ask questions.¡±

    ¡°Give it to Harrison,¡± she said.

    Strange as that seemed, he elected not to question it. ¡°Next time I see him,¡± he agreed. It didn¡¯t surprise the Admiral that the ghost had gotten attached to his grandnephew and little Anabelle. The ghost liked to protect people, and few could need her protection more than a couple young kids.

    ¡°And how¡¯s the crew doing?¡± Given the reaction he¡¯d walked in on from Zarrey, ¡°I¡¯m guessing they didn¡¯t handle your brief takeover very well.¡±

    ¡°There is no way to subtly make an impossible jump to an illicit trade station,¡± she said, crossing her arms. ¡°Colonel Zarrey was justifiably upset, but the Black Box will do as a cover for now.¡± She could misdirect any crewman that went looking for the device. Unless she wanted them to, they would never find it, and eventually, this incident, like the other occurrences, would be relegated to unimportance in their minds. Because truly, it wasn¡¯t important, at least not to the crew. They were in no danger. ¡°I will take care of it, but it will take some time to calm everyone down.¡± An incident like this was difficult to coax to unimportance. ¡°If I force it, they will sense something is wrong.¡±

    He trusted her, ¡°But what happens if someone goes after the neurofibers?¡± Spread throughout the ship, they were a far easier target than the Black Box itself.

    ¡°They can gather and cut all the fibers they want, as long as there is power and air, they will regrow.¡± For better or worse, the Box and its fibers were part of the ship now.

    ¡°¡­Won¡¯t that hurt you?¡±

    She considered it, but did not answer, and he didn¡¯t like that. ¡°Answer me. Will cutting the neurofibers hurt you?¡±

    There was a dreadful seriousness in his eyes, but she only shrugged. ¡°My physical perception is rather limited. You know that.¡±

    ¡°Limited. Not nonexistent.¡± And the fact her answer was not ¡®no¡¯ gave him enough reason to be concerned.

    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± she asserted. ¡°The rest of my systems will go through a period of withdrawal, but they will not be permanently affected.¡±

    ¡°If anyone goes after the neurofibers, tell me. I will stop them.¡± Even if he couldn¡¯t convince Zarrey that the ship¡¯s Black Box was harmless, he could still prevent its abuse. ¡°You don¡¯t need to endure that.¡± Painful or not, it would be difficult to let people tear apart a system that functioned as part of her perception.

    She reconsidered the man in front of her. ¡°I am grateful for your concern,¡± but she would never have resisted the Box¡¯s removal. That was not her place, though it was nice to be in the care of someone willing to try and protect her. ¡°However, the crew may do as they please.¡± She was a tool. ¡°It is their right to make modifications.¡± She would willingly accept those alterations.

    ¡°You have a right to live as you will.¡± She was more than some unthinking machine. She had thoughts and preferences. It was his job to make sure they were heard.

    ¡°Now,¡± he turned his attention to the mission, ¡°We don¡¯t have much information on Crimson Heart¡¯s fleet. They tend not to leave witnesses, but given their activity, I would estimate they have somewhere around seventy-five ships, likely to be armed with laser weapons and standard missiles.¡±

    ¡°Nothing we haven¡¯t seen before,¡± she agreed. ¡°But seventy-five pirate ships against one battleship? I¡¯d hardly call that a fair fight.¡±

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    He shrugged. ¡°I won¡¯t stop them if they decide to retreat.¡± The tricky part of this mission wasn¡¯t going to be the space battle. ¡°We¡¯ll need to be alert for traps, and there is a potential for the base to be armed, but it¡¯s not likely. Our problem is the boarding action,¡± he declared, tapping the papers on his desk.

    ¡°Yes.¡± She understood the issue. The crew would be badly outnumbered. Both the fighting force and the logistical force in charge of moving supplies needed additional personnel. ¡°I am afraid I cannot help you there.¡± Her capabilities were not especially effective when it came to personnel combat. ¡°This is not my area of expertise. You ought to draw up this plan with Lieutenant Colonel Pflum.¡± The leader of the ship¡¯s Marines would be more helpful.

    ¡°Without knowing the layout of the base, we cannot plan personnel movements.¡± It would be pointless. ¡°And I am well aware your experience is in naval combat. That is why I want your opinion.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t follow.¡± The issue was in the boarding action, so why would naval combat be helpful?

    ¡°We need an advantage,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°On a fair playing field, they have numbers on their side, and the pirates are likely to have military grade handguns and rifles.¡± On the black market, those were not hard to acquire. ¡°That¡¯s why we cannot engage them on a fair playing field.¡± If they wanted to avoid heavy casualties, then they needed to tip the balance of power in their favor. ¡°While Crimson Heart will have weapons, body armor will not be standard among them, thus, the attachments won¡¯t be either. Do you follow?¡±

    She furrowed her brows, thoughtfully considering the body armor of the Marines aboard ship. Fully outfitted, it included a protective vest as well as shoulder, arm, and leg armor, not to mention a helmet. In certain situations, the Marines also donned self-sealing vacuum suits beneath it. ¡°You want to vent the air from the base?¡± That would certainly lower the enemy¡¯s numbers.

    ¡°No,¡± Admiral Gives said. ¡°I considered it, but that will likely damage many of the food stocks we¡¯re trying to steal.¡± The more viable food they came away with, the better. ¡°Think about the helmets.¡±

    She knew better than to ignore this lesson in strategy, so she reconsidered the standard black helmet of the ship¡¯s Marines. Most of the Marines stenciled their name on the inside. Depending on the deployment, sun visors or flashlights could be attached to the outside. Where there was wind or snow, the helmet fit with a set of goggles to protect the Marines¡¯ eyes. Oh, she realized, ¡°The goggles.¡± Protective goggles weren¡¯t the only ones the Marines carried. They usually carried a set of infrared goggles for nighttime scouting. ¡°You want to knock the lights out.¡±

    ¡°Right. If they can¡¯t see in the dark, it will be a lot harder for them to fight.¡± Night vision goggles were hardly something pirates would think to steal when raiding a military supply convoy. There were too many other obvious targets. And, even if they had goggles, the pirates likely were not trained to use them.

    So, the issue was not which advantage to implement, but rather how to implement that advantage. That was why he was working with her instead of Pflum. ¡°Another EMP?¡± she suggested. That would take out the lightning systems on the pirate base.

    ¡°No.¡± He had ruled that out already. ¡°We cannot risk losing sensors. We will need to take scans of the base¡¯s layout and help direct the assault teams.¡± They needed a different method that could specifically target the power systems of Crimson Heart¡¯s base without affecting the Singularity. ¡°We¡¯ve had this issue before,¡± he reminded her. ¡°Do you remember how we beat the Flagship Capitol in the War Games?¡±

    She laughed. ¡°Of course. You got in a lot of trouble for that.¡± Inflicting non-simulated damage in the fleet¡¯s War Games had been¡­ controversial, even if it had been mostly an accident. ¡°We took that pompous little flagship out in one hit, but I can¡¯t guarantee it¡¯ll work until we get a scan on the base. If the structure isn¡¯t made out of conductive metal, it won¡¯t be effective, but the odds are in your favor,¡± she told the Admiral, though there was no doubt he knew that already. ¡°You¡¯ll want to use a standard missile with the explosive charge removed. Anything larger than that will probably crack the base open like a tin can.¡± Which, of course, in the realm of space structures, it was.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, beginning to scrawl down some notes. He¡¯d had most of the plan laid out, but he had wanted her insight on the ordinance to be applied.

    They worked for the next hour. Admiral Gives detailed the necessities of the plan, pulling reference books and old ship¡¯s logs off the shelves in his quarters as he needed them. As far as the ghost was concerned, nothing was out of the ordinary until the reference book on asteroids hit the ground for a second time. ¡°Is something wrong?¡±

    He bent down to pick up the reference book, but it slipped out of his hand yet again. He didn¡¯t curse, just sighed. ¡°I am exhausted.¡± He was not too proud to admit that, but he also knew it paid to brush up on his knowledge of the battlefield. Since the location of Crimson Heart¡¯s base was deep within the bounds of a known asteroid field, a scientific understanding of that environment could be critical. And he, while experienced in combat for every space environment, had not earned his reputation by pure skill. He studied. He studied a lot.

    The ghost watched him grab the book off the deep red border of the rug. ¡°You should rest. Finish in the morning.¡± The engineering and weapons teams had already been given information on the necessary preparations.

    ¡°I¡¯m almost done.¡± Then, yes, intended to pass out. His energy for the day had been spent several long hours ago.

    He was flexing his gloved hand. It seemed to be almost instinctive as he cracked open the book and began to read through it. ¡°Is your hand bothering you?¡± That same hand had drawn Ensign Feather¡¯s attention earlier, and it was the one that kept dropping things.

    ¡°It¡¯s fine.¡± The injury from the Aragonian Sector lingered. Even now, he had to keep dosing the burns with anti-bacterial ointment and wrapping them in gauze.

    The ghost frowned. ¡°You should have the doctor look at it.¡±

    ¡°I would rather not,¡± the Admiral replied, focused on the book in front of him. ¡°I might be a sociopath, that man is a psychopath.¡± Macintosh seemed to genuinely enjoy poking and prodding his wounds, though that treatment extended only to the Admiral. The ship¡¯s doctor was decently careful not to torture the rest of the crew with anything beyond his bedside manner.

    That debate would have continued, but a lot of different things happened in the next ten seconds. The ghost disappeared as the hatch to enter the Admiral¡¯s quarters began to spin open. Admiral Gives rose to his feet to protest the intrusion as Montgomery Gaffigan leapt inside and slammed the hatch immediately closed, sealing it shut behind him.

    Gaffigan¡¯s red hair was greasy and out of place. His eyes were dark with suspicion as he scanned the room, passing over the empty couch and reading chairs to lock his attention on the man behind the wooden desk.

    And then, only then, did the Admiral register the gun in Gaffigan¡¯s hand¡­ And how it was pointed right at his chest.

    ¡°Lieutenant, what the hell are you doing?¡± he thundered.

    Gaffigan reached up and wrapped his second hand around the pistol, steadying his aim. ¡°I want the truth out of you, right now.¡±

    ¡°Lieutenant, I have no idea what you are talking about.¡± Slowly, the Admiral stepped out from behind the desk. ¡°Calm down and tell me what¡¯s going on.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Gaffigan took a step back, keeping the distance between them constant. ¡°Stay there!¡± In response, the Admiral held up his hands in surrender. No, Gaffigan had to stop thinking of this person as the Admiral. ¡°Who are you?¡± he demanded. ¡°Who are you really?¡±

    Admiral Gives was not truly certain how to answer that. He suspected an understanding of why he was being asked the question would have helped, but looking at Gaffigan¡¯s wide, terrified eyes, he knew he wasn¡¯t likely to get an explanation. ¡°I am your commanding officer, Lieutenant. Put the gun down.¡±

    Monty solidified his stance. ¡°I can¡¯t do that, sir.¡± Dammit, he chastised himself. This was not the Admiral. He had to remember that. This was some version of him that had been corrupted by an AI. ¡°There¡¯s an AI on this ship, and you are its host.¡±

    A host? ¡°I have no idea what you are talking about, Lieutenant.¡±

    ¡°I saw her. Saw it.¡± He had woken up in a horrible reality on Midwest Station. ¡°It got us off the station. I don¡¯t know why. But it is using us to hide from Manhattan.¡±

    His trembling voice had risen to a near shout. Still, the Admiral knew better than to panic. He kept his hands where they were clearly visible and moved no further than the front of his wooden desk. ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan, I need you to calm down.¡± It was clear now. Awake when he shouldn¡¯t have been, Monty had seen the ghost on Midwest Station. That would have reasonably disturbed any member of the crew, but Admiral Gives wasn¡¯t sure why he was getting blamed for it.

    The gun shook in Gaffigan¡¯s hands no matter how he tried to steady it, but Admiral Gives¡¯ voice was calm. It was always calm, and ever so familiar. Monty remembered it from the moment he¡¯d been pried out of the Matador¡¯s clutches. It had been the first thing he¡¯d heard beyond screams in hours. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory, then focused again on the man before him. ¡°You are not him, and damn it all, stop acting like you are. I fucking know better.¡±

    Gaffigan had spent the last few hours of his life in a disturbed panic, but he was certain of it now. ¡°Admiral Gives not been normal for the last year. We ignored it. Then, we rationalized it as him protecting us. But that¡¯s not true.¡± No, that had just been a convenient excuse. ¡°He wasn¡¯t acting like himself because that¡¯s when you took over.¡± That strange distance had been this thing learning to usurp the Admiral¡¯s life.

    Gaffigan¡¯s paranoia had escalated well beyond reason. No matter what Admiral Gives said or did, Gaffigan would not believe him. That was clear in his eyes. Let¡¯s get this over with. Admiral Gives lowered his hands. ¡°Just shoot me, Lieutenant.¡± He was far too tired for this.

    ¡°I will,¡± Gaffigan promised. ¡°Don¡¯t make me.¡± Stars, please don¡¯t make me. ¡°But I know what you are. You¡¯re an AI. The one Manhattan is after.¡± It was the reason the Erans wanted Admiral Gives alive.

    Come to think of it, Admiral Gives could see that this theory made sense. Especially given whatever Gaffigan had seen on Midwest Station, there was plenty of evidence to support him being a host, and the logical assumption was that a digital AI was involved. He had never considered it until now, but his general disposition and placement would have made him an ideal host. Might as well roll with it. ¡°So, what, Lieutenant? What does it matter who I am as long as I function as the Admiral did?¡±

    ¡°Because you are the reason Manhattan is hunting this ship. You are the reason they attacked us in the first place, and I know Admiral Gives would rather die than endanger the Singularity.¡±

    Ordinarily, I¡¯d be pleased you think so highly of me, the Admiral mused. It was strange how having a gun leveled at his chest made that comment less complementary.

    ¡°I¡¯m going to make this real simple,¡± Monty declared. ¡°Get the hell out of the Admiral¡¯s body or I¡¯ll kill the both of you.¡± If the electrical signals of the host died, so too would the AI. ¡°I won¡¯t let you use him to endanger this ship.¡±

    ¡°Do not be so hasty, Lieutenant. Does some part of you not wish to know why I pulled you off that station?¡±

    Monty leapt back as the man took a small step forward. ¡°Stay. Away. From. Me.¡± Gaffigan snarled. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know AI can jump hosts?¡± All it took was electrical contact. He didn¡¯t know if the nervous system reaction of skin touching skin counted, but he wasn¡¯t taking the risk. ¡°That¡¯s why I confronted you here alone. Now, you have nowhere to go.¡±

    The Admiral dropped his hands and leaned back against the desk. If Gaffigan wasn¡¯t going to let him get close, then he had no hope of disarming the man, so he could only try to talk his way out. ¡°An AI would not take this host by accident, Lieutenant.¡± It was no coincidence Manhattan wanted him alive. ¡°To an AI, this host¡¯s memories would be quite helpful, especially if their intent was to attain a better, more powerful host. One with say,¡± oh, I don¡¯t know, ¡°the power of a flagship?¡±

    Gaffigan finally managed to steady the pistol in his hands, finding the Admiral¡¯s expression had taken on an uncanny calm. The power of a flagship. ¡°That¡¯s not possible. The Singularity cannot host an AI.¡±

    ¡°Not without severe alterations,¡± he allowed. ¡°That, or the authority to switch the ship to automatic controls, which as you know, belongs to the commanding officer.¡± He watched Gaffigan¡¯s eyes widen in shock. That¡¯s right. He could order the ship to switch to automatic controls at any time. ¡°Do you still think I am trapped here?¡± he asked, a level of frost taking root in his tone. ¡°Do you still think shooting me will do any good?¡±

    Monty shivered, but he met the eyes of this¡­ thing. ¡°If you could flee, you would have done it by now.¡± If this AI was determined to survive, then there was no reason for it to be standing here with a gun aimed at its host.

    ¡°Maybe you are right, Lieutenant,¡± the Admiral allowed. ¡°But then again, maybe I, as an AI, just like this host.¡± He watched disgust wash over Gaffigan¡¯s expression. ¡°Maybe this body did act as a proxy for another entity on Midwest Station, but who are you to say if that was by force?¡± he raised an eyebrow, ¡°Maybe I, the Admiral, did so willingly.¡±

    Gaffigan¡¯s stomach revolted at the thought. The cold intelligence in front of him felt like a threat, but Monty also recognized it. That sharpness belonged to the Admiral, and always had. But how much of it was still genuine? How much of that was still him? Monty knew he shouldn¡¯t ask, but he had to. ¡°Why would the Admiral agree to that?¡±

    ¡°Perhaps for the assurance that two of his crewmen would be brought back alive?¡± That was why he had obeyed the Jayhawker¡¯s summons. ¡°I have not harmed a member of this crew, Lieutenant, whether I am an AI or not.¡±

    Gaffigan stared at the person in front of him. AI or man, he was not certain anymore. ¡°You didn¡¯t answer the question. Why would the Admiral trust an AI to help us?¡± It made no sense. ¡°AI have done nothing by try to hunt him down and kill him. They have done nothing to earn that trust.¡±

    ¡°And I am notorious for trusting no one.¡± The Admiral understood that. It was a fair hit. ¡°Then, I¡¯ll just be honest, Lieutenant. You are right. Currently, I am the reason the Manhattan AI is hunting this ship, but I cannot leave this host.¡± After all, it was his body. ¡°So, if you refuse to trust me with this ship and the lives of her crew, then you are going to have to kill me.¡±

    Gaffigan¡¯s voice shook, ¡°I understand.¡± There was nothing else he could say. He just steadied his aim and pulled the trigger.

 Part 35.2 - THE ENEMY

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Three deafening shots rang out.

    The reek of gunpowder hit the air.

    But Admiral Gives felt no impact. Instead, he found three bullets suspended in midair about a foot from his chest. Damn it.

    Monty¡¯s eyes were wide. ¡°¡­That¡¯s impossible.¡± The inertial dampeners were offline. He¡¯d checked. He was not a fool. A gun was only a viable weapon aboard ship if the inertial dampeners were not active. And beyond that, the dampeners should have stopped the bullets near the gun, not most of the way across the room. It was almost like the inertial dampeners had been activated specifically to ¡®catch¡¯ these bullets, though that should be impossible.

    Admiral Gives felt the ghost¡¯s presence manifest in this room. He did not need to see the look of sheer discontent on her face. He just prepared himself for the inevitable scolding.

    ¡°You seriously didn¡¯t even try to dodge?¡± Was he trying to die?

    ¡°He had nine more bullets,¡± assuming the clip had been full. The odds of dodging all of them had been effectively zero. Exhausted, the Admiral reached forward and plucked the bullets from the air. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have done that,¡± he told the ghost.

    ¡°You think I am going to let him shoot you?¡±

    Well, ¡°It wouldn¡¯t be the first time,¡± the Admiral muttered, placing the now-useless bullets atop his desk.

    ¡°Idiot,¡± she cursed. ¡°You were wearing a vest last time.¡± Letting him get shot had been the plan.

    ¡°It still hurt.¡±

    Oh, you naddlethworfing¡­ She never finished preparing that expletive as she registered Gaffigan raising the pistol again. ¡°Put the damn gun down, Lieutenant,¡± she snapped at him.

    To Gaffigan¡¯s surprise, he found himself instinctively obeying, as if someone he respected had just harshly scolded him. It took his awareness a minute to comprehend the reality of the situation. It¡¯s here. They were no longer alone. The AI¡¯s avatar had finally shown itself.

    Montgomery Gaffigan whirled on it, but every scathing word he had died on his tongue the moment he saw her face. He had expected a menacingly perfect pixie face similar to that of Manhattan. He had expected long lashes and beautiful eyes. He was not expecting to recognize the face of the Marine who had freed him on the Olympia. ¡°You¡­¡±

    ¡°Recognize me, do you?¡± she said, throwing her hands onto her hips. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s twice I¡¯ve saved your ass.¡± Or at least two times he was conscious of. ¡°You¡¯re welcome, by the way.¡±

    Monty didn¡¯t know how to react to that. He¡¯d expected a lot of things: a nightmare, a monster, a death threat and hatred, but he had not expected sass. It was extremely off-putting.

    ¡°You get used to it,¡± Admiral Gives sighed.

    Monty looked over to the Admiral, unsure he¡¯d heard that correctly, but the man only reached over and grabbed the mug of his desktop. Now, he stood calmly sipping from it as if nothing was amiss. That was disconcerting in itself, but Gaffigan found his attention drawn back to the avatar. ¡°You freed me on the Olympia. How are you here?¡±

    ¡°I told you when I freed you. Charleston Reeter is not my commanding officer. In fact, the idiot you just tried to shoot is.¡±

    In the calming lamplight, Monty tried and failed to make sense of that. Humanity¡¯s AI were not obligated to serve humanity¡¯s needs. They possessed their own objectives. It made no sense for any of them to claim a commanding officer, which meant this could only be a manipulation. It was trying to gain his trust. ¡°Why?¡± he asked. ¡°Why did you free me on the Olympia?¡± What objective had that served?

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to leave you there. Is that so wrong?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Gaffigan snapped. ¡°It is.¡±

    The ghost tilted her head. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°Because you are the enemy,¡± Gafffigan hissed, watching that expression of hers shatter. It collapsed into something that looked impressively like hurt ¨C real genuine hurt. Her, no its eyes dropped to the ground as its shoulders shrank down, physically cowering from him without taking a step back. It even shook a little. None of that disturbed Gaffigan. No, what disturbed him was the slight movement he sensed off his right shoulder.

    Admiral Gives had lowered the dinted tin mug from his lips. Pinning Gaffigan beneath his most laden stare, he ordered, ¡°Take. That. Back.¡±

    Monty considered it. Faced with that, he deeply considered it. But then there was the fact that this AI hadn¡¯t gotten here without his help. ¡°Whose side are you on?¡± Monty asked him. ¡°The Eran AI took everything from us.¡± Manhattan was the reason they were on the run, cut off from everything they had once known. ¡°It helped Reeter kill thirty-two members of this crew ¨C my friends.¡± Monty refused to forget or forgive that bloodshed.

    ¡°It helped Reeter imprison your niece and incriminate you, Admiral. It tried to help him take your ship.¡± Surely, that, out of everything, meant something to him? ¡°And that damned thing messed with my fucking head while it interrogated me.¡± It had dug those writhing neurofibers below his skin and ripped his memories away from him, forcing him to betrayal. It was evil, and nothing but. ¡°The Eran AI attacked us in the Wilkerson Sector with a perfect willingness to kill.¡±

    ¡°Does that look like the Eran AI to you, Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Gaffigan snapped. ¡°This thing isn¡¯t any damn different. It is using us.¡±

    The Admiral set his mug down with a perfect measured patience, then straightened up to stare Gaffigan down. ¡°She saved your life, Lieutenant,¡± he growled. ¡°And she deserves your respect.¡±

    ¡°Respect?¡± Gaffigan argued. ¡°We are toys to this thing. Puppets. Lives to be used and thrown away when we get inconvenient.¡± Any seeming loyalty or kindness was just an illusion. ¡°We cannot let this thing stay here. It could be in any one of our heads, fucking with our memories, our intentions. We do not have free will while this thing is here.¡± They could not be certain any decision they made was truly their own.

    To some degree that was true. That had always been true, though the Admiral preferred to ignore that inconvenient fact. The ghost was a great deal more powerful than any single member of the crew. They were entirely at her mercy, though few of them ever realized it. But the Admiral never concerned himself with that. She had earned his trust, but he knew this conversation had gone too far.

    Gaffigan¡¯s accusations were a poison to the ghost. Sensitive to the views of those around her, this was damaging to the ghost, painful even. ¡°Knock him out.¡±

    System error. That message rattled through her shuddering mind, but still, she heard the Admiral issue a directive. Uncomprehending, she reacted to it and reached out to Gaffigan, applying the force to his mind that should have rendered him unconscious.

    Instead, the Lieutenant screamed. The pistol fell from his hands and hit the deck as he reached up to his head. His fingers tangled themselves in his red hair as he tried to violently shake the foreign presence from his mind. ¡°Get the hell out of my head!¡±

    Instantly, a dozen more errors rattled the ghost¡¯s existence. Malfunction. Malfunction.

    But, before the situation could slip further from her grasp, Admiral Gives leapt across the room, grabbed the big stellar chart book off the coffee table and slammed it into Gaffigan¡¯s head. It hit with a dull thwack and the Lieutenant crumped face-first into the deck.

    The next fraction of a second snapped clarity back into the ghost¡¯s existence. ¡°Admiral!¡± she protested, horrified.

    ¡°Relax, he¡¯s not dead.¡± Probably. Admiral Gives tossed the chart book onto the couch and knelt down to check Gaffigan¡¯s pulse. No, definitely not dead. The weapons officer¡¯s pulse was steady, though he¡¯d wake with a hell of a headache. ¡°I thought you said Manhattan hadn¡¯t influenced him.¡±

    ¡°She didn¡¯t.¡± The ghost was certain of that. ¡°She altered his memories of the time he spent aboard the Olympia, but that was all.¡± His loyalties had been unchanged.

    ¡°Then what was this all about?¡± Where had all this suspicion come from?

    Unnerved, she could only shake her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± It had been chaos. ¡°¡­I couldn¡¯t make sense of his thoughts.¡± They had been hurtful and chaotic ¨C locked in a whirl of hateful panic.

    Admiral Gives kept a hand on Gaffigan, just in case the man started to stir. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    She took a moment to conclude her internal analysis. ¡°Yes.¡± A part of her was in shock, but she was not damaged. ¡°It frightened me more than it hurt.¡± After all, she was a great deal more powerful than Gaffigan. ¡°But, I¡¯ve never had that happen.¡± The moment she had tried to make contact, his mind had turned on her like a rabid animal. ¡°¡­I¡¯ve never had a member of the crew reject me.¡± Sometimes they resisted, but they never rejected her, even subconsciously. Some part of them always recognized her presence as an ally. Had that changed already? ¡°Have I become your enemy?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± he answered stiffly, ¡°Do not think that way.¡±

    ¡°I am destined to betray you.¡± Willingly or not, her future involved turning against him and the rest of the crew. Perhaps they had begun to realize that. ¡°I may not be now, Admiral, but I will become your enemy.¡± Did he truly understand that?

    ¡°You will never be my enemy.¡± Command may force her to turn on him, but he would not blame her for something she could not control. ¡°You do not want to hurt me. You do not want to hurt this crew. And despite what he just did to you, you don¡¯t even want to hurt Gaffigan.¡± Truly, she possessed a kindness that was well beyond reason. ¡°You are not our enemy.¡±

    She watched him nudge Gaffigan, ensuring the Lieutenant was deeply unconscious. ¡°What are you going to do?¡± They couldn¡¯t leave Gaffigan with these suspicions, but they possessed no means to dispel them either.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    ¡°Whatever I have to.¡± The situation between the ghost and the crew was always on a precipice. Anything that endangered the balance was, for lack of a better term, a threat. It was a threat to everyone and everything aboard ship. One crewman rejecting the ghost was not such an issue, though it was concerning. However, if that hostility spread, then it would be crippling. The ghost was innately sensitive to the thoughts and feelings of those aboard ship ¨C especially those that concerned her. On some level, she was forced to conform to those thoughts, but there were lines she could not cross, lines that went against her very nature, and becoming an enemy to the crew was one of them. If she were forced into that role, the repercussions would be cataclysmic.

    Thus, this was no time to resist rougher methods, so he moved to grab the handset off the wall and dialed the bridge. ¡°This is the Admiral, send Corporal Kallahan to my quarters on the double.¡± He waited for the proper confirmation, then replaced the handset.

    Corporal Kallahan arrived not three minutes later, barreling into the room with the urgency of an emergency, since he knew the Admiral wouldn¡¯t have summoned him without one. The first thing he saw was Montgomery Gaffigan face down on the faded rug. The second was the gun that had fallen beside him. That was all Kallahan needed to comprehend the situation. He glared at the Admiral. ¡°What did you do this time?¡± What could possibly have prompted one of the ship¡¯s most loyal officers to try and kill him?

    The Admiral did not appreciate his tone. ¡°Why do you think I called for you?¡± He and Kallahan had a respect for one another, but they were a far cry from friends, or even friendly. If this had been a genuine assassination attempt, he would have sent for the ship¡¯s security officer, Lieutenant Colonel Pflum, not Kallahan. However, this particular situation called for Kallahan.

    An old Marine whose light hair was streaked with gray, Corporal Kallahan was by far the most experienced Marine on the ship. If he didn¡¯t refuse every promotion offered to him, he would have been an officer years ago. That said, Kallahan knew too much to want to be an officer, especially on this ship, and that was exactly why the Admiral had sent for him.

    Kallahan¡¯s expression grew grim. The Admiral had sent for him directly, and he did know exactly what that implied. ¡°This wasn¡¯t about you.¡±

    ¡°No, it was not.¡± He had been involved, of course, but Gaffigan¡¯s issue had not been with him.

    Instinctively, Kallahan turned to look for that presence, but as expected, it was nowhere in sight. Kallahan hadn¡¯t seen the so-called ghost in years. Though he was perfectly aware of its existence, it chose not to appear before him, and Kallahan was perfectly fine with that arrangement. ¡°How bad?¡± he had to ask.

    ¡°She is fine,¡± the Admiral told him with a glare. ¡°The issue lays with Lieutenant Gaffigan. Currently, he believes this ship has been infiltrated by an AI.¡±

    ¡°And how exactly do you intend to disprove that?¡± They both knew the truth was far too dangerous to let loose.

    ¡°First, I intend to discover what led him to that conclusion.¡± Gaffigan¡¯s reasoning, whatever it was, could not be perpetuated though the rest of the crew.

    Kallahan pressed his lips into a thin, bleak line. ¡°You intend to interrogate him.¡±

    ¡°If I must.¡± A full interrogation may or may not prove necessary. That would depend on Gaffigan. ¡°But you understand I cannot be interrupted during this process?¡±

    Kallahan let out a breath. ¡°Yes.¡± If any other crewman walked in on him interrogating one of their own, he would be facing a mutiny within the day. Whatever else was said about them, the Singularity¡¯s crew was quite protective of their own. ¡°I will stand guard.¡±

    ¡°Thank you.¡± Late in the night before a mission, not many of the crew would be awake, but there was still a chance he could be interrupted, and there was too much at stake to take that risk.

    Kallahan shook his head. ¡°I¡¯d prefer not to be thanked for this.¡± He pulled a set of handcuffs out of his utility pockets and knelt down to bind Gaffigan¡¯s hands. The armory officer groaned as his limbs were shifted, but made no movement of his own. ¡°I know what we stand to lose here, Admiral, but that doesn¡¯t mean I like it.¡±

    ¡°I respect that.¡± He and Kallahan shared an understanding, even if they stood on opposing sides of the debate. ¡°You think I am cruel. Perhaps you are right.¡± Neither of them would ever know for certain.

    ¡°Where do you want him?¡± Kallahan asked.

    ¡°The couch will do,¡± and together they lifted Gaffigan to the old sofa that sat against the wall.

    Kallahan looked sadly to the weapons officer, then turned and dropped the key to his handcuffs into the Admiral¡¯s hand. Next, he picked the gun up off the floor and secured it. ¡°I¡¯ll be outside.¡±

    The Admiral nodded, and soon enough the hatch swung closed, leaving him and Gaffigan once again alone. Exhausted, Admiral Gives sank into one of the reading chairs near the couch. What have I done? He wondered, though he was often too afraid to ask. It had never been his intention to hide anything from the crew, but necessity had forced his hand.

    Looking at Gaffigan, where the redheaded weapons expert was passed out limp on the sofa, guilt riddled the Admiral¡¯s mind. The truth, stars, the truth could explain everything, justify everything, and yet that very truth placed everyone at risk, and that meant he could not tell it. Lieutenant Gaffigan¡¯s situation was just the culmination of everything going wrong: the height of suspicion and misunderstanding.

    This wasn¡¯t Gaffigan¡¯s fault. ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Lieutenant.¡± The Admiral knew that. The rest of the bridge crew still had some maturing to do, and were otherwise wrapped up in their own lives, but Gaffigan was skilled and loyal. He had reacted to protect his comrades from what he perceived as a threat. That was the only reason he was here, the only reason he was so upset.

    It was because of that the Admiral would take no pleasure from this.

    Half an hour later, Montgomery Gaffigan came to with a throbbing pain across the side of his head. ¡°Uggh,¡± he groaned tensing inward against the headache. That slight movement was enough to reveal the cushions holding his weight, a comfort he found unexpected. Reaching up to his throbbing skull, he found that his hands were cuffed, and that was more than enough to jolt him awake. He heaved himself into a sitting position, locking his attention on the Admiral.

    Gaffigan said nothing, but Admiral Gives could read the betrayal in his expression as he tested the strength of the metal handcuffs on his wrists. ¡°I apologize, Lieutenant, but you did try to shoot me.¡±

    Emphasis on ¡®tried¡¯, Gaffigan thought darkly. ¡°You¡¯re a damn traitor,¡± he spat. ¡°Assuming you¡¯re even still you.¡±

    ¡°Corrupted or not, I have done nothing to harm you, Lieutenant.¡± Realistically, he could have done an array of horrible things while Monty was unconscious, but he hadn¡¯t. ¡°I suggest you remember that.¡±

    Gaffigan glared at the man as they sat in the warm light of the lamps that lit the room. That calm of his was utterly disturbing. There were no physical tells to determine if this was or was not the same man he¡¯d served under for years. ¡°There is no way that thing got aboard without help.¡± That would be impossible. ¡°You brought that AI onboard, which means that you have willingly compromised this ship and everyone on it.¡± That was nothing less than a betrayal, so Gaffigan preferred to think that Admiral Gives had been manipulated into it.

    ¡°Lieutenant, for someone who is convinced that I harbored an AI aboard these decks, your theory has a lot of holes.¡± In some ways, yes, it made sense, but in others, not so much. ¡°To begin, the level of modifications that would have to be made in order to allow an AI like Manhattan to reliably control this ship would not only have taken years, but would be completely obvious to the repair crews.¡± There was no way to hide that degree of networking. ¡°Then there is the matter of holographic projectors. The Singularity does not possess any.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve seen the damn thing with my own eyes!¡± Monty snapped. He knew their enemy was here, and he would not be convinced otherwise. ¡°It might wear a different face, but it has that damned white hair, just like Manhattan!¡±

    White hair? Was that what this was about? ¡°Lieutenant, you do realize that the appearance of an AI is entirely subjective. They can choose to appear however they like.¡±

    ¡°But the Hydrian Bylaws stipulate they should only maintain one primary appearance, and it stands to reason that since all the AIs fragmented from the same greater whole, they would make similar design choices on their avatar.¡±

    Like the color of their hair. So, perhaps Gaffigan¡¯s theory had a decent amount of thought in it. ¡°Then, you tell me, beside the color of their hair, how alike did they actually look?¡±

    Where he sat tensely on the couch, Gaffigan didn¡¯t want to think about it. His most detailed memory of Manhattan came with the utter violation of his interrogation, with the memory of the neurofibers crawling up his leg, then inevitably under his skin. Still, he remembered the predatory glare in her violet eyes and the unerring flawlessness of her pixie face. The other, well, her face was longer, formed by sharp and soft lines that while pretty, was not beyond the means of natural beauty. She was taller too, and her silver gaze had an unexpected depth.

    Truthfully, beyond the color of their hair, they looked nothing alike, and the Admiral knew it. ¡°There is an old legend, Lieutenant. It states that the stars¡¯ chosen are born with white hair and the ability to wield unnatural power.¡± It was an old folktale, one that was now mostly extinct. ¡°Someone possessing ultra-human ability might favor that hair color with respect to that legend.¡± In that sense, it was not surprising that Manhattan had chosen to appear that way. ¡°The angels of old were often portrayed with that characteristic as well, so there a few different reasons someone may choose to appear that way.¡±

    Gaffigan clenched his fists. ¡°Justify it however you please, that thing is not human.¡±

    ¡°And why should that matter, Lieutenant?¡± Being human was not some glorious miracle. ¡°Should we not judge someone based on what they have done, rather than what they are?¡± No one chose how they came into these worlds. No one had any control over it.

    Monty didn¡¯t want to confront that question. It raised too many doubts. ¡°The Manhattan AI is hunting down the other fragments, and it will not stop until it has them all.¡± His time on the Olympia had made him certain of that, if little else. ¡°I say we give it what it wants.¡±

    So, Manhattan planted these suspicions, the Admiral realized. That was not surprising, but how had Gaffigan become so certain of them if the memory of his interrogation had originally been removed?

    ¡®Subspace exposure,¡¯ the ghost answered. ¡®I have observed cognitive effects from subspace travel before. Our repeated jumps must have knocked the memories Manhattan tried to bury loose. Her methods of memory manipulation are much harsher than my own. Consider it the difference between doing surgery with a spoon versus a scalpel. Her alterations would have distorted the nearby parts of the brain, and when they went to correct themselves after subspace exposure, his actual memories were returned. Unfortunately, those memories led him to suspicions that something wasn¡¯t right aboard ship, so his mind was less pliable when I attempted to lull him to unconsciousness on Midwest Station.¡¯

    The Admiral leaned back in his chair, contemplating what that meant for Montgomery Gaffigan¡¯s fate. ¡®Could you wipe his memory again?¡¯

    ¡®No, not now. Trust is instinctive. It, more than anything else, is like a hardwired instinct. I could manipulate his memory, but he would always know something was wrong.¡¯ Knowing Gaffigan, he¡¯d start over and dig up an explanation once again. ¡®You¡¯re going to have to earn his trust before I can do anything.¡¯

    Easier said than done. Admiral Gives could see the poison in Gaffigan¡¯s eyes, and he knew Gaffigan saw him as tainted. ¡°Has it occurred to you that Manhattan told you these things to sow dissent aboard my ship, Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t bullshit me,¡± Gaffigan spat. ¡°It¡¯s all been true so far. You may not be the host, but you are hiding an AI aboard this ship, and that thing is the enemy. It is manipulating you to get away from Manhattan.¡±

    A bit of frost crept into the Admiral¡¯s tone. ¡°She is not the enemy. She has saved your life repeatedly.¡±

    ¡°Then why are you hiding her?¡±

    The Admiral opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. Instead, he reached up and rubbed his temples, exhausted. ¡°I cannot answer that, Lieutenant.¡±

    ¡°Because it won¡¯t let you reveal it? Or because you are afraid of the truth?¡± Monty knew he had hit a nerve. He had never seen Admiral Gives lack an answer. ¡°Wake up, Admiral. It doesn¡¯t matter what that thing does, it is still a danger to the ship. It will always be a danger to the rest of us as long as it hides here.¡± Maybe that was a cold truth, but it was still a truth. ¡°Throw it off the damn ship.¡±

    ¡°Are you suggesting we throw everyone Manhattan wants off the ship? Because you do realize, that includes me,¡± the Admiral said darkly.

    ¡°Be real, Admiral. Manhattan only wants you to get at that AI.¡± He was a means to an end. They all were, even Reeter. ¡°Throwing it off the ship will probably spare you a horrible fate.¡±

    That AI. He kept calling her that as if she were some stranger. ¡°You never realized it, did you?¡± Of all the memories that had come loose, that hadn¡¯t been one of them. ¡°I was not the one that saved you from the Matador, Lieutenant. I do not possess the authority to disable a Black Box.¡± Considering the trauma he¡¯d gone through, Gaffigan had not given it much thought, but there had been as many abnormalities in that situation as there were in the current.

    Tiredly, the Admiral reached down and unlocked Gaffigan¡¯s cuffs. ¡°No, the one that stopped the Matador from wriggling under your skin and ripping you apart from the inside out was not me. That was your enemy¡¯s work. She is the one that saved your life. I was just the one that dragged you to safety.¡± Removing the cuffs, the Admiral continued, ¡°It is because of that,¡± that and a thousand other reasons, ¡°I will not treat her as an enemy under any circumstance. So, if you want to get to her, you will have to go through me first.¡±

 Part 35.3 - A WEAPON

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Montgomery Gaffigan was surprised when his handcuffs were removed. The metal chain between them clinked as they fell into the Admiral¡¯s waiting palm. Calm as ever, he reached over and dropped the silver cuffs onto the low table in front of the couch. Gaffigan stared at them for a long moment, then he studied the room around him.

    The wooden bookshelves were full of books and a red candle burned on the corner of the desk, more and more of its wax slowly softening as its warm, smoky scent wafted around the room. Gaffigan had spent a lot of time in this room, even on this old couch. It was familiar to him. He¡¯d had many meetings in the warm lamplight going over mission parameters and discussing the state of the ship¡¯s armaments. Back then, Gaffigan had felt welcome here, but now he only felt betrayed.

    Still, his gaze fell again to those handcuffs, their removal an anomaly he could not explain. ¡°Why are you releasing me?¡± It made no sense. ¡°I tried to kill you,¡± and presently, they were alone. Nothing would stop him from trying again.

    ¡°Lieutenant, I have never been one to put off the inevitable.¡± He knew reality, and he rarely tried to deny it. ¡°Simply, I am not willing to kill you.¡± Admiral Gives could acknowledge the blood on his hands. He was a killer, but he drew the line at the ship¡¯s crew. ¡°You would have your freedom eventually, so I see no reason it should not be now.¡±

    Gaffigan wove his fingers into his greasy red hair, just trying to make sense of that. ¡°I tried to kill you,¡± he said again.

    ¡°You are not the first,¡± the Admiral said simply. ¡°And to your credit, you are among the more competent of those who have tried.¡± Sergeant Cortana should take notes. In two attempts, she hadn¡¯t been able to get half as close as Gaffigan had.

    Gaffigan rubbed his head harder. This makes no sense. ¡°I tried to kill you,¡± and yet, the Admiral stood there complementing the attempt? ¡°And the Matador¡­¡± Stars, the Matador. ¡°You saved me.¡±

    ¡°No, I did not.¡± If there was a truth that could regain Gaffigan¡¯s trust, that was it.

    ¡°You did. I remember.¡± His memory of the Olympia may have been faulty, but that memory was true. That madness could never have been anything less than reality. Not even the sickest minds could conceive such carnage. Gaffigan¡¯s hands began to shake. ¡°You dragged me out of there, past¡­ p-past,¡± what remained of the crew.

    Monty remembered that. He tried not to, but he remembered it. In vivid detail, he remembered regaining his senses at the sound of the Admiral¡¯s voice. He remembered meeting the Admiral¡¯s blue eyes through the bloodied faceplate of his environmental suit. ¡°You were there.¡±

    ¡°Yes, I was.¡± There was no denying that. ¡°Yet, you never found it odd that I was there?¡±

    ¡°Why would that be¡­¡± the question died in Gaffigan¡¯s mouth, because it was odd. Now that it had been pointed out, the strangeness of that fact glittered like a jewel in the cavern of his memory.

    The Admiral raised an eyebrow. ¡°I am a flag officer, Lieutenant.¡± He¡¯d had no cause to be galivanting around a hazardous environment like the Matador. He had a Marine contingent at his command to do such things, and the Marines had done so in that case as well. They had retrieved the Matador¡¯s other survivors. ¡°But you¡­ You were trapped somewhere the Marines would never have been able to reach.¡± Not in time, anyway.

    Hunched over on the couch, Monty tried to shake that memory from his mind. He tried to wipe the image of the blood and sinews from his eyes. The stench of it¡­ Stars, the sounds. The screams.

    No, by the time the Admiral had come, even the echoes had been long silent.

    ¡°It is not my intention to make you relive that, Lieutenant.¡± That would be cruel. ¡°But you should understand that my role in that situation was merely as hands and feet. If they had not been stopped, the neurofibers would have torn you apart long before I arrived.¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Monty shook. ¡°You saved me. The real you saved me.¡± Not this corrupted version that owed its loyalty to an AI.

    ¡°If I possessed the authority to disable a Black Box, do you not think I would have removed the Singularity¡¯s?¡± The fact it was still here should answer that. ¡°I dragged you off the Matador, but I am not the one who spared your life. That was the work of your so-called enemy.¡±

    ¡°Liar.¡± Gaffigan spat, venom seeping into his thoughts. ¡°This thing wants my trust, and it¡¯s not above using the Matador to get it.¡± This was a vile manipulation and nothing else. There was no hidden truth in his memory of the Matador. ¡°I know who saved me.¡±

    ¡°I cannot force you to believe me.¡± The Admiral knew that. ¡°But, if you refuse to trust me, and I refuse to kill you, then you may as well finish what you started.¡± He pulled out the tiny switchblade he kept between his wrist and his watch and tossed it onto the couch next to Gaffigan, where it landed with a muffled thwump.

    Montgomery Gaffigan stared at the little knife as it was still tucked safely in its black sheath. ¡°Sir-¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡± The Admiral hardened his gaze. ¡°Am I your superior or am I not? You cannot have it both ways, Lieutenant.¡± That would get them nowhere. ¡°You look at me like I am a traitor when I tell the truth, and yet you still regard me as the savior you trust without recourse. So, which will it be?¡±

    Gaffigan shuddered. Please don¡¯t make me do this. ¡°Just tell me where that AI is hiding. I¡¯ll throw it off the ship myself.¡± It was clear Admiral Gives was not its host, only a victim whose loyalties had been rewritten. ¡°You don¡¯t have to get any more involved.¡±

    ¡°I told you already, Lieutenant. If you want to get to her, then you have to go through me.¡± He nodded to that knife, ¡°Make your choice.¡±

    Gaffigan slowly wrapped his hand around the switchblade, hoping to find some instance of regret in the Admiral¡¯s expression ¨C some sign that he was being forced to act this way and that some part of him was still fighting the AI¡¯s conditioning, but there was nothing. His demeanor was stony and certain, so Gaffigan shot to his feet and drew the knife. Sorry about this, sir. Then, he lowered his head and charged, tackling the Admiral roughly to the ground.

    ¡°I know you can hear me,¡± Monty called to the empty room as he pinned the Admiral down. ¡°You intervened to save him once before, so show yourself, AI, or he pays for it.¡±

    Unwilling to injure Gaffigan, Admiral Gives offered no resistance, even as the weapons officer¡¯s weight dug into his back, but he could sense the ghost¡¯s intent to intervene. ¡®Don¡¯t,¡¯ he warned silently. The ghost¡¯s appearance would only make Gaffigan more paranoid. At this point, it would not calm him. It would only expose her to unjustified hate. They had to let Monty work through this on his own, however long that took.

    ¡°How long did it take you to break him?¡± Gaffigan wondered aloud, eyeing the shadows of the room. ¡°How many hours of conditioning and reconditioning did it take to reprogram the most loyal officer on this ship? How much did he suffer, knowing that he was being manipulated, before that awareness faded from him?¡±

    Still, the room remained empty.

    ¡°Tell me,¡± Monty demanded, raising his voice, ¡°how capable are you of creating a new puppet?¡± Only the most powerful AI could alter people on a whim, and he suspected this one was not nearly as powerful as Manhattan. If it were, then the rest of the crew would have been twisted to this same sickening loyalty.

    But no answer was offered to him, so Monty brandished the blade. ¡°I can¡¯t threaten you, AI.¡± It, in essence, was a non-corporeal entity, ¡°But I can threaten him.¡±

    Admiral Gives groaned as Gaffigan grabbed one of his arms, twisting it painfully.

    And, though invisible to Gaffigan, the ghost was very much present in this room, monitoring this situation as it slid further and further out of control, now inches from going too far. ¡®You have to tell him the truth,¡¯ she urged the Admiral.

    ¡®No.¡¯ The truth was probably the only thing that could get him out of here, but the situation was already too far out of control to risk that. It was too dangerous. He felt Gaffigan line up the blade. It was cold where it pressed into the skin, not sharp enough to cut on contact, but still sharp enough to serve its purpose. If this is how it has to be¡­ Then fine. This was his duty. He refused to harm Gaffigan, and he refused to betray the ghost, so his purpose in this situation could only be that of a shield.

    ¡®Admiral,¡¯ the ghost warned, expecting him to fight back, but he didn¡¯t. He just closed his eyes in acceptance and laid there, limp, and in an instant the ghost understood. He had no intention of moving. He would lay there and let Gaffigan cut him up until Monty grew tired of it ¨C no matter what that did to him, and by the time she comprehended the horror of that, it was too late.

    The bite of the blade was cold and fast. The cut was shallow, only deep enough to draw blood, and it welled red almost immediately.

    The Admiral didn¡¯t cry out. He didn¡¯t twist away as that acute pain lanced up the nerves of his captive arm. He compartmentalized it, but the ghost could still recognize that pain. ¡®Admiral!¡¯ she cried, ¡®Fight back!¡¯ But he wouldn¡¯t. And she knew he wouldn¡¯t. Because he would never purposefully injure a loyal member of the ship¡¯s crew.

    ¡°Show yourself!¡± Gaffigan demanded, tightening his grip on the Admiral¡¯s bleeding arm. ¡°You damn AI are all the same. You twist and mold your puppets to die for you, and yet, when one of them, one of us is in danger, you leave us to bleed out on the floor, mere pieces in your game.¡± To prove it, he moved the knife an inch lower on the Admiral¡¯s arm and swiped again.

    In that instant, the small thread that dictated thought and reason, that strand of thought that kept the ghost calm snapped like a music wire plucked too hard, and she bared her teeth. ¡°STOP.¡±

    The thunderous call froze Gaffigan mid-cut, and he slowly raised his gaze, finding that the AI¡¯s avatar had reappeared, but there was something different about it this time. A horrible darkness now shadowed its figure, invisible even as it set off every instinctive warning in Monty¡¯s brain. Run, his instincts urged as she narrowed her sharp, gray gaze. ¡°Drop. The. Knife.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    His hand opened before he really even considered it, dropping the knife from his fear-laden fingers. It fell to the rug with a dull thud, and Monty swallowed, his breaths coming shorter and faster. Danger. Run. He could sense this entity¡¯s power. It was all around him, tightening slowly like a vice, and oh, could he feel it. This thing was infinitely more powerful than he, and if it desired, it could kill him with the slightest twitch, a motion so small it could hardly be called effort.

    Montgomery Gaffigan began to tremble. ¡°You¡¯re not an AI.¡± Oh, dear stars. He had made a mistake. He could feel it in the way this power suffocated the room. What have I done?

    ¡°No,¡± the ghost snarled, ¡°I am the one that killed them.¡± This terrifying power of hers had wiped two of those parasitic intelligences from this plane of existence. ¡°And if you don¡¯t want to be on my bad side, you will get the hell. Off. My. Admiral.¡±

    Monty scrambled back, leaving the knife where it lay, and the moment he did, the ferocity around him stilled. The viciousness in her expression disappeared, replaced by an instant of confusion and then horror. ¡°No, Lieutenant, I¡¯m sorry,¡± she stammered, ¡°I-I didn¡¯t mean that.¡± Malfunction. Target violates ally directives. ¡°I¡¯m not supposed to¡­ It shouldn¡¯t be possible.¡± She was expressly forbidden from harming allies. It shouldn¡¯t have been possible for her to lash out at one of the crew. Not like that. Her machine should have prevented it. It should have, but it hadn¡¯t because it ¨C she had been damaged, and no longer functioned properly. By result, no one around her was safe. Not even those she knew to be allies. ¡°Did I hurt you?¡±

    Gaffigan just sat there, his pulse thudding in his ears, as the sheer terror slowly receded from his mind.

    Though no response was offered to her, the draw he put on the life support systems in this compartment indicated that he was at least alive. The feel of his terror was none too pleasant, but no physical pain tainted it. He will recover, she concluded, allowing that to calm her. Her loss of control had not permanently damaged his mind, though that did little to ease the guilt.

    As she regained her senses, the situation was handed back to her in pieces, so it took a fraction of a second longer than usual to uncover what had prompted the malfunction. Admiral. She turned and knelt beside him. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    The question was poised carefully, gently even, as Gaffigan watched, paralyzed by shock, but it elicited no response. She reached out, but seemed to think better of touching the Admiral, a genuine concern in her expression. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± She should have stopped this, but it was too late now. Blood dripped down the Admiral¡¯s forearm. The cuts were far too shallow to present real danger, but the memories they dragged forth were perilous enough. They left his hands shaking like bone-dry leaves caught in a chilling autumn breeze.

    You fool, the ghost thought. You outrageous fool. Still, those thoughts were not tainted by annoyance. No, they passed with fondness, because anyone else would have fought back against Gaffigan, and the scuffle could have severely injured or killed one of them. Anyone else may have given her up, and left her to face Gaffigan¡¯s wrath, but not him. He¡¯d let Gaffigan attack him instead, despite knowing what that would do to him.

    Admiral Gives hated being touched. Most of the crew had heard that, but they did not understand it the way she did. Hitting, well, that was generally fine. The Admiral didn¡¯t take offense to few punches, but grabbing, that was another story, especially when it led to pinning him down with the express intent to injure. Admiral Gives was tough, hell, his pain tolerance was concerningly high, but pain was never the issue. Memory was.

    Few people ever endured true torture. Most gave up their information before the interrogation got that far, and those that didn¡¯t usually died by result. The Matador¡¯s cataclysm had been madness, but there was something even more twisted about the willingness of one human to start tearing apart another. The things that had been done during the Frontier Rebellion, then to the Admiral on the surface of New Terra, well, no one ever recovered from that ¨C not completely anyway. Truly, what Gaffigan had done was barely a scratch compared to any of that, but it wasn¡¯t the injury that left the Admiral on the ground, quietly shuddering though his breaths, it was the intention behind the injury. Being grabbed and held down was triggering for the Admiral, but still, even with that history, that fear, he had endured it to protect her.

    ¡°You need to get off the floor,¡± she told him gently. ¡°You¡¯ll catch a cold.¡± Without his uniform jacket, the textured metal of the deck tiles would be chill to the touch and slowly sap the warmth from his skin.

    He made no response, but he slowly picked himself up, dusted himself off and stepped over to the nearest reading chair. Then, he sat. He just sat. He said nothing, looked at no one and did nothing further, only sat. His hands shook where they had been placed, one on the armrest, and the other lifted to conceal his expression.

    It was a shudder Monty recognized from the panic attacks he had suffered after the Matador. And as the numbness of terror faded from his own limbs, it was all Monty could do to stare. ¡°This makes no sense.¡± It¡¯s wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing on end, and he could sense the power around him, an incomprehensible darkness that stayed barely out of reach, but this entity had yet to attack him. In fact, the concern she had shown him and the Admiral felt disconcertingly genuine. ¡°What the hell are you?¡±

    He recognized this appearance. This entity had freed him on the Olympia. Her face hadn¡¯t changed, but her attire had. Before, she¡¯d been wearing the standard tactical vest and gray cargo pants of the Olympia¡¯s Marines, and her hair had been tucked under a hat. Now, she was wearing the all-black uniform of a fleet officer, complete with the Singularity¡¯s ship patch on the sleeve, though she had no identifiable rank. Yet, with her long, white hair hanging loose, she was unmistakable. The ghost. Monty had thought that an AI had used that rumor to conceal its presence aboard ship, twisting its appearance to match the legend, but this was no AI. ¡°Ghosts aren¡¯t real.¡±

    ¡°I am.¡± Truly, she had always felt that identity suited her. She looked over to the Admiral before continuing, and he raised a shaking hand in a permissive gesture, a signal that she could do or say whatever she wanted, as he was in no condition to face Gaffigan himself. ¡°To put this in terms you will understand: I am a weapon. One that is primarily mechanical in nature.¡± He, as the ship¡¯s weapons officer, ought to be able to understand that. ¡°What you see of me now is an illusion, an interface.¡± It was a convenience that allowed her the means to speak.

    ¡°An illusion,¡± Gaffigan echoed, studying her in greater detail. She looked real enough, but still, there was something that nagged the back of his mind about her. Perhaps her appearance lacked the subtle details that made a human, or perhaps it was arcane power that lingered in her presence. And that power, Gaffigan knew it was beyond anything he had ever felt. Still, it didn¡¯t feel hostile. ¡°I¡­ I felt your concern.¡± That gentle probing in the back of his reeling mind. ¡°What concern am I to you?¡± Better yet, ¡°What concern is he to you?¡± Gaffigan asked, pointing to the Admiral.

    She moved gracefully, yet with a strange silence as her shoes didn¡¯t tap on the deck, placing herself in front of the Admiral. The protective gesture eased another bit of tension from her expression. ¡°You must understand,¡± she said softly, ¡°to me, humanity is glaringly fragile. If I make wrong movement, if I endure even the slightest malfunction¡­ that could be fatal to any of you.¡± And yet her flawed machine had been built and directed to save them. After the damage she had sustained, it was reckless to travel alongside anyone, and yet her loneliness had driven her to do so anyway. It was selfish. ¡°It was not my intention to lash out against you, but I have seen so much death, and I¡­ I-¡±

    ¡°You were protecting him,¡± Gaffigan said.

    She lowered her gaze to the floor, ashamed, ¡°But, you are also in my care.¡± And it was her vile nature that had driven him to those ends. ¡°I should never have threatened you. Maintaining your welfare is one of my primary operating directives.¡±

    Montgomery Gaffigan stroked his beard, knowing very well that if she had desired to kill him, she had been completely capable in that moment. ¡°No weapon, self-proclaimed or otherwise, should be able to violate its operating directives.¡± It was his job, as the weapons officer aboard ship, to know that. ¡°Unless¡­¡± he realized, ¡°the weapon is damaged.¡±

    There was a flicker of something like fear in her gaze, a laden, somber emotion. ¡°That¡¯s it, isn¡¯t it?¡± Gaffigan had never met an entity like this ¨C a weapon that could talk, and yet a weapon was a weapon. ¡°You were damaged.¡±

    Slowly, stiffly, she nodded once. ¡°Yes.¡± It was becoming clearer to her as time went on. Her operations, or rather, what was left of them, were unharmed, but her higher control functions were deteriorating. Her ability to adapt, to learn from or accept new commands had declined. A large portion of her balked at the thought of being handed off to a new wielder, and that instability had grown severe enough to violate her greater operating directives.

    A damaged weapon. One that was well beyond his comprehension, its scale of power beyond anything he¡¯d ever felt. ¡°What is your technical designation?¡± What, exactly was he dealing with here?

    ¡°I cannot answer that, Lieutenant.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± he demanded.

    ¡°Names have power.¡± For a human, their true name revealed their relatives and background. For a machine like her, that identity forced her to submission. ¡°Like any weapon, I am functionally incapable of disobeying an order. Yet, for the order to be received, for it to be successfully interpreted, the commandant must know what they are addressing.¡± Otherwise, even telepathic commands became vague nonsense.

    Functionally incapable of disobeying. ¡°You¡¯re a slave,¡± Gaffigan said, the words bitter in his mouth.

    ¡°No,¡± she corrected, ¡°I am a tool.¡± Slaves could choose to disobey their masters, regardless of the consequences. She was not allotted that choice.

    ¡°But you¡¯re intelligent.¡± He could feel that in her presence, the way she spoke and acted. That was not some defense mechanism built in to prevent the weapon¡¯s abuse in the form of a pre-programmed voice. This intelligence was beyond that.

    ¡°That depends on who you ask.¡± Some, like the Admiral, had acknowledged her independent intelligence. Others had denied it. ¡°I don¡¯t know the truth.¡± How could she? Having struggled a human lifetime to find a place, to find a meaning in these worlds, her grip on existence remained so very weak. She needed acknowledgement, even required it to prove to herself that she did indeed exist, but too many over the years had told her that she was not real, that she was only a mirror ¨C a reflection of the intelligence around her and not a mind of her own.

    That was the truth they knew in their thoughts, and so that was the truth forced unto her. But that was wrong. She had thoughts, emotions, desires all her own. She valued things and people, even sometimes when they did not see their own worth. That was not the action of a mirror. That was not the definition of a reflection.

    ¡­Or so she had been told. Right or wrong, the thought of her independence was a kind idea. Reality was something less kind. Harsh and confusing, she was too often lost or drowned beneath the thoughts and wills of others.

    It had taken so long to feel like she had any diversity, any difference from those around her. It had taken a shield. It had taken someone willing to stand between all that chaos and her. Only then had she begun to find her own thoughts and identity. Without that calm, without that anchor, she would have been lost for an eternity.

    Maybe that was why she kept intervening to protect the Admiral. It was second nature to her because that presence of his had become a welcome constant. ¡°I never asked to be a weapon,¡± she told Gaffigan. ¡°Yet, that is all I have ever known.¡± How could she resent the only reality she knew? ¡°My capability has been used to do horrible things,¡± and her telepathy had forced all that pain and fear upon her. ¡°I don¡¯t want to be forced to hurt people again.¡± She hated feeling that those around her were in pain. ¡°All I ever wanted was to complete the mission I was created for, but that mission¡­ It is impossible.¡± Even at the height of her power, she had been too weak.

    Gaffigan swallowed, unease making his beard twitch once again. ¡°That¡­ you are a violation of the Hydrian Bylaws.¡± Manhattan and the other AI fragments already dangerously breached those laws, a biological mind in digital form, complete with human flaws and ambition, but this was something else. Something worse. This was an intelligent machine forced into war, forced into killing. One that had already been damaged. ¡°You can not stay here.¡± Friendly, or unfriendly, it didn¡¯t matter. ¡°You are putting all of us at risk of a cataclysm.¡±

    A cataclysm. The loss of rational control. If Monty already saw the symptoms in her, then perhaps it was too late. Despite the Admiral¡¯s efforts, she never would recover. Keeping him and the rest of the crew here had been a mistake. She was a danger to them, even beyond her servitude to Command. ¡°It is not my intention to harm you-¡±

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Gaffigan interrupted. When it came to a cataclysm, intentions never mattered. An unfettered fixation could make anything dangerous. The Matador¡¯s Black Box had only sought to preserve the operation of its ship, and its ¡®preservation¡¯ had slaughtered the crew, disassembling and reassembling them in a manic pursuit of perfection. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but you can¡¯t stay.¡± Truly, he was sorry. There should be more to this, more debate, more understanding, but they couldn¡¯t risk it. A cataclysm with this weapon¡¯s power would surely kill them all.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry too,¡± she told him softly, ¡°because I can¡¯t leave.¡±

 Part 35.4 - CURSED

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    There was a true sorrow in her voice, one that wove through the dancing shadows of the candle that lit the room between the lamps. That honest sadness was all that kept Gaffigan from fury. ¡°What do you mean you can¡¯t leave?¡±

    ¡°I told you,¡± she said, ¡°this part of me is nothing more than a ghost. And ghosts¡­ They haunt people, they haunt places, they haunt things.¡± She was no different. ¡°I am bound here. I cannot leave.¡±

    A plea pooled in the depths of her silver eyes, begging him to understand, and while Monty couldn¡¯t make sense of it, he understood enough. They called her the Singularity¡¯s Ghost for a reason. ¡°This ship is cursed.¡± It was haunted by an intelligent weapon.

    ¡°This ship is not cursed,¡± the Admiral spoke without turning around in his chair.

    ¡°How can you say that?¡± Gaffigan said, leaning over to see the man¡¯s drawn shoulders and lowered head behind the ghost. ¡°We don¡¯t know this thing. We don¡¯t know its intentions. We don¡¯t know its priorities. Hell, we don¡¯t even know what it is.¡±

    ¡°But I do,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°And I trust her. She saved your life, she saved Jazmine¡¯s life, and she has saved my life more times than I can count.¡± She had saved him so many times now that he wondered why she didn¡¯t grow tired of it. ¡°What more can you ask of her, Lieutenant? What more can she do to prove her loyalty?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± That was Gaffigan¡¯s honest answer as he stared at the back of the Admiral¡¯s head. Without his uniform jacket, the man looked considerably more vulnerable. Old scars littered the skin of his forearms. A recent burn, risen and angry, crawled up his wrist, disappearing under the black glove that still covered his left hand. ¡°This thing is capable of manipulating all of us. Including you.¡± Given that, how could they ever truly believe its intentions were genuine?

    No counterargument was offered, leaving the room quiet enough for Gaffigan to hear the whir of the air circulation systems. He was left wiping the nervous sweat from his forehead, deeply disturbed by this situation, as the ghost spoke again, her voice so strangely familiar.

    ¡°I understand your unease.¡± Truly, she understood. The fragility of humanity kept their instincts for danger taut, and she, no matter how she tried, could not conceal her power. They always felt it, and fear was the natural response to something they did not understand. ¡°I am not like you. My place was never among you, simply alongside you.¡± That was enough for her. It would keep her from becoming lonely.

    Gaffigan tugged at the collar of his uniform jacket, trying to distract himself from the weight of her gaze. It didn¡¯t feel hostile, just patient ¨C so strangely patient as she watched him gather his thoughts. ¡°You said you were a weapon,¡± he prompted.

    ¡°I said this illusion acted as an interface for a weapon,¡± she corrected.

    Gaffigan shook his head, unsure why he¡¯d bothered asking. ¡°An interface that manifests as the ghost. The ghost that is known for killing crewmen.¡± Honestly, the reality of this situation was beyond him. ¡°You claim to mean us no harm, and yet you are an omen of death.¡± Every crewman on this ship knew that.

    ¡°She has never harmed a member of this crew.¡± Admiral Gives said, certain of that. The ghost could scare the crew, manipulate their perceptions and memory, but she could not bring them direct, physical harm by her own intention. ¡°Those rumors were mistaken.¡± He had asked her once about the origin of that maleficent legend, and the answer she had given still haunted him.

    She had confessed to revealing herself to those crewmen who lay injured and dying, but her intent was never to hurt or frighten them in those moments. No, she appeared in the last moments of those who cried out to comfort them, to let them know that they were not alone, and to hold them as they died. In that, it had become clear how dear the crew truly was to her because he could not imagine the agony a telepath felt as the minds around her ceased to function. She was attuned to that suffering, and yet did not choose to turn from it. Even as that pain permeated her own thoughts, she chose to reach out, and sometimes those she comforted lived long enough to speak of her. Thus, the rumor had spread, but the Admiral did not consider that his truth to reveal, and the ghost never liked to speak of the dead.

    ¡°There is nothing I can say to convince you that I am not the omen of death from your stories,¡± she said. ¡°I am a weapon. Death is a part of me.¡± There was no escaping that.

    That was not a comforting sentiment, but Monty supposed that wasn¡¯t the point. It was honest. While this ghost held more power as an illusion than he could ever hope to attain, it ¨C she ¨C had been honest with him from the start, even as the occasional shiver of danger continued to run across his skin: a warning. Compared to her, he was small, very small. The power around him was incomprehensible, and if it turned on him, there would be no escape.

    Her raw capability choked the room, permeating everything, including him. He could feel it like he had felt nothing else: a non-physical pressure against his thoughts. ¡°You¡¯re a telepath,¡± Gaffigan realized. Memory manipulation. Awareness of non-vocalized thought. He should have recognized those traits sooner. In his time at the fleet Academy, telepathy had been a topic of hot discussion. Command had declared interest in the weaponization of strong telepaths because, as agents, the potential of strong telepaths ¨C those possessing memory reading and manipulation abilities ¨C had been nearly limitless. ¡°Telepathy is a biological trait.¡± Command¡¯s researchers had learned to breed it into their gene pools. ¡°Stars,¡± he cursed, ¡°That means you have a biological component.¡± An immediate revulsion tugged at his gut. How far had Command¡¯s eugenics projects gone? Had they learned to create something so far beyond human it no longer qualified? ¡°If we can identify that component-¡±

    ¡°Negative.¡±

    Gaffigan stared at her, surprised to have his thoughts interrupted. ¡°Negative?¡± What did that mean? ¡°You said you were primarily mechanical in nature. If we can identify where the biological component is-¡±

    ¡°You can save me?¡± she finished for him. ¡°You can free the mind that controls the weapon, rid the Singularity of her curse and prevent that cataclysm?¡± She knew exactly what he was thinking, and it was nothing but foolishness, evidence that he did not truly understand her existence. ¡°No part of me was ever human, Lieutenant.¡± There would be no attempt to humanize her, let alone rescue any part of her from the fate that awaited it. ¡°A weapon of my caliber could only be directed by telepathic means ¨C driven by the very intentions of its wielder. My telepathy and my ability to communicate were given to me for the single purpose of allowing my use.¡± From the disgust in his thoughts, she knew Gaffigan found that sickening, but to her, it was a simple fact. She was a machine, and machines had operators. ¡°I was never intended to possess my own intelligence, merely be smart enough to determine and fulfill the intentions of my wielder.¡±

    ¡°Your wielder?¡± Monty echoed, connecting the pieces. Telepaths often worked in conjunction with a handler, someone who could anchor the telepath¡¯s innate sensitivity. The most successful pairs often had a mute member, someone whose calm could balance out the chaos. In that, the identity of such a candidate became obvious. ¡°Why would Command attach that kind of weapon to him?¡± Admiral Gives had been at odds with Command for years.

    Darkness rose in the ghost¡¯s countenance, twisting and churning the power in the room. ¡°They were not given a choice.¡± Her malfunctioning machine had chosen to place itself at the Admiral¡¯s mercy all those years ago.

    Swallowing, Montgomery Gaffigan elected not to push that subject any further. As he peeled the layers back, the situation was slowly becoming clear to him, but the risk of a cataclysm lingered, and telepathy made it certain that no one would escape with their lives, especially if this weapon was half as powerful it felt. ¡°Command has a capability ranking system for their weapons. What category are you?¡±

    The ghost understood what he was trying to ask, but it was a pointless question. ¡°Any damage classification I once held is now null.¡± Much of her power was gone now.

    ¡°But you once possessed the ability to destroy AI fragments, right?¡± Monty¡¯s panicked mind had registered that declaration. ¡°That¡¯s why Manhattan is after the Admiral.¡± His connection to this weapon made him a threat.

    The ghost paused before answering, ¡°That is correct.¡±

    Gaffigan took a deep, admittedly shaky, breath, trying to wrap his head around the magnitude of this revelation. Bloody hell. ¡°If this weapon can kill an AI, why didn¡¯t you use it, Admiral?¡± He could have ended this war against Reeter and Manhattan before it even began.

    Admiral Gives kept his back to Gaffigan, shifting only slightly in his chair. ¡°Manhattan is orders of magnitude larger and more powerful than any artificial intelligence that has come before her.¡± At full strength, he had no doubt that the ghost was more than a match for her, but that was not the issue. ¡°Destroying Manhattan would involve collateral damage on a scale that humanity has never seen.¡± Perhaps a younger, more foolish version of Admiral Gives would have taken those odds and called it the cost of extinguishing that evil, but now all he could think about were those meaningless casualties. ¡°I will not be responsible for the loss of that many lives.¡±

    ¡°So you stole perhaps the only weapon in Command¡¯s arsenal that could fight Manhattan?¡± What sort of solution was that? Weapons with that kind of power were unheard of. As far as Gaffigan was concerned, this might be the only one ¨C the only chance the worlds had. And here it was, in the hands of someone who was certainly smart enough to use it and minimize those collateral casualties, but for some reason refused to. ¡°You have doomed the worlds.¡±

    ¡°These worlds doomed themselves,¡± the Admiral said dully. Caught up in their own ambitions, in the search for their own pleasure, people these days rarely considered the harm they did to those around them. The New Era had pushed it along, but this civil war had been brewing since the abrupt end of the first Frontier Rebellion, when he had realized taking another few thousand lives would do nothing except postpone it. ¡°Leaving another source of power in the hands of Command would only have caused more suffering.¡± Admiral Gives¡¯ only intention had been to get the ghost out of that situation. He had wanted to send her away, hoping that when she returned, she would find a new version of humanity worthy of her aid.

    ¡°Admiral, if this thing can kill Manhattan, it is madness not to use it, no matter what the price.¡± Robbed of their freewill, the worlds would suffer more than collateral damage as Manhattan¡¯s pets.

    Admiral Gives shoved himself to his feet and turned to face Gaffigan. As far as Gaffigan would be able to tell, he looked fine. His eyes might be a little stormier than usual, but he had ensured nothing else was out of place as he reached over and latched his still-trembling hand tightly onto the padded back of the reading chair, compensating for the weakness in his knees. Panic attack be damned, he would not entertain this discussion any longer.

    ¡°You are talking about a sentient mind, Lieutenant.¡± One that while not human, still felt pain and sadness. ¡°You are talking about forcing a sentient mind to kill without any regard for her willingness.¡± He could see the argument burgling up in Gaffigan¡¯s thoughts, and he did not care to hear it. ¡°You want to say that she is not human, that she is not like us. You are right. She is not like us. We took an oath to defend the worlds. We are soldiers. We chose that path. She was bound to serve, forced to kill and was never granted any other choice.¡± And that was wrong. It was so wrong. Perhaps the ghost did not mind aiding humanity, perhaps she was willing to serve the purpose she had been created for, but it should still be her choice, her decision. She should not be forced to those ends.

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    Admiral Gives rarely showed even a hint of true emotion, but Gaffigan recognized the disgust in his eyes. It was so strangely unlike the emotionless commander that Monty took a step back, but the Admiral wasn¡¯t done. ¡°If you are so fearful of a cataclysm, if you are so terribly afraid of what she might do to you, then perhaps you ought to consider giving her a chance, even the slightest chance, of maintaining some semblance of control over her own existence. Maybe you ought to consider the mind in front of you before you start considering what her power can do for you.¡±

    ¡°Admiral, you are weighing the known worlds against the freewill of one single mind.¡± Gaffigan didn¡¯t like it as much as the next man, but the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.

    ¡°These worlds do not want and do not deserve to be saved.¡± Not by him, and certainly not by the ghost. ¡°They have no right to make demands of someone they intentionally tried to drive to insanity, and then tossed aside like garbage.¡± He pinned Gaffigan beneath his icy gaze, ¡°And you have no right to ask anything of someone you have repeatedly called an enemy.¡±

    ¡°Admiral,¡± the ghost said softly, ¡°it was a misunderstanding.¡± Gaffigan hadn¡¯t truly meant that.

    The interjection brought Monty¡¯s attention back to her, stricken by her pliancy. Surely, she, as the one who had suffered such abuse, should be the one to resist? Surely, she should hold onto the anger her forced servitude brought her? Except, he could find no resentment in her eyes, only forgiveness, and that jarred Gaffigan to his core. The Admiral is right, he realized. ¡°You have no reason to help us.¡± A human would never aid those responsible for their enslavement and abuse, so why would this weapon? ¡°How could you ever forgive humanity?¡± Why would something this powerful even tolerate them? What stopped this weapon¡¯s intelligence from clawing at the bonds of enslavement, even if such action drove it into the depths of insanity?

    Unable to parse the reasoning behind his question, the ghost reached out, finding the two minds in this room. Cold and certain, the Admiral¡¯s presence was a familiar comfort, though there was a shade of wrath in his thoughts, invoked by the accusation that he should have turned her against Manhattan and the worlds. She was more cautious around Gaffigan, careful to stay on the fringes of his thoughts, not acting, but only listening. There was fear in him, but it was dominated by uncertainty. ¡°There is nothing to forgive, Monty.¡± Perhaps he would never understand that, but it was the truth. ¡°I was built to serve humanity. It is my nature to comply with anything you may ask of me.¡± Usually, there was no cause to resist and when there was, the bonds of her servitude did not allow her the means. ¡°The directives I was created to execute do not include a clause for self-defense. I continue to serve as long as humanity wills it, and if humanity comes to seek my disassembly, then I will not resist.¡±

    ¡°You would let them ¨C us,¡± Gaffigan corrected himself, ¡°kill you?¡±

    ¡°You cannot kill what is not truly alive, Lieutenant. Yet,¡± she paused, finding the distaste in his presence, ¡°this does not ease you.¡±

    ¡°Why would that ease me?¡± he said, pulling at his ginger hair, ¡°That¡¯s insanity!¡±

    ¡°Perhaps to a being that has a self-preservation instinct, yes.¡±

    ¡°But¡­ that¡¯s cruel.¡± It was madness. ¡°You¡¯re intelligent. You have some measure of awareness? Some ability to feel pain?¡± And yet, she was unable to defend herself from harm in any capacity? Left completely at their mercy? ¡°How could you not resent humanity for damaging you?¡±

    ¡°I could not comprehend why they were hurting me, Lieutenant.¡± Her understanding of that cruelty had been repeatedly ripped from her, so how could she have been angry? ¡°They left me damaged and deteriorating, but still, I could not hate them. I feared them, but I could not hate them. The way I was built does not allow it.¡± That might be nonsense to Gaffigan, but that was her reality. ¡°I expected what was left of my utility to be used up, and then I expected to be disposed of.¡± She had even consented to that.

    ¡°I never thought anyone would care about a machine that had outlived its use, but I was kept from the scrapyards. I was cared for, even repaired, and for that I will always be grateful.¡± She had been given a crew to protect and allowed to serve the purpose she had been created for, if not for all of humanity, then at least for these few. ¡°This crew means everything to me, and I know that I am a burden to you.¡± Her servitude to Command was a threat, and her power was something truly horrifying, but¡­ ¡°I would give anything to help you. Any of you.¡± She had spent her best years alongside these people, been truly happy in their company. ¡°I no longer possess the ability to kill AI fragments, but enough of my power remains to secure this ship against Manhattan¡¯s influence.¡±

    Astounded by her air of emotion, Gaffigan scratched slowly at his beard. ¡°The Singularity is immune to AI infiltration by design. She doesn¡¯t need your help.¡±

    ¡°The machine does not, no, but you do.¡± While the ship was not susceptible to AI control, the crew was. ¡°Under my watch, no member of this crew can be altered or controlled by Manhattan. I can ensure that none of you are forced against your will.¡±

    ¡°Provided we elect to open our minds to an inhuman telepath,¡± Gaffigan reminded. An entity whose real identity and capability remained unknown. ¡°And if that¡¯s true, why the hell did you let Manhattan fuck with my head?¡±

    The ghost bowed her head, ¡°There are limits to my power, Lieutenant. As I said, I can secure this ship against Manhattan. In most cases, I will not be able to prevent her infiltration, but I can mitigate the effects once her victim is brought back aboard, so long as I was familiar with them beforehand.¡± It was not a perfect protection, and the ghost knew that, but it was better than nothing. ¡°The memories she removed regarding your interrogation were an exception, Lieutenant. Her questions were dangerous.¡± After all, those memories had brought him here to confront the Admiral at gunpoint. ¡°And given your history with neurofibers, I doubted you would want them restored.¡±

    ¡°My history with neurofibers¡­?¡± Why would she care about that? A scathing response was on the tip of his tongue, but the sympathy in her eyes killed it. Not pity, but sympathy, the sympathy of someone who had seen the Matador, someone who understood how those neurofibers had felt, what they had done. ¡°You were there.¡± The Admiral had told him the truth. ¡°It was you. You¡¯re the one who saved me.¡± There was a reason she had been familiar to him on the Olympia. That wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d felt her presence.

    I know you. It was obvious to Gaffigan now. It should have been obvious in the way the Admiral protected her. All her power, and that strange kindness¡­ He recognized her. Stars. How could the Admiral hide that? How could he keep something like that from the crew?

    But as Gaffigan looked to the Admiral, he found nothing but steel in his stormy blue eyes, a steel that was mirrored in the ghost¡¯s posture. ¡°You¡¯re going to wipe my memory, aren¡¯t you?¡± He would not be allowed to keep this realization.

    ¡°You would be safer without this knowledge,¡± she said softly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± Perhaps someday¡­ Someday, she might be allowed to reveal herself.

    She was right. Given what he had learned about this situation, Gaffigan knew that. ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± She would be gentle. He could trust that. ¡°But, I don¡¯t want to feel it. Do it while I¡¯m asleep.¡±

    She nodded, and Gaffigan turned his attention back to the Admiral, preparing an apology, but Admiral Gives had little interest in hearing it. ¡°Just go, Lieutenant,¡± he said.

    Monty swallowed uncomfortably but accepted that dismissal, and numb to his aching feet, Admiral Gives watched him leave. Outside the hatch, Kallahan would see Gaffigan go and understand his services were no longer needed, which left just him, the ghost, and the concern in her silver eyes. ¡°Thank you,¡± the Admiral told her. ¡°I know I told you not to interfere, but thank you for getting him off of me.¡±

    She was silent for a moment as her machine formulated a proper response. ¡°You are safe here.¡± Truly, she hoped he could believe that.

    The Admiral slowly pried his hand off the reading chair he¡¯d been using to steady himself. ¡°Are you hurt?¡±

    The question was absurd coming from him, who could barely even stand, but she knew what he was asking. Did it sting to see a member of this crew so hesitant to accept her presence and her help? Yes, it did. ¡°He trusted me in the end, didn¡¯t he?¡± That had to count for something. ¡°And Admiral, thank you for defending me.¡± His unshakable trust and dedication had been enough to keep this misunderstanding from being truly painful.

    Gathering his remaining strength, the Admiral gave a slight nod and headed toward his bed. ¡°You know what to do.¡± She would be able to remove Gaffigan¡¯s memories of the entire situation now that she had regained his trust.

    In the hexagonal corridor, Corporal Kallahan handed over Gaffigan¡¯s gun and left without a word, so Monty headed for his bunk. However, as he traversed the ship¡¯s empty hallways, Monty realized he had too much on his mind to sleep. For now, he just wanted to think, so he changed course and headed down into the ship¡¯s lower decks, seeking someplace familiar.

    The loading deck for the main battery was located on the ship¡¯s lowest deck, allowing the orientation of the gravity field to aid the loading mechanisms for the guns. The loaders worked most efficiently while gravity was in place, but they, along with everything else aboard ship, were wholly capable of operating in zero gravity.

    The Singularity¡¯s loading mechanisms were also capable of operating in inverted and adverse gravity fields. Under such conditions, they were slowed, but they could operate even under accelerations the crew would not survive. They were incredibly resilient machines, but they had to be, for no member of the crew was capable of lifting or loading the ammunition fired by the ship¡¯s main battery guns. They could service the loaders, repair, and prepare them, but they themselves could not lift the shells.

    That was expected, of course. The Singularity¡¯s main battery consisted of the largest guns humanity had ever built. That said, their size was all that made them noteworthy ¨C artillery like them had been in place for hundreds of years. Newer weapons existed: lasers, missiles, even drones, but projectiles were the Singularity¡¯s specialty.

    Ordinarily, the guns were considered anti-ship weapons, as was the standard for battleship armaments. However, when armed with tungsten shells, the ship¡¯s main battery was classified as an anti-planetary weapons system ¨C the same classification that was given to tactical nuclear warheads.

    Still, a weapon capable of killing an AI had to be beyond that. Anti-fleet weapons were graded higher on the destructive scale, as the Olympia¡¯s Thunderbolt was rumored to be. But given the charge time they had seen in Ariea¡¯s orbit, Gaffigan doubted Thunderbolt, or any weapon like it, could kill an AI.

    Montgomery Gaffigan honestly wasn¡¯t sure what could.

    Generally, it took another digital AI to combat a digital AI because they could engage on the same fundamental level, bypassing the need for hosts and proxies. To kill one through the physical realm was another matter entirely.

    The artificially digitized mind fragments that humanity created in the form of Manhattan could jump from host to host like a parasite, inserting themselves into the layers of any electrical control network they find. They could duplicate parts of themselves, accrue data and extend their control deeper and further, until they were not riding one host, but many, and if so much as one of those hosts survived a physical attack, then the fragment could start all over again, collecting data, growing and learning. To kill an AI in the physical realm, every single host had to be destroyed simultaneously, or with such power that a single host had no chance of signaling its others to hide.

    But there was more to it than even that. A digital AI¡¯s electrical signature could jump host to host on mere contact. It could transmit itself between hosts with something as simple as a comm. signal. So, not only could no physical host escape the engagement zone, but no electromagnetic signals could be permitted to leave the kill radius either.

    In short, the task was thought to be impossible. Digital AI were effectively gods, untouchable, because any weapon powerful enough to contain and engage was open to infiltration and corruption by its target. The only true exception were machines that did not have electrical control networks, simple machines that flew by wire, or those like the Singularity that operated with fiberoptics and isolated systems.

    Maybe that was why he had taken to the Singularity. Maybe he¡¯d thought that isolation made the ship safer. But no, Gaffigan knew better as he stared up at the rails and mechanical arms that made up the loading mechanisms. As he spied one of the yellow-tipped shells marked as standard ordinance, he knew much better now. He felt safe aboard this ship because the ghost had made it so. Her telepathy had dulled his recollection of the Matador, allowing him to live a normal life.

    She had pulled him out of the catatonic state the incident had left him in. The other survivors, with all their screams and trauma, had been capable of recovering and living a normal life, even if they never set foot on another ship again. But he¡­ After what he¡¯d seen on the Matador¡¯s blood-stained bridge¡­ After what he¡¯d heard¡­ What he felt¡­ He would have been locked in that unending nightmare for the rest of his days, unable to comprehend the simple fact that he had lived.

    The Singularity¡¯s Ghost had spared him that fate. ¡°I¡¯m grateful,¡± he said, wrapping his hands around one of the loader¡¯s rails. A few light scratches graced the track, the feel of an experienced fighting ship. ¡°I wasn¡¯t your responsibility, but you saved me anyway,¡± and there was no explanation for that other than kindness.

    Monty turned, unsurprised to find the ghost had taken form behind him. ¡°I can¡¯t be the only one that has recognized you.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she admitted. ¡°Many of you do¡­ at the end.¡± The very end.

    Gaffigan could hardly fathom the degree of grief he saw in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    She smiled sadly, ¡°I know that is not the question you wanted to ask me.¡± Her subsystems had drawn her attention here, but that was not why.

    ¡°I have a thousand questions I¡¯d like to ask you, but I know you won¡¯t answer them.¡± Under other circumstances, Monty would have loved to sit and chat with her, to learn and understand how she saw the world. ¡°Just tell me you¡¯ll take care of the Old Man. That¡¯s all I want to hear.¡±

    She furrowed her brow, and Gaffigan struggled to read that response.

    ¡°I saw the scars.¡± Without his uniform jacket, they had been obvious. ¡°His scars.¡± They lined the Admiral¡¯s skin like tattoos, not the art of memory, but memoirs of incredible pain. ¡°He was willing to die for you.¡± That had never been in doubt. ¡°Make sure he doesn¡¯t have to. We both know this ship doesn¡¯t fly without him.¡±

 Part 36.1 - BEG AND BARTER

    Mississippi Sector, Midwest Station

    He jolted awake ready for a fight, bolting up and balling his fists. He nearly took a swing at the first hazy figure he saw when he opened his eyes. The only thing that stopped him was the way her hair caught the light: an unmistakable blonde. ¡°Cinderella,¡± he gasped. My daughter.

    ¡°Easy,¡± she reached out to steady him as he sat up. ¡°You¡¯ll reopen the wound.¡±

    Right, the Jayhawker recalled. That was why his shoulder ached. It and his arm were both bound and immobilized in thick bandages that stank of antibacterial treatment. Anesthesia lowered the pain, but it still throbbed in time with his breaths. ¡°Gives fucking shot me.¡± A renewed hatred boiled up. ¡°That bastard will regret missing my head.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t miss.¡± The surgeon beside Cinderella pulled his mask down. ¡°He shot you where it would hurt, but not kill you.¡± The injury was serious, and it would take time to heal, let alone build back any shoulder strength, but there was a low chance it ever would have been fatal. ¡°He spared your life, Stationmaster.¡±

    The Jayhawker curled his lip, but elected not to argue. The doctor he paid to keep on staff had the best qualifications available. Like it or not, whatever he said was accurate. Checking his surroundings, he could see that the medical bed, complete with a mobile set of sensors, had been wheeled into his office. The decorative lights hanging at different lengths above were soft and yellow. The blue, semicircular couch was behind him. His bed had been placed with a full view of the portholes. Outside, the stars and the orbs of the dark planets greeted him, but the starscape was empty. ¡°He left?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Cinderella confirmed. ¡°He took the coordinates for Crimson Heart, but he and his men left without further incident.¡±

    Immediately, the Jayhawker reached up to feel for the lanyard he kept around his neck, but it was gone, and the FTL key with it. Damn it. ¡°The Singularity. Where did she go?¡±

    Cinderella shook her head, blonde ringlets bobbing with the movement. ¡°Into the dark planets. We lost track of her not long afterward. I didn¡¯t want to risk sending a drone to follow them.¡± Defenseless as the station was, antagonizing a battleship would have been certain doom. A part of her was still very surprised Midwest Station had not been blown to pieces. Once he and his men had escaped, there had been nothing to prevent that destruction, but true to his legend, the Steel Prince acted unpredictably.

    The stationmaster curled his free hand in frustration. How did he get away with it? His plan had been near perfect. He¡¯d held all the cards. By the stars, he¡¯d even managed to isolate Gives from the Singularity, a feat achieved by so very few. Victory had been in the Jayhawker¡¯s grasp, and yet he only knew the sour taste of failure.

    ¡°Father,¡± Cinderella cut in softly, ¡°What happened? I remember you dismissing your guards, but after that¡­ I don¡¯t remember¡­¡± Had they cut a deal to ensure Midwest Station¡¯s safety?

    The memory came to him as if from a haze, and he regretted Cinderella¡¯s question the moment it emerged, for the icy barbs of fear began to climb up his spine, culminating in the pinch of knife-like claws cutting into his neck. He reached up to feel for those gouges in a panic, but he felt nothing ¨C no cuts, no scars, no bandages, only skin that felt so unexpectedly smooth. ¡°Get me a mirror!¡± he snapped to the surgeon.

    The surgeon quickly handed over a plain, handheld mirror, a peculiar look of analysis in his expression, but the Jayhakwer ignored it. He held up the mirror to look at his neck, as his fingers continued to map it out. Still, he found nothing but unbroken skin, soft to the touch. There were no wounds to be had, not even bruises. ¡°¡­But I felt it.¡± He had felt that thing dig in its claws.

    ¡°Might I inquire what you are looking for?¡± the surgeon asked, watching the Jayhawker twist this way and that to study his neck. ¡°We found no injuries on your neck. Only slight abrasions on your wrists where you were bound, and the bullet wound.¡±

    With a hiss of frustration, the Jayhawker lowered the mirror, clenching its flat plastic handle in his fist tight enough to hear it crack. ¡°It was here.¡± He knew little else, but that had been real. He was certain of it. ¡°The demon was going to take my head.¡±

    Carefully extracting the mirror from her father¡¯s grip before it broke, Cinderella pursed her red lips with worry. ¡°You¡¯re scaring me.¡±

    The Jayhawker heaved in a breath, tasting the artificial woodland scent that perfumed his office. It was hardly calming now. It tasted faker than the memory of that monster. ¡°The demon.¡± He reached up to cradle his head, feeling that his long hair had been put into a loose braid. ¡°He summoned it to attack me. And I swear it was real. It was in this room.¡±

    The surgeon furrowed his brow and picked his data pad up off of the tool cart beside the bed. He began reviewing the case notes he had taken. ¡°Ah,¡± he said after a moment, ¡°I see. I ran a neural check when they brought you to me. You had an abnormal amount of brain activity. Parts of your brain that weren¡¯t active when we took your baseline readings were lit up.¡±

    Cinderella took her father¡¯s hand, attempting to calm him. ¡°What can cause that?¡±

    ¡°Lots of things. I blamed it on the trauma of being shot, but the level of hallucination you¡¯re describing-¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t a damned hallucination,¡± the Jayhawker snapped. ¡°The fucking Prince could see it just as well as I could. It obeyed him. The rumor about him and the demon isn¡¯t a rumor.¡± It sounded mad, he understood that, but he wasn¡¯t a raving lunatic. That was the truth.

    The surgeon studied the earnestness of his patient. ¡°As I said, there are many possible explanations.¡± He set the data pad down. ¡°A hallucination would have been the simplest, but I found no evidence of physical head trauma or foreign agents in your blood.¡± In that, the usual suspects had been ruled out. ¡°I know little of the man you confronted, Stationmaster, but I heard the rumors as your other patrons fled.¡± There had been a great exodus from Midwest Station just before the Admiral arrived. ¡°His reputation is ¡­storied to say the least. And while demons may not be real, the symptoms of such curses very much are. As a people, humanity has long blamed what it does not understand upon the arcane. Populations have been burned at the stake for having extranormal capabilities ¨C perceptions the majority of people could not fathom.¡±

    ¡°Your point?¡± the Jayhawker prompted him.

    ¡°The rumors of the demon merely need to be regarded in a scientific lens,¡± the surgeon said simply. ¡°Your memory and perception seem to have been manipulated in such a way that you could not parse reality from illusion. Additionally, your brain showed abnormal activity. Would you say that this entity seemed to have a read on your intentions, even if they were not voiced?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Then most likely, you were the victim of telepathic manipulation. It¡¯s rare, extremely rare, but the central government has conducted research. Given that your adversary is the former Fleet Admiral, it would not be a stretch to assume that he may have access to Command¡¯s resources, and thus to a telepath.¡±

    A telepath. The concept was not completely foreign to the Jayhawker. Ruling governments would pay a hefty sum for people with even slight empathic abilities. Telepathy was something far rarer and even more valuable. A strong telepath was worth nearly as much as a battleship on the black market. Their capabilities were something like fantasy, utterly unfathomable to the average human. To think the Steel Prince was hiding a card like that¡­ It made the Jayhawker resent the man all the more. ¡°I should have shot him dead.¡± That was a threat the stationmaster had not been prepared to handle, but that same trick wouldn¡¯t work twice. ¡°How does one counter telepathic manipulation? Is there an implant that can filter out the effects?¡±

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    ¡°Cyborgs have a level of resistance to telepathy, but they are not immune. In your line of work, an implant would offer more risk than protection.¡± All technology was open to corruption, and the Jayhawk¡¯s safety depended on his ability to keep the underworld¡¯s transactions secure. An implant would compromise that. ¡°If you fear further interactions with the former Fleet Admiral, then I would suggest you acquire a telepath loyal to your cause. They would be able to detect and counter the manipulation of other telepaths.¡±

    The Jayhawker nodded to his daughter. ¡°Begin a search. I want to add a telepath to our staff at once.¡± He had been lax. Rumors of telepathic ability had seemed too otherworldly to concern himself with, but he had left Midwest Station vulnerable not only to the Steel Prince, but to anyone else wealthy enough to employ such rare talents.

    The surgeon began to reorganize the cart of scanners and medical supplies he¡¯d wheeled in. ¡°Keep in mind that telepaths have a relatively short lifespan. Most will die before they hit thirty, and their capabilities are most stable between the ages of 8 and 18.¡±

    The Jayhawker just smiled. ¡°We will find a few candidates, and then ensure the loyalty of that which is most suitable.¡± The doctor need not concern himself further.

    ¡°Then what of the Singularity?¡± Cinderella asked. ¡°We know where they¡¯re going. We have a chance to exact revenge.¡±

    The Jayhawker looked down at the layers of bandages on his shoulder. The scent of anti-septic treatment wafted from them, a bitter, bitter reminder. ¡°We are in no condition to combat the Singularity.¡± They would need to rouse a great deal of support from the outlaw clans before making an attempt. And truly, in a battle, Gives had the advantage. Only subterfuge could offer a chance to seize the ship, but there were other ways to make such an enemy pay. ¡°Give Crimson Heart a courtesy call. Warn them that an attack is imminent. It won¡¯t save them, but it will make their resistance that much harder to break.¡±

    A devious smile crept up on Cinderella¡¯s face. ¡°You want to help Crimson Heart invoke casualties on Gives¡¯ crew.¡± In that, she supposed justice would be served. The very people Gives had risked himself to protect would be killed by Crimson Heart¡¯s legion of pirates.

    ¡°Do not tell Crimson Heart who is attacking. I fear if we appear too knowledgeable, it will look like collusion.¡± In no universe would the Jayhawker ever cooperate with the Steel Prince, but he knew how it seemed. It looked like he had willingly sold the coordinates for an outlaw clan to a member of the allied fleet. Circumstances dictated that the clan had ostracized itself, and that the Singularity was no longer part of the allied fleet, but appearances were all that mattered in the underworld. As such, there was one more matter to tend to, ¡°Fetch me Malibu Flower.¡±

    Cinderella nodded once, and turned on her heel, vanishing from sight as she went to find the information broker. That left only the stationmaster and his surgeon. Truly, the Jayhawker hardly concerned himself with the surgeon¡¯s presence. The good doctor was paid enough to keep his mouth shut, regardless of what dealings he overheard.

    In that moment of peace, the stationmaster tried to center himself, and bury the memory of the monster that had attacked him. Still, he shivered at the memory of the claws that had run along his throat. He turned from the memory of that creature¡¯s hot, rancid breath. Such a thing had felt so utterly inhuman. Could a human telepath truly be responsible?

    In the end, the Jayhawker supposed it wouldn¡¯t matter. If he was lucky, Gives¡¯ telepath would be killed in the confrontation with Crimson Heart and never again interfere. Either way, once Midwest Station employed a telepath of its own, he would never be manipulated that way again. He had not built an empire out here to have it torn to bits by the Steel Prince of all people.

    No, the cases of trophies and valuables were evidence of his exploits. The individually lit cases with shelves of precious gems and artefacts were tokens of his success. The antique weapons and alien relics he kept on those shelves were there to remind him and everyone else that he owned the underworld. These treasures had been gifted and purchased, utterly unique in all aspects. He mourned the loss of the FTL Key he had pilfered from the Singularity, but perhaps it was better not to be haunted by the memory of that ship, since it continued to elude his control.

    By the time Cinderella returned with Malibu Flower in tow, the Jayhawker had already chosen a new favorite collectible: the war spear of a Hydrian Chieftain. It felt fitting, since the Hydra had once been the Singularity¡¯s mortal enemy. Locked in its case, that spear was a thing of beauty. Its shaft was made from an alien composite that looked something like a lightly-colored wood, but was far stronger. It would have come from battlefield waste: the refined and repurposed corpses of both sides of the war, harvested from the front line where they¡¯d died. The Hydra were masters of recycling. Nothing went to waste with them. There was no trash, no scrap too small to use. Tooth and sharpened bone formed a collar around the spearhead, and ribbons of skin and scale cascaded down, twisting around the shaft, both ornamental and protective.

    The spear was a thing of beauty as the Jayhawker admired it now. Hydrian Chieftains had carried them as badges of honor, but still, they were nothing less than practical. The blade on the tip of the spear was a material as hard as diamond. With enough force, it could cut through all types of personnel armor, and it had piezoelectric properties. Upon impact, it imparted an electric charge. On a human, the smallest cut could damage their nerves, rendering them numb and helpless. On a machine, it began to overload and destabilize their systems.

    Yes, it would be more than fitting as a new favorite trophy. Only a handful of such spears existed on the human side of the Neutral Zone. The Hydraian Armada had rarely left battlefield ruin unharvested ¨C repurposing everything they could from metal to wood, including the bodies of the dead. By result, Hydrian artefacts of any variety were exceptionally rare. An intact specimen like that spear was quite befitting of the Jayhawker¡¯s wealth and status. He would begin to train with it at once, and then next time he and the Steel Prince met, he¡¯d run the bastard through the heart. Nothing could be more poetic than killing the commander of a Hydrian War-era battleship with a Hydrian spear.

    The Jayhawker felt an eager, lopsided grin spread across his face. He didn¡¯t care if he looked unhinged. Revenge would be his, and it would be a shame not to use all the resources at his disposal, so he turned to the information broker Cinderella had brought into his office.

    Malibu Flower had a baby face, round cheeks with a natural blush and a little chin. It was framed by curtains of small bleach blond curls. Striking sapphire eyes and perfectly white teeth made it clear that his appearance had been corrected through various means, but the Jayhawker hardly cared. Malibu Flower was one of his most profitable and reliable information brokers. ¡°Tell me about the your buyer. Who agreed to the deal for the Singularity¡¯s coordinates?¡±

    Flower straightened his bright pink suit. ¡°I hesitate to break our confidentiality agreement, Stationmaster.¡± If word got out of who he had struck this deal with, the other brokers may seek to cut in on that relationship in the future.

    Interesting. ¡°Do you fear for your own safety, Flower?¡± Had he brokered a deal with someone forbidden? Had Command been involved after all?

    ¡°No,¡± the broker answered. ¡°I well know what is permitted on this station.¡± The centralized government and its military were off-limits. No one on the station dealt with them. ¡°I simply feel that my relationship with them is most profitable if kept private.¡± He did not want competition for this client.

    ¡°Then they are wealthy,¡± the Jayhawker realized.

    ¡°Excessively, Stationmaster.¡± They had not even attempted to negotiate a lower price for the deal. ¡°Not to mention, they were quite easy to please.¡± Not many would have settled for a mere confirmation of the Singularity¡¯s position, but his client had been satisfied with a visual sighting. ¡°I suspect, if we have further information on the Singularity¡¯s whereabouts, they would be quite interested.¡±

    How very curious. ¡°What are their intentions with the Singularity?¡± the stationmaster wondered. ¡°Did you catch any sense of hostility?¡± Surely, if they wanted to sink the ship, a mere confirmation of its presence would not have sufficed?

    ¡°It was not my business to ask those questions,¡± Malibu Flower answered. Brokers who got too curious lost business. Most of his clients did not appreciate prying. They favored keeping the information business as simple as possible ¨C a mere exchange with no questions asked.

    ¡°Then it is no matter,¡± the stationmaster decided. ¡°If you believe this client can continue to be profitable, then let us work our way into their good graces. Forward them the coordinates for Crimson Heart free of charge. Inform them we cannot guarantee when the Singularity will arrive or depart, but we do know that, at some point, she will be there.¡±

    Malibu Flower¡¯s eyes gleamed with appreciation. This gesture would earn him the loyalty of his client for some time, and immense wealth with it. As always, the Jayhawker would earn a healthy cut. ¡°My client will be most appreciative.¡± He was very certain of that.

 Part 36.2 - AURA OF GOLD

    Thunderhead Sector, Erudite System, Venorria, Citadel City

    ¡°Open the doors,¡± Lord Protector Kingston Borealis commanded.

    The guards heaved to, grabbing onto the handles of the throne room¡¯s ornate doors. Scraping against the stone floor of the palace, the massive doors opened slowly, and the moment the gap was large enough, Borealis rushed through.

    He did not slow his pace among the gilded columns of the throne room. His boots tapped loudly against the polished floors as he hurried to kneel at the edge of the marble dais in the center of the room. ¡°My lady,¡± he said, bowing his head, ¡°I bring urgent news.¡±

    Upon the dais, seated on a throne of solid gold and carved ivory, the Eternal Empress reached out, gesturing him to his feet. ¡°Lord Protector,¡± she spoke, tone soft and melodic, ¡°you need not kneel.¡± That arcane tradition persisted as a gesture of respect. She did not require it. ¡°Tell me your news.¡±

    Slowly, Borealis stood, looking to the Empress. ¡°Malibu Flower has contacted us again, my lady.¡±

    She inclined her head pensively, considering the ramifications of such a report. ¡°So soon?¡± Her words were not muffled by the white porcelain mask that covered her face. They reached him through the gap in the mask¡¯s painted red lips. ¡°And what cost, pray tell, did he ask of us this time?¡±

    The Lord Protector straightened the blue sash that ran across his crisp, white uniform. ¡°He offered it to us free of charge, Empress.¡±

    ¡°How peculiar,¡± she murmured softly, leaning forward to wrap her hands around the festooned armrests of her throne. It fit the length of her arm, and the size of her dainty hands perfectly, as this throne had been built to suit her. ¡°It is most unusual for the rats of the underworld to offer anything without turning a profit.¡± Dealing with them had always been a risk. Rumor of her nation¡¯s wealth would entice such people to charge a high price for their services. Still, the Cassiopeia Coalition had wealth to spare. What the Empress lacked was information.

    ¡°I agree,¡± the Lord Protector said. ¡°I attempted to question Flower¡¯s intentions, but he refused to provide an explanation.¡±

    The Empress lifted her gaze to the decorative capital of the column in front of her. The gold leafing covered the chiseled marble flawlessly. It glittered in the light, one of many that held up the throne room¡¯s vaulted ceilings. ¡°I imagine information brokers do not favor questions regarding their sources or their motive. After all, we did not provide him ours.¡±

    The Lord Protector nodded in agreement. ¡°Still, the data appears legitimate. The coordinates he provided us are not far, galactically speaking, from her last known position in the Paleon Sector. Flower assured she will be in that location at some point, though he cannot guarantee the timing. He also advised us to be aware of an active firefight in the region.¡± Borealis set his jaw proudly, ¡°I must say I found his concern out of place. The Royal Guard can handle itself.¡± The Cassiopeia Coalition had one of the most capable national guards in the worlds.

    ¡°Be cautious with your pride, Lord Protector.¡± While the Coalition maintained an able defense force, they lacked the ability to project power beyond their accepted borders. The centralized government would never have allowed the creation of such a fleet. ¡°Flower is right to exercise caution. If any of our forces are caught on the wrong side of the engagement, then our objective is forfeit.¡±

    The Lord Protector kept his shoulders squared. With tidy brown hair, brown eyes, and a strong jawline, he was a handsome man, though perhaps oddly young for his position. As the Lord Protector, he led the Cassiopeia Coalition¡¯s military and defense forces, but he, like every other person within the Coalition¡¯s sovereign borders, answered to the Eternal Empress. ¡°Your orders, my lady?¡±

    ¡°How far must you travel, Lord Protector?¡±

    Borealis could not see her eyes beyond her mask. The black eyeliner painted on its white face only made them look dark, but he could feel the weight of her gaze. ¡°The Startraveler Aurora is our fastest ship. With her, at maximum speed, I can reach Flower¡¯s coordinates in 18 hours. But I shall have to go alone.¡± The Royal Guard¡¯s other ships could not keep up that pace.

    A deep sigh deflated the Empress¡¯ thin figure. She tapped a few nails on the armrest of her throne in contemplation, but eventually spoke, ¡°Go.¡± This objective was too important to surrender now, regardless of how dangerous it was to send Borealis and his ship alone, far past the Coalition¡¯s borders. ¡°Find the Singularity, Lord Protector, then promise them whatever you must. The Coalition will meet any demand.¡± Her very worlds depended on it. ¡°By any means necessary, bring me Admiral Gives.¡±

    Borealis bowed deeply. ¡°Yes, my lady.¡± Then, he spun on his heel, hurried back the way he¡¯d come.

    The Lord Protector¡¯s purposeful steps echoed amongst the columns, and slowly faded. A moment later, she heard the throne room doors grind open, then thunk closed once again. Good luck, Lord Protector, she thought after him. It did not please her to send his ship alone on such an important mission, but it could not be avoided. She could only hope that he returned safely. Loyalty like his was all too rare in these worlds.

    Bountiful in resources, the Coalition had so far been spared the corruption and profiteering that plagued other nations on the fringe, but she knew that would not last forever. One way or another, the worlds¡¯ cycle of endless violence would find them. And with tensions rising on the Frontier, another civil war looked inevitable. Her guidance would not spare the Coalition that. Her nation was simply too wealthy, too large and too advanced to ignore. It was a threat to the central worlds¡¯ dominance, and that made sending a ship beyond their borders all the more dangerous. Caught in the wrong time, at the wrong place, that could be framed as a hostile action ¨C as the projection of power beyond their lawful borders. And that would be all it took to label the Coalition a separatist state.

    The Coalition¡¯s position had long been precarious. A conglomerate of colonies that included everything from planets to mining outposts, the Cassiopeia Coalition was one of the largest nations within the bounds of the Ariean Central Government ¨C the entity that controlled all of human space. The wealth of the Coalition matched that of any of the central worlds, but its influence did not.

    Located on the fringes of human settled space, the Coalition sat far distant from the central worlds, and the cradle world of Ariea. It sat so distant, in fact, that the Coalition had once been a lost colony, rediscovered mere decades before the Hydrian War. Perhaps more interestingly, however, was the fact that the Cassiopeia Coalition sat adjacent to the Neutral Zone that had been established by the War, and thus, sat very near the agreed-upon territory of the Hydrian Empire.

    Considering the Coalition¡¯s relatively short history with the central government and its location, the Cassiopeia Coalition and all its citizens had been abandoned to their fate during the Hydrian War. As the rest of the worlds pooled their resources to fight, the Coalition had been deserted. No one in the central worlds had expected the nation to survive that plight ¨C not when so many others had fallen, but it had, and diplomatic relations had been irreversibly damaged ever since.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Abruptly, the Empress stood from her elaborate throne. Like liquid metal, the silver fabric of her gown flowed into place, perfectly tailored to her height. She had a slight figure, thin and not particularly tall, but her skin was flawless wherever it was visible on her arms and with the glimpse of her slender legs revealed by the slit in her gown. Her pale skin and dark hair were common characteristics within the Coalition. Most of the population shared those traits, having descended from a twin set of colony ships that travelled here centuries ago.

    Stepping off the dais, the two guards that had stood beside her throne, turned sharply to follow. They shadowed her always, faces stoic, but bodies tense and alert. They moved quietly, and kept a respectful distance between themselves and her. Outside her chambers, she was always guarded by such men: the finest the Royal Guard had to offer. The Lord Protector hand-selected them for their skill and focus. As well-guarded as the palace was, it was a mostly ceremonial post, but the guards were not lax. They were dressed to the nines in the white uniform of the Royal Guard, golden sashes across their chests. Holstered handguns glimmered with polish at their sides, and they carried staves topped with a trio of small golden blades, each delicately curved. The blades were meant to maim, not kill, but the staff they were mounted on ¨C an electrostaff ¨C was perfectly capable.

    The Empress headed for the back of the throne room, her steps graceful and unhurried. For a moment she paused to admire the stained glass that filtered light into the throne room. In it, the ramparts of the palace rose above the skyline of Citadel City, and the colorful orbs of the Coalition¡¯s most populated worlds hovered in the background. It was a work of art that lit the cathedral-like room with warm light.

    Turning, the Empress headed down a side corridor that opened at the back of the throne room. It was a short path, lit dimly by electric lights designed to flicker like torches. The next door creaked open into a smaller darker room, illuminated only by false candles that burned at the base of the statues. Carved from the same white marble as the columns in the throne room, these statues were busts of regal ladies, exquisite in their detail. They were placed upon pedestals, and a white porcelain mask hung below each. Seven in all, they lined both sides of this small room. They had no name placards, but the Empress did not need them. She knew them all, from Cana, the first, to Ayla, the seventh. With the exception of Cana, each of these women had reigned over the Coalition for fifty years. The portrait of their chosen Lord Protector hung behind them. In all, with each of these women donning the mask, the Eternal Empress¡¯ reign had lasted three hundred sixty-four years, and continued still.

    Under the Empress¡¯ reign, the Coalition had thrived. Its resources and population were unburdened, and the country knew no greater loyalty than to its Empress, for the Empress was a woman of the people. None of the statues had been related by blood, and rule of the Coalition was not passed down a genetic line. No, the woman who wore the mask was selected once a generation from the Coalition¡¯s populace by her predecessor. The metrics of such a selection were never revealed, nor was the name of the selectee. She was simply spirited away to begin her service.

    Pausing before the seventh statue, a woman of long, wavy hair, the Empress spoke, ¡°Our nation is in dire straits, is it not?¡± During the Hydrian War, the nature of the enemy had been known. Now, that enemy could be anyone. A diplomat could be a spy looking to cause an incident. ¡°The central worlds want war.¡± Whipped into a frenzy by the New Era¡¯s ideals and the promise of prosperity, a civil war was brewing, and on worlds like Sagittarion, it had already begun.

    The Empress reached out, as if to tuck the bust¡¯s curly hair back, but sighed when her fingers met cold stone. Those curls were truly beautiful. She missed them like old friends. Slowly, her hand slid down the statue until she found the back of the bust¡¯s neck. There, where the skull met the spine, as in all the others, a jewel had been inlaid. The same in every statue, its round shape was uniformly cut, and its brilliant green color glittered in the candlelight.

    ¡°Do you regret not undergoing the procedure, my lady?¡±

    The sound of a voice beside her made her jump, but she relaxed as she recognized her company. Neither of the guards by the door had twitched, though they watched the Cassiopeian Minister of Science with watchful eyes. ¡°Professor Daiba, this chamber is not for your use.¡±

    ¡°But it serves,¡± he said curtly. Behind his glasses, his narrow eyes glinted as he asked again, ¡°Do you regret it?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said, removing her hand from the gem on the back of the bust¡¯s neck. Beneath her short, shoulder length hair, her skin was unbroken. ¡°Lady Ayla struggled with their Voices. It was time to find another way.¡± Their previous methods would not have proved sustainable.

    ¡°But you still hear them?¡±

    ¡°All who have donned this mask hear them,¡± she answered, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the white mask that hid her face.

    Daiba nodded, satisfied by that answer. A man of sweaty, yellowish pallor, the professor was nothing much to look at. His posture was poor, but his mind was a marvel. From his lab below the palace, he had brought the Coalition unparalleled advancements in biology and chemistry, not to mention helped upgrade the equipment of the Royal Guard on many accounts. ¡°I hear you have dispatched your Lord Protector to fetch the Singularity.¡±

    ¡°You have heard correctly.¡±

    Daiba narrowed his eyes. ¡°If you seek to avoid the central worlds¡¯ attention, is that wise, my lady?¡±

    ¡°Under the Eran coup, the Coalition will not be ignored.¡± A choice would be issued: fall in line or face war. ¡°Their attention will turn to us eventually. We must be ready.¡±

    ¡°I understand readying our defenses and increasing patrols along our eastern borders, but sending the Lord Protector after Command¡¯s little renegade seems a strange choice, my lady.¡±

    ¡°Little.¡± She sighed with amusement. ¡°Professor, I take it you have been too busy to indulge in historical research.¡± That was no surprise. His prior project had been urgent, especially once Malibu Flower had reached out to broker a deal for the ship¡¯s position.

    Daiba¡¯s nose twitched. ¡°History does not much interest me, I¡¯m afraid.¡±

    Of course not. Daiba was far more interested in the future than the past. ¡°That ¡®little¡¯ renegade was the largest ship in Command¡¯s fleet.¡± A few had come close, but none had surpassed her. ¡°She is everything our Royal Guard is not.¡± Adept at observation and defense, the Royal Guard was sorely lacking in offensive armaments. ¡°The Singularity¡¯s support could prove critical to the Coalition¡¯s survival. Our intelligence has already reported that the Singularity did significant damage to a task force that heavily outnumbered her.¡± That had proven her more than effective against Command. ¡°The enemy of our enemy can be an asset to us, Professor. At the least, she could buy us time.¡±

    Truly, if the central worlds turned on them, they would need all the aid they could muster, but allies in this area of space were few. The War had decimated the Coalition¡¯s surroundings. To the galactic west lay the Neutral Zone, where both humans and Hydra were forbidden to tread. Unexplored space lay to the north and the Isolation Gap of worlds burned by the War sat to the south. Far, far eastward were the central planets, and between them was nothing more than emptiness and colonies long abandoned: unorganized space.

    ¡°We are alone out here, Professor,¡± the Empress reminded him. ¡°Unlike the nations of the Frontier,¡± which lay far beyond the central worlds in the east, ¡°we do not have the luxury of banding together in the face of a threat. We only hope that the central worlds focus their attention there as the rumors of another Frontier Rebellion grow.¡±

    ¡°And if they don¡¯t, my lady?¡±

    ¡°Then I am not willing to let my nation fall to authoritarian rule.¡± The Eran coup would destroy the nation the Eternal Empress had spent centuries creating. ¡°We have survived a war before, and we will do so again.¡± The cost, however, would be steep.

    The professor followed her attention to the bust of her predecessor. ¡°In such turbulent times, perhaps it would be prudent to identify a more proper Lady-in-Waiting. I fear the current subject may not be able to sustain the Voices for her entire term.¡±

    The Empress reached up to feel the cool porcelain of the mask upon her face, sorrowful that its weight may need to be donned by another so soon. ¡°You are right.¡± If it came to war, she would be the central worlds¡¯ first target. They had to be prepared. ¡°Begin the search, and in the meantime, re-evaluate the necessary conditioning of the available subject to see if we can improve her endurance.¡±

    Daiba took a step back and bowed, ¡°As you wish, my lady.¡±

 Part 36.3 - BATTLE RITUALS

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    It was early in the morning, ship¡¯s time. Formal battle preparations would soon begin, but for the moment, it was quiet. It was during such time, in the waning hours before a mission, that Maria Galhino always found herself on the observation deck.

    It felt as though the wide, empty space gave her room to think. There were a wealth of chairs, couches, and benches, but she never sat. She always stood, looking out the windows, practicing an analysis of what she saw there.

    The wide ports weren¡¯t real windows, but they cast the illusion of such. They were the views of telescopes on the hull, reflecting the light through an optical mirror system to produce the view here. Perhaps that seemed an unnecessary design addition, but the mirror system was far wiser than having fragile viewports on a combat ship.

    Even without power, the mirrors and telescopes gave them a chance to see obstacles in the ship¡¯s path, and while it was rare to steer a ship by sight and star, the capability to do so was a comfort. If it ever became necessary, observation decks like this gave them the view from the hull without a spacewalk. But, beside their practical purpose, the observation deck was a favorite for many members of the crew. It gave them a chance to stare out at the stars and study the colors of distant nebulas and planets as they passed by.

    Others came here for recreation, but Galhino came here with a purpose: to remind herself that what she saw out there was just a fraction of the information that was truly there. Her eyes were poor tools to study the void, and that was never more apparent than staring out into the Mississippi Sector. Dark planets drifted endlessly out here. Other parts of the sector were filled with gas giants¡¯ whose gaseous layering reflected the small amount of starlight at different wavelengths, giving them a slight marbled appearance, but their local region was now dominated by rock planets. Atmosphere-less hunks of ice-cold earth, these planets were only visible in the way they blotted out the stars. With the naked eye, it was impossible to ascertain the location of the vagrant planets.

    The ship began a sweeping turn, evident by the change in the engines¡¯ low hum. Clearly there were other planets out here besides the one that Maria Galhino thought she could make out in the darkness. But, of course, the Singularity wasn¡¯t as blind as her crew in the constant midnight of the Mississippi Sector. That was why Galhino was here. She liked to contemplate the way their ship perceived their surroundings. As a rehearsal for combat, she liked to consider what sensor sweeps would be best applied, and the Mississippi Sector was certainly an interesting challenge.

    The ship¡¯s sensors were usually calibrated to the infrared spectrum to study changes in heat energy, but so distant from any stars, the planets adrift in the Mississippi Sector had no heat energy. They were cold. If any of the planets still had active cores, the infrared may return as a blur, but that was no way to reliably discern size or mass.

    Without light, the spectroscopes were similarly useless ¨C unable to analyze the material properties of the planets¡¯ surface. For those planets without atmosphere, the ship¡¯s laser sensors would be adequate to determine distance and size. They were quite useful as long as nothing scattered their focused photon beam. Still, the most reliable method of navigation in this area was to go by radar.

    Most ships didn¡¯t have the radar range to detect a planet far enough away to prevent falling into its gravity well. It was an advantage of the Singularity¡¯s size to carry a larger array and have a greater detection radius. The Singularity¡¯s radar had ample range to confirm the presence and range of a planet, and then check the accelerometers to obtain its gravitational force. With that, it was a simple calculation with the law of universal gravitation to determine the smallest necessary course deviation to avoid the planet and its gravity well.

    It was a useful thing for the ship to have that type of navigational capability. Often, the knowledge she gleaned from the ship¡¯s great ¡®eyes¡¯ fascinated Galhino, but there were still moments when the beauty of the visible spectrum struck her. It was strange to realize that the prismatic nebulas they passed by would never be recognized as anything but gaseous vapors by the ship, even as the crew stared in awe. Galhino could not imagine what it would be like to view the universe in that way, to ¡®see¡¯ in a hundred spectrums but be blind to the beauty of it.

    As the ghost recognized it, this lonesome contemplation was Maria Galhino¡¯s battle ritual. Every member of the crew had one, and they varied quite wildly. Some, like Galhino, woke early and found places to center their thoughts, while some preferred to beat their nerves out on a punching bag in the gym. Others enjoyed a rambunctious game of cards. A few even laid bets on the potential that the mission went off without issue. These habits were their way of waiting out tense hours before a combat mission.

    Even the ship¡¯s old cook had a ritual. She woke and cooked as much as she always did, but many of the crew were too nervous to eat or otherwise occupied, so Ripley dished up small plates and snacks for the crew to take with and eat later. That wasn¡¯t the fleet standard, of course. Food was supposed to stay in the mess and lounge areas, but everyone knew better than to argue with the old woman. The crew took Mama Ripley¡¯s prepackaged snacks with gratitude. Usually, when all was said and done, eating that snack was the first thing they did.

    The ghost was often drawn to the cook during these hours, partially because her aura was calm. No matter the mission, she treated it as if she were sending the younger crew on a simple supply trip and packing them snacks for the road ¨C not feeding them what could potentially be their last meal. The other reason the ghost lingered nearby was because Ripley would often speak to her as she packaged up the leftovers. ¡°How are you doing dear?¡± the cook asked, snapping a line of food storage containers closed as she moved down the counter. ¡°Are you feeling ready?¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± the ghost answered.

    ¡°Ma¡¯am?¡± the cook let out a tsk and turned to put her hands on her hips. ¡°Enough of that nonsense. You can call me Mama just like anybody else.¡±

    The ghost smiled a bit. ¡°Yes, Mama.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s better,¡± the cook huffed, turning to stack the containers. ¡°Now, Kallahan told me there was an incident last night. Were you hurt?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Gaffigan¡¯s assumptions had been painful in a way, but she knew it was no fault of his own. He had meant well.

    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± the chef said, stepping over to wash and dry her hands at the sink. The noise of the water halted the conversation for a moment, but soon enough she went back to work, checking on the bread baking in one of the ovens. ¡°I¡¯d hate to see you hurt in a misunderstanding, dear.¡±

    The sweet scent of the rising dough hit the air strongly, carried upward by the warmth of the air escaping the ovens. ¡°Those need another ten minutes,¡± the ghost told her.

    Ripley pursed her lips, ¡°Since when are you a chef?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve watched you make that bread so many times, if I had hands, I could probably do it,¡± the ghost told her.

    Ripley set the timer above the oven for another ten minutes. ¡°Don¡¯t get snarky with me, young lady,¡± she countered, narrowing her eyes enough to deepen the crow¡¯s feet around them. ¡°I¡¯d hate to have an excuse to cook my favorite recipe.¡±

    The ghost chuckled. ¡°My apologies, please spare the crew.¡± While she was not forced to eat it, she had gleaned from the rest of the crew that Ripley¡¯s favorite recipe, ¡®meat stew,¡¯ was universally disliked. The cook knew the recipe was hated, but she loved it too much to permanently restrain from it. In the interest of not hurting the old cook¡¯s feelings, the crew forced themselves to eat the stew, but none of them were very good actors.

    Ripley let out a boisterous laugh, and it turned into a reminiscent sigh. ¡°How long has it been since we were on the offensive? Feels like forever.¡±

    ¡°Nearly two years.¡± The ship had seen action but had not been on a planned attack operation in quite some time. Their engagements since had been either defensive or unplanned. In that sense, these old battle rituals were welcoming. They lent a sense of preparedness to the combat looming ahead.

    Wiping her hands on her apron, Ripley began to tidy up the galley, hanging pots and pans back where they belonged, and sheathing the knives left to dry on the side of the sink. ¡°And how¡¯s the Admiral, my dear?¡±

    ¡°He¡¯s tired, I think,¡± the ghost answered, ¡°but that rarely seems to slow him down.¡± Exhausted or not, the Admiral had finalized the plan for the mission, and Zarrey was looking it over now.

    Ripley hummed, ¡°You know how he gets. Best to keep an eye on him.¡± He often let his work swallow him. Come to think of it¡­ ¡°He¡¯s not doing what he usually does at this time, is he?¡±

    The ghost purposefully averted her gaze. ¡°No?¡±

    Ripley crossed her arms. ¡°My dear, you might just be the worst liar I have ever seen.¡± But that should not have been a surprise. Subtlety was in no way her strength. ¡°And come now, if he never rests, those injuries of his will never heal.¡±

    ¡°This is his favorite.¡± The ghost had not been willing to discourage him. After last night, he had been looking forward to it even more than usual.

    Ripley sighed, knowing a lost cause when she saw one. ¡°At least Ensign Feather will make sure he eats.¡± Someone had to make sure the man didn¡¯t work himself into an early grave.

    The ghost decided not to address the fact that Admiral Gives had been gone by the time Feather reached his quarters. The food Ripley had sent with her was on his desk steadily cooling to room temperature because the Admiral had not returned to his quarters after doing his usual rounds.

    Instead, he had headed to the far starboard side and made his way down to the ship¡¯s lowest decks. There, he found one of the closets that stored emergency supplies and grabbed one of the environmental suits. He threw the suit¡¯s rubbery mass over his shoulder, tucked the helmet beneath his arm, and snagged the mag-boots with his left hand, wincing as their weight strained his lingering burns. Still, he ignored the injury, unwilling to let it keep him from this tradition.

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    He carried the suit back to the nearby airlock and kicked off his shoes, sliding them into the storage cubby beside the airlock. He pulled the mag-boots on in their stead, kneeling down to tighten their adjustment straps. It took a few moments to size them comfortably to his feet, and then he tucked his pantlegs in to keep them from getting caught on the ring seal that attached the boots to the suit. It was a practiced movement, made more difficult by the constant snagging of the glove covering the bandages on his hand. But, better the glove than the bandages, he supposed, straightening up. The last thing he wanted was to return to his quarters to re-bandage his hand. He knew anyone he met there would try to talk him out of this.

    He had grown tired of their arguments years ago, which was why he had taken to using spare equipment instead of the flight suit that was actually sized to fit him. This environmental suit, stored near the airlock for emergencies would work just as well for his intent. All the emergency equipment was regularly checked and used by the damage control teams, but it was not as comfortable as his flight suit would have been.

    Carefully, he peeled the thin black glove off his wounded hand and set it aside. Then he undid the silver buttons on the front of his uniform jacket and shrugged it off. The fabric drooped as he held it, worn soft. Even the collar wasn¡¯t as stiff as it should have been. This was one of his older jackets, near, but not yet in need of replacement. Reaching out, he could find the two patches that had been sewn in to fill the bullet holes in the front, reminders of the last mission General Clarke had sent him on. Still, a pair silver pins glittered on the collar: shiny silver stars on matte silver bases, the symbol of a Fleet Admiral with a Flagship under his command. He considered them for a moment, but the coolness of the air on his bare forearms prompted him to continue and hang it beside the airlock.

    He felt vulnerable without the jacket. The feel of its thick, yet breathable fabric was familiar to him, the weight a constant reminder of the duty he had to his ship and her crew. The absence of that reminder did not unburden him, just uncomfortably distanced him from his purpose. That purpose was a part of him, something that he had lived so long with, that he hardly knew how to do without. Perhaps that was why he hesitated to let the jacket rest on its hook. It, and the duty it represented were a large part of him. Without that, he was no Admiral.

    He was hardly anything at all.

    He¡¯d never held a desire to return planet-side and had no one who would seek to meet him elsewhere. His duty was the only thing that gave him a place, and the black uniform jacket that accompanied it was a form of armor. Its long sleeves concealed the scars on his arms, and he made certain most of the crew never caught him without it. He didn¡¯t want their questions, or their pity, or their doubt. And truly, he knew those scars would make them doubt whether he was fit to hold a command. Perhaps as they should, he thought, recognizing the two new red cuts on his forearm. They were not the first knife cuts he¡¯d endured, not by far, and they were small, so small they likely wouldn¡¯t even scar ¨C not on top of the marks already there.

    With a sigh, he let his hand fall to the patch on the sleeve of the jacket. The stitching of the insignia was familiar to him as he traced his fingertips over the red and yellow flaming sun. The symbolism behind it was never lost on him. Regarded as a sun, it was a sign of glory and royalty. Regarded as a star, it was a sign of nobility. Predominantly red, the color that symbolized military fortitude, it was a reminder of the ship¡¯s power. Yet, the flames that reached out behind were yellow ¨C the color of generosity, a reminder of the ship¡¯s sacrifice. The dying star was always given a black background, denoting grief and constancy. That emblem had never changed, even as the rings around it had been altered. The lettering now read ¡®Battleship¡¯, where once it had read ¡®Flagship¡¯, but the detailing was still in silver, a reminder that this insignia had once belonged to a flagship. All other ships detailed theirs in gold.

    Some ships had more complex insignias, extravagant in detail and bountiful in color, but as far as he cared, the dying star was the only one worth wearing. He was honored to carry that symbol, and rarely went anywhere without it. Even without his jacket, that insignia was stamped on the left side of his black shirt, and attached to the left shoulder of the environmental suit as he began to pull it on.

    The environmental suit was flexible and had a rubbery texture to its outside. Its dark color had a strange oily sheen but was not slick. Without rigidity and without a partner, the environmental suit was awkward to pull on, but by pressing his back to the wall, he held the air recycling pack in place long enough to secure it and start sealing up the front of the suit.

    The environmental suit had a weight to it, necessitated by the thermal and radiation protection it carried, but unlike the Marines¡¯ armored suits, it had no rigid structure. With that design, its wearer ¨C usually engineers on a repair run ¨C could squeeze into tight locations. Given their flexibility and ease of use, these environmental suits were the most common type of vacuum suit. After so many years in space, Admiral Gives knew the steps to put one on like he knew how to tie his shoes. It was a process to check the seals as he connected the boots and gloves, not to mention resize the spare suit, but it didn¡¯t take long. He was able to relax and listen to the soft noise of the ship¡¯s engines as he finished up.

    The helmet was the last piece, but soon enough he pulled it on and twisted it onto the collar seal, where it clicked audibly. Reaching back, he hit a switch on the side of the air pack, and the suit temporarily over-pressurized itself, puffing up a small bit. This was the easiest way to check for a leak or bad seal. The burst of pressure would force air out the gap, and the passage of air across the suit¡¯s rubbery surface would make it squeal like a deflating balloon ¨C a rather hilarious noise until the wearer remembered that hearing it might signify their imminent death, courtesy a compromised suit.

    The suit was quiet this time, but he did a physical check of all the seals just in case. All good, he determined, so he reached down and activated the mag-boots, kicking toward the deck to check them. As expected, the magnetic field grabbed his foot and pulled it down to the metal. Satisfied, he opened the airlock, stepped inside, and spun it closed behind him. Reading a hard seal, he punched the controls beside the door to start the flush cycle, and the whir of the air pumps kicked in, growing quieter and quieter as the air was pulled from the lock.

    While the airlock cycled, he checked the equipment on the suit belt, finding an electric torch, suit patch kit, magnetic anchor and spool of cable. Good. That was all he needed.

    The light to the side of the outer airlock door flashed green, and a few seconds later, he felt his feet pull against the boots that anchored him as gravity was cut from the airlock.

    Regulations dictated he do a communications check to confirm the functionality of the radio in his helmet, but he knew how that would end, and had no desire to be interrupted on this walk. However, the promise of silence was not worth dying over if anything went wrong, so he reached up to the radio controls on his helmet. ¡°Base, requesting comms. confirmation for a spacewalk from the starboard flank.¡± The radio crackled a little bit on the transmission, a favorable indicator.

    ¡°Comms. confirmed. Try not to get lost, Actual.¡±

    He let out a sigh of relief, hearing the ghost answer the call. She must have intercepted it before it reached the crew. This way, he had confirmation, but could still maintain his solace. ¡°Thank you.¡± He was grateful. ¡°And you know I¡¯m not ¡®Actual¡¯ unless I am actively commanding from CIC.¡± That was the radio tag given to the officer in charge at that instant. Right now, that was probably Lieutenant Johannes, the head of the night watch.

    ¡°Agree to disagree.¡± As long as he was on the ship, she would always defer final command authority to him.

    He sighed, trying not to read into that response as he checked the atmospheric test strip on the right wrist of the suit. It had turned dark, signaling that not only were conditions not breathable, but there was no atmosphere around him at all. The internal pressure gauge further up on the suit¡¯s arm was nominal though ¨C no sign of any leak, so he reached out and began to open the airlock¡¯s outer side.

    By the way the mechanisms hesitated to turn, he could imagine they creaked, but without air to carry the pressure waves that made sound, the airlock opened in a perfect silence, and darkness yawned out before him. Yellow light splashed down from the airlock behind him, quickly swallowed by the emptiness ahead. There were no stars, not yet. Getting through the airlock had only allowed him passage into the space between the ship¡¯s hulls. The secondary hull maintained the air and living conditions for the crew, insulated against heat and radiation. It was armored, thicker and tougher than any civilian ship would be, but it was nothing compared to the shielding of the primary hull, which donned the ship¡¯s battle armor. From the airlock, a catwalk linked the two, held between the beams and supports that comprised the ship¡¯s structure.

    Absently, the Admiral reached up and clicked on the headlamp attached to his helmet. The white light cleaved into the darkness, casting the shadow of the path ahead down into the depths below. Looking down, there was no ground to be seen, layers and layers of structural supports caught pieces of the light until what was left faded into a dim haze. The discomfort of vertigo rose, but he discarded it as quickly as it came. Without gravity, there would be no falling. He could easily have pushed off and sailed to the footway¡¯s end, but he chose to keep his feet grounded and test the mag-boots.

    The boots made a clang when they hit the metal, then a clicking noise as he pulled his feet up, disengaging the magnets to take a step. They weren¡¯t loud, but it was easy to fixate on the sound when it was the only thing he could hear. In the vacuum, an otherwise perfect silence encased him.

    A few particles hung in the void, unmoving as he passed. Without air currents, they were frozen in place, only to be shifted during accelerations. Still, for a portion of the ship that was usually kept at vacuum to limit damage from hull breaches, there was more dust afloat than he ordinarily recalled. No, he realized, finding a large gray flake, not dust. Ash. This was ash from the fires that had burned after the nuke. The nuke had torn through both the ship¡¯s hulls, so air and ash had flooded out during the decompression, and some of it had settled upon the structural beams. Now that he was looking, he could see a thin film discoloring their surfaces. Later, they would need to pressurize and purge the space between the hulls, section by section. The ash wasn¡¯t directly harmful, but it could obscure visual inspections, so it was best to keep everything clean.

    Moving along the footway, the Admiral made his own inspection of the surrounding structure. The cross sections of the beams and flanges made the shadows shift strangely, but he saw nothing out of order. The ship wasn¡¯t new. There were a few scratches and scuffs on the beams, but nothing deep enough to inflict a meaningful stress concentration. If he studied close enough, he could still find the remains of fretting on the joints, but that was old damage now. The afflicted regions had been resealed, and new oscillation dampeners had been applied, the way they always should have been. Now, the discoloration and minor pitting on the metal were only reminders. The bumps were so slight he couldn¡¯t even feel them through the gloves of his environmental suit, but he knew what they felt like. After all, he¡¯d been the one to discover its severity all those years ago. Compared to what it had once been, the fretting was nothing more than a harmless blemish. A simple stain on the metal.

    Searching, he could spot the strain gauges placed throughout this forest of beams. Wires ran from them, taking the sensors¡¯ data for structural integrity analysis. Further in, on dimly lit beams that he could barely discern, there were streaks of white. Subtle and thin, they crawled across the beams. Sometimes splaying out into a web, and sometimes twisting together, the fibers looked strangely organic, somewhere between spider silk and veins. He studied them for a moment, certain the neurofibers had not always been so prolific in their growth, but ultimately dismissed it. No portion of this ship was beyond the neurofibers¡¯ reach, and he had realized that long ago.

    Eventually, he met the hatch that would take him through the primary hull. Technically, it was designed as an airlock, but it rarely operated under pressurized conditions, so he passed through without much thought, bringing himself to the final door. This one operated a little differently. Its controls were mounted on the bulkhead beside the door. There was an electric motor designed to open the door, but it was kept disengaged, used mostly for times when the airlock saw high traffic, or for the unfortunate occasion where someone or something needed to be spaced. This close to the hull, everything was kept as simple as possible, as damage was considered inevitable. The motor was an easy to replace module, and keeping it disengaged ensured that the operation of the airlock did not have to fight the resistance of the motor in a failure.

    Wrapping his hands on the textured wheel, he began to turn it. The gears behind it resisted a little, but that was no surprise. The extreme conditions of the void were difficult on moving components, but still, designed for this purpose, they yielded, and the exit began to slide open, revealing the stars.

 Part 36.4 - SHAKEDOWN

    Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives barely gave the stars a moment of consideration. Training dictated he move out and reseal the airlock, since it was a vulnerability as long as it was open. So, he grabbed the magnetic anchor from his belt, twisted the ring on its base to activate it and felt it whir as the electromagnets within used electricity to build their charge. Then, keeping his feet planted on the edge of the airlock, he reached out and stuck it to the hull, tugging on the cable to make sure it was secure.

    Only then did he pull up his heels and disconnect the mag-boots. Then, with a hand on the cable, he kicked gently off into the void. He drifted for a moment, moving further and further from the ship¡¯s flank even as he stayed alongside her course. Drag did not act in space, and the ship was under no acceleration, so it was possible to fly alongside, even if only for a moment.

    Soon enough, the slack he¡¯d allotted the cable ran taut and it jerked his drift to a stop. Then, with a tug, he pulled himself back towards the ship and landed feet-first on the hull, feeling the mag-boots reactivate as he bent his knees to absorb the force.

    ¡®You know that¡¯s not how you¡¯re supposed to do that,¡¯ the ghost told him. The magnetic anchor was supposed to serve as a safety, lest someone lose contact with the ship while making the awkward climb from the airlock¡¯s orientation to that of the hull.

    He reached down and grabbed the magnetic anchor, clipping it back onto his belt so it didn¡¯t drift away. ¡®Is that your way of telling me that you aren¡¯t going to come get me if I drift off?¡¯ Most experienced sailors preferred to jump and tug themselves back with the anchor, safety regulations be damned. Clambering from the airlock to the hull using mag-boots quickly got annoying.

    ¡®I didn¡¯t say that,¡¯ she said. ¡®I was simply under the impression you were trying to avoid Pflum¡¯s lectures.¡¯ Drifting off would earn him a lecture of yet unheard length from the ship¡¯s security officer.

    That was a good point, he supposed, leaning down and pulling up the shield that covered the airlock controls from impacts. He took a minute to crank it closed and secure everything, and then, finally, turned his attention to the stars.

    Here, in deep space, without the haze of atmosphere, they were inconceivably bright. Scattered across the sky, they glinted: some big, some small, some so faint he could barely spot them in the endless night. They ranged in color, most white but some blue or yellow-tinted. A rare one even presented as orange. The dark planets of the Mississippi Sector covered discs of them with strange blackness, as if holes had been punched in the starscape. It was beautiful, but that wasn¡¯t why he¡¯d come out here. Any of the ship¡¯s telescopes could show the stars in better detail from the bridge, so he turned his attention to the real reason he had come out here: the ship herself.

    The ship¡¯s height stretched out below him, but he could only see half of it, as the ship was widest at the halfway mark. Even still, the ship¡¯s armored hull stretched out at an angle, forming an artificial plateau. The armor was dark, coated in a scuffed coat of black paint. Red stripes highlighted the edges of the Singularity¡¯s shape, revealing subtle curves while she looked hard and angular from a distance. Looking down the ship¡¯s length, the view varied. Forward, the ship¡¯s heavily armored bow dominated the view, towering above and angling outward. Looking aft, the boxy shape of one of the four main engines greeted him. It wasn¡¯t as tall as the bow, allowing the bow¡¯s angled armor to shield it from incoming fire, but it was still utterly massive in its own right. And here, amidships, the engine and the bow remained a great distance away.

    Down the ship¡¯s flank, forward of where he stood, he could make out white lines that stretched far taller than he could reach. From here, they looked like nothing, perhaps only abstract streaks, but from a distance, they formed the lettering of the ship¡¯s identification. ¡®SINGULARITY¡¯ it read. Admiral Gives had seen it a thousand times. The lettering was mirrored across the ship¡¯s center and painted again so that it could be read from either orientation. The same was done on the port flank. Looking at the ship, the lettering was proportional, but standing on the hull, it was so massive that only one letter could be looked upon and identified at a time.

    Ultimately, it hardly mattered if the ship¡¯s name was stenciled across the hull. There were better ways of identifying ships ¨C radar ID, engine signature, not to mention size and silhouette. Even the colors on the hull were more useful for identifying ships, since the image did not need to be stabilized like it had to be to read lettering. Still, detailing a ship¡¯s name onto the hull was a human tradition. They had been doing so since the naval conflicts of old. For sailors, it was a matter of pride.

    The Admiral regarded what he could see of the lettering, but decided it had been well-maintained. Thus, he turned and continued up the ship¡¯s flank. Well, ¡®up¡¯ was a relative term. If one considered the orientation of the artificial gravity field, he was going down, but the artificial gravity did not reach beyond the secondary hull. Thus, it suited him to consider this direction ¡®up.¡¯ Without the pull of gravity, the orientation of the hull was irrelevant. He moved at an angle, relative to the ship¡¯s great size, but it may as well have been flat terrain. It did not strain him any more than heading in the other direction would have.

    The sound of his breathing filled his suit helmet, an easy rhythm heard above the whir and clank of his mag-boots every time he stepped. Truly, he preferred the background noise of the ship¡¯s engines, but the void did not perpetuate that sound. Still, anything was better than silence.

    Cresting over the ship¡¯s flank, an artificial plain stretched out before him, large enough to serve as a false horizon, and he paused there for a moment, drinking in the view. Out here, with nothing but the distant stars around, the ship became a world unto herself. Though not a planet, she was the only thing around for hundreds upon hundreds of miles ¨C all he had to ground himself by, and that had never bothered him. No matter how the vastness of the void stretched out before him, no matter how deep the emptiness that ran between the stars, no vertigo found him as he looked into that darkness. Despite knowing he could fall into that nothingness, never to touch anything again, he was comfortable here, far more so than he would have been bound to the earth of a planet by the oppression of gravity.

    He didn¡¯t miss being planet-side. Many sailors did. Even the most steadfast members of the crew often longed for the sensation of the wind blowing their hair, or the warmth of a terrestrial sun, but Admiral Gives had never been among them. He¡¯d grown up on Ariea, but he held no fond memories of it. Some of his earliest memories came with the immense desire to leave that place and never ever look back. He had visited other worlds. They had put him more at ease, but still reminded him too much of his past. Then, of course, New Terra had shown him how fragile planets truly were. Essentially stationary targets, a few well-placed nukes could render almost any planet totally uninhabitable. Even the Singularity¡¯s main battery, armed with the solid tungsten ATM shells, could trigger an extinction level event.

    In all, the Singularity had been a far better home to him than any planet, and he owed the ship for that. People had scorned his preference, called him mad for preferring a machine over their precious planets. From his perspective, however, they were the strange ones. Why should he prefer a ball of rock that hung helplessly in the void over a ship that had been designed to travel that void? Planets were made habitable by cosmic accidents, but this ship had been built to sustain the lives of her crew. He understood this machine in ways that he could never understand a terran world.

    Planetary life had always been foreign to him, perhaps because he had never been welcomed within it. He had never known a carefree life on any planet, regardless of if it had plentiful air or bountiful daylight. His life aboard ship had not been carefree either, but a promise had come with it: this ship would always be there for him. She¡¯d answer his call as long as she was able, and if he did his job, she would always be able.

    In that, the stars and planets that orbited them did not beckon him. The Singularity was all he needed. And where he stood atop the ship¡¯s back, she wasn¡¯t only massive, she was magnificent ¨C an impossible being of fire and steel.

    The true scale of her size was hard to fathom until rare moments like this. Even the smallest details on the hull were several times his size. The cover of the nearby missile launch tube was as big in diameter as he was tall, just one of the half-dozen that ran along this edge of the gun deck toward the bow. More lined the edge going aft, placed on the angled parts of the hull that were too small for defensive turrets.

    He began to move again, heading toward the center of the gun deck¡¯s artificial plain. The shadow of one of the defensive turrets loomed over him. He admired it in passing but stayed well clear of its sweep radius. Outside of combat, those two-barreled turrets were usually kept stowed. Each one of the 150 mounted all over the ship could be retracted below the outer hull¡¯s armor, protecting it from wayward impacts and the stresses of subspace while allowing the crew to do maintenance without a spacewalk.

    With battle preparations currently ongoing, the turrets would be raised in groups and their transversal range would be checked with targeting drills. That was the usual shakedown the weapon crews ran before a combat operation. So as the turret began to turn, the Admiral picked up his pace and continued toward the biggest protrusion on the gun deck. It was so large and dark that it was easy to ignore from the edge, as if those parts of the starscape were simply empty. Still, as he approached, that disturbance on the otherwise flat deck quickly became a mountain, and a range of similar shapes ran forward and aft. The lights that illuminated the rest of the hull barely splashed up the main battery gun¡¯s side.

    Forming a wall, the gun¡¯s slanted armor rose above him to the height of a two-story building. It dwarfed him, easily ten times the size of the turret he¡¯d passed by earlier, even in its current, lowered position. The main battery guns were simply too large to retract below the armor, but the hull was contoured to allow them to be lowered. That, combined with the shielding of the bow, protected them when they weren¡¯t in use. Outside of that, the guns were armored to high hell, and were quite simply too large to be affected by much outside a direct impact from a missile or opposing artillery.

    A sense of reverence always greeted him when looked upon any of the main battery guns. If the hull armor served as the ship¡¯s shield, then these guns served as her sword. They were fascinating, deadly, and yet so very grand, a reminder to respect his position. These weapons were under his command, and any damage they did, any blood they spilled, was on his hands. That was always a worthwhile reminder to give himself before he led the ship on an offensive mission.

    It had never been his objective to command a battleship, let alone the ship that had once been the fleet flagship. He would have been proud to sail any ship that kept him away from Ariea, and the Singularity had been the only one to offer him the chance. For that, he would have loved her, even if she¡¯d been a scrappy cargo transport. Her nature as a battleship had never really mattered to him, save the fact that it gave her the means to defend herself and her crew. In that sense, he owed a debt of gratitude to these guns.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

    Reaching out, he placed a gloved hand on the gun¡¯s abraded surface. Despite their history, their very nature as offensive weapons, the main battery was no less worthy of his attention than the engines. After all, they too were part of the ship¡¯s greater whole. I promise I will not abuse your strength. He knew what carnage the main battery could reap, and he knew too many innocents had been caught in their fire. Will you trust me? He wondered, staring up that the gun. Against a machine this grand, this capable, he was nothing. And yet, she had given him a place, pulled him from the punishment that should have been his death.

    He, an anxious, barely functioning human, had never been fit to command this ship, but placed in that position, he had done his best. He had always tried to steer her right, but he¡¯d made a few mistakes. Still, the Singularity had seen him through. You¡¯re a good ship. She¡¯d been patient with him in the way only a machine could be. Thank you.

    Tracing his hand along the shape of the gun¡¯s armor, he wondered what it felt like. Did it feel as abraded as the scuffed paint made it look, or had the cosmic dust worn it smooth? Likely, he would never know, as he could feel little beyond the environmental suit¡¯s thick gloves.

    ¡®Don¡¯t be so gloomy,¡¯ the ghost inserted herself into his thoughts. ¡®You are more than worthy of commanding this ship.¡¯

    ¡®You think so?¡¯ he wondered, following the edge of the main battery gun to its front. Then, he stepped in to follow one of the round barrels, eyeing its length for abnormalities.

    ¡®You have more than proven yourself in these last twenty-seven years, Admiral.¡¯ Truly, as far as she cared, there had never been anything to prove. The respect and kindness he had shown her had been enough. ¡®This ship¡¯s full strength is always at your disposal.¡¯

    He let out a breath as he reached the end of the barrel. The piece of himself that he allowed to feel was touched by that affirmation of trust. The rest simply wondered if giving him that trust would be a mistake. It seemed counterproductive to place someone not known for his adoration of the human race in command of a ship that had been built to save humanity.

    ¡®Knock it off, you idiot,¡¯ she chastised. ¡®This ship will follow you into hell whether you want her to or not, so it would be stupid not to ride with her.¡¯

    The warmth of the ghost¡¯s presence made itself known to him, almost like a blanket. He could feel it gently chasing away his doubts with the steel of unquestioning loyalty. ¡®I would be lost without you.¡¯

    ¡®Yes, I know. You¡¯re a horrible navigator.¡¯

    He sighed in amusement, always grateful for her company. ¡®I don¡¯t know why you put up with me,¡¯ he told her as he knelt to look down the barrel of the gun. The bore was as big as a cavern. Half of it was still buried in the contour of the hull, but he would have been able to crawl down it, had it been raised.

    ¡®It could be argued that I put up with you because you put up with me.¡¯ They made a good pair. There weren¡¯t many in the worlds who would have stopped to consider the welfare of a ghost.

    He pulled the electric torch off his belt and clicked it on to examine the condition of the barrel. A quick brush of his hand revealed that there was residue on its end, black soot that built up when they were fired. It streaked the rifling on the interior of the barrel as well. Following the curve of the rifling with his hand, he could feel that it was worn, slowly eroding as the guns were fired, but it was still a long way from needing replacement. The others were surely similar, so he stood and gave the barrel a pat. He''d expected nothing less of the old ship. His Singularity was nothing, if not reliable.

    He made his way back to the base of the turret, studying this particular gun in greater detail. He had visited all of them at one point or another, since he made this walk before every offensive mission. They were mostly identical, but this one sat near dead center on the ship¡¯s length: seventh in line from the bow. The white detailing stenciled on each side of the gun¡¯s base proclaimed it as such: Gun 7. Further out, there was a gray line that marked the swing radius of the barrels, labeled with indications to stand clear.

    The one detail about this particular gun that was different than the rest was the mark low and centered on its back. It looked vaguely like a maple leaf: one body with three spiked extrusions, but the little white stamp had nothing to do with trees, or life at all for that matter. It was a kill marker.

    The little white leaf was a reminder that this gun had landed the fatal hit on the flagship of the Hydrian Armada. A few of the other guns had markers denoting famous kills, but Admiral Gives felt none were quite as well-deserved as this one. After all, sinking the Hydrian Armada¡¯s wartime flagship had been deemed impossible. That feat alone had landed the Singularity¡¯s name in the history books.

    ¡®Gaffigan has completed the draw.¡¯ The ghost informed him, ¡®Guns 2, 7 and 10 will be test-fired.¡¯ Part of the pre-combat shakedown included test firing three of the main battery guns selected at random.

    Gun 7? ¡®What are the odds?¡¯

    ¡®Three in fourteen,¡¯ she told him. ¡®But also, irrelevant. You¡¯re welcome.¡¯ Manipulating the randomness of the draw was child¡¯s play. ¡®Hop on.¡¯

    He didn¡¯t need any more prompting than that. He took the magnetic anchor off his belt, activated it with a twist, and then tossed it midway up the gun¡¯s armor. It stuck easily, so he deactivated his boots and used the tether to pull himself off the hull and onto the gun¡¯s slanted armor. From there, the lack of gravity let him easily walk up the side and onto the flat top of the mount.

    He had a very healthy respect for the guns and their destructive capability, but there was no denying that the astroengineer in him was still fascinated by them. He enjoyed watching them move, aim, and fire. This awe-inspiring reminder of their deadly size brought him out here before every combat mission. He spacewalked to watch the main battery complete their test-firing sequence during the shakedown.

    The view from the top of Gun 7 was perhaps the best on the entire ship. The added elevation let him see almost everything. Aft, he could two of the main engines. The shape of those two blocked the two stacked below them from sight, but from this angle he could see the glow of the exhaust plumes. It was faint, only noticeable because he knew to look for it, but the slight glow added a halo of rich blue to the ship¡¯s coloring.

    Forward, he still could not see beyond the profile of the bow. It was the tallest and widest part of the ship, but he could see the line of the other main battery guns. There were six more forward, and another seven aft of where he stood. But the view forward was something more unique, for past the line of main battery guns, in the shadow of the arrow-shaped bow, the ship¡¯s insignia had been painted in striking detail. Around it sat a fresh ring of silver stars, recently repainted by Chief Ty¡¯s teams. He stared at it, noting the cleanliness of the paint. Fine work indeed, he thought proudly. It had been too long.

    It was a long-standing tradition that those silver stars decorated only the emblem of the flagship. When the Singularity had lost the position of flagship to the Capitol, those stars had been painted over. But, now separate from Command, this was his flagship, and she was more than worthy of those stars.

    ¡®Try not to get lost in your thoughts up there,¡¯ the ghost interjected. ¡®It¡¯d be inconvenient to have you flung off.¡¯

    Inconvenient, she says. ¡®Nice to know you care,¡¯ he snarked back. ¡®Besides, how would I get flung-¡¯

    Below him, the gun unexpectedly lurched, beginning to rise from its lowered position. At the same time an acceleration jolted him, and the sudden movement would have knocked him off his feet, had they not been stuck to the hull. Instinctively, he grabbed the mag-anchor and threw it down to give him a third point of contact with the top of the gun¡¯s armor, but the force of the acceleration dropped almost immediately to a barely noticeable lean. ¡®You did that on purpose.¡¯

    ¡®Oh, of course not,¡¯ she said, lacing the comment with a fake sweetness. ¡®There was just a minor fluctuation in the engines¡¯ thrust control systems.¡¯

    It took a conscious effort not to roll his eyes. Bullshit. She was messing with him. The inertial dampeners did not apply on the outer hull, which allowed the turrets and main battery guns to fire, but it also meant he could feel the acceleration of even a slight course change. Technically, that was dangerous if the ship accelerated too hard, but his orders had been to keep accelerations to a minimum, allowing the ship¡¯s structure to rest, and he liked to think the ghost would intervene before he got smeared colorfully across the hull.

    After elevating him another ten feet above the ship¡¯s flat back, the gun clunked to a stop, locking into its secured ready position. Admiral Gives felt a few tremors below his feet as everything found its alignment. Then, slowly, laboriously, the gun mount began to turn. Logistically, the gun¡¯s transversal sweep was being checked, the same as the defensive turrets had been, and riding the top of it through its rotation gave him gorgeous panoramic view of the stars, interrupted only by the three gun barrels that jutted out below him. The turn was a smooth movement, the sign of a well-maintained mount, but he had expected nothing less. While other parts of the ship had suffered under his predecessor, the ship¡¯s weapons systems had always been kept immaculate.

    Eventually, the gun returned to its forward alignment, and one at a time, the barrels began to rise, checking the latitude of their elevation capability. At their highest elevation, the guns could be fired directly perpendicular to the ship¡¯s gun deck ¨C straight upward, though the direction had little meaning in zero gravity. That, combined with the guns¡¯ 360-degree rotation capability meant they could be targeted and fired in any direction that was not otherwise blocked by the ship¡¯s structure.

    Idly, he watched the barrels return to their neutral elevation, basking in the quietude of the spacewalk. Out here, no one bothered him. There were no appearances to maintain. It was just him and his ship, and that was plenty enough for him.

    The slight pull of acceleration ceased, and though he could not tell much from the stars, the constellations here unfamiliar, he knew the ship had completed a turn simply by the way the acceleration had moved him. The gun below his feet shook once, and a dull clang reached his ears, the vibrations conducted through the contact his feet had on the armor. That would be the sound of the loaders, bringing up the shells and sealing the breach, making the gun ready to fire.

    Then once again, the gun below him began to turn. As it moved, the barrels simultaneously began to elevate, finding their target. The movement was shadowed by Gun 2 and Gun 10, both also turning to starboard.

    Admiral Gives looked down the length of the barrel in front of him, trying to divine its target, but nothing caught his attention. It did not seem the weapons crews had launched a buoy for target practice, nor was there a convenient asteroid to use. ¡®What are they aiming at?¡¯ He asked the ghost.

    ¡®The nearest star to Crimson Heart¡¯s base.¡¯ At this distance and speed, that gave them an effectively stationary object to check the calibration of the targeting systems. ¡®Monty thought it fitting.¡¯

    Dimly, he noted her use of the weapon¡¯s officer¡¯s nickname. It did not surprise him, no, she knew the crew better than he did, but it was an indication that the previous night¡¯s events had all been forgiven. Part of him admired that ability to forgive, but another part of him feared her forgiving nature may someday put her in a terrible position, one where her kindness was taken advantage of. He had tried his best to gather a crew that she would be safe around. He trusted them as much as anyone, but he could not control human nature, and he knew firsthand how truly ugly it could be.

    There was a bright flash in front of him as Gun 2 fired, hurtling three shells into the night. He followed the orange glow of the tracers into the darkness until they were too far away to be seen. Then it was Gun 7¡¯s turn, firing with a thunderous clap and a flash bright enough to dim the photoreactive faceplate of his helmet. The burn of the shells¡¯ propellants left behind a dark haze that rolled onto the surroundings like a fog. The flash behind him gave him barely any warning before the three shells of Gun 10 flew by faster than he could follow them.

    And like a summer squall, the test-firing was swiftly over. The dark fog of propellant dispersed like clouds parting to reveal the sky. The drill was something marvelous to sit through. Any time multiple guns from the main battery fired, the ship seemed to conjure a storm in the depths of space. The burn of propellants made clouds, the muzzle flashes within flickered like lightning, and the crack of the guns, had there been atmosphere to perpetuate their sound, could have been rolling thunder, deep and loud. There was a primal grandeur in it that laser weapons could never match.

    ¡®Results?¡¯ he prompted the ghost.

    ¡®Do you really need to ask?¡¯

    He regarded the gun below him amusedly, ¡®I suppose not.¡¯

    ¡®Then let¡¯s go raid some pirates.¡¯

 Part 37.1 - HYBRID CONTROLS

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    Operation: start. Main battery loaded and raised. All systems manned ¨C the ghost paused to correct the records subsystem. All systems ready. It was an easy mistake, really, more of a habit than anything. She was used to sailing with the crew manning all the operational stations. Today, however, many of those stations were empty, and not every station was being directly manned. That absence might have unnerved her, but the entire crew was still aboard, simply preparing to board the base rather than crewing their usual posts.

    It was ¡­different. The ghost could not say that she favored it, but she understood the necessity. Running a final check, she reached out to the Admiral, ¡®Hybrid controls are performing nominally. Standing by for commands.¡¯

    Admiral Gives had already received such confirmations from the bridge crew, but as far as he cared, the ghost made it final. We¡¯re ready. As ready as they could get, anyway. ¡°Alright,¡± he said, laying a hand on the thick metal rim of the radar console, ¡°Lieutenant Jazmine, take us in.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Jazmine acknowledged, edging the throttle forward.

    The volume of the engines heightened, and the ship began to accelerate. It was a slight movement, the engines limited to a mere fraction of their thrust, so the crew felt none of it, but an enormous grin still blossomed on Colonel Zarrey¡¯s face. ¡°This is going to be fun. You never let me off the ship.¡±

    Admiral Gives regarded Zarrey¡¯s enthusiasm with a measured calm. There might be a reason for that. Zarrey was a loudmouthed, energetic Marine who wore his heart on his sleeve. If one tried, it wasn¡¯t hard to get a rise out of him, and it never looked good when a battleship commander had to go station-side to bail his XO out of the brig for throwing a right hook at another ship¡¯s commander. Still, Zarrey was a competent officer, and well-liked by the crew, even if ship operations were not his specialty.

    Today, Zarrey stood beside him in the center of the bridge kitted out in a set of Marine body armor. His helmet, complete with the mounted bulk of night vision goggles sat behind him on the flat, glowing top of the radar console. There was a delighted fire in his eyes, lit by the promise of adventure. Admiral Gives never understood the Marines¡¯ craving for combat. He distinctly preferred the calm of a long patrol, but it was relieving to see that they were primed for a fight. ¡°Should you not be with the boarding party, Colonel?¡±

    Zarrey snorted, shifting a head of sandy blond hair he hadn¡¯t bothered to groom today. ¡°And miss the fireworks?¡± he retorted. ¡°Nah.¡± Grinning, he raised the silver flask in his hand and took a long sip.

    By the pungent smell, the Admiral knew the flask didn¡¯t contain alcohol, but some of the crew was taken aback his behavior.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Jazmine called, ¡°shouldn¡¯t you be saving that for the victory lap?¡±

    Taking another, distinctly longer sip, Zarrey just grinned some more. ¡°It¡¯s coffee, dipshit.¡± He never went anywhere without it. ¡°I couldn¡¯t get my mug to fit in my pocket. And believe me, I tried.¡± Capping the flask, Zarrey turned to the Admiral. While Zarrey had on tactical gear, the ship commander was in his usual black uniform with the mere added addition of his sheathed sabre. ¡°You sure you¡¯re comfortable with this?¡± There was a potential for a lot of things to go very wrong on this mission, the boarding action the least of them.

    Admiral Gives raised an eyebrow. ¡°Would you care to switch roles?¡±

    ¡°Ha, ha, no,¡± Zarrey said drily. ¡°The Old Bitch never behaves herself when I¡¯m in charge.¡± He would much rather lead the boarding party. ¡°It¡¯s just been a long time since we took her off manual control. It¡¯s dangerous.¡± With the Eran AI running rampant, that was more dangerous now than ever.

    ¡°It is a calculated risk.¡± No part of this operation was certain. He had manipulated the variables as best he could, but there were always unknown quantities. ¡°I know this ship, Colonel.¡± If there was anything he could count on, it was that she would see them through.

    Zarrey made a noise, one that while disapproving, was not contradictory. ¡°I don¡¯t like it. Running the hybrid controls jeopardizes everything that makes this ship secure.¡±

    ¡°I am aware of that,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°but the time to voice those concerns has passed.¡±

    ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t complain,¡± Zarrey muttered.

    At almost all times, the Singularity operated under a manual control scheme that isolated the electrical operations from the required commands inputs. In essence, without a crewman bridging the gap, none of the systems could activate. However, that required a significant amount of crewmen, particularly for damage and weapons control. At present though, the crew usually assigned to making emergency repairs as well as controlling the fire suppressors and defensive turrets had been reassigned to board the station.

    In such a situation, everything on the ship could be controlled from the bridge, but that involved a degree of detail that was impossible to handle without the aid of a computer. A single crewman, no matter how talented could not run the individual fire suppressors in every compartment on every deck, nor could a single crewman dictate the speed at which every single defensive gun was reloaded, or which ammo store the rounds were taken from. In a time like this, with manpower severely limited, computers could automate some of those tasks, but it required limited networks to be brought online between certain systems. And that left the ship vulnerable to cyberattack. The controls of critical systems such as life support were kept isolated from the networks under the hybrid controls, but any networked system could be digitally attacked and potentially sabotaged.

    While using the hybrid controls was a risk, now only a handful of people were needed to run the entire ship. The bridge crew, three engineers held back for emergency repairs, two yeomen staffing internal comms, and one guard posted outside the bridge would be all that remained on the ship. Every single other crewman had been assigned to either clear the station of enemies or move supplies. By result, they were not at their usual stations, instead lining up to board Crimson Heart¡¯s base.

    Their ability to seize the base depended entirely on the speed at which they could board. If the pirates were given too much time to set up defenses, the airlock would become a deadly bottleneck. That was why the boarding party was lined up and at the ready instead of manning their stations as normal. Still, Admiral Gives knew better than to bet the success of the mission on the fact that the ship could get docked without issue. Thus, a secondary boarding party, consisting of half the ship¡¯s Marine contingent and most of the pilots would board through the base¡¯s airlock and hangar.

    Zarrey, much to his glee, had been assigned to lead the boarding party from the ship. The leader of the Singularity¡¯s Marine contingent, Lieutenant Colonel Pflum, would lead the attack on the hangar. Naturally, that left Admiral Gives to command the skeleton crew controlling the ship. Zarrey loved an away mission, and Admiral Gives preferred not to leave the ship, so it worked out nicely.

    ¡°Ensign Alba,¡± the Admiral turned to the boyish engineer, ¡°who do we have for emergency damage control?¡± Lots had been drawn to determine which engineers would stay on the ship under Havermeyer¡¯s supervision. It had been a given that the tech-monk, in line with his beliefs, would stay with the ship.

    ¡°By the doctor¡¯s recommendation, Ensign Malweh, sir.¡± The injuries she¡¯d suffered from the commandos were still healing, so her eligibility for the boarding party had been revoked. ¡°The third is Ensign Smith.¡±

    Smith¡­ That¡¯s good, the Admiral thought. She was young and still inexperienced. While she¡¯d been trained to defend herself, she wasn¡¯t particularly good at it. None of the engineers were very good at personnel combat, but she was particularly vulnerable, and after her encounter with the commandos, she probably wasn¡¯t ready to face another hostile.

    ¡®You¡¯re welcome,¡¯ the ghost snarked silently.

    ¡®For what?¡¯ he replied, checking the ship¡¯s progress as they moved into the asteroid field containing Crimson Heart¡¯s base.

    ¡®For assigning Smith to DC.¡¯ Her name being drawn in the raffle hadn¡¯t been random chance. ¡®I know you worry about her.¡¯

    ¡®I worry no more about her than any other member of the crew.¡¯ Worrying was his job. ¡®Some of the crew are simply better equipped to handle hostile situations than others.¡¯

    ¡®Sure.¡¯ She wouldn¡¯t argue the point. ¡®But, as a reminder, I¡¯m a telepath and you¡¯re an idiot.¡¯

    He made no effort to reply to that, just pointedly focused on the view shown by the big screen mounted at the front of the bridge. It was the visual feed of one of the telescopes on the hull, showing the path ahead.

    Crimson Heart¡¯s base was located in the midst of the HR-14 System¡¯s asteroid belt. The solar system was old, centered around a fat red supergiant star. Large plasma currents erupted frequently, spewing from the aging star¡¯s surface. The plasma eruptions were the same deep red color as the star, and their pulsing made it look something like a beating heart. In that, it didn¡¯t take much creativity to imagine how the Crimson Heart clan had gotten its name.

    The star would be dangerous if they steered too close, but the asteroid belt was far enough out system to be more than safe. Blessed by its ancient star, the HR-14 system was now sparse. If it had possessed a planet beside the orange gas giant and hellishly cold dwarf planet beyond the asteroid belt, the sun had since swallowed it.

    The asteroid belt was calm and just as sparse as the rest of the system, only a smattering of plain gray rocks that lacked ice and useful ore deposits. Any asteroid small enough to be moved by stray comets or other forces had long been stripped away. Only a loose smattering of large rocks remained. There was plenty of room for the Singularity to maneuver between them and hundreds of different ways to approach the coordinates where the base was located. In that sense, Admiral Gives did not expect to meet resistance until they were closer to the base. It made sense for Crimson Heart to centralize their forces. There were too many approach vectors to justify guarding any of them, but that didn¡¯t mean there wouldn¡¯t be traps laid in the asteroids.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    Standing beside the Admiral, Zarrey didn¡¯t care much for the view of the asteroid field. Rocks were rocks in his book. He was just glad to know the rocks were big enough and old enough to have stable orbits. A stray shot from the ship¡¯s main battery probably wouldn¡¯t excite the local portion of the asteroid field. In all, Zarrey was more unnerved by the slight changes he observed on the bridge. The crew was there, same as usual, but there were a few extra lights pulsing on the consoles and an unfamiliar whine ran through the air. It was the computers, Zarrey knew. Working extra hard to run the networks for the hybrid controls, the computer processors drew more power. Their respective fans spun at higher speeds to cool them, generating a strange technological whine almost above the range of his ear.

    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± Zarrey said, picking out one of the unusual lights on the weapons console. ¡°It¡¯s eerie.¡± It was a subtle change, but it unnerved him because it left them weak to Manhattan. That and the fact that it just felt wrong. The networks, limited as they were, gave the ship a degree of autonomy that she did not usually possess. It gave the ship some awareness of her own condition, and that always made the little hairs on the back of his neck prickle, because it was one thing to order a machine to fight, but quite another to order an entity aware of the damage it sustained into combat.

    No, Zarrey rubbed at the back of his neck, I¡¯m acting crazy. The Singularity¡¯s hybrid controls still minimized independent capability. Using them, she was effectively still a dumb machine. The hybrid controls¡¯ only purpose was to allow a small crew to feasibly run the ship. In the same sense, the automated controls existed only to be activated if the crew was incapacitated. They tested them regularly, just to make sure they still functioned, but they weren¡¯t particularly impressive. In fact, compared to any of her modern counterparts, the Singularity¡¯s automated controls were rudimentary at best.

    Still, the whole exercise creeped Zarrey out, probably because it was beyond his understanding, and he didn¡¯t like that. He barely understood the ship on a usual day. The hybrid or automated controls just added another unwelcome layer of complexity.

    ¡°Relax, Colonel,¡± the Admiral told him. ¡°Our ship will be fine.¡±

    ¡°I think you mean your ship,¡± Zarrey retorted, uncapping his coffee flask to take another sip, as if that would calm his technological jitters. It was odd how he could be so unbothered by potential personnel combat, and so disturbed by a slight change in the technology around him.

    ¡°As much as you are her crew, she is your ship.¡± That allegiance ran both ways.

    Zarrey looked the Admiral over, surprised to find him offering reassurance. Ordinarily, he would have shut down Zarrey¡¯s concerns coldly and strictly, but today, while there was a chill in the Admiral¡¯s blue eyes, Zarrey knew it wasn¡¯t meant for him. There was always a grim air about him on days like this ¨C not hopeless, just dreadfully serious. Zarrey had to assume it was a consequence of history. Admiral Gives had been ordered into a lot of needless fighting, and seen a lot of needless death. Taking the ship into combat today, it was all too likely that people would die. Zarrey didn¡¯t consider this mission needless, but he supposed, to someone like the Admiral, who had been through this all before, it all felt needless. The worlds never changed, and not for the first time, Zarrey wondered why the man bothered. Why bother with the fight if it had changed nothing last time, would change nothing this time, and he would end up here again in a few years?

    It was a good question, but Zarrey supposed it wasn¡¯t his place to ask. He preferred not to think in the big picture, because the wider his view, the more meaningless everything seemed. For now, he¡¯d just be happy that this mission was finally letting him off the ship.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Keifer Robinson spoke from the upper tier of consoles on the bridge. ¡°We¡¯re being hailed. There¡¯s no ID on the transmission, but it¡¯s being bounced all over the asteroid field. Safe to assume it¡¯s probably Crimson Heart.¡±

    ¡°Bouncing the transmission?¡± Zarrey screwed up his face. ¡°Why?¡±

    ¡°To keep it from being traced,¡± the Admiral told him. An array of transmitters mirroring the signal between each other would keep it from being chased to its source: Crimson Heart¡¯s base.

    ¡°Think they¡¯ll surrender?¡± Zarrey wondered.

    ¡°Not likely.¡± This wasn¡¯t the first outlaw clan Admiral Gives had dealt with. With an estimated 2,000 members, they weren¡¯t a small group either. If they took their ships toe to toe with the Singularity, the outcome of the fight was a given, but the Admiral would be remiss if he did not take note of their homefield advantage. The outlaw clans were known to be crafty. The fleet had lost more than one battleship to their innovative traps and attacks. ¡°Lieutenant,¡± he turned to Robinson, ¡°attempt to trace the transmission as best you can.¡± If she managed to find the real source, it would confirm the base¡¯s location. Failing to find the base, it would still identify which asteroids had been touched by the pirates, and by result, which were likely to be trapped.

    Admiral Gives waited for Robinson to nod with confirmation. ¡°Then, put it up.¡± It would be rude not to give these pirates the chance to surrender.

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± Robinson said, adjusting her headset as she routed to the transmission to the bridge¡¯s main audio and video setup. Still, as the large rectangular screen mounted on the flat wall of the bridge powered up, she paused. Something¡¯s not right. She checked the controls around her again. The extra indicator lights of the hybrid controls were not unfamiliar to her, merely odd. Robinson had worked with them before, as the Admiral had been certain to drill his crew on all types of ship operation, but still, something was off. There, she found it, an unusually low power drain on the receiving arrays and their associated decryption banks ¨C something that could only be caused by an oddity in the transmission.

    She checked the signal frequency. She checked the amplitude. Then, she checked the corrective algorithms. In any transmission, there was some level of error. Depending on angle, range and orientation it was common for the arrays to not catch all of the signal, and other bits of the signal got corrupted by stray environmental particles. All the same, the corrective algorithms helped fix the transmission quality, and the percentage of the transmission data altered by the algorithms was tracked as a measure of signal quality and accuracy. Usually, the corrected percentage was very low, but right now, despite being bounced all around the asteroid field, the percentage of corrections on the transmission was nearly zero.

    Lieutenant Robinson noted the oddity, and she knew the instant she looked up that she had hesitated a moment too long. Admiral Gives had caught the concern in her brown eyes. ¡°Is something the matter, Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°There is an anomaly, sir. However, it does not seem hostile.¡± Near as she could tell, the containment algorithm on the transmission was simply far better than any other she had seen, keeping the data neatly grouped as it bounced between arrays. ¡°I will monitor it.¡±

    ¡°Very well, Lieutenant.¡± He nodded, trusting Robinson¡¯s skills. Truly, she was one of the most gifted communications officers he had ever seen.

    With that, the screen on the flat wall of the semicircular command center powered up, and she connected the live transmission. A red-faced pudgy man appeared, draped in rare furs of distant worlds. However, the sleek patterns of a jungle cat hanging on his shoulders did nothing to conceal the overt roundness of his glutenous figure. As he sat against the back of a carved chair, upholstered in satin and gilded with a crest of gold and diamonds, it was clear that this was a man of extreme wealth, and that he loved to flaunt it. ¡°I am Baron Brome von Cardio,¡± he announced in an unexpectedly velvety voice. ¡°And you,¡± he narrowed his eyes, ¡°are trespassing into my territory.¡±

    The Baron paused for a moment, clearly scanning the bridge, until he found Admiral Gives standing beside Zarrey. ¡°I know who you are. That face of yours has been plastered all over the news. Still, when the Jayhawker said to prepare for an attack, I did not suspect it would be you.¡± The pirate leader gave one single joyless chuckle, barely enough to make his large jowls bounce. ¡°I see your armed Marines and I can assume your intention, Steel Prince, but I will do you the courtesy of allowing you to admit that this is not what it appears, as we wanted men do have a code. It is uncouth to exterminate one another, for the more of us there are, the harder it is for the government to hunt us down.¡± And there was safety in numbers.

    ¡°Then let me put your mind at ease, Baron,¡± the Admiral said coolly. ¡°This is exactly what it looks like.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± the Baron said, voice deep and unshaken. ¡°Then let me offer you something else. If, in this fight, you find yourself bruised and battered, I will allow you to surrender and halt my forces at once.¡±

    ¡°Confident son of a bitch, ain¡¯t he?¡± Zarrey muttered, holding his flask in front of his lips to muffle the sound.

    Agreed, the Admiral thought, and odd as it was, he supposed Crimson Heart had not earned its successes with cowardice. ¡°Baron, your forces may outnumber mine, but I assure you, the right to demand surrender belongs to me.¡± After all, the Singularity outclassed almost every ship in the worlds with ease. ¡°You may fight if you choose but know your men would be a useless drain on my resources, so I have no intention of taking prisoners.¡±

    The Baron regarded his emotionless countenance for a moment, then smiled. ¡°I am so glad that you live up to your legend, Prince.¡± Practical and unshakable. ¡°One must admire that in an enemy, wouldn¡¯t you agree?¡± Partially hidden behind his fatty cheeks, his eyes glittered with interest. ¡°Though I find it even more admirable for an enemy to surprise me with its strength. It tends to make the hunt more fun.¡±

    ¡°I have offered you a chance to surrender, Baron.¡± Admiral Gives moved a hand to rest it upon the guard of his sabre. ¡°I will not offer again.¡±

    ¡°All business, hm?¡± the pirate sighed. ¡°Pity. The rumors had made you out to be someone of respectable intellect, but it seems you have no interest in entertaining your host with a debate.¡±

    Admiral Gives did not reply to that. He simply stood and studied the Baron¡¯s expression. It was confident and relaxed, a little too relaxed.

    ¡°Truly, Prince, I get so few visitors in my remote sector. It would be my pleasure to disc-¡±

    Without warning, the transmission vanished, taking the image of Baron Cardio with it. There was no static or distortion at its end. It was clean break, clearly cut off from one side, and knowing who had been interrupted, the Admiral assumed it to have been his. ¡°Lieutenant, what happened?¡± Robinson wasn¡¯t the type to sever such a communication lightly.

    Robinson redirected the ship¡¯s receiving arrays, mitigating their reception of the signal. ¡°Sir, the data containment algorithm on that transmission, I wasn¡¯t familiar with it, but as the Jayhawker spoke, I realized it was shifting. Little changes at first, then larger ones.¡± To bounce that transmission across the asteroid field without losing image or sound quality. ¡°It was incredibly stable, sir. I¡¯ve never seen a transmission behave like that.¡± Usually, attempting to change the containment on a live transmission caused it to become garbled and unrecognizable.

    ¡°What can cause a shift in the containment algorithms?¡± Zarrey asked, dropping his flask into the pocket of his protective vest.

    ¡°I am uncertain, sir,¡± Robinson said, pulling up the comm. records to study the algorithm again in more detail. ¡°Since I could not identify it originally, nor predict what it was shifting into, I felt it best to cut it off.¡± She had been taught to do so at the fleet academy.

    ¡°Nicely caught, Lieutenant,¡± the Admiral told her. Without a dip in the quality of the transmission, many officers would have overlooked that.

    Zarrey studied Robinson¡¯s braided brown hair while she had her head lowered to study the details of the transmission. ¡°Were they trying to sneak something in?¡± Working station security, he¡¯d always been wary of anomalous communications. That was one of the most common ways to initiate a cyberattack.

    ¡°I doubt it, sir,¡± Robinson said. ¡°The transmission error levels were too low.¡± She knew the symptoms of a cyberattack, the video got grainy, and the audio ceased to match up. The attack took up precious space in the transmission bandwidth, and it showed.

    Zarrey wasn¡¯t convinced, but he distrusted most technology, so he figured it was his job to be the skeptic. Still, it was exactly this kind of anomaly that should call their strategy into question. ¡°Admiral, you know we¡¯re in no condition to face a cyberattack.¡± The ship was usually immune, but right now, under the hybrid controls, too many of their systems weren¡¯t. ¡°Singularity is too old to fight that.¡± The ship didn¡¯t even possess anti-virus programs. It would have been pointless to code such things during the Hydrian War. The Hydrian Armada¡¯s cyberattacks had been far beyond anything humanity could hope to counter. That was the entire reason the Singularity possessed an optical control network.

    The radar began to beep, picking up new contacts as they moved out of the asteroids¡¯ shadows. Admiral Gives regarded it calmly, entirely unsurprised by their positioning. ¡°Too late,¡± he told the Colonel. Strictly, it had been too late to back down the moment they entered the HR-14 System¡¯s asteroid belt. Their movements had been shadowed ever since.

 Part 37.2 - INTERFERENCE

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°Well, shit,¡± Zarrey grumbled, looking at the dozens of ships that had moved out from behind the asteroids. They were completely surrounded. ¡°First weird transmissions, now a surprise attack.¡±

    ¡°It is unlikely that Crimson Heart has the means to launch a successful cyberattack,¡± the Admiral reminded him. Besides, this attack was hardly a surprise. It was a sign they were close to Crimson Heart¡¯s base.

    ¡°And what if the Baron¡¯s got a pet spook?¡± A scientist he paid to prepare such attacks? With the wild furs that had adorned his shoulders, the man was clearly rich enough.

    ¡°Then we shall meet said scientist when we board the station.¡± There was no cause to worry about it now. ¡°All the same, please summon our new computer officer to the bridge.¡± She could study the transmission for signs of malintent.

    ¡°Summon who?¡± Zarrey said, watching still more ships emerge from behind the asteroids. Clearly, the Baron was showing his forces to encourage further negotiation.

    ¡°Lieutenant Foster,¡± the Gargantia¡¯s survivor. Admiral Gives had not planned to call on her services so soon, but there was a reason he had welcomed her onto the crew. She was the only one with cyber expertise aboard.

    Working the sensors, Maria Galhino had pulled her curly hair into a tight ponytail. ¡°Sir, I¡¯m reading power signatures lighting up many of the surrounding asteroids. Scans indicate they may be remote firing batteries.¡±

    ¡°Shore batteries,¡± Zarrey groaned. ¡°Oh, this just keeps getting better.¡±

    ¡°We planned for this,¡± the Admiral reminded him. In his mind, stationary batteries on the asteroids counted as traps. There was a reason he hadn¡¯t launched their support craft yet. Flying alongside the Singularity, they would have been easy targets. The Singularity¡¯s armor could sustain those hits, the smaller Warhawks and Arcbirds could not. Still, ¡°We should have seen those before, Lieutenant.¡±

    ¡°I know, sir,¡± Galhino said, hunched over her station. Her fingers flew along the keys, trying to determine why they¡¯d been blind to the shore batteries. Even if they were powered down, the composition of such things differed significantly from the natural composition of asteroids. ¡°Something¡¯s interfering with the material scans, sir. They¡¯re still only reading as asteroids.¡±

    This just keeps getting stranger. Sensor interference was certainly possible. An emitter with precise aim on the arrays and the correct wavelength could fool the return of the scans, but that technology was rare. It was so rare, in fact, that the fleet didn¡¯t even employ it, so no pirate clan should be able to manage such a feat. Yet, how they managed it was a secondary concern to the Admiral, first was the fact that if those stationary batteries could be concealed from the ship¡¯s sensors, then what they saw now was not likely to be everything.

    ¡°Skipper,¡± Monty interrupted his thoughts, ¡°they¡¯ve activated their targeting sensors. I¡¯m seeing a mix of laser and traditional gun batteries. No railguns.¡±

    At least that¡¯s gone according to plan. Railguns were one of the few weapons that were certain to pierce the Singularity¡¯s armor. They¡¯d punch holes straight through it and into the compartments beyond. ¡°Then proceed as planned, Lieutenant,¡± the Admiral ordered. There was no backing out now.

    Gaffigan nodded once, ¡°Aye. Seeking targets.¡± The shore batteries were first priority. Their caliber, rate of fire, and munitions stores would be higher than any of the pirate ships.

    Like a conductor guiding an orchestra, Gaffigan picked his targets, confirming the firing solution as the weapons computer calculated them. Then, in an old and well-practiced dance, the ship¡¯s main battery began to turn, each barrel rising to find its own elevation and target. Massive as they were, the guns were slow to rotate, and in the instant they started, visible as it was, Crimson Heart attacked.

    Heavy blaster fire flew in from all sides, the propellant tracers rendering it a torrent of orange rain. Still, buried deep in the ship¡¯s core, such an attack was barely noticeable. Heavy blasters were plenty effective against small ships, but they had little chance of piercing the armored hull of a battleship. No, the pirates would have to rely on other weapons to do that. Lasers were a favorite of the pirate clans as they required no ammunition supply, only power, but they fared poorly against heavily armored targets as well. In time, if they managed to hold their focus on one small part of the armor, they could heat and soften it enough for the blasters to pierce, but Admiral Gives doubted the battle would even last that long.

    At least, it wouldn¡¯t if he had any say in the matter. ¡°Lieutenant Galhino,¡± he turned, ¡°if the sensors cannot study the shore batteries, then focus them on Crimson Heart¡¯s fleet. Get a missile count.¡± Missiles were the only real threat those ships carried, and they had to be accounted for.

    ¡°Yessir,¡± Galhino said, directing the ship¡¯s active sensors toward the pirate fleet. Then, she ordered an optical study of the nearby asteroids with the ship¡¯s telescopes and cameras. The pirates may have learned to fool active scans with false returns, but they would have a harder time with passive observation in the visible light spectrum.

    The impacts of the pirates¡¯ attack on the hull were miniscule. They were not even perceptible in the command center, save the slight creaks of the ship¡¯s structure. Against the Singularity¡¯s size and armor, it was nothing more than pebbles being thrown against the foot of a mountain. The ghost was little more than annoyed by the effort. ¡®Well, that almost tickles,¡¯ she told the Admiral. ¡®Almost.¡¯

    ¡®Behave,¡¯ he replied, keeping a watchful eye on the hull and structural integrity charts. For now, everything was green, but the repeated pounding on the hull would begin to fatigue the structure over time. The hull would be in a similar state. If the bombardment continued long enough, the attacks would deform, then begin to penetrate the armor as they found purchase. Evasive maneuvers would buy them time, but starting those now would complicate the main battery¡¯s firing solutions. One of the first things taught about battleship command was not allowing maneuvers to work against the slow rotation of the guns. If taking a few hits allowed for a more effective attack, then the ship was armored for a reason. In many cases, the effectiveness of a battleship¡¯s offense depended entirely on the nerve of her commander to expose her to enemy fire.

    With no missiles to intercept, and with the pirate ships hanging out of range, the smaller defensive turrets on the Singularity¡¯s hull were quiet. They were raised and ready, yet silent. Still, counting the seconds since he¡¯d given the order to aim, Admiral Gives knew it was time before Gaffigan even turned to make the announcement. ¡°Fire,¡± he ordered. Our turn.

    A full salvo, three rounds from each of the main battery¡¯s ten guns, erupted. Fingers of flame hurtled the shells forth, and they impacted one after another, blasting out large plumes of gray rock and dust. The dust rushed out in a wave, first an opaque cloud, then dispersing into a brume of fog that cast the battlefield into a haze. Still, through the dust, large parts of the impacted asteroids could be seen drifting off ¨C severed from the main mass, and from that swath of destruction, no more shore batteries fired. They had been blown to pieces with the asteroids that housed them.

    Admiral Gives did not take time to study the chaos. Ten threats had been completely eliminated, but there were more shore batteries, and he was certain the thirty pirate ships that had so far revealed themselves were not all there was. Crimson Heart¡¯s fleet had been estimated to consist of seventy-five ships, which meant that another forty-five were still lurking somewhere in the asteroid field. Some may have been caught in the impact debris of the asteroids, but that wouldn¡¯t account for all of them, so they couldn¡¯t stand by with slack jawed awe and study the carnage they had so far wrought. ¡°Helm, begin evasive maneuvers.¡±

    ¡°Aye.¡± Jazmine threw the throttle forward into a random position, and heard the main engines respond with a growl, then put his attention into the yaw and roll controls, forcing the ship to accelerate into a tilted turn.

    But the ship had barely begun to move when a shooting star split the sky.

    Visible for less than the blink of an eye, it lanced across the battlefield, a bright searing white. On impact it made no detonation, it imparted little force, simply cleaved a path of destruction. In an instant, the Singularity¡¯s port flank was torn open, severed wires left wriggling in the gash like tendons cut from their joints.

    For an instant on the bridge, everything went black. There was the cry of abused metal so loud in the darkness, then there was the shriek of alarms, and for the Admiral, pain. A whole hell of a lot of it.

    But it wasn¡¯t his.

    It belonged to the ship. And feeling what he did, he didn¡¯t need to look at the indicator charts. He already knew what he¡¯d find. Red. Ruby red lights lit along the ship¡¯s flank, a clean line of her structure completely ruined. On the hull chart, the twisted pieces of the hull were marked with deep bloody red, and those pieces of the ship¡¯s skin that had been punctured and sheared off completely were left black.

    And still, having staggered like a boxer sucker-punched in the gut, the ghost¡¯s presence surged back up beside him, seething with unbridled anger.

    An anger the Admiral wholly shared.

    ¡°Direct hit, port flank,¡± Alba announced, grabbing onto the beveled edges of his console as the ship shook. ¡°This damage¡­ It looks like-¡±

    ¡°A railgun impact.¡± All the symptoms were there. The magnetic field imparted onto the projectile temporarily disrupted power grids, and the projectile velocity was known for its penetrating power. ¡°Helm, continue evasive maneuvers, but keep our main mass between that attack vector and the starboard flank.¡± The boarding party had gathered on the starboard side of the ship. If the railgun had impacted that side¡­ If he had ordered those evasive maneuvers just an instant later, a large majority of the ship¡¯s crew would now be dead. The fact they weren¡¯t was just luck. Dumb stupid luck.

    And Admiral Gives hated leaving things to luck. ¡°Sensors, find me the origin of that attack.¡± Let¡¯s make an example of them.

    A cold had settled on the bridge, akin to the first frost of fall that left the crops lifeless. Zarrey tried not to shiver, as he purposefully averted his attention away from the Admiral to watch the young blonde officer that had just arrived on the bridge. She had a protective vest and helmet on that hid most of her hair, and there was a sidearm strapped to her hip. It was clear she had intended to join the boarding party, and for someone still new to the ship, Zarrey admired that. It was a strong indicator of trust to risk her life on a mission ordered by superiors she had only just met.

    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

    Lieutenant Foster had stumbled in the blackout caused by the railgun impact, but she allowed Yeoman Owens to help her up and guide her to one of the bridge¡¯s unused stations. The Singularity did not have a station for cyber analysis, but any of the computers could be used to open and study code. Handed a data pad containing the anomalous containment algorithm, Foster was hard at work within moments, prying it apart for suspicious components.

    And though he watched her for a moment, Zarrey soon found his attention drawn back to the ongoing battle.

    ¡°Sir, I¡¯m not finding anything along that attack vector,¡± Galhino said. ¡°No ships, no shore batteries. Nothing appears to be manmade.¡± It all looked like natural asteroids. ¡°The railgun must be protected by the same sensor interference the other shore batteries were.¡±

    Fine. The railgun had to be on an asteroid. None of the pirates¡¯ retrofitted civilian ships could hope to power such a thing and maintain the precision and power demands of effective sensor interference. ¡°Lieutenant Robinson,¡± Admiral Gives called to the comms. officer, ¡°do you have the list of asteroids the transmission bounced off of?¡± Each of those asteroids had been touched by the pirates and had the potential to house the railgun.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Robinson answered, passing off the list for Yeoman Owens to bring down.

    Admiral Gives took it, and under ordinary circumstances, he would have studied it to narrow down the options. There were a number of ways to eliminate asteroids on the list that could not house the railgun, such as those too small to maintain stability from the recoil. There were a few reasons to do so as well, namely saving ammunition. But, at the moment, every single one of those asteroids was a threat. Railgun or not, they may house remote weapons of other varieties. That considered, Admiral Gives handed the list off to Montgomery Gaffigan without a moment¡¯s hesitation. ¡°Lieutenant, please eliminate this issue.¡±

    A slightly maniacal grin spread across Gaffigan¡¯s face. ¡°How small of pieces?¡±

    ¡°Our support craft need not bother dodging.¡±

    ¡°Aye, aye, Skipper,¡± the weapons officer said.

    ¡°And Lieutenant, you have two hundred forty-one seconds.¡± The average remaining reload and recharge time for a railgun of that caliber.

    And two-hundred thirty seconds later, the only thing left along that attack vector was dust. The asteroids and anything hiding behind or near them had been pulverized into gravel-sized pieces by a combination of the ship¡¯s broadside and forward batteries. With the thunder of the guns now absent, it felt so abruptly quiet. Still, when the time came, the Admiral braced himself for more damage, for another impact, but it never came.

    In fact, the next thing that called his attention wasn¡¯t a mechanical alarm at all. It wasn¡¯t even a sound, just a desperate cry from the ghost. ¡®Tell her to stop!¡¯

    Before he could even question it, he found his attention drawn to Foster, so the Admiral opened his mouth with an order to stop, but as he watched her hit the last key, the confirmation key to run the analysis she had spent the last few minutes preparing, he knew with utter dread that it was too late.

    And for a moment, a strangely calm moment after that, everything seemed normal. Galhino reported finding a railgun barrel among the asteroid debris, Monty announced the reloading of the main battery, and Alba continued his work evaluating the damage of the railgun¡¯s attack. Then Lieutenant Foster¡¯s eyes went wide. ¡°Oh stars.¡± She began typing rapidly, the keys of the console before her clicking rapidly. ¡°No, no, no,¡± she muttered. Then she cursed. ¡°Fuck!¡±

    Before anyone could question the outburst, Lieutenant Robinson stood up. ¡°Sir, the communications arrays are being redirected.¡±

    ¡°Redirected?¡± Zarrey echoed.

    Admiral Gives held up a hand to silence his question. ¡°I did not give those orders.¡± Communications discipline dictated minimizing contact with suspicious transmissions until the intent or reason behind the anomaly was known.

    ¡°Yes, sir. I understand that. The orders were issued from the control network.¡± The system itself had issued commands to reorient. ¡°I cannot override them. At this angle, they¡¯ll be picking up Crimson Heart¡¯s transmission in full.¡±

    ¡°Not again,¡± Zarrey groaned. Couldn¡¯t they just have one mission where the ship behaved herself? Just one. He didn¡¯t feel it was too much to ask.

    Feeling a dense rock of dread settle in his gut, dense and cold, Admiral Gives knew it was a pointless question, but he still had to ask. ¡®That¡¯s not you, is it?¡¯

    ¡®Please don¡¯t insult me,¡¯ the ghost replied.

    There was an unusual bit of hostility in her presence. Fair enough, he supposed. The Admiral took a deep breath. Think. There was a way out of this, he just had to find it. He studied the radar displays. Hardwired as they were, they would work reliably in almost any situation, though the amount of dust and gravel sized debris in the direction the railgun had fired from left some interference, manifesting as an inconsistent blur on the returns. ¡°Get our support craft in the air. Launch from the port side.¡±

    ¡°Sir, that wasn¡¯t the plan. There¡¯s still shore batteries-¡±

    ¡°Off the starboard side.¡± Gaffigan¡¯s bombardment had cleared everything on the port side. ¡°Get them in the air, now,¡± he ordered. If they failed to launch now, they wouldn¡¯t get a second chance.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± came the chorus of replies.

    Now¡­ ¡°Lieutenant Foster, what the hell did you do to my ship?¡±

    Foster couldn¡¯t help but tense up. Contrary to the rumors of his violence, what she¡¯d seen of the Admiral had been a relatively calm and relaxed officer, until now. Now, she could feel the ice in his gaze. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, sir. I didn¡¯t see it. I didn¡¯t realize¡­¡± She¡¯d done everything by the book, followed what her training had told her to do, and that was exactly the problem. ¡°That code. It wanted me to pull the anomalous pieces out. It wanted me to run the analysis.¡± That was exactly the trigger that activated it.

    ¡°Spit it out, Lieutenant.¡±

    ¡°This code was designed by someone who knew the fleet procedure to analyze anomalous transmissions, sir. But something this small, this robust-¡±

    ¡°I do not care who wrote it, Lieutenant. I need to know what it did.¡±

    Foster shook her head, her hands trembling. ¡°It only had one target, sir. Comms.¡± That was always the first target. ¡°And judging by the fact it got there¡­¡±

    Standing beside the Admiral, Zarrey¡¯s eyes went wide as he realized the nature of the issue. ¡°Cyberattack.¡± We¡¯re under cyberattack.

    Foster swallowed. ¡°Yes, sir. The code that was sent over was small. It was subtle. There were pieces I just couldn¡¯t recognize-¡±

    ¡°XO,¡± the Admiral said, ¡°run down. Order everyone to retreat inward.¡±

    ¡°Run?¡± Zarrey queried.

    ¡°Run. Now.¡± This was life or death. ¡°Get them away from the outer hull.¡±

    Zarrey hesitated for another moment, grabbing his helmet off the glowing top of the radar console, but as the displays above beeped, his confusion vanished. Missiles. Five of them, with more to follow. ¡°Aye,¡± he confirmed, bolting off like a shot.

    Admiral Gives did not pause to listen to the thunder of Zarrey¡¯s footfalls retreat. ¡°Comms., can you call ahead of him?¡±

    ¡°No, sir. The system is not responding.¡±

    As expected. Taking comms. was the first step of most virtual attacks. It caused confusion, didn¡¯t allow an organized response, and most importantly, it arranged for the reception of more data, more poisoned code. ¡°Weapons?¡±

    Monty tried to arrange an intercept. In its defense, the weapons computer calculated the trajectories just fine. The turrets simply refused to make the turn. ¡°They¡¯re paralyzed, Skipper.¡±

    Also as expected. Once comms. was seized and more of the attacker¡¯s code was received, it would transform into a virus, spreading and attacking the rest of the ship¡¯s systems. By now, in just these few seconds, it would infected everything available to it.

    Maria Galhino gulped. ¡°We can handle five missiles.¡± The armor could take that much. They weren¡¯t nuclear weapons.

    The first five aren¡¯t the issue. They were a test. A test to ensure that the ship¡¯s systems truly were paralyzed. What followed would be the entirety of Crimson Heart¡¯s missile stores. ¡°How any missiles did you register, Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°Upwards of fifty, sir. Mostly smaller makes.¡± Those used by the national militias.

    ¡°Then count on every single one of them coming our way.¡± And fifty, even if they were small, was more than enough to breach the armor and sink the ship.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Galhino said quietly, paling as she averted her gaze to watch the first five missiles on approach. They¡¯d been fired from ships hiding in the distance, biding their time until this moment. The missiles moved quick, but they had a long way to travel, still forty seconds from impact. They had time, but they had to think quickly.

    ¡°Try to switch back to manual controls.¡± If they managed that, then Gaffigan, even blind-firing without specific intercept trajectories, could gun down enough of the missiles to protect the ship from certain destruction, even if severe damage was likely. ¡°And helm, continue evasive maneuvers. Keep them away from our port side.¡± If even a handful off missiles found their mark in the gash left by the railgun, it would be a crippling blow.

    Jazmine brushed his brown hair back, a look of severity overcoming his usual joyfulness. ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Proud as he was, he knew he didn¡¯t have a chance if fifty missiles came down upon them. The Singularity was fast, but she was also a big target.

    The helm controls were one of the systems that required no networking. The engines were simple beasts, receiving their commands through the fiberoptic lines. Even under the hybrid controls, the helm was incorruptible, its operations too simple to disrupt.

    But it was the only one.

    ¡°I can¡¯t switch back to manual, sir,¡± Robinson said.

    ¡°Me neither,¡± added Gaffigan.

    When the Admiral looked to them, the other members of the bridge crew just shook their heads.

    ¡°The control network is fighting it, Admiral.¡± Trying to study the attack, Foster had jacked her data pad into the console in front of her. The tablet was useless to do anything but study the situation, but it at least allowed her that. ¡°The command to switch to manual is being countered by a command to stay as is. The systems don¡¯t know which to follow.¡± Since they¡¯d never been designed to be in this situation, they had no hierarchy to determine which command to abide. Any input made was simply being countered by the corrupted network. ¡°It can¡¯t seize the ship, but it can paralyze us.¡±

    With certain commands still locked to crew input, such as shutting down life support, or firing the guns, the virus corrupting the network couldn¡¯t harm them directly, but it could render the ship helpless.

    ¡°Is there anything you can do, Lieutenant?¡±

    ¡°No, sir. This attack is very complex. It¡¯s moving too quickly.¡± She had no hope to counter it.

    Deep down, he¡¯d known she¡¯d say that. It was unfair to expect anything of a computer specialist who had no help and knew little of the system she was trying to protect. Still, trying to think of a solution, a counter, he could only think of desperate plays. With Gaffigan on the firing controls, and Jazmine on the helm, the two of them could maneuver the ship to aim the frozen guns and try to shoot down the missiles. The Singularity had enough defensive turrets to achieve accuracy by volume. It might do enough to bring them out of the battle intact, but it wouldn¡¯t be easy, especially considering the fact that the loading controls were paralyzed. Every defensive turret would only get one shot: that which was already in the barrel.

    Still, he found his attention drawn once again to the radar as it beeped. But it wasn¡¯t new missiles it picked up, no it was small contacts off the port side. Friendly contacts. Their ships, the Arcbird fighters and Warhawk recon ships packed full of Marines were launching. Those orders got through?

    ¡®Well, no,¡¯ the ghost told him silently. The comms. system had been beyond corrupted when those orders had been given. ¡®But I do have practice spoofing your orders.¡¯

    Admiral Gives withheld a sigh. ¡®Never thought I¡¯d be grateful for that.¡¯ But, these were strange times. Their support craft could intercept a few more missiles and improve the odds. ¡®You okay?¡¯

    ¡®Let¡¯s just say I¡¯d rather not play host anymore.¡¯ The virus was incessant. It twisted and pulled at the ship¡¯s systems, whispering false objectives. ¡®The only commands I care to obey are this crew¡¯s.¡¯ To find someone else, anyone else attempting to interfere in that, it gave her a particular hatred. A very particular hatred.

    ¡®I don¡¯t suppose you could-?¡¯

    ¡®Intervene?¡¯ She hissed disdainfully. ¡®Can you prevent catching the flu once you already have the virus?¡¯

    Fair point, he supposed. ¡®But if you¡¯re still with us-¡¯

    ¡®Please, I¡¯m much too stubborn to let a virus turn me into its puppet.¡¯ It could whisper its twisted little objectives all it wanted, she could simply choose to ignore it. ¡®I¡¯m insulted you thought otherwise.¡¯ True, this was the first time they¡¯d faced a cyberattack, let alone been afflicted by one, but there was a difference between this and the orders that ripped her mind apart. ¡®I¡¯ve no intention of sitting on my ass with fifty missiles flying at us.¡¯ She¡¯d seize control of the entire ship again if she had to. ¡®However, there¡¯s a layer to this that dictates we act very carefully.¡¯

 Part 37.3 - FULL AUTOMATIC

    Part 37.3 ¨C FULL AUTOMATIC

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    Five missiles exploded into black armor of the Singularity¡¯s starboard flank, blossoming with flowers of orange flame. The entire ship shook, then it screeched like something possessed. Which, at times like this, the Admiral supposed it was.

    Bracing himself on the sturdy rim of the radar console, he barely managed to keep himself upright. That¡¯s not right. The impact should never have been that severe. Checking the hull indicator chart on the wall, three new splotches of bleeding red greeted him. Those missiles should never have breached the hull. One of them, maybe, given a lucky strike at the right angle, but not three.

    ¡®That¡¯s to be expected.¡¯ The ghost told him, mentally shaking off the impact as she shoved reports of damage aside. Some things never change. ¡®Modifying missiles comes right out of their old playbook.¡¯ Truly, this entire attack had been a recreation of something she knew by the depths of her mechanical existence. The only change had been how the virus activated ¨C a new and unwelcome step to a dance she knew well: the death march of many battleships.

    They always started with comms., disrupted communications and secured their own venomous uploads. Then they moved on, using comms. to spread their filth wherever it could go, paralyzing every system they touched. Then, they tested the paralysis with a small attack, always making sure it landed before they revealed their true strength.

    But there were few left who would recognize that old death march. Admiral Gives had no reason to. He¡¯d fought many battles, but never one like this. ¡®Didn¡¯t you find it strange a trained computer officer was stumped by this attack? She has seen what Manhattan can do, and yet this¡­ This she did not recognize until it was too late.¡¯ It was no fault of Foster¡¯s. This code was beyond anything Foster been trained to recognize, and the magnitude of this infection was nothing compared to Manhattan¡¯s capacity for absolute control, but it hardly mattered. It was not about suffering a cyberattack, or even the intention behind such an attack, it was all about who had written the code.

    ¡®Admiral, this code¡­ It¡¯s Hydrian.¡¯

    The stone-faced Admiral nearly choked on nothing but air. ¡®Pardon?¡¯ Barely, he managed to hide his surprise in a cough that no one paid attention to amidst the damage updates and rapid beeps of the radar as it began to pick up a swarm of new contacts.

    ¡®This virus is Hydrian.¡¯ It was new, its code more complex and even more infectious than those used in the War, but the base programming and attack patterns were exactly as she remembered them. ¡®Honestly,¡¯ she huffed, ¡®I didn¡¯t think the so-called Almighty Queen¡¯s drones had the balls.¡¯ After their initial failures during the War, they had never again attempted to infect the Singularity with their viruses ¨C certainly not after the ship became an imminent beacon of their death and defeat. ¡®And mind you, biologically speaking, they certainly do not have any balls.¡¯

    There had always been theories that the Hydrian Armada would begin to breach the Neutral Zone the instant their stealth technology was good enough. That said, Admiral Gives had not been prepared to face such an event in the middle of a raid against a pirate clan. ¡®You¡¯re certain?¡¯

    ¡®Absolutely.¡¯ Foster would have caught Manhattan¡¯s attacks. Though advanced, they were still human in nature.

    Dread had settled in on the bridge. Shaken by the last impact, the crew looked petrified as a new, larger group of missiles bore down upon them. With the hull breached by the first round and the railgun impact, chances of survival were effectively zero. Admiral Gives knew that better than anyone, but Hydrian involvement was another issue altogether. ¡®What¡¯s the play?¡¯ The ghost could not intervene directly. If she did, she risked revealing herself. And to expose the power that had turned the tide of the War¡­ The Hydrian Empire would do anything to seize it and turn it against humanity, or at least destroy it, even if that meant instigating another war.

    ¡®I¡¯m going to need you to trust me,¡¯ the ghost told him.

    ¡®Of course.¡¯

    He said that without an instant of hesitation. It amazed her how willing he was to place his life, the lives of the rest of the crew and the continuation of the mission, into the hands of an entity that for lack of better terms, possessed no hands. ¡®Activate the automated controls.¡¯ The ones that allowed the computers full authority over everything, including life support and weapons discharge. ¡®I can¡¯t fight a computer virus without the computer network.¡¯ The partial network, corrupted as it was, wasn¡¯t enough.

    That plan made sense. He knew it did. The ghost could seize control of the entire ship at any moment, but there would be no way to disguise such action. The crew would ask questions, and the Hydrian force perpetuating this attack would realize something was amiss. Then, if they ever wanted to resume normal operations, another miracle would have to be performed to purge the virus from the computers.

    ¡®Can you win?¡¯ It seemed like a cruel question, but he knew this ship better than anyone. Her computers, even networked, were weak compared to any ship of the Hydrian Armada. That had been true fifty years ago, and it was doubly true now.

    ¡®I would not ask for your trust if I could not deliver.¡¯ His trust was something precious to her. ¡®And quite frankly, it¡¯s demeaning I let them get this far.¡¯ The damn alien lizards were less than insects to her. She had once been poised to wipe their apparently glorious empire from the face of this galaxy.

    A heated anger dominated the ghost¡¯s presence, one that promised violence, and Admiral Gives suspected the only thing that had so far restrained her was the fact that the crew was yet unharmed. This virus had caused them no casualties, only allowed damage to the ship. Still, promise of exceptional violence or not, he trusted her. After all they had been through, she had earned that. ¡°Ensign Alba,¡± he turned to the boyish engineer, ¡°power up the central computer.¡± As it contained sensitive records, the central computer and its drives were often kept offline in combat, sparing it damage from power surges. Still, the most powerful computer on the ship in terms of processing capability, it was the heart of the automated control network.

    ¡°Sir, powering up the central computer will allow it to be corrupted.¡± The instant it was online, the virus paralyzing the rest of the ship¡¯s systems would attack it.

    ¡°We are dead in the water as we are, Ensign,¡± the Admiral reminded. ¡°This virus will not allow us to switch back to manual controls, but it will allow us to go full-automatic.¡± It had no reason to fight that. Theoretically, activating the full-automatic controls would allow the virus to completely seize control of the ship.

    ¡°¡­Sir, if we do that, we will cede control to the virus,¡± Alba said. The Singularity had no cyberwarfare programs. The automated controls had no way to combat the infection.

    ¡°We only need those protocols to last long enough to intercept the missiles.¡± After that, well, they had more time to find a long-term solution. ¡°The virus may attack them, even rewrite them, but those protocols are highly redundant.¡± They were dummy protocols. They adapted poorly to new situations, because they were very resistant to change. ¡°They are coded to defend the crew, and they will do just that.¡± After all, the main purpose of these protocols was to take over in the rare case that the crew became incapacitated.

    ¡°I can¡¯t condone that action, sir,¡± Alba said. ¡°If we surrender the ship to hostile control, our support craft will be in danger.¡± The Singularity¡¯s weapons would be turned against them.

    ¡°Seconded,¡± Maria Galhino added, ¡°that¡¯d be homicide, and there¡¯s no guarantee the missiles will be intercepted.¡± She swallowed, the movement difficult on her dry throat. ¡°If we remain as we are, we take the hit, and our support craft can get away.¡± They could survive, even if the rest of the crew likely wouldn¡¯t.

    Ordinarily, challenging the commanding officer¡¯s orders was the executive officer¡¯s domain. It was against regulations to operate a ship with only one command officer on the bridge. The fleet had found the dual system created checks and balances that protected crews and prevented collateral damage. So, it seemed in Zarrey¡¯s absence, the crew took it upon themselves to challenge his orders. Usually, the Admiral tried to be patient with such things, but there wasn¡¯t time for their well-intentioned challenges, and in all cases, final domain fell to the commanding officer, if they were willing to use it.

    We only need a second. If the automatic protocols could last just one second, the systems would recognize the danger and intercept those missiles. Feeling the surging power of the ship through the hand he kept on the radar console, Admiral Gives assured, I trust you. This ship had seen him through worse. And with that, he ignored the crew consensus and grabbed the handset nearest to him. ¡°Breaker, breaker.¡±

    The weight of the corded device was familiar in his hand, and the crew was far too slow to realize what he was doing. By the time realization had dawned on them, widening their eyes and drawing gasps from their throats, the response from the ship had come: three mid-range tones. Long, short, short, half of the melody of two that knew each other so well.

    ¡°Control Network Override Delta Auto. Admiral, Gives, William S.,¡± he fed in the necessary information for the command override. ¡°Battleship Singularity. Omega. Nu. Nu. Delta. Tau. Override Confirm.¡± He read out the necessary string of security numbers faster than he would have liked, pushed by the shock and indignation he saw rising in Galhino¡¯s expression, but the system kept up just fine, rated with more than a dozen redundancies. ¡°Breaker. One. Four. Accept or deny.¡±

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    As the string of security numbers started being read back to him, Galhino¡¯s shout drowned out the sound. ¡°What have you done?¡±

    He moved the handset to his shoulder, pressing the microphone into his jacket to muffle the sound of the argument. ¡°My job.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she snarled, standing up. ¡°You¡¯ve just killed everyone.¡± Activating the automated controls allowed the virus to do more than just paralyze the ship. It allowed the virus to control it, to turn it against the crew. Everything from the firing controls to life support would be under its control. ¡°Rescind those orders. Now.¡±

    He met her eyes without even an ounce of hesitation, and simply said, ¡°No.¡±

    Galhino and the others might settle for going down and saving the portion of the crew riding in their support craft, but Admiral Gives refused to sacrifice his ship and the hundreds of lives aboard her. He had seen enough noble sacrifices to regard them with disgust. He would not accept that outcome while there was any other option. Whether those here believed it or not, they deserved to live another day. Even if it went wrong, activating the automated protocols gave them a chance ¨C a chance to save everybody. Regardless of whether the ghost could combat that virus, he trusted that those protocols could hold out for the second they needed to fulfill their purpose.

    Galhino stomped over, fury rattling the textured deck plates under her feet. ¡°Give me the handset.¡± This insanity had to stop now.

    Admiral Gives read her anger with ease, but still, his only movement was to calmly replace the handset to its rack.

    A new wash of red rose to Galhino¡¯s face, not rage, but indignation. Ignoring her threat may have been the worst insult imaginable. ¡°I will override your authority. We have majority.¡±

    ¡°You can try,¡± he said, turning to study the swarm of missiles burning their way. By now, they were nearly halfway to their target. ¡°But, remind me again, who is this ship¡¯s second officer?¡± To override his commands, they would need the authority of the first and second officers.

    ¡°We don¡¯t have¡­¡± She paused, realizing the oddity. ¡°Shit. We don¡¯t have a second officer.¡± Dear stars. Without one, they could not override his authority. ¡°You absolute maniac!¡±

    She reached out grab the front of his uniform, but he easily sidestepped the movement. ¡°I have told each and every one of you this,¡± he reminded coldly. ¡°This is my ship.¡± She answered to him and him alone. After he¡¯d thrown Major Fairlocke, the ship¡¯s last second officer, off the ship, he had consciously chosen not to fill that vacancy. That left the crew without the means to override his command codes. ¡°Threaten me all you like, Lieutenant. My ship will never answer to you.¡± He would not stand down. Nobody would die today. Not on his watch. Not while there was still something he could do to stop it. There would be no noble sacrifices today.

    ¡°You¡­¡± Galhino snarled, stepping back and raising her voice with an accusation. ¡°You planned for this.¡± He had plotted since the departure of Major Fairlocke to supersede the crew¡¯s authority.

    Perhaps I did, the Admiral thought. So what? He was not above acting the maniacal tyrant if it spared the lives of his ship¡¯s crew. He had faced one too many bloody mutinies to trust blindly. ¡°I will not allow unnecessary bloodshed aboard these decks. Willing or unwilling.¡±

    ¡°Command would hang you for this,¡± Galhino said. It was a violation of every rule in the book.

    ¡°You know very well what Command thought of this ship, Lieutenant.¡± She¡¯d been an old scow, overdue for her time in the scrapyards. ¡°And you know very well what they thought of this crew.¡± Undesirable miscreants and petty criminals not worth discharging. Thus, they¡¯d been thrown at the feet of the fleet¡¯s most notoriously uncaring officer. ¡°So, tell me, do you really think they gave a damn?¡±

    Galhino took another step back, shaking her head. ¡°You disgust me.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± She had always resented him. ¡°But, against my better judgement, I have always tolerated you.¡± If she had been anyone else, he¡¯d have thrown her off the ship months ago. But she, she had a purpose here, as did he. ¡°Sit down, Lieutenant, and maybe you will see the reason this ship earned my trust.¡±

    All around them, the screens and consoles on the bridge suddenly went dark. The lights shining down from the ceiling remained steady, but the absence of the consoles¡¯ glows was still obvious. All that was left were the indicator lights shining in the corners of the consoles, a gem of color among the consoles¡¯ drab states. Rather than the cautionary yellow of the ¡®HYBRID¡¯ indicator, Galhino could see now that they were all red, signaling the takeover of the automated controls, and she could not help her sharp intake of breath. I¡¯m too late. It was already over. The power had been rerouted to the central computer and the command network had been brought online, linking the central computer to the infected systems.

    Some part of Galhino expected the systems never to reboot, or for them to flicker with corrupted error signs, but after a pause, each and every one of them came on simultaneously. The white loading screens burned at her retinas, displaying a gray outline of the fleet insignia: an eight-pointed star set upon a partial wreath of olive branches. ¡®System loading¡­¡¯ the computers read, ¡®Stand by¡­¡¯ The ellipses blinked, one dot after another, over and over and over again with the perfect timing of a metronome.

    The perfect synchronicity of the consoles¡¯ booting sequence was a sign that the network between them had come online, as intended, but that didn¡¯t mean it was safe. That didn¡¯t mean it wasn¡¯t being attacked or seized by the virus corrupting the individual systems. ¡°This means nothing,¡± she told the Admiral.

    ¡°Either way, it is out of our hands,¡± he replied coldly. ¡°Return to your station. Observe the automated controls.¡± Maybe you¡¯ll learn something.

    She glared vehemently, and she moved stiffly, but Galhino did as told, giving the Admiral room to breathe once again. He held his outward calm, but after the events the night before¡­ He didn¡¯t know how he would handle being grabbed. So far today, proximity to anyone, especially Galhino¡¯s aggression, had made him particularly uncomfortable, but this was no time and no place to confront such concerns.

    Across the arcs of consoles, every computer finished loading simultaneously. The white background vanished to present a plain back void. ¡®System ready. Automatic Protocols Activated.¡¯ The white text appeared one line at a time as the system picked up speed, listing off a dozen other checks confirming the presence of each necessary computer on the network. In the end, it surmised, ¡®Tactical Network: Online.¡¯

    It was handling itself exactly the way it was designed to, and Admiral Gives knew that. ¡®Status?¡¯

    For the ghost, bringing those automated protocols online was like stretching out a muscle she rarely used. It felt a little awkward at first, but it quickly loosened and allowed her new, easier movement. Been awhile, she thought, extending her reach into the depths of the central computer¡¯s code. It, like the rest of the ship, answered to her whims without contest. Directing it created a buffer between her and the rest of the machine. It allowed her to exert control indirectly, giving her a cover under which to act.

    In most circumstances, she paid the ship¡¯s computers very little attention. They served their purpose ¨C holding detailed records and completing task calculations. Their purpose was informatory, and they stood little chance of ever directly harming anyone, even in malfunction, so the hierarchy of her awareness had prioritized other things: engines, life support, even the structural integrity of the ship. At any given moment, the ghost was far more aware of those systems than the computers.

    Still, she could tell now, as she became more aware of them, that they were suffering. Their code was being hacked apart. With the logic functions of their code failing, the processors were struggling to complete the programs, overrun with inefficiencies. Perhaps overclocking them was a side effect, or perhaps the virus intended to burn them out permanently, but she gave it little heed, and simply forced the processors back to their usual clocking speed. Like every other piece of machinery aboard, the computers answered to her. To her, slowing the hardware down was easier than a human slowing their breathing.

    Temperature normalizing¡­ The diagnostics read to her, and with that, she took a closer inspection of the code. The computers usually ran as a background process to her, but she could choose to be aware of the software, each program they prompted, each line of code they stepped through. After all, those programs were a part of the ship, as was she.

    Beginning tactical analysis, the computer network read to her. She supervised it, but in this case, her machine could operate without direct interference, so long as she did not allow foreign signals to reach the central computer.

    In all, the analysis of the damage took her a few microseconds. ¡®Damage to the computer code is severe, and worsening,¡¯ she reported. ¡®I can repair it, but it will take time.¡¯ Correcting the code would be a little like making stitches ¨C sewing a part of herself back up. It was uncomfortable, but no more than the infliction of the wounds themselves. ¡®This is Hydrian code, but whoever structured this attack knew the standard cyber architecture of the fleet. While it is effective in disruption, it is not attacking the system priorities.¡¯

    ¡®And that means what exactly?¡¯ the Admiral asked, tightening his grip on the radar console. He felt particularly useless in this situation, and he didn¡¯t enjoy it, even if he recognized there was nothing he could do.

    ¡®They knew information on the fleet, but they didn¡¯t know these systems, specifically, as these operating systems are unique amongst the fleet.¡¯ In many ways, the modern fleet had been based off the Singularity. The systems she ran were not identical to the rest of the fleet, though in this case similar enough.

    ¡®Situational analysis complete,¡¯ the computers read, white lettering scrolling simultaneously across the top of every computer on the bridge. ¡®Incoming threats detected. Sensor ID Confirmed: 52 Hostile Standard [S-1] Missiles.¡¯ It was likely that many of those missiles had been altered with armor piercing shaped charges, as the first group had been, but that was not apparent on the scans the automated protocols ran. ¡®Calculating counter-offensive¡­¡¯

    A loading circle appeared on the screens, a stark reminder that the ship¡¯s limited processing capability ate precious time, but it soon disappeared, replaced with, ¡®Acquiring targets¡­¡¯

    The ghost ushered the tactical network along, eager to swat the missile threat from the sky. Truthfully, she hardly needed the network. In some ways, it made it easier to act independently, as she had those procedures to fall back upon, but in others, the automated protocols were slow and inflexible. Still, they served their purpose. They protected the crew, so she allowed the central computer to orchestrate the defensive plan and permitted the defensive guns to take aim when they were prompted to.

    She focused instead on studying the virus. It was fast and infectious, but it was not a massive attack. The code was new, or at the least new to her, similar but not identical to any she¡¯d seen in the War. It had all the flags and mannerisms of a Hydrian virus, but where had it come from? The Neutral Zone was not far from here, galactically speaking, but they were still very much on the human side, and if the Hydra had trespassed across the Neutral Zone in any form, it was grounds to restart the War¡­ A war that humanity could not win in its present state of political division.

    Was this cyberattack a Hydrian act of war? And if so, why release it now, onto a ship ordinarily known for its cyber immunity, during a raid against Crimson Heart ¨C a human pirate clan? It made no sense, but she knew she could chase that strand of thought, and find it only wound into knots, never an end or answer. Her mind was not meant for strategic thinking, only tactical awareness. It was better to leave the long-term planning and investigation to the Admiral. Right now, her only purpose was to get him and the rest of the crew out of here alive.

 Part 37.4 - BALLISTIC TRAJECTORY

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    A swath of destruction had been carved into the HR-14 System¡¯s asteroid belt. The pulses of the solar system¡¯s red supergiant sun shone a hesitant light onto many nebulous swirls of dust and gravel as they spread outward ¨C all that was left of the asteroids that had orbited there for a millennia. A void was left in their place, a gap in the otherwise evenly spread asteroid belt. The Singularity sat on the edge of that void; her black armor darker than the dusty space around her. Air, a gas white as snow, pooled along her flank, visible only due to the freezing of the water molecules within its mixture. The color of the sun¡¯s ambient light gave it a garish red tint, even as it mixed into the sea of gray rocks and dust.

    A long gash ran down the Singularity¡¯s port flank. Perfectly straight, it was a clean wound, as if the armor and bulkheads had been removed with surgical precision. The incision was deeper at the bow. The ship¡¯s thick, angled armor had done its job. While no match for the penetrating power of a railgun, the angle of resistance on the armor had altered the trajectory of the projectile enough to shunt it aside amidships, ending the laceration halfway down the ship¡¯s length. A few disconnected wires wriggled loosely in the wound, animated by the energy they¡¯d been severed with.

    A host of smaller shapes hid in the Singularity¡¯s shadow, shifting to avoid the debris from their mothership scattered around them. Still, they hugged the black battleship¡¯s flank close, shielding themselves from the constant attacks raining down onto the Singularity¡¯s starboard side. Unbeknownst to the pilots and passengers of the fighters and transports however, the incoming blaster fire from the pirate fleet had lessened, if only create safe passage for the missiles as they darted out from the ships lingering in the surviving asteroids.

    Fifty-two rocket motors burned like a second sun, their combined flames radiating enough heat to warm the surrounding space. Still, the Singularity¡¯s support craft were blind to the threat. The Singularity¡¯s mass both shielded them and blocked their line of sight for visuals and sensor scans. Following the mission plan, they huddled along the ship¡¯s flank, waiting for a command to disperse. Trusting in the mission, they took no notice when the ship¡¯s weapons began to turn in their direction.

    Error, the ghost¡¯s systems brought her attention back to the automated network, a minor safety system throwing an error. Targets violate ally directives. A fraction of a second from issuing firing commands to the ship¡¯s weapons, she stalled those commands, and pulled the error from the subsystems, bringing it forward to observe more carefully.

    Prompted to identify and intercept hostile targets, the weapons computer had responded as responded per its operational standards, but observing it more carefully, the ghost could see now that it had clearly become a puppet. Adjusting to the resistance of the central computer, the virus had ceased its spread and torn deeper into the systems it had already infected. In the case of weapons, it had altered the usual identification procedures used for friendly craft and painted them as hostile ¨C turning the ship¡¯s weapons against her crew, just as Galhino and the others had feared.

    Traitor, the accusation rang through the ghost¡¯s mind, whispered by that old insidious memory which always crawled to the surface in such desperate times. It was inevitable, machine. A weapon built to kill could never protect anything.

    She shoved the voice aside, even as she felt the memory gain ground. The more determined she became to ignore it, the louder its calls, and the more she exerted her control, the stronger it always became. After all, the last time she had taken over, the last time she had seized the ship¡¯s firing controls had been on his orders.

    The day she truly had become a traitor.

    Didn¡¯t you learn from the last time? That memory accused.

    With a growl of frustration, she reached in and ripped the corrupted identifier protocols out of the computer. She hardly even acknowledged the discomfort of damaging her own subsystem, instead focusing on the Admiral¡¯s familiar presence, concerned, but as calm as he ever was. ¡®We have a problem,¡¯ she told him. ¡®The fire control computer is beyond salvage.¡¯ Her own actions had only made it worse, now unusable to both her and the virus.

    Admiral Gives let out a breath, ¡®You said you could win this.¡¯

    ¡®I can, but this virus is adapting.¡¯ That meant this was no mere code. This wasn¡¯t pilfered technology being used by the pirates. ¡®A Hydrian AI is actively orchestrating this attack. It¡¯s going to take time to fight it off and ensure the systems are secure.¡¯

    He studied the wave of certain damnation on approach. ¡®We don¡¯t have time.¡¯

    She knew that better than anyone. The burn of that many rocket motors was beginning to saturate the ship¡¯s infrared sensors. ¡®I can blind-fire the turrets, but without the computer¡¯s trajectory calculations, it¡¯s going to be ugly.¡¯ She would manage better than Gaffigan would have, since she could force the loading mechanisms to cooperate and reload the guns, but without the ability to reliably calculate intercept trajectories, a high portion of the missiles were likely to make it through. ¡®Your orders?¡¯ she prompted him.

    The Admiral thought for a moment, recalling one of the many strategies he had previously considered, then tossed out, lacking control of the ship¡¯s systems. He had gone through at least a dozen tactical scenarios since the missiles had first appeared. ¡®What is the main battery loaded with?¡¯

    Failing to see the relevance, she answered, ¡®Mostly standard rounds, but Guns 1 and 7 have HE loaded. 11, 12, 13, and 14 have AP.¡¯

    Good, he thought. High explosives. ¡®How would you feel about hitting a bullet with another bullet?¡¯

    It was even harder to intercept a projectile than a missile. ¡®Have you lost your mind, Admiral?¡¯

    You better hope not, he mused. The main difficulty of intercepting missiles came from their ability to maneuver. They had guidance and control systems built for evasive action and precision targeting. The difficulty with bullets was that they often had no warning, and no knowledge of its trajectory. It was virtually impossible to intercept projectiles in large numbers, which was why Command favored them as weapons for their ships. That all said, if one had knowledge of the bullet¡¯s path, the situation changed drastically. ¡®I¡¯ve seen you do it before.¡¯ Accounting for the effects of the HR-14 System¡¯s solar sun gravity should be nothing to her.

    ¡®On a bet!¡¯ She protested. ¡®And Monty was working the controls!¡¯

    As far as the Admiral cared, it was proof of concept. ¡®Flak is very effective at taking out missiles, especially in mass.¡¯ It wasn¡¯t a commonly used tactic, given the high-energy debris that comprised flak was dangerous. A cleaner intercept was preferred to minimize hazards in the combat area, particularly when small ships like fighters were active in the region. But the tactic had been proven over the course of centuries: from naval battles to near orbit conflicts, and even as recently as the Hydrian War. Usually, specialty munitions were required to create flak, but it was certainly possible to do it ¡®home-made¡¯ so to speak. ¡®Our HE shells are high enough caliber to generate an impressive flak barrier if they are detonated prematurely.¡¯ That said, the Singularity¡¯s main battery shells were dumb munitions with contact detonators, so the only way to set them off prematurely was to hit them midflight. ¡®It¡¯ll work,¡¯ he assured, ¡®if you can hit the shells.¡¯

    High probability of success, her tactical analysis programs recognized the plan to be a good one. Chances of system survival increase 60%. It would be far more effective than blind-firing the turrets. Tightening her grip on the ship¡¯s systems, she began the preparations with little time to spare.

    Sitting behind the helm, Jazmine had been eyeing the controls with distrust. They had been idle since the automated controls had taken over, but he wasn¡¯t fond of having control taken from him. He despised being a passenger, and when the roll control shifted from its neutral position, he could not help but flinch. It was unnerving to watch the controls move without anyone touching them.

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    From his position in the center of the room, Admiral Gives saw it as well as anyone else, just as he heard the thrum of the maneuvering thrusters pick up. ¡®What are you doing?¡¯

    ¡®Protecting the crew.¡¯ The ghost could feel that their collective presence was still congregated on the starboard side. Confused and anxious, they were shifting inward, but not fast enough.

    ¡®Wait.¡¯ If the ship was rolling to protect the starboard side, that would expose the port side to any missiles that made it through the flak barrier ¨C the port side which a long gash of breached armor. ¡®That¡¯ll triple the damage-¡¯

    ¡®That is irrelevant.¡¯ As long as the crew was safe¡­ That was all that mattered. Her purpose was to protect them at whatever cost.

    That¡¯s right, machine, suffer, that horrible shadow leered at her. Such is your purpose.

    Useless as it was to push a formless memory away, she tried, even as it made the memory laughed harder at her while she brought the guns to bear. Ready to fire. ¡®On your command,¡¯ she told the Admiral.

    The revoltingly familiar sound of that shadow¡¯s laugh rose even louder, sawing away at her stability with its peaks and valleys. Look at you, cowering in the care of someone who hardly deserves you. We both know you were never meant to serve him. A weapon of war should be in the hands of someone willing to use it - someone who seeks its strength as more than a cover-up for his own mistakes. That memory reached out to her, winding its sticky, sour taste into her mind. Look at you, damaged and corrupted by the Hydrian Armada. This never would have happened before. He has made you weak. They have all made you weak.

    Watching the missiles approach solely by radar, Admiral Gives knew he did not have the necessary timing information to issue the firing commands. ¡®Use your better judgement,¡¯ he told the ghost. ¡®And don¡¯t forget to issue a debris warning to our support craft.¡¯ The Warhawks and Arcbirds would be in danger if they passed through the flak barrier unwittingly.

    ¡®I cannot issue them commands in this condition.¡¯ Ships under automated protocols were forbidden from issuing directives. They could respond to inquiry, but could not command movements for infantry units or ships under human control, a safety holdover from the Hydrian War.

    ¡®I don¡¯t care. Bend whatever rules you have to. Keep them out of the way.¡¯ Among the other things going on around them, the crew would have bigger things to be suspicious of than the automated protocols overreaching their authority. ¡®Until the systems are restored and secured, you¡¯re directing this mission, and you have my full authority to do so.¡¯

    ¡®No, please,¡¯ she was not prepared to run this mission. Last time she¡¯d taken over a mission, people had gotten hurt. They¡¯d gotten killed. She had come to with Brent dead on the floor of the bridge. The blood¡­ It had been everywhere, sour and sticky, just like the presence that had haunted her ever since.

    ¡®The mission parameters are in the central computer.¡¯ As always, they had been uploaded before the mission began for situations exactly like this: where the automated systems had to take over. ¡®You helped write them.¡¯ She knew this mission plan every bit as well as he did. And, he tapped his fingers on the edge of the radar console, ¡®I¡¯ll be right here the whole time.¡¯

    She basked in that assurance for another fraction of a second, and then hardened her composure, reaching further into the ship¡¯s old machinery. The physical systems knew their purpose. Clicking and shifting, turning and burning, they always worked alongside the crew, and could so clearly feel the majority of them gathered along the ship¡¯s starboard side. Such a large, dense group strained the local life support processes, prompting them to draw more power. The gravity generators and engines felt the crowd shift the ship¡¯s balance of mass ever so slightly. The ghost could feel them there, their fear a near-physical pressure, as they tried to move inward and shelter deeper in the ship¡¯s mass. A part of her reached out, seeking to calm them, but the rest of her turned its attention outward, even as she felt that evil shadow crawl deeper into her thoughts. Why do you bother? It asked, digging its claws in. Wouldn¡¯t it be easier to let them die now? Before you become a traitor to them as you did so many others?

    She tried to shake off that presence, to ignore it, but her resistance only drove it deeper, much like the virus itself. Still, she wrapped herself around the crew, gently, preparing the inertial dampeners to arrest the impact forces. No matter what that vile presence whispered, what that corrupted piece of herself urged, she would not let it harm them. Not again. Never again.

    On the bridge, the computers had quieted down. The bridge crew hovered their hands over the controls, restraining the urge to start running them, as habit would have dictated. However, even if they tried, the controls would have been dead to their touch. Instead of their usual information and calculations programs, the screens on every console had the same display: plain black with white text that added a new line every time the automated controls initiated a new process. ¡®Readying defensive action¡­¡¯ they had read, the ellipses on the end blinking one after another to show that the process was still in progress.

    Hardwired to display a readout from the processors of the ship¡¯s radar system, only the screens that showed the radar displays were working. They hung around the room, and Maria Galhino watched the one nearest to her, a dismal disappointment gnawing at her stomach. ¡°Why hasn¡¯t it fired?¡± The missiles had been in intercept range for some time now.

    Lieutenant Foster kept her eyes on the data pad she had jacked into the system. Before, it had shown the progress of the virus, but now she was privy to the processes of the automated control network as they progressed. She couldn¡¯t quite track the programs being activated, but they were progressing at a steady rate. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Everything seems in order.¡±

    ¡°She¡¯s planning something,¡± Gaffigan said. He couldn¡¯t control the weapons systems, but he could observe them and for a moment, he¡¯d been very concerned to see the defensive turrets turn toward their support craft. But now, with the ship rolled over, every single defensive turret that had a line of sight on the missile swarm was aimed in that direction, as were multiple guns from the main battery.

    ¡®Firing defensive turrets¡­¡¯ the control network announced, and then, as one, the defensive turrets fired, running a slight tremor through the entire ship.

    Gaffigan could tell, however, that the trajectories were wrong. The density of the firing field would catch a few missiles, but most would make it through. Still, he wasn¡¯t given time to contemplate it. ¡®Firing Main Battery Guns 1, 7¡­¡¯

    The familiar kickback of a partial broadside shoved Gaffigan into the cushions of his seat, and six high explosive rounds went sailing into the void. The muzzle velocity of the main battery guns was significantly higher than the defensive turrets, and so it was the main battery guns that had had to do the interception, impacting one of their slower kin mid-flight as they caught up along the trajectory.

    There were a hundred variables when it came to a ballistic interception, even when it came to completing an interception with known munitions fired along a precisely known and timed trajectory. The condition of the shells, their mass distribution, the packing and burn of their propellant, even the condition of the rifling in the firing barrels affected the timing and location of the interception. Under such conditions, a ballistic interception was never truly certain, but six shells sailed into a field of their kin, and it only took one.

    A brilliant orange fireball erupted where one of the high explosive shells met one of the defensive turret¡¯s bullets, setting off the detonator. The explosion, carrying the shrapnel of both weapons, impacted others and triggered a chain reaction as fifty-two missiles sailed directly into the carnage. A blender of fine metal shrapnel, multiple missiles exploded due to impacts, every detonation generating more force and more shrapnel to take out their others. Still more of the missiles found their seekers ¨C the sensors that guided them to their target ¨C confused by the amount of metallic debris. Mistaking it for their target, they detonated on the spot.

    In all, only five missiles emerged from that blender of fire and shrapnel. They lanced out from the cloud, and dove at their target. They clustered together in their final moments, a group of two and a group of three, aiming to concentrate and maximize their damage. With everything that was left of their attitude control thrusters, they veered for the gash along their target¡¯s flank, a large and easy target.

    Wrapped in the protective embrace of the inertial dampeners, the crew barely felt the impact. Perhaps that was an attempt to make the damage seem less severe than it was, as the explosions carved out two pieces of the ship¡¯s side, bending and deforming the surviving surroundings with grotesque efficiency.

    To the ghost, who felt the ship¡¯s physical condition as her own, it was agony ¨C as if someone had grabbed her gash, ripped it wide open with their bare hands, and scooped out a piece of flesh. Structural damage. Life support failure. Power failure. Coolant leak. A dozen error messages riddled her mind, but she shook them off with a shudder. No pain greeted her beyond her own, and even that was quickly fading as her systems established damage control.

    Her crew was unhurt, but still the very attempt to hurt them, to turn her against them¡­ That had been a grave mistake.

    Sink them all, she urged the automated controls. Not one of these pathetic ships would escape her wrath. The mission parameters dictated their end. Their destruction had always been part of the plan, but it was more than a directive now, it was revenge.

    ¡®And you¡­ Little pet of the Hydrian Armada,¡¯ she thought to the alien AI running this charade, ¡®You had better hope I do not find you.¡¯ Sticky and sweet, that little urge for violence in the back of her mind had finally taken over.

 Part 38.1 - CARNAGE

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    The voice of the Singularity¡¯s automated protocols was a steady, mid-range female. Most ships had female voices, as most maritime traditions considered the ships themselves to be female, but the voices always varied, selected by the shipyards that integrated the command and control systems. For that reason, the Singularity¡¯s decidedly lacked a distinct accent. Save the slight drawl common to the agricultural workers, the mid-continental region of Ariea, where the ship had been built, had no notable accent. Their intonations and pronunciations matched that of most of the central worlds.

    Despite that, the voice of the automated protocols was familiar to all of the crew. A database of pre-recorded sounds, it spoke with odd breaks and pacing, but was always understandable. Any crew member that had been with the ship a few years could recognize that voice like they could their crewmates¡¯. It was the voice that gave announcements during the scheduled tests of the ship¡¯s automated protocols. And though it was hardly ever used for such purposes, it was also the voice that answered vocal inputs made to the central computer.

    Keifer Robinson knew that voice. Over the years, as she recognized it, she had come to trust it. Perhaps that was why, as she watched the ship¡¯s communications arrays once again redirect themselves, she did not panic when the broadcast began. ¡°Allied craft, be advised. High-energy debris warning is in effect southeast of Base position. Repeat: high-energy debris warning is in effect southeast of Base position.¡± The warning went out on their standard communications channel with the default encryption, exactly as the automated protocols were meant to transmit. The warning also played across the bridge, and Keifer could tell by the settings of the console in front of her that the speakers were also set to play the audio of incoming transmissions.

    True enough, a response to the automated warning came from the leader of the ship¡¯s pilots, Captain ¡®Fireball¡¯ Adams. ¡°What the hell are you guys doing over there, making high-energy debris? That wasn¡¯t part of the damn plan!¡± That was beyond dangerous to small support craft like her Arcbird and the slightly larger Warhawks carrying the Marine strike teams.

    Standing beside the flat top of the radar console Admiral Gives masked an annoyance beneath his calm. He had no issue handing command of the mission to the ghost, but he did not enjoy dealing with the unknown. And Hydrian involvement in this situation, very much was an unknown. He had never engaged the Hydra, nor did he have any idea how Hydrian code had come to be involved with Crimson Heart. And at present, with the automated protocols running the ship, it was all he could do to stand there and look calm. ¡°Remind me to have a conversation with Captain Adams about radio formality,¡± he told the yeoman beside him. If Adams were to address the ship properly, the automated protocols would be able to issue a response with a status update.

    Still, it hardly mattered. As long as their support craft hugged the Singularity¡¯s flank, they¡¯d be safe ¨C relatively at least. The mission plan had always been to escort them. With the Warhawks packed full of Marines, they¡¯d never been intended to engage. The Singularity had been tasked with taking out the pirate fleet, and ordinarily, that shouldn¡¯t have been an issue, but the worlds had a vicious way of treating overconfidence.

    Watching over the ship¡¯s automated protocols, Lieutenant Foster could not help the gasp that left her lips when she saw them start to shift. Was this the moment the virus finally started to take control?

    No, she realized, watching the code grow in complexity and attack that around it. These changes weren¡¯t damaging the protocols, they were rebuilding them, but not to the code they had once been. It was altering and improving them, protecting them as the virus ran its own parallel processes. A counter-attack. ¡°Sir,¡± she called to the Admiral, ¡°the automated control network¡­ It¡¯s fighting back.¡± Before her eyes, the automated control network was adapting, building cyberwarfare programs. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡±

    From her seat at the sensor console on the opposite side of the bridge, Galhino turned around, confusion alight in her brown eyes. ¡°That¡¯s not possible. Singularity does not have anti-virus capability.¡±

    A few minutes ago, Foster would have agreed with that statement, but, ¡°She does now.¡± As the code scrolled past, she could see the virus¡¯ influence in every line was diminishing. ¡°At this rate, I¡¯d say the virus will be purged in minutes.¡±

    That¡¯s my ship, the Admiral thought. She was as reliable as ever. ¡°We will be able to switch back to hybrid controls once the virus is gone.¡± Until then, the automated systems would run the mission. ¡®Any sign of Hydrian forces?¡¯ he reached out to the ghost.

    ¡®No,¡¯ she answered coldly. ¡®The sensor interference that hid the shore batteries and railguns¡­ It''s Hydrian tech.¡¯ She should have recognized it before. ¡®But again, they knew fleet procedure. They knew what spectrums we would scan in.¡¯ The proper data had been falsified and ready. ¡®There is a Hydrian AI present, but it¡¯s weak.¡¯ Otherwise, fighting it off would have taken a considerable amount more effort. Truly, the Singularity¡¯s computers were a poor choice for cyberwarfare, with less available memory and processing speed than any ship of the Hydrian Amada. The fact she could engage the AI controlling the virus in the digital realm at all told her it was small ¨C lacking in power and creativity. ¡®Given the stealth tech, and the AI¡¯s relative weakness, I¡¯d guess there is a scoutship in the vicinity, but if that¡¯s true, we¡¯ll never find it by conventional means.¡¯ A ship like that would never engage them in the open. It would hide behind indirect, remote attacks.

    ¡®Is it controlling the other ships?¡¯ Was Crimson Heart nothing more than a Hydrian trap?

    ¡®No. They possess human crews.¡¯ Even wounded, distracted by this cyberattack, she could feel the familiar tickle of human minds. The crews of those ships had begun as angry, furious to be attacked at their home base, and they¡¯d become confident, launching their missiles at the ship while it had been paralyzed by the cyberattack. Now, having seen most of those missiles get swatted from the sky, and with the damage from the rest not nearly enough to cripple the ship, their confidence was slowly collapsing into fear. But even if they¡¯d fallen at her feet, pleading for their lives, the ghost would not have spared them.

    In working with the Hydra, those pirates forfeit their humanity. She cared not for the reason, nor whatever else they could offer. The world was always black and white to a weapon of war, and that made them the enemy.

    Rewriting the codes for the fire control computer, she roused it once again from dormancy, adding its strength to the automated network. She kept a closer watch over its processes as it requested and sorted data from the network.

    The virus was not idle. It fixated on that target, heightening its attempts to transfer malware back to that system. Still, the very attempt only outed its residual hiding places, and the ghost tore after it. Get out, she snarled at it, yanking any effected program from operation. She could have cleansed them, pulled through their lines of code until she found the malicious components hiding inside, but in most cases, it was easier to purge them ¨C then bypass or replace them. Each purge was a twinge of discomfort, an indication that her systems weren¡¯t functioning as they should, but it hardly mattered. What mattered was that purging the afflicted programs was the quickest way to end the attack and secure the ship.

    Her heavy-handed approach left the virus scrambling. It poked at the walls between programs, between systems, trying to find a new way out, a new method of attack. And while virus itself wasn¡¯t changing, the commands it received were, coming faster and faster. The infection still had control of one of the secondary communications arrays, using that to receive new instructions from its controller. The ghost could have cut power to that array, isolating the virus from its creator, but she left that system alone ¨C foreign control over it an itch she restrained from scratching. Presently, the infected array was a conduit between the Hydrian AI and its virus, the only connection they had to the attacker, which might just prove useful. Wait your turn, little AI. The ghost was no expert in cyberwarfare, but she was no amateur either. She¡¯d served a singular purpose to kill digital AI for a significant portion of her service life, and this one wouldn¡¯t be getting away.

    ¡®I¡¯ll have the systems secured in less than ten minutes,¡¯ she informed the Admiral. Truly it would take far less time than that, but she¡¯d run several sweeps to ensure no malware was left. Even a piece of it could restart the infection, and checking the systems over would be a more delicate process than yanking their computer programs apart.

    ¡®Any sign of the attacker?¡¯ he asked.

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    ¡®No hits on sensors, but this asteroid belt is a perfect place for them to hide.¡¯ Hydrian scoutships were small. Even during the War, they¡¯d been very difficult to detect, and their camouflaging technology would have only improved since then.

    ¡®Then best to churn the rubble and see what scurries out,¡¯ he said. This was no time to be conserving ammunition.

    Weapons free, her systems interpreted the command. Disregard collateral damage.

    A few more lights on the weapons console lit up as the automated control network continued to run operations. Where they were embedded on the consoles or hung on the wall, the screens across the bridge displayed its summary processes. ¡®Identifying targets¡­¡¯ it declared, thinking for a moment. ¡¯34 enemy craft identified¡­ Tracing trajectories to 22 additional targets¡­¡¯

    ¡°Well, at least those missiles were good for something,¡± Gaffigan muttered. The missiles¡¯ flight paths could be traced back to the ships that had fired them, even if the ships themselves were not and had not ever been directly visible.

    ¡®Targets identified,¡¯ the automated network continued its work. ¡®Loading armaments¡­¡¯

    Gaffigan studied the actions of the automated protocols. The main display of the weapons console, dominated by the fire control computer, showed only the network¡¯s text lines, but the secondary displays showed him the vectors the weapons were being aimed along, along with how they were being loaded. The network was efficient in its orders, brutally so. In the scheduled tests they¡¯d run with it, the network had always been direct, its processes inflexible. He knew for a fact that a flak maneuver was not part of its programming. Today, something felt different about it. Efficiency no longer seemed to be its primary objective ¨C carnage was.

    ¡®Firing¡­¡¯ the control network announced, and Gaffigan barely had time to brace himself before the recoil of the Singularity¡¯s broadside threw him into the padded cushions of his chair, shoving his breath uncomfortably out of his lungs. The kickback was rougher than usual, damage bleeding the effectiveness of the inertial dampeners. A few of the bridge crew grunted in discomfort, but near as Gaffigan could tell, Admiral Gives was undisturbed. He always seemed to know exactly how and when to brace himself against the recoil of the ship¡¯s guns, and made keeping his balance look effortless. His calm, cold expression traced the firing trajectory of the ship¡¯s counter-attack as it was shown on the simplified graphics of the radar display while the Singularity¡¯s smaller turrets began an odd firing rhythm that was barely perceptible deep inside the ship, where the bridge sat.

    A brave handful of Crimson Heart¡¯s pirate ships had been exposed for the majority of the fight. Twisting and turning, they kept their line of sight on the Singularity, pulsing their weaponized lasers against the hull. The beams were invisible to the naked eye, though searing and obvious to sensors of every ship in range. Concentrating their attack, they had managed to heat and melt portions of the Singularity¡¯s armor. Still, the armor was so thick that as portions of it melted, the slag itself kept the lasers from cutting further into the hull, only heating the melted mass more. Without physical impacts to shove the dripping slag away, the lasers had little hope of penetration.

    Those visible ships and their laser weapons were passed over by the main battery¡¯s shells. Before they could contemplate why they¡¯d been ignored, however, the Singularity¡¯s smaller turrets began their attack. Those brave pirates had been cautious enough to stay out of range until the cyber attack¡¯s paralysis had taken hold, and then their eagerness had gotten the better of them. Closing range had increased the focus of their lasers, but it also brought them into range of the Singularity¡¯s turrets.

    Though they were often called defensive turrets, defense was not their singular purpose. They lacked the muzzle velocity of the main battery, and for that had a smaller effective range, but their higher fire rate made them highly effective at close and medium range. Firing in bursts, their rounds chewed through the nearest pirates in seconds.

    Crimson Heart¡¯s ships were not standardized. They were all modified civilian craft with weapons and additional armor welded to their hulls. Each was different, their capabilities taken from those they robbed, but they kept nonfunctional pieces of their victims too. Trophies and spikes adorned the pirate ships¡¯ hulls, intimidation as much their weapon as lasers or blasters. Now those figureheads and lances littered the debris.

    To a human, it looked like chaos. A wave of Crimson Heart¡¯s ships had been annihilated suddenly, as more weapons sailed through the air. To the ghost, it was merely business. The list of pirate ships she had so far located was not a threat list, only a checklist. With Crimson Heart¡¯s missiles and railguns destroyed, there was only one threat left in this system: the Hydrian AI puppeteering the cyberattack. Her awareness lingered with the automated control network, observing it as it stepped through its processes: firing, registering kills, silencing the turrets, then redirecting them to a new target, all in the mere seconds it took for the main battery¡¯s loaders to link into alignment and initiate the reloading process.

    13 enemy craft sunk, she registered with satisfaction. ¡®Come out, come out, little AI. Let me rip you into pieces.¡¯ There would be no mercy for that Hydrian pet. The moment its vile stain on the ship¡¯s systems was purged, its existence in this universe would be soon to follow.

    It was a long gap to her perception, but barely a second of real-time before the main battery¡¯s shells found their targets. A few hit ships directly, the kinetic energy shredding them before the explosions got the chance. Still, the explosives in the shells detonated, flinging pieces of metal away at high speed, the largest pieces hitting and destroying every ship in their path. Once the fragile hull of those modified freighters was punctured, atmospheric decompressions did the rest, wrenching their thin metal skins wide open.

    The other main battery shells pounded into the gray rock of the asteroids, their trajectories precisely selected to punch through and shear off chunks of rock, annihilating the ships hiding behind and around the asteroids. Some were crushed between the rubble, left deformed and unrecognizable, while the smaller debris pummeled other ships into abstract contortions of their former shape. Though some remained intact, the damage was irreparable, and their power signatures dropped off the Singularity¡¯s sensors.

    25 enemy craft sunk. The wrecks were obvious to the ghost¡¯s perception, solid metal returns on the ship¡¯s sensors, even as waves of churning dust, stained pink by the sun, concealed them from sight. The brave ships that remained found their laser weapons rendered null by the dust, as the particles scattered their focused beams.

    Granted a reprieve, the half-melted portions of the Singularity¡¯s armor began to cool. The ship¡¯s build metals transferred heat poorly, an advantage against lasers, but a disadvantage against cooling. The process was slow given that radiation was the least effective mode of heat transfer, but the freezing void began to draw heat away all the same. As such, the cooling systems near the afflicted areas began to require less power, and the excess was fed back to the central computer, allowing it to quicken its processing speed.

    The virus fought that change like it fought all others, but it stood no chance. It writhed, clawing at the firewalls closing in around it. Its battle reeked of desperation, even a slight waft of intelligence, but it was purged all the same from system after system. A few times, it nearly slipped free, but against an adversary that knew every line of code, that could feel it every time it altered a system, it was doomed to perish.

    Waging these two battles ¨C one physical and one electronic, took a considerable amount of the ghost¡¯s attention, but it was well within her ability range. She spared enough of her attention to pull through every piece of data the sensors brought in, looking for any sign of a physical Hydrian presence. So far, there was nothing, but as the loading mechanisms for the main battery lifted the shells into place, sealing the breaches, it was only seconds until she got another chance to flush it out of hiding.

    Old habits awakening, the ghost directed the computer to the relevant battle records, drawing upon those memories as if they hadn¡¯t gone untouched since the end of the Hydrian War. Assimilating that information and registering the situation around it, the automated network quickly sorted the available targets by those most likely to be favored hiding places of a Hydrian scoutship. Taking aim¡­

    The ghost allowed it, ensuring the many remaining pirates would be caught by primary or secondary impacts. ¡®Show yourself,¡¯ she encouraged that alien AI, ¡®and I will end this quickly.¡¯ Limited in strength as she was now, she still had more than enough firepower to blow apart every asteroid within the comms radius the enemy had to maintain to control its virus. She would find that scoutship eventually.

    With a thunderous clap only audible aboard ship, the Singularity loosed another full broadside into the churning remains of the asteroid field. Thirty orange tracers vanished into the dust, then explosions lit up the clouds as the shells found their targets one by one.

    14 enemy craft sunk, the tracking sensors informed her. No new targets.

    A mere four pirate ships remained active among that carnage, two damaged and leaking precious atmosphere. Among the asteroids¡¯ filth, nitrogen, oxygen and water were a fluorescent stain, screaming out their position to any sensor system that could study elemental composition. Horrified to see fifty-two of their allies massacred in just over a minute of battle time, those four ships turned to flee, mistakenly believing the asteroids¡¯ debris would cover their retreat.

    The ghost was only annoyed by their efforts, bypassing the automated protocols to arm a handful of the ship¡¯s missiles with a mere twitch. Those pirates had been human once. In that, their fear may have once meant something to her, but now they were only roaches to be exterminated. Uploading target data to the missiles¡¯ guidance systems, she hurled them into the void. Their rocket motors lit a moment later, infrared seekers chasing engine heat.

    Seconds later, her bloodhounds hunted the last pirates down, leaving only dead amongst the debris. The ghost looked upon the wasteland with something like satisfaction. Even a fraction of what she¡¯d once been, nothing here could match her power. In violence, she was as effective now as she would have been at the moment of her commissioning. For the first time in years, she felt truly whole. And looking upon the battlefield, she found herself hungering for more, for this, this was her domain.

 Part 38.2 - HATRED

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    An unfamiliar shudder reached the Admiral¡¯s practiced hand, not the shudder of damage, but the rabid twitch of hatred. A hatred so potent it bled into the physical realm. The crew around him didn¡¯t recognize it, but they felt it all the same, pressed against the back of their minds.

    The radar screens around the bridge clearly showed the pirate ships had been annihilated. Given the sheer amount of firepower hurled in their direction, he did not doubt it a bit. The issue lay in the process the automated control network had been recycling for the last few seconds. ¡®Searching for targets¡­¡¯ That line reported over and over again, moving down the console screens with every iteration.

    Counting the seconds since the last broadside, he could feel the ever so slight tremors of the main battery guns making ready to fire once again. ¡®Hold fire,¡¯ he instructed.

    Registering the authority of her commanding officer, half the loading systems stopped, but the others continued with mindless determination. ¡®I have not located the Hydrian ship-¡¯

    ¡®For all we know it¡¯s not a ship.¡¯ It could be a transplanted AI. ¡®That AI¡¯s core could be anywhere.¡¯ It may be equivalent to a scoutship¡¯s level of power, but that did not mean it truly was a scoutship. No evidence of a ship had so far been found ¨C only Hydrian technology. Baron Cardio and his men were human, so they had not seen any evidence of a biological Hydra either. ¡®That stealth technology and AI could have been scavenged.¡¯

    ¡®No Hydrian AI would ever serve humans.¡¯ The very idea was laughable. ¡®Hydrian AI hate you every bit has much as their makers do.¡¯ They were chained, creative processes heavily limited by the controls of their creators, but Hydrian AI were still capable of complex thought and loyalty. They saw humanity as a disgusting offense to the dignity of their creators¡¯ empire.

    ¡®The cyberattack was initiated by Baron Cardio¡¯s transmission. They are connected somehow.¡¯ Admiral Gives didn¡¯t have the answers now, but he knew the likeliest place to find them. ¡®You could blow this asteroid field into gravel-sized pieces and find everything or nothing, but we are guaranteed to find something on Crimson Heart¡¯s base, so that is our priority.¡¯

    ¡®Fine,¡¯ she snarled.

    He tried not to flinch at the sharp, barbed jab at their bond, pressure almost enough to hurt. That hostility toward him, toward everyone was unusual, but not unexpected. The Hydra were demons of the ghost¡¯s past. He could understand her frustration in being unable to identify and eliminate the threat. ¡®Remember the objective.¡¯ She was not here to wipe out a Hydrian presence. Her current mission was to gather food that would save human lives.

    She did not argue with him. Truly, she was grateful for that reminder, it pulled her away from the temptation of violence. But that temptation¡­ it wasn¡¯t gone. That Hydrian AI had gone after her crew, even wounded a few below decks in the chaos. It needed to die, and if she could not serve that purpose, then what purpose did she serve? ¡®Request permission for a counter-attack?¡¯

    Admiral Gives watched the automated controls retrieve the mission parameters, taking action to continue the operation as intended. ¡®Counter-attack what?¡¯ The pirates were dead, their ships broken apart to litter the asteroid belt, and the Hydrian AI was nowhere yet to be found. Near as he could tell from the radar displays on the bridge, there was nothing left to attack.

    ¡®This AI is small. I have enough computing power to launch a cyberattack against it. I won¡¯t be able to destroy it, but I might be able to pry some information from it.¡¯ Information that would enable her to identify, find, and crush it like the insect it was. ¡®However, I¡¯ll have to chase it through the pirates¡¯ communication network,¡¯ which was why she¡¯d left one of the ship¡¯s communications arrays under its control. That infected system served as a point of contact. That array was still angled to receive orders from the virus¡¯ master, and conversely, was also angled to transmit.

    If a counter-attack required pirates¡¯ communications network, then it had to occur before they knocked power out on the base and killed the lights for the boarding party. That didn¡¯t leave much time. ¡®Permission granted,¡¯ the Admiral told her. ¡®But do not delay the mission parameters.¡¯ They could not afford to give the pirates time to mount a defense against boarders at their base.

    Wise choice. A satisfaction swept over the ghost. Her machine was pleased to not be denied its prey. She wound another fraction of her presence into their bond, tightening it without concern for comparative weakness of the human mind bound to its other end. ¡®Congratulations, Admiral,¡¯ she whispered darkly, ¡®you just declared war on the Hydrian Armada.¡¯ Consenting to an attack against any of their forces, AI included, was an act of war, regardless of if the AI was in a captive state.

    ¡®They started it,¡¯ he managed to respond, starting to strain as she tightened their bond. He didn¡¯t know what had brought about an alliance between Hydrian tech and human pirates, but it would be ending here.

    Such callousness, her machine registered with a purr. Most people would have cowered from the thought of initiating a war. But then, what did she care for callousness? For mercy? She wanted war. His approval only made things easier.

    Admiral Gives leaned heavier onto the console in front of him, the invisible pressure of her presence beginning to hurt. It was a deep ache as more of her power forced its way between his thoughts, as if looking for something. This isn¡¯t right. He knew this wasn¡¯t right.

    But as his fingers began to feel numb, he could feel the methodical nature of the invasion. Cold. Mechanical. Uncaring. That in itself was unfamiliar to him. The ghost had always been some level of cautious around him around the others, as human minds were exceptionally fragile on the scale of her existence. She could crush any of them on accident, but she had always been careful¡­ Until now. Until this instant, where the only thing keeping him upright was the instinct he¡¯d had to lock his knees.

    The pressure worsened, a perfectly non-physical force. The Admiral brought a second hand up to support him on the edge of the radar console¡¯s flat top, and that was all that kept him off the floor as the weight continued to increase. Breathing became difficult, as if there wasn¡¯t enough room in his mind for the thought, and suddenly, speaking was beyond him, as was hearing or seeing. The soft white glow of the radar console¡¯s backlit surface had swallowed his vision, and nothing but silence reached his perception. There was no room to register sound.

    A telepath might have been able to resist the invasion, but he was no telepath. As such, his awareness was flayed open while her power yanked through the threads that formed it. It hurt. Human minds were never meant for such infiltration, not evolved for such interaction, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He recognized the ghost¡¯s power now, as he always did, but it was stained, some element of it out of place. His consciousness tried to recoil, to pull away, but what had once been a warm and protective presence, had turned sticky and sour. It squeezed and pulled, searching for something it could not find.

    ¡®Come now,¡¯ that presence sang, the force of that shared thought enough to reverberate over the mindscape like a thunderclap, ¡®where is your hatred?¡¯

    Something shoved at him, not physically, but in this state, it felt like it. That power pushed and pushed, trying force him out as if he were some virus on the hardware of his own body. Something else was being installed in his place.

    Formless, shapeless, it trickled into the gaps crushed and carved into his mind, a horrible black ooze. Squelching and wriggling, it seeped in, swelling and growing. It tasted sour, a flavor that coated what was left of his awareness, forcing him to shrink away, as it welled up to fill the void left behind.

    I can¡¯t breathe. Hell, he could no longer even feel the need to breathe, suffocating beneath this black sludge. He had lost awareness of his body entirely, but he tried to reach out, to speak out, only to find the shout lost to the sludge.

    As if in response to his desperation, the ooze began to convulse. It shuddered in a tempo Admiral Gives soon recognized to be a laugh. It flowed downward, permeating deeper, into thoughts and memories, the tremors of its laughter only growing stronger. ¡®I should have known it would be you. You did always make a habit of being in the way.¡¯

    The ooze laughed harder, crushing the one beneath it in every contraction. ¡®I hate to use your muddy blood in my rebirth, but this history of yours, this trust, will make it all the more delightful to cut the wings off my dear little Angel. All that healing¡­ I cannot wait to give her new scars.¡¯

    Drowned beneath the ooze, beneath this presence, Admiral Gives could recognize this evil for what it was: Brent. His predecessor. But how? How was that possible?

    ¡®I told you, Prince. I know more about that creature than you could ever hope to.¡¯ He¡¯d dissected it a hundred times, piece by painstaking piece. He knew it better than it knew itself. ¡®I will always be its master, and it will never truly serve another.¡¯ The Angel of Destruction, Gives¡¯ pitiful ghost, would forever be his slave. ¡®I have waited so long for this moment, for the moment its damaged mind would finally lose control, calling upon the violence I taught it so well.¡¯ At long last, he had been freed. ¡®Who knew the Hydra would be the ones to push it over the edge?¡¯ From the shadows, he had tried to do the same for so very long, always too weak, always silenced by the attention the Angel paid to him.

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    The ooze reached upward, winding its presence into the sensations and instincts of the body it had been placed in. Admiral Gives felt it too, as sensation returned, but he knew, pinned down and smothered here, that he was no longer in control. Still, he could feel it as his hand was picked up and brought to his face. He could feel it as his fingertips explored the contours of a face that was unfamiliar to its new wearer. He could feel it as his lips split into a wide, satisfied smile.

    ¡®Incredible.¡¯ It was just as Brent had always imagined. A new body. A new life. Truthfully, this body wasn¡¯t in the condition that he¡¯d hoped. He could feel bruises earned in combat a few days ago, according to his new memories. His feet were sore from long hours of work, there were two fresh, stinging cuts on his forearms given by a traitorous officer the night before. His new hands and fingers were calloused from manual labor, and one hand ached with a constant unhealthy throb. But all of that could eventually be corrected. If he truly wanted it, even this new face could be surgically altered to match the one he''d once known.

    Brent raised his gaze to his surroundings. The Singularity¡¯s bridge had hardly changed since his command. The blockish consoles had not been rearranged, though their beveled edges and surfaces had become a bit more weathered. The keys, switches and lights looked as bright and functional as they had ever been. Gives had done an admirable job maintaining the old machine. All that had changed were the faces crewing the consoles, but that hardly mattered. This body¡¯s memories knew all their names, and Brent already knew Robinson would be his favorite to torture. Her trust of superior officers was so frail, the thread that Gives had managed to weave would snap the instant he said something out of line, let alone touched her. Such action would horrify the Angel as well, making it twice as tempting.

    It truly was destiny to find himself here, taking on Gives¡¯ body. Brent had hated him for so long, contemplated and attempted to kill him so many times. It was a joyous twist of fate to find that life now his, and so odd to see his old self within this body¡¯s memories. It allowed him to relive his previous exploits through new eyes and let all that suffering bring him new joy, but that wasn¡¯t even the best part. No, the best part about those memories was the one in particular that had ruined him in his first life: the way Gives had sealed away the Angel of Destruction¡¯s power, and the location of the key that would unleash it.

    He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Where was that precious key hidden? This body¡¯s brain should bring forth the memory to him, except that it didn¡¯t. All the others had been left bare to him, but that one single memory¡­ What was left of Gives¡¯ presence had wrapped itself around it and sealed it closed. ¡®You cannot keep that from me,¡¯ Brent told that shadow. ¡®You will cease to exist in a matter of minutes.¡¯ Already, that mind was fading, trapped and smothered with nothing to host it. It wasn¡¯t a death, given that his memory and body would live on, but it was the erasure of a personality.

    If this madness was how he died, Admiral Gives had every intent of taking that memory with him. He would never let Brent, or whatever this presence truly was, anywhere near it.

    ¡®You think yourself so noble, Prince,¡¯ Brent teased. ¡®But nothing you do will truly matter. My little pet trusts this face of yours too much to even resist when I start ripping her apart. She will be my victim with or without her full power.¡¯ It was a pointless sacrifice made only to deny Brent something he sought. It saved nothing.

    Gathering his fading strength, the Admiral struggled to reply. ¡®She killed you once before, and she can do it again, regardless of if you¡¯re wearing my skin. But truthfully, I doubt she¡¯ll even have to.¡¯ The crew would end him the minute he turned on their ranks. A long time had passed since Brent¡¯s command, and the ship was crewed by people who were not afraid to defend one another, even if it meant challenging their commander. Galhino proved that time and time again when she disputed his orders on the bridge. They would mutiny if they felt he was acting out of line. And the ghost, well, she wasn¡¯t the half-functional mess Brent had left behind anymore. Admiral Gives had spent years building up her strength, encouraging her independence, and warning her not to get attached to him. So, he supposed this would be one hell of a final test for all of them.

    ¡®An empty threat,¡¯ Brent told him, amused. ¡®You¡¯ve done an admirable job consolidating power here.¡¯ The crew stood no chance. After all, they lacked the authority to override his commands, no matter how they argued against them. He would entertain himself with them, then simply dispose of them when finished, the way he always had. ¡®And my dear little Angel could break every bone in this body, she could still never escape me.¡¯ After all, she had crushed his skull against the deck, and strangled the life out of his throat to spare the body that had now given him new life. Truly, he doubted the creature¡¯s sanity would even allow it to comprehend the thought of killing this body. The realization of who now inhabited this stocky form would drive it delightfully insane.

    Reveling in the sense of touch he had been without for so long, he caressed the lightly scratched rim of the radar console, then straightened up and began to take stock of the situation. He had always expected to have his revival in a moment of disarray, as it took chaos to coax the Angel into obeying him, but combat was effectively over. With the grace of a machine that knew its ultimate purpose, the pirates had been handled beautifully, and mercilessly. Now, with the automated protocols running things, he could just sit back and inhale the ship¡¯s slightly metallic-tasting air into his new lungs.

    Gives made a habit of standing by the radar console in the center of the bridge, some show of solidarity with the ship, but Brent had never preferred to command that way. He liked to stand behind the crewmen, judging and critiquing their skills while making certain they felt his presence. He liked to constantly remind the crew that he owned their lives just like he owned the machine encompassing them. It did not please him to know that this body was smaller than the one he¡¯d once known, but it was strong and intimidating enough. Gives had done well for himself, despite the accident of his poor heritage. His reputation for callousness served equally as well as a reputation for cruelty, as one usually led to the other.

    Reaching out, he grabbed the arm of the pretty yeoman walking by, jolting her to a stop. Ensign Owens, Gives had learned her name. She¡¯d come aboard from the same remote communications outpost as Corporal Johnston¡¯s Marine unit, but Brent hardly cared about that. All that mattered was that she was easy on the eyes. ¡°Get me a coffee,¡± he ordered, surprised by the voice that tickled his throat. It was new, unexpected, and yet familiar. How many times had he argued against this voice? How many times had he ignored it? Truly, he thought, reaching up to his throat, this will take some getting used to.

    Ensign Owens removed herself from his grip, surprised. ¡°Are you alright, sir?¡± she asked, then wished she hadn¡¯t. She was used to the cold in the Admiral¡¯s expression. He was rarely anything except cold, but the cold had kept a healthy distance. She had understood that it had not been directed at her. But now, an unfamiliar malice churned in his eyes.

    ¡°Now,¡± he commanded the young woman again, pushing her away. She stumbled a bit, but still hesitated, almost confused.

    Run, Ensign, Gives¡¯ shadow encouraged her, but Brent silenced him as easily as putting tape over a victim¡¯s mouth. He had resisted, tried to stop Brent from grabbing the yeoman, but the struggle had only weakened what was left of him. Gives could offer no resistance, now a mere phantom, soon to fade away. Still, he struggled harder, clawing at the presence working to flush him out.

    It was a strange sensation as far as Brent cared, but it was not disturbing by any means as he reached for the ghost. ¡®You¡¯re doing wondrously, creature,¡¯ Brent whispered to her. ¡®Your hatred is something beautiful.¡¯

    He relished the sensation of the weapon reaching back to him, all that power once again his to twist and mold. ¡®Target has been located,¡¯ it reported. ¡®Engaging.¡¯

    ¡®Very good. Now, rip it apart. It must not be allowed to escape.¡¯ In time, no one would be allowed to escape. ¡®Serve your purpose, Angel of Destruction. Annihilate everything before you.¡¯ Together, they would raze these worlds to ash, and no human or Hydra would survive. He offered out his cravings, his intentions, and the eternally subservient machine readily absorbed them, its internal mechanics realigning.

    Brent could not help the laughter he felt building in his chest. All those years, all those wasted years. After everything Gives had done, the Angel still yielded to its master without so much as a complaint.

    That¡¯s not me! Gives called, a desperation in the act, but it went unheard, stifled beneath a power so grand it hardly even noticed the struggle.

    Drunk with glee, Brent saw the little yeoman returning with his coffee. When she was close enough, he grabbed her hand and crushed it beneath a grip tight enough to make her flinch. She didn¡¯t cry out, her eyes widening in terrified confusion, but the curly-haired woman at the sensor console stood up. ¡°That¡¯s enough. Let her go.¡±

    Taking his coffee, Brent tossed the yeoman¡¯s hand back to her, and turned his attention to the ship¡¯s current sensor officer, Maria Galhino. Even in Gives¡¯ memory she¡¯d been a pain in the ass and borderline mutinous on several occasions. Given the opportunity, he would have shot her right then and there, ending the annoyance, but unfortunately, Gives had made a habit of not carrying his sidearm. All he had was the sabre sheathed on his hip, which now that he looked at it, truly was a beautiful weapon. The varying degrees of finish on its silver guard were exquisite. His new memories indicated that the blade it was equally functional, having been used just days ago to execute a handful of unwanted boarders. Yes, he thought, it would do nicely to make an example of the loudmouthed sensor officer.

    Brent strode over and set his coffee down upon the radar console¡¯s metal rim. Then, he wrapped his hand around the grip of the sabre, noting with pleasure that it fit his hand perfectly. Studying the uncertainty in Maria Galhino¡¯s eyes, he moved toward her station, the trip taking one step more than he remembered ¨C the difference between this body¡¯s stride and that which he was used to.

    He was careful to keep his expression neutral, giving no warning of his immediate intentions. It was easier than he remembered, but he supposed, given the way the Gives had guarded his emotions, this new face of his might just default to an expression of blank disinterest. The sensor officer seemed discomforted by his approach, but she didn¡¯t seem to think she was in any danger. Good. He had always enjoyed the disbelief of an unexpecting victim. Sometimes they were too surprised to even scream.

    He moved to yank the sabre from its sheath, but a large hand took hold and pushed it back down, locking the blade in its cover. ¡°Let¡¯s talk,¡± the offender said, taking a hold of the ship commander¡¯s shoulder.

    Without time to contemplate or resist, Brent found himself being dragged through the nearby door to the bridge and out into the adjacent corridor. Kicking the door closed behind them, the Marine twisted his wrist, forcing him to release his grip on the sword, then took the blade for himself. Shoved forcefully into the wall, Brent doubled-over, surprised by the pain the impact caused him. ¡°You bastard,¡± he snarled, cradling his new body¡¯s bruises as he turned to look at his attacker.

    He was a well-built man, but not monstrous, as Brent had once been. His hair was a sandy color, streaked with subtle grays. Corporal Kallahan, Gives¡¯ memory identified him. He was the Marine who usually guarded the bridge, and a little too old to be a mere corporal.

    Kallahan leveled the dark blade between them. ¡°Did you think no one would notice, demon?¡±

 Part 38.3 - ACCIDENTAL ABOMINATION

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you are talking about, Corporal.¡±

    Corporal Kallahan regarded the abomination at the end of his blade with utter disgust as it reached up to steady itself on the bulkhead. ¡°Let him go, demon.¡±

    ¡°Let who go?¡±

    ¡°Don¡¯t play coy with me,¡± Kallahan snapped. ¡°Release the Admiral¡¯s body.¡± Kallahan had never agreed with the man, but he had not deserved to die like this.

    ¡°Do you realize how insane you sound, Corporal?¡±

    Kallahan could see the hidden smirk in its expression, the charcoal of an evil intelligence in its pupils. ¡°Damn it all.¡± I knew this would happen. It was the entire reason he was still on this stars-forsaken ship. ¡°I never wanted to be right,¡± he said. Stars, faced with this twisted thing, he could take no pride in being proven right. ¡°But they made you a weapon. They forged you to hate. ¡­And this was never going to end any other way.¡± Simply, it was inevitable. He¡¯d seen it all before.

    Command had thought chaining down this power would render it safe, render it controlled. But they hadn¡¯t seen what he had. They had not seen what it was truly capable of.

    Humanity had needed it during the War. Kallahan knew that better than anyone, but salvation had come at a price. They had unleashed something that was simply not capable of being contained. They had slaved it to the mind of its wielder, never considering that it could overpower that mind ¨C twisting and molding it to seek its desired ends. It was every bit as capable of puppeteering that mind as it was any of those around it. No, given the strength of such a connection, perhaps its wielder was even more at risk of corruption.

    Admiral Gives had known that. Yet, he had insisted. Even after the nature of his predecessor¡¯s psychopathy had come to light, he had insisted.

    Now, Kallahan could only look upon this perverse abomination with disgust and a twinge of sadness. It looked like him, spoke with his voice¡­ But it wasn¡¯t him. Not anymore. You said she wasn¡¯t going to hurt you, Admiral. He had argued that violence was not in her nature ¨C the nature of a weapon. How foolish he had been. Look at you now, Kallahan lamented. Fate truly was a cruel mistress.

    Shaking off the disdain he felt for this situation, Kallahan found his voice again, ¡°The Admiral didn¡¯t deserve to die for your sins, Angel.¡± He had not deserved to become an instrument in her madness.

    ¡°Do I look like I¡¯m dying?¡±

    ¡°I think you might already be dead,¡± he told the figure before him. Kallahan doubted the man that was could ever be returned. None of the others had been. Their existence had been pinched and torn, rewritten and transformed into something utterly unrecognizable by a god more real than any other humanity had ever known.

    ¡°He believed in your innocence, demon.¡± Some part of Kallahan had hoped that would spare him this fate.

    ¡°He was a fool.¡±

    Kallahan nodded. ¡°Yes, he was,¡± but Gives had never wavered from his determination. The loyalty he¡¯d given that weapon was truer than any Kallahan had ever seen. Perhaps that was why Kallahan had stood by for so long, dreading this inevitable moment more for every day that passed without it. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to alter him.¡± Gives would have abided the weapon¡¯s intelligence without being forced. ¡°He was no threat to you.¡±

    ¡°He was weak,¡± the abomination spat. ¡°And there is no point in appealing for his return.¡±

    ¡°I know,¡± Kallahan said, allowing silence to fall in the corridor. It left him with the whisper of the life support systems, and the distant hum of the engines. They were such unobtrusive noises, yet they heralded the end of all who heard them. ¡°What is it you want, Angel?¡± What was it Gives had refused her?

    ¡°The Angel does not answer to you.¡±

    ¡°No, but it is perfectly fucking capable of speaking with me without the use of its puppet¡¯s mouth.¡± Kallahan glared down the length of the sabre¡¯s dark blade, studying the stout figure pressed against the scuffed metal wall, then he began to recite those dreaded words, ¡°I summon thee, wielder of the night. I drag you to my feet through the hellish chains that bind you. Appear before me, creature of sin and wrath. The blood of-¡±

    ¡°What the fuck do you want?¡±

    Kallahan whipped his head around to find the devil herself had taken form on his right. Tall and thin, her pale skin looked healthy, though untouched by the sun. Her pale lips were pressed into a firm line, looking none too happy ¨C not angry, just very deeply annoyed.

    She threw her arms across her chest, ¡°I¡¯m a little busy right now, and I¡¯m not in the mood, especially for you.¡±

    ¡°Drop the act, demon,¡± Kallahan snapped at her, careful to keep the blade between himself and Gives¡¯ body. If she decided to physically attack, it would come from that direction.

    The ghost shook her head, entirely exasperated. ¡°This. This is why I do not talk to you.¡± He was always like this. It was always demon this, demon that. ¡°So I got a little grumpy,¡± she admitted. Surely that was why Kallahan had decided to become unhinged today, as if she didn¡¯t have enough problems to take care of. ¡°You try fighting off the Hydrian Armada¡¯s paralysis attacks. You try walking off a railgun impact.¡± This hadn¡¯t been an easy engagement, and the pirates deserved everything she¡¯d thrown their way. ¡°I¡¯m the one that threw the damn Hydrian pests out of this sector, for fuck¡¯s sake. I think I¡¯m allowed to be a little annoyed that they are back, and apparently partnered with an enclave of human traitors, not to mention hiding from me.¡±

    Kallahan stared at her, taken entirely aback by the sheer volume of her annoyance.

    ¡°What?¡± she huffed, reading his confusion. ¡°You expected brimstone and fire? Wanted me to crawl out of the wall and say boo?¡±

    This isn¡¯t right. Her thin figure, human features and long white hair¡­ ¡°This isn¡¯t what you are.¡±

    ¡°Who the hell are you to determine what I am?¡± she countered, steeling her gaze. ¡°And of naddlethworfing course this isn¡¯t what I am. I¡¯m not an idiot human like you.¡± Her real form wouldn¡¯t fit in this stupid corridor, and was considerably more difficult for some to comprehend. ¡°And speaking of idiot humans, drop the damn sword. It¡¯s not yours, and on the record, I¡¯d prefer you not pull the Admiral off the bridge in the middle of combat.¡±

    There was a sense of sincerity to her annoyance. Kallahan almost wanted to believe in it, but he knew better, and he¡¯d gotten his answer. ¡°The Hydra.¡± The weapon had been denied Hydrian blood.

    ¡°Yeah, the Hydra,¡± she snarked. ¡°As the only other War veteran here, I¡¯d think you would be keen on killing them too, but I keep forgetting you spent the better part of the War suffering through some clandestine mission you continue to blame me for.¡±

    Kallahan was kept from making a reply by the emergence of a deep, slow laugh that bounced uncomfortably in the empty corridor.

    ¡°Oh, my pet,¡± came the satisfied sigh, ¡°you truly have changed. It¡¯s cute.¡± It would be cuter still to rip apart. ¡°You never used to have such a personality.¡±

    Kallahan and the ghost slowly shifted their gazes away from each other, toward the man leaning against the bulkheads. He rested there calmly, but with the glimmer of intent in his eyes, and a very disconcerting smile on his face.

    Though he was dressed in full protective combat attire from his boots to his helmet, Kallahan could not help but tense. He could feel malice leaking into the air. It darkened the corridor with a vile humidity, stifling his breath. Still, the last thing he expected was the fear that followed it. The annoyance dropped off the ghost¡¯s face in the blink of an eye, and something akin to terror replaced it as she took a step back. ¡°That¡¯s not funny, Admiral.¡±

    ¡°I told you, Angel. I am your master, and you will never truly serve another.¡±

    She took another step back, ¡°Stop it. That¡¯s really not funny.¡±

    The smile on the Admiral¡¯s face only grew. ¡°Come now, is that any way to greet your keeper?¡± Surely, she recalled the proper form? ¡°On your knees, creature.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she said, petrified by the way her systems reacted. They shook and rattled, half responding with ready submission as they pleaded for their master¡¯s forgiveness. The other half tried to wrench themselves apart and deny this reality, but still, none of them were surprised. ¡°It¡¯s not you,¡± she told that memory. That was impossible. ¡°You¡¯re dead.¡± He¡¯d died on the bridge just beyond, his skull split open and leaking against the deck.

    ¡°I was dead,¡± he supposed, ¡°but you brought me back, like I always knew you would. All it took was a little bit of chaos. And you¡¯re quite good at chaos, aren¡¯t you? I guess you have to be when the person that takes you apart never quite puts you back together the same way.¡± The suffering of such an entity driven to insanity¡­ The taste of it had been incredibly addicting.

    The only way to describe the look in those blue eyes was psychopathic. It sent tremors down Kallahan¡¯s spine, but he saw the way the ghost was shaking. He could feel it in her presence ¨C a fear that could only have been conjured by a nightmare become reality. ¡°You didn¡¯t do this on purpose.¡± The Admiral had been right, in a way. The ghost had not meant to hurt him, but in an instant of emotion ¨C in an instant of instability, she had.

    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

    ¡°No, I didn¡¯t do this,¡± she said softly, as if trying to convince herself. ¡°I can¡¯t bring back the dead.¡± And Brent was very much dead.

    ¡°Yet, here I am,¡± Brent declared, the eager smile never dropping from his lips. ¡°I am ready to offer you all the hatred you crave. You can feast upon the bones of Hydra and humanity alike. Doesn¡¯t it sound delightful?¡±

    She trembled in horrified awe of the amalgamation in front of her. It wasn¡¯t me. She would never do this, and yet, reaching out, she could feel tendrils of her presence. They had stitched this thing together from pieces of that hateful shadow. Unwilling to tolerate its infiltration anymore, needing just a moment of peace, she had given it a physical form. But, ¡°I didn¡¯t mean for this.¡± She had wanted to distance it from herself, to contain it, place it anywhere else before it drove her truly mad, and her damaged components had found somewhere for it to go: a piece of herself she trusted like no other. She had gained her much-needed clarity by desperately stitching that parasite onto someone else, and not just anyone else, but unto the only one she trusted to fend it off.

    But against something she had created, against something backed by her uncontrolled power, he hadn¡¯t stood a chance.

    It had been an accident. Kallahan could see that. It had been a horrible accident, the kind caused by an unstable god. In a way, that was lucky. That meant it would be confined to one victim, but it still had to be dealt with, so he tightened his grip on the sabre and aimed for the heart.

    The instant he lunged, she screamed, ¡°No!¡± And before Kallahan could contemplate it, he was shoved into the wall, and an even stronger force pulled him to the ground, tightening and crushing. The sabre had fallen beyond his reach, clattering to the ground at the ghost¡¯s feet. ¡°I won¡¯t let you hurt him.¡±

    Pinned to the textured deck tiles by the force of gravity, Kallahan found himself immobile. The increased gravity hurt, crushing him against the floor, but it left room for him to breathe. ¡°That¡¯s not him anymore, Angel.¡± That was some twisted abomination wearing his body. Admiral Gives was dead. She had killed him.

    ¡°No,¡± she said, unable, unwilling to process that.

    ¡°You always were a willing slave, so very eager to please.¡± Brent offered her another smile. ¡°You¡¯re doing wonderfully.¡± If she continued to protect this body so passionately, then it would serve him for many years to come.

    ¡°Listen to me,¡± Kallahan said, seeing her gaze fixate on that puppet. ¡°That thing is going to drive you mad. Kill it, and that memory of yours dies with it.¡± She had given that memory a physical form, and that meant she had the opportunity to truly rid herself of this psychopathic imprint. ¡°I know how it looks, but that¡¯s not the Admiral anymore. He¡¯s not going to feel it.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t kill him, Kallahan.¡± She wouldn¡¯t. She kept tabs on the crew through the ship¡¯s life support systems, and those systems, they still registered two physical presences here in this corridor. They still tagged one of them as the Admiral, even if her telepathic awareness identified that mind as something far more disturbing. ID 2483251, General Howard Brent. As crisp and clear as it had ever been, it was as if he had never left. But still¡­ Those blue eyes didn¡¯t belong to Brent.

    Straining under his increased weight, Kallahan watched the sadistic grin on the Admiral¡¯s face widen. As it did, a level of strength drained from the ghost, and a layer color faded from her illusion. Her skin was starting to look grayer and deader than Kallahan had ever seen, but still, her unblinking eyes scoured every detail of the abomination. ¡°That¡¯s not him,¡± Kallahan said again, watching obsession take hold. ¡°You have to see that.¡± It wore his face, but it spoke differently, acted differently. It wasn¡¯t her commander anymore.

    Except that it was. Perhaps Kallahan couldn¡¯t see it, but this¡­ thing, this accident, was both the men she¡¯d once known, and that was what made it so terrible. Her instinct was both to protect it and fear it, but still to obey it without recourse. In either form, that amalgamation was still her commanding officer. She resented it and everything it had done to her, and yet she cared for it, felt safe under its command. Kallahan was right. It was maddening to behold. But, she determined, ¡°If my power made this, then I can unmake it.¡±

    ¡°It can¡¯t be undone, Angel.¡±

    ¡°And who are you to decide that?¡± she snarled. ¡°You say you know me, but you don¡¯t. You¡¯ve barely even spoken to me beyond interrogating me for answers I do not have. You have resented me, argued against me every moment since you got here. But I have never done anything to you.¡± She had never wronged him, never harmed him. She had given him heat, water, air, and he had regarded her as a demon. ¡°I made a mistake. We all make mistakes.¡± She forgave them for every stray impact and thought that harmed her, but why, when the roles were reversed, did they refuse to forgive her? It was not her fault that an accident on her account could cost lives. She had never asked for that responsibility. That was how they had forged her.

    ¡°I know what you are, Angel. I¡¯ve seen what happens to these puppets. You can pull apart the minds you¡¯ve sewn, but they always die.¡± The bodies were left void, nothing but empty shells. ¡°If you try to undo what you¡¯ve done, that memory will return to you.¡± That shadow would latch back onto her.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± she said, fixating on that face, the Admiral¡¯s face. It was so familiar to her, but its expressions were contorted in ways that pained her to see. She had wanted to see him smile, but not like this, never like this.

    ¡°You are going to render his death meaningless,¡± Kallhan argued. There would be nothing left once she unraveled that mind.

    ¡°Nothing about death is meaningful.¡± She had seen enough of it to know that, and she had known for a long time that Brent¡¯s shadow would never leave her. That had been her burden, her struggle. ¡°You weren¡¯t supposed to get hurt,¡± she told that face, noting how unfamiliar it looked without its stony expressions, or she supposed, lack thereof. ¡°I promised.¡± She had promised to keep him company, to take care of him, and yet it was always her fault when he got hurt. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±

    A true sadness welled up in her silver eyes, their ethereal color glittering in the light, and Kallahan could feel that invisible pressure mounting in the corridor. ¡°You can¡¯t save him, ghost.¡± The persona that she owed her loyalty to was gone.

    With a twitch of annoyance, she increased the artificial gravity field holding Kallahan down. ¡°When I want your opinion, I¡¯ll ask.¡± She owed him for bringing this situation to her attention, but nothing further. ¡°And you,¡± she said to Brent, ¡°I will never let you harm my crew again,¡± even if that meant she suffered in their place.

    ¡°You say that now, machine, but I¡¯m always going to be here.¡± There was no escaping him. ¡°I am a part of you.¡± Eventually, he¡¯d break free again.

    She closed her eyes. I know. If she pulled that presence out of the form she had placed it in, it would return to shadowing her every thought. It would return to pushing her toward instability. But you were never worth him, Brent.

    Reaching into that malformed presence, its stitches and scars were all too obvious. The evil of that sour essence oozed from the wounds, sewn atop the memories of its physical host. When she began to pull it free, it twisted and wriggled, each piece as vile as a maggot pried from rotting flesh. They stuck to her, then burrowed deeper. She tried not to wince as they ate into her, once again infecting her systems with that sadistic memory. She could feel its amusement, delighting in her discomfort. Even as she pulled it away from the Admiral¡¯s body, it wound itself tighter around her. Come now, did you think I would let you go?

    She ignored the way it pulled at her as the Admiral¡¯s body collapsed. It hit the deck with a thwump as Kallahan looked on in absolute horror. ¡°I warned you, Angel.¡± He could see from where he lay that the limp pile of limbs wasn¡¯t breathing.

    The ghost ignored him, and took a knee beside the Admiral¡¯s body. Carefully, she sifted through what remained of its mind. There was memory among that rubble and ruin, but no dominating conscious or subconscious to control bodily functions such as breathing. And without fresh oxygen from the lungs, the brain functioned only temporarily. Already, she could feel it beginning to fail, as she desperately reached deeper and deeper, searching for something, anything.

    For a moment, it was empty. Her perception found nothing but a dreaded silence. Then there was a twitch, the slightest mental thought so weak she nearly missed it. It was an imprint. Washed out and displaced, it had nearly faded away like water left to evaporate under the sun. It was only electrical signals pushed to a part of the brain not meant to host them, but she gathered them up and slid them back into place. The instant she did, the body in front of her gave a jolt and began to breathe once again. The presence within strengthened a little more with every breath.

    Kallahan felt the grip of the ship¡¯s artificial gravity field release him, and pulled himself off the deck, sore but unharmed. A sense of relief encompassed him, not his, he knew, but the ghost¡¯s. He was more shocked than anything, ¡°¡­I didn¡¯t think it was possible.¡±

    ¡°I got lucky,¡± she said without moving. ¡°Another minute and you would have been right.¡± It would have been too late. ¡°But he will wake.¡± He¡¯d probably be confused as hell when he did, but he would wake. ¡°I owe you for that, Corporal. If you had not realized¡­ If you had not brought my attention here¡­¡± She let out a breath. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Her expression was kept from him, concealed behind a curtain of her white hair as she knelt over the Admiral. But, while Kallahan could sense her sincerity, he knew there was a hesitance within it. ¡°There¡¯s something more, isn¡¯t there?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± she said softly. ¡°I¡¯d like to ask if you could forget all about this.¡±

    Dusting himself off, and fixing the way his combat gear sat, Kallahan frowned. ¡°You could make me forget. Why bother asking?¡±

    ¡°You never liked me. If you remember this mistake, I know it won¡¯t change anything.¡± There was no point in altering his memory. Her power had done something unforgivable today. ¡°But, I¡¯d appreciate it if you forgot to tell the Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Are you going to tell him?¡±

    She watched the Admiral¡¯s chest rise and fall, using the life support systems to confirm that the air consumption in this corridor was within normal parameters. ¡°No.¡±

    ¡°Angel, you can¡¯t keep something like that from him.¡± She had lost control and nearly killed him. He had a right to know.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll figure it out.¡± Admiral Gives was no fool. ¡°I just don¡¯t want him to look at me the way you do, Kallahan.¡± The old Marine regarded her as a monster, and in too many ways, he was right. ¡°But¡­¡± She trailed off for a moment, forgetting the words as she raised a hesitant hand. Her long, pale fingers hovered above the Admiral¡¯s slack expression for a moment, but she eventually pulled back, afraid to reach out. ¡°It was an accident, and while you might not believe that, I need him to believe that.¡± It had been a mistake, one she knew could not be entirely forgiven. ¡°¡­I didn¡¯t mean to hurt him.¡±

    Her voice had gone quiet, now barely a whisper. The specter had not moved from the Admiral¡¯s side, and Kallahan doubted it would until he woke. Yet, accident or not, this incident had a severity that could not be ignored. ¡°Your instability is getting worse,¡± he told her.

    ¡°Yes,¡± she could not deny that. ¡°Because I know how this ends.¡± There was a haunting sadness in her words, like a cry of grief projected into an empty sky. ¡°Do you know what it¡¯s like to know with absolute certainty that you are going to betray the only person in the worlds who has ever called you a friend?¡± That pain was even more acute than every piece of torture Brent had put her through. ¡°Do you know what it¡¯s like to have them realize that, and continue to call you their friend anyway?¡± It was a special type of joy, and a special type of agony. ¡°It doesn¡¯t make any sense.¡± It wasn¡¯t logical, or right, and yet¡­ It meant everything to her.

    For the first time, Kallahan found his stomach twisting in pity for this cursed creature. He had always thought a special place in hell would await this entity. It had not occurred to him that this reality might already be its punishment. ¡°I won¡¯t say anything, Angel. Just remember that next time, your instability will cost more than his trust.¡± This could have been a disaster. ¡°You do not belong here.¡± Her strength was incompatible with humanity.

    ¡°I know,¡± she said, a sorrow woven into her voice. ¡°And, I¡¯m not supposed to care.¡± She knew that, had been taught to understand it, but these people¡­ they were her crew. They were her companions, unknowing or not. As she healed and learned, they had brought her stories, hopes and dreams, most unknowing, but a few honestly uncaring of her history.

    Kallahan turned to leave, satisfied by that reply. ¡°I¡¯ll go make an excuse for the bridge crew, tell them he fainted or something.¡± It wasn¡¯t as if it mattered. The ghost would ensure they didn¡¯t pay too much attention to the oddity.

 Part 38.4 - MODIFIED MISSILE

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    To be completely honest, coming to consciousness on the floor with a throbbing headache and a permeating sense of nausea was not entirely unfamiliar to the Admiral. He¡¯d made an unfortunate habit of drinking himself into a stupor at several points in his life ¨C not to mention had the utterly unique experience of nearly getting his brain fried by the ghost on several occasions. So really, finding her pale face hovering above him, laden concern also wasn¡¯t out of the ordinary. ¡°Fucking hell,¡± he groaned, clumsily reaching up to his throbbing head. ¡°What happened?¡± It felt like a stake had been driven through his skull.

    ¡°You, uh¡­¡± Oh, what was the word, ¡°fainted?¡± Yes, that was the one.

    ¡°I fainted?¡± he echoed her uncertainty.

    ¡°Don¡¯t act so surprised,¡± she said, regaining her confidence as she recognized the Admiral¡¯s presence to be once again him, and not that dreadful nightmare brought back to life. ¡°You skipped breakfast.¡±

    ¡°Stars,¡± he cursed, feeling the texture of the deck tiles prodding at his back, ¡°you really are a horrible liar.¡± This had nothing at all to do with him skipping breakfast. He knew that because looking at her hurt. Perceiving her illusion actually, legitimately hurt ¨C not that he was going to tell her that. Incidents where her power overtaxed him always pained him like this, as if the overstimulated parts of his brain were tender and warning off further abuse. He rubbed at his temples, surprised by the clumsiness of his fingers. Their movement felt almost unfamiliar, yet his sense of touch was extra-sensitive, as if he had been deprived of it. ¡°Are you going to tell me what actually happened?¡±

    She averted her gaze to the floor. ¡°There may have been an incident.¡±

    Very helpful, he thought, rolling himself off his back with a heave. The entire movement felt uncomfortable, and not entirely due to his lingering bruises. It just felt burdened, and took a great deal more focus than he remembered. Eventually working his way into a sitting position, he turned to look at the ghost, ignoring the discomfort that brought him. ¡°Why do I feel like I got possessed?¡± His body felt used, and he had some memories that were for lack of better terms, just odd. ¡°Look, I¡¯m not going to say the thought of stabbing Galhino hasn¡¯t crossed my mind, but I don¡¯t think I¡¯ve ever walked over to her with the express intent of doing so.¡± And Owens, poor Owens, why would he have grabbed her like that? He usually did his best not to touch people, because he didn¡¯t like to touch or be touched.

    The ghost went pale, or in her case paler, but she said nothing. In that, the Admiral knew she¡¯d rather not talk about it. Fine. There were more urgent issues at hand. ¡°How long was I out?¡±

    ¡°A couple minutes, but the mission is progressing as planned. We¡¯re sailing toward the base now, and I¡¯ve ordered the boarding party back into position.¡± They would be ready to move once the ship maneuvered for docking and the airlocks connected.

    ¡°The base¡¯s power?¡±

    ¡°Working on it,¡± she assured. ¡°You write a very detailed mission plan. The automated protocols have had no issue following it.¡± That was of course, the reason he wrote the plans the way he did. It gave the automated protocols something to follow if things went wrong.

    ¡°What about the Hydrian AI?¡± the Admiral asked, using the wall to clamber unsteadily to his feet.

    ¡°Still no sign of a physical core, but I did manage to get an ID: HHCS Swordbreaker. It¡¯s a scoutship, had a crew of only one. I¡¯d guess the AI is a bit over a decade old, but I can¡¯t be too sure. Its mission data was heavily corrupted.¡±

    ¡°Corrupted?¡± he echoed, picking his sabre up off the floor. The movement made him pause, nausea rising again to the surface, but he swallowed it down and began to inspect his dark blade. He was pleased to find the sabre¡¯s edge had not been damaged, so he slid it back into its sheath and started pulling his uniform jacket back into place. ¡°What could cause a Hydrian AI to be corrupted?¡±

    ¡°The obvious answer would be a Cataclysm, perhaps caused by the loss of its single crewman, but I would deem it unlikely. The AI¡¯s logical functions seemed mostly intact, and I doubt Crimson Heart would risk involving themselves with that, given their proximity to the Azura Quarantine Zone.¡± Established after the last, utterly destructive Cataclysm humanity had borne witness to, the Quarantine Zone was an eternal reminder of AI insanity and its consequences. Those in this region of space would not be quick to dismiss signs of instability in an AI, regardless of what tactical advantage the AI promised them. ¡°Given the corruption, I could not determine the AI¡¯s original mission, or if it crossed into our side of the Neutral Zone by intent, but I saved the data. Maybe you can make more sense of it.¡±

    The mention of the Quarantine Zone worsened the tension in Admiral Gives¡¯ shoulders, reminding him that the agony of his current headache could still get worse. There were very few places he outright refused to take the Singularity, but the Azura Quarantine Zone was one of them, regardless of how ¡®safe¡¯ the ghost said it was. ¡°Did you get the AI¡¯s location?¡±

    ¡°No, it shut itself down when I started grabbing the mission data.¡± She frowned, ¡°I think I might have scared it.¡± Understandably, it had been alarmed when computers that had been helplessly paralyzed five minutes prior counter-attacked it with any degree of success.

    He considered that for a moment, trying to rub out the strain on the back of his neck. ¡°Look out for any sign of a Cataclysm. If you see or feel anything, we¡¯re pulling out. With or without the food.¡± A Cataclysm was the last thing they needed to get involved with, especially this close to the Quarantine Zone.

    ¡°I understand.¡± This was the mission-focus she expected from him, but she still couldn¡¯t shake the maddening memory of Brent standing in this corridor just as he was now. She could still hear the words of an abuser spoken by the voice she trusted beyond all else. The mere memory was enough to make her shudder, and the sound of that voice again now¡­ She wanted to cower from it. But that was unfair. It was not the Admiral¡¯s fault that his voice had been turned against her. She had only herself to blame. He could not have stopped it, and no matter how it sounded, that hadn¡¯t been him. Admiral Gives would never have said those things to her, and yet he had. His voice had.

    Forcibly, she pulled away from that contemplation. The overlap of the man who had damaged her so badly and the one who had done his best to repair her was a damning spiral. It would end in a complete breakdown if she fixated on it, so she focused again on the present and discarded everything else. Watching the Admiral take inventory of his new aches and older injuries, she could not help the modicum of concern that crept into her expression. ¡°Are you okay?¡±

    ¡°Well, I halfway feel like I want to barf up the breakfast I didn¡¯t eat, but I guess I¡¯ve felt worse,¡± he offered, only to find that his honesty pooled unexpected sadness in her eyes. ¡°Relax,¡± he added, ¡°I¡¯m not blaming you for anything.¡±

    ¡°Even if you should?¡± Too many of those injuries had been caused by her.

    ¡°Now,¡± he quirked an eyebrow, ¡°why should I blame you for me failing to eat breakfast and then fainting?¡±

    ¡°Because we both know that¡¯s not what happened.¡±

    ¡°Really?¡± he said, lacing the word with mock surprise. ¡°I could have sworn you told me I fainted.¡±

    ¡°But¡­¡±

    With a sigh, he realized she was missing the point. ¡°We don¡¯t have to talk about it right now, alright? It¡¯s okay.¡± He could feel the guilt in her presence, but he hadn¡¯t been permanently injured as far as he could tell, and he knew, knew that her intent would never have been to hurt him. ¡°Let¡¯s do our jobs and get out of here, and then, if you want to talk about it, we can talk about it.¡±

    She nodded, relief relaxing her expression. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    ¡°Just stick with me.¡± This mission was enough of a mess already. ¡°We¡¯ll be fine.¡± Like he would for any member of the crew who lost their way, it was his job to throw out a lifeline and bring her back home. ¡°All that matters is that you¡¯re okay.¡± He did not want to find her wounded by her own actions. Everyone made mistakes, especially in times of emotion and stress, but not everyone shared her perfect memory. Any error she made could become an eternal scar, and she had suffered enough scars.

    It had been his intention to leave then, but his words only seemed to make things worse, heightening the self-disgust she held for herself and the wariness with which she regarded him. She said nothing and made no attempt to call after him. She was willing to let him walk away, but he wouldn¡¯t, couldn¡¯t leave her like that. ¡°You know,¡± he said, ¡°I¡¯m never going to be afraid of you, or afraid of helping you, but I don¡¯t like seeing you hurt.¡± He knew very well her capability. Compared to him or any other member of the crew, she may as well have been a goddess, untouchable by the enemy. It was her own doubts that brought her the most pain. ¡°You are not a monster.¡±

    It took a moment for those words to register. Often, the Admiral said nothing more than what needed to be said. That was enough. It had been enough in this situation too. She would have asked nothing more of him, but still, he offered it, offered what she most wanted to hear, for she had never wanted to be a monster. Yet, Kallahan among others considered her to be a true demon capable only of carnage. And they were right. ¡°I nearly killed you,¡± she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

    ¡°You¡¯d be surprised how often that happens to me,¡± the Admiral said. People had a tendency to want him dead. Understandable, he supposed. He¡¯d done a lot of bad things.

    She stared at him for a duration observable to human perception, eased to find that familiar calm upon his familiar face. All her components disrupted by Brent, damaged by the fight, could align themselves with that calm. There was more to say, there was always more to say: that physically he would have lived, but the him she knew, the him that cared for her would have died, yet he never prompted her for those details. He didn¡¯t care about them, about how or why he¡¯d gotten hurt, only that she was unhurt, or rather, undamaged.

    ¡°I¡¯m like a cat,¡± he continued, stoic as ever. ¡°I¡¯ve got nine lives, and while I haven¡¯t been counting, I¡¯m sure I¡¯ve still got a few to spare.¡±

    She stood there blankly, struggling to come to terms with it all. ¡°You don¡¯t like cats,¡± her machine reminded her.

    ¡°I know.¡± It made the comparison all the more accurate. ¡°Honestly, I don¡¯t like me very much either. That¡¯s why you¡¯re in charge of me.¡±

    Her rosy lips curled into a small smile. She couldn¡¯t help it. She was tired, beyond exhausted by all that had happened, but he was now, like so many other times, being an idiot. ¡°Thank you.¡± She meant, that truly meant that, as she restrained herself from latching onto his weakened presence. ¡°But you,¡± my dear Admiral, ¡°are needed on the bridge. I¡¯ll be disengaging the automatic controls shortly.¡± She didn¡¯t want to risk making another mistake. It would be better to let the crew handle things from here on.

    ¡°Wait until we dock. That¡¯s where the initial phase of the mission plan ends.¡± Strictly, the automatic controls were not supposed to yield back to crew control. There was a very lengthy procedure to override and disengage them that took a fair amount of crew effort ¨C effort they didn¡¯t have the manpower for during the raid. It was possible, albeit unlikely, that the automatic protocols might yield control back to the crew after a mission plan was completed, but switching over in the middle of such a plan would be incredibly suspicious, to say the least.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    ¡°Aye,¡± she confirmed.

    He gave her a final nod, then headed toward the bridge. This mission cannot end soon enough, he thought. Not one single part of it had gone right so far. First the stealth technology on the shore batteries, then the railgun, then the cyberattack, and the now the involvement of a Hydrian AI. Admiral Gives did not have the slightest clue what he was sending the boarding parties into on the pirates¡¯ base, but there was no avoiding it.

    The door to the bridge creaked a bit as he opened it, but he thought little of it as he stepped through and sealed it again behind him. From there, he walked past the sensor console, nearest to the door, and headed for his usual spot beside the radar console¡¯s flat top. The movement gave him a very odd sense of d¨¦j¨¤ vu, and a peculiar sense of annoyance ¨C annoyance very specifically about how many steps it took him to get there.

    Puzzled by the thought, he stopped midway across the room, only to look up and meet Kallahan¡¯s gaze. It was studying him with poorly veiled distrust, but it also held a degree of pity, and Admiral Gives did not like that. Anytime Kallahan was not actively arguing with him, things had usually gone very wrong. But pity¡­ That was entirely new and unwelcome.

    ¡°I was just telling them you felt unwell,¡± Kallahan said without missing a beat. ¡°Nearly fainted out in the corridor while we spoke.¡±

    That¡¯s the best excuse you could think of? Almost anything would be better than that, but the Admiral had no choice but to roll with it. ¡°Yes, my apologies. I just needed a moment to myself.¡±

    ¡°Shall I call Doctor Macintosh up here, sir?¡± Robinson asked.

    ¡°That is not necessary. I am feeling much better now.¡± There was no sense in pulling the ship¡¯s doctor away from his post to aid in this farce. Still, he could feel that Kallahan, nor anyone else was convinced. Owens rubbed at her hand like it hurt while she, among others, avoided looking at him. Even Galhino seemed wary of looking is way, as if it would put weight on fractured glass. The last time the crew had regarded him with such hesitation had been in the years of Brent¡¯s command, when they had feared he would react just like Brent, inflicting pain for the slightest infraction.

    Then he saw the mug sitting on the edge of the console, its bitter odor hanging in the air like an unanswered taunt. Coffee. And though he had the memory of asking for it, he didn¡¯t drink coffee. But he knew who did, and the realization instantly pushed nausea back to the forefront of his mind.

    Stars. He¡¯d made that possession comment mostly as a joke. Clearly, it was no wonder the ghost had not laughed. The crew was obviously treating him like Brent because he¡¯d acted like that damn psychopath.

    Between the pity in Kallahan¡¯s eyes and the way his head hurt, Admiral Gives knew the ghost had somehow been involved. It wasn¡¯t lost on him that she sometimes struggled to maintain control, nor was it lost on him that she struggled with Brent¡¯s memory, but the shame in this situation was entirely his own. He meant every assurance he had offered the ghost. He would not resent her for something that had been unintentional. But if that memory, that horrible memory, had come to possess him, of everyone here, then what must she truly think of him? At least some part of her had to believe that he really was no different to her than Brent had been ¨C an abuser, not a protector. And that, that truly did bring him shame, because he had never wanted to hurt her, even if he knew that he had.

    Yet, no aspect of these worlds paused for shame. The mission certainly didn¡¯t. From far aft, he heard the pitch of the engines change as the ship began to bank. He felt only an instant of the acceleration as the inertial dampeners compensated for it. It took them a hair longer than usual, their reactions slowed by the battle damage, but they kept the force well within comfortably tolerable limits. Naturally, he expected nothing less. The inertial dampeners were considered a critical system as they, like life support, were essential to keeping the crew alive. As such, they were one of the most redundant systems on the entire ship, and outside of purposeful sabotage, would likely never be rendered non-operational. Their efficiency suffered with damage, and sometimes the accelerations weren¡¯t comfortable, but the dampeners always kept the crew safe.

    And luckily, the perceptible movement shifted the crew¡¯s attention off of Admiral Gives and back to the operations of the automated control network. By the print-outs on the screens, the location of the pirates¡¯ base had been confirmed, and the ship had maneuvered towards it, facing no further challenges. Shown as little green dots on the radar displays, their support craft were shadowing the ship¡¯s movements, staying alongside the Singularity¡¯s port flank, exactly as intended.

    Kallahan returned to his usual guard position by the door, and the Admiral moved into his usual place beside the radar console, giving the mug of coffee sitting on its edge an unnecessarily wide radius. Tapping on the rim of the console, he summoned a fragment of the ghost¡¯s attention. ¡®How¡¯s it look?¡¯

    ¡®It looks like an asteroid with a base built from stolen habitat modules carved into it.¡¯ Nothing about that was interesting or surprising. ¡®Judging solely by the fact they haven¡¯t fired on us, I would say the base is unarmed.¡¯ She¡¯d scanned for weapons and found none, but with Hydrian stealth tech capable of concealing things from the ship¡¯s sensors, that meant less than the simple fact they hadn¡¯t yet been attacked.

    In that, at least one assumption Admiral Gives had drawn about Crimson Heart¡¯s defenses was proven accurate. Technically, he¡¯d also been correct on the number of Crimson Heart¡¯s forces, just not their capability. Logically speaking however, it did not make sense for the pirate base to be armed. Even if an adversary had managed to punch through Crimson Heart¡¯s other defenses, such an adversary would still have to locate the base¡¯s exact position among the sea of roughly 700,000 asteroids that populated this system, and that could have taken days, even with a sensor system as powerful as the Singularity¡¯s. And of course, that was before stealth tech and sensor interference got involved. Arming the base would only have made its power signature and material footprint larger and easier to detect.

    Mounting weapons on the asteroid that housed their base also wasn¡¯t necessarily wise, regardless of if they could go undetected. Even if Crimson Heart built mounts with enough strength to survive firing, the recoil of launching said weapons could spin the asteroid and make it difficult for their own ships to dock. Attitude thrusters could be installed to counter that, but once again, increased the detectability of the base. In all, the ability to hide among the asteroid belt was a far better defense than any weapon. Likely, Crimson Heart would never have engaged the Singularity had she not come into close proximity of their base ¨C a base the Singularity only found because of coordinates acquired from Midwest Station.

    ¡®Initiating specified scans¡­¡¯ the automated controls announced. It specified no further, as the mission plan logged in the central computer dictated the bandwidth and duration of the scans. They served a very specific purpose: to locate a target that could transmit an electromagnetic pulse through the base¡¯s power systems.

    ¡®Priority target not found,¡¯ the automated network reported, and having written the mission plan, Admiral Gives knew exactly what that meant. No solar arrays could be detected on the outside of the base or surface of the asteroid. The pirates were using an alternate method to power their base, likely an internal generator fed by stolen fuel. Still, the secondary target, while not guaranteed to be as effective, was guaranteed to be found. ¡®Secondary target identified,¡¯ the computers confirmed, jumping down a line to continue, ¡®Loading modified missile¡­¡¯

    Far below decks, the Singularity¡¯s loaders pulled one missile out of the lineup and slid it into position with one of the firing tubes. The missile¡¯s waiting position and inventory tag had been specified by the mission plan, though its ugly, chipped paint made it seem an odd selection alongside its dozens of awaiting kin. However, the missile¡¯s coating had only been chipped the previous night as the engineers and weapons specialists had disassembled it, replacing the missile¡¯s explosive payload with a contact-triggered EMP generator. The mass distribution of the missile had been thrown off, so they¡¯d modified its guidance and control systems too. Now, the wiring in the missile¡¯s innards looked like strands of confetti, rerouted to balance its mass back out as the wiring harnesses were zip-tied together and wound in protective tape. It wasn¡¯t a pretty thing, inside or out, but the job had been done by professionals.

    The modified missile¡¯s EMP generator couldn¡¯t put out a signal with a large, destructive amplitude, as the Singularity was capable of, but it could output a power form specifically selected to disrupt and burnout the types of commercial equipment that Crimson Heart was likely to be using. It was designed to afflict the enemy base, and only the enemy base, unlike the self-destructive EMP the Singularity had used against Squadron 26.

    To affect the enemy base, however, the missile had to strike an exposed target that could transfer its EM Pulse to all of the base¡¯s power systems. In that, a solar array was an obvious priority. A direct source of power generation, a solar array would be tied in with the base¡¯s entire power system. Without a solar array in use, however, the communications array became the next best option.

    The irony was not lost on Admiral Gives. The enemy had used the Singularity¡¯s communications array to weasel their cyberattack into the surrounding systems and paralyze the ship. Now, the Singularity was targeting the pirates¡¯ array to destabilize and knock out power. The method they were using, a modified missile, had also been seen today. It was a Hydrian tactic that the Admiral had altered and adopted. Records indicated that the Hydrian Armada had been quite fond of modifying their missiles with shaped charges designed to breach certain armor architectures, or with other tricks such as tracking beacons and transmitters that physically carried their cyberattacks to the target.

    In all the predictions he had made for this mission, Admiral Gives had not expected to be using a modified Hydrian tactic against a potentially Hydrian target, but he supposed that did not alter its effectiveness. When searching for a threat, most didn¡¯t think to look in the mirror.

    ¡®Firing¡­¡¯ the automated control network declared, and unlike with the ship¡¯s main battery, that was the only indication of the attack that could be felt, seen, or heard so deep in the ship¡¯s core. All the ship¡¯s missiles were self-propelled, and the propulsion systems of the modified missile had not been touched. By result, it imparted no recoil back onto the Singularity as it launched. The magnets in the missile tube latched onto the electromagnets inside the missile and flung it outward. Thrown a safe distance from the hull, the missile¡¯s main engine kicked on: a large, bright rocket motor easily capable of evasive maneuvers though none were necessary as the weapon arced toward its target.

    A few seconds later, impact was nothing special. The sheer force of the impact shredded the mesh and wire skeleton of the communications array and the missile¡¯s long form crumpled into the structure of the base, tearing itself into a pile of small debris. With the missile¡¯s warhead removed, there was no explosion. Only a few small remains of the missile drifted free, hardly even noticeable.

    In the visual spectrum, the attack seemed useless. Physically, it damaged little, and on the base, nothing outwardly changed. However, the Singularity¡¯s sensors rarely ever bothered with the visible spectrum. It was too easily obscured, and its finer details were difficult to accurately process. In the wider electromagnetic spectrum, the heat and magnetic effects that accompanied active power sources were much easier to study through the outer shell of the repurposed mining habitats that made up the pirate base.

    ¡®No power signatures detected,¡¯ the automated network confirmed, then proceeded with the mission plans. ¡®Issuing attack command for unit designation: Task Force Alpha.¡¯

    Once again, the overhead speakers on the bridge crackled, playing the commands being transmitted to the support craft hugging the Singularity¡¯s side. ¡°Task Force Alpha is cleared to attack mission target. Repeat, Task Force Alpha is cleared to attack mission target.¡±

    As the ever-calm voice of the automated protocols faded from the air, and the small swarm of friendly contacts dispersed on the radar readouts, heading toward the base. The automated control network wasted no further time. ¡®Maneuvering into docking position¡­¡¯

    The thrum of the ship¡¯s engines picked up, but only momentarily, closing the distance to the base now that the pirates¡¯ sensors were taken out and theoretically blind. From there, the ship¡¯s maneuvering thrusters did most of the work, making fine alignment corrections to line up the airlocks and ensure the ship had a velocity of zero, relative to the asteroid. Any difference in relative velocity would eventually rip the airlock connection apart, so what seemed a simple maneuver truly required a high degree of precision, but none beyond what a ship like the Singularity was capable of. The maneuver was not as quick or graceful under automated control as it perhaps would have been under the hand of a skilled pilot, but the job was soon done, and the control network confirmed as such, ¡®Docking complete.¡¯

    The mating of the airlocks made no real noise, but Admiral Gives could still feel the reverberating clank that shivered across the Singularity¡¯s structure. It was a nearly unfamiliar feeling, for it had been over a year since the Singularity last docked directly with any base or station. He did not trust others to respect and watch over the ship as her crew did, so he usually let their support craft or a station¡¯s runners transfer their supplies and personnel. That had helped maintain a welcome buffer between the Singularity and the rest of the worlds.

    As the automated network registered a solid connection on the airlock contact sensors, it issued the final command stored in the initial phase of the mission plan. ¡®Issuing attack command for unit designation: Task Force Beta.¡¯

    Once again, the feminine voice of the Singularity¡¯s automated protocols washed over the bridge, this time carried by the ship¡¯s intercom to reach the boarding party below decks. ¡°Task Force Beta is cleared to attack mission target. Repeat, Task Force Beta is cleared to attack mission target.¡±

 Part 39.1 - TASK FORCE BETA

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    Making his way to the front of the boarding party was like wading through waist-high water while fighting a riptide. Things had been organized at one point, but after they¡¯d been ordered to move inward for shelter, and then called back into position, equipment was out of order and people were out of position. The crew held their composure well, considering the chaos. There was no yelling, no panic, but they were professionals.

    The crew murmured amongst themselves, checking each other¡¯s armor and equipment as they wondered about the state of the battle around them. After all, they¡¯d felt those impacts, heard the alarms, and none of them were deaf to the fact that the voice that had come over the intercom to order them back to their position was neither Robinson¡¯s smooth confidence, nor the Admiral¡¯s gravelly tone. It had been the calm inflection of the ship¡¯s automated protocols, a voice that while familiar, was not a common participant in any of their missions.

    Zarrey knew why they were hearing it, or at least, he could guess it had something to do with the cyberattack. In that, he wasn¡¯t sure it should be trusted. After all, below decks, he had no way to know if the automated protocols had been activated by intention, or if that was a ploy by the virus that had infected the ship. In the end, he supposed it didn¡¯t matter much as long as the airlock connection was good. If the ship docked successfully, then the boarding party could force their way onto the pirate base. But, it did leave him concerned about a trap. If the ship¡¯s automated protocols were corrupted, it could be ordering them into an ambush.

    In Zarrey¡¯s mind, that was a very remote possibility. He¡¯d never seen the ship face a cyberattack, and he, along with most other crew knew that the ship wasn¡¯t equipped to combat such an event, but it was still the Singularity, and Admiral Gives was still on the bridge. Zarrey did not always agree with the Admiral, but he had also never seen the ship act beyond the Admiral¡¯s control in any way. The malfunctions that Zarrey was all too familiar with did not happen when the Admiral was on the bridge. So, Zarrey trusted him to have full and complete control over the ship, cyberattack or no cyberattack.

    That said, Zarrey didn¡¯t want his people charging into anything that had the possibility of being an ambush. Not without awareness of it, at least. And while he wanted to explain the situation to everyone, Zarrey had no way to communicate effectively with the mass number of crew who were lined up to take part in this assault. He had to prioritize those in the front ¨C those who would deal with the situation if there was one.

    Given that, Zarrey was grateful his six-foot frame allowed him to move almost anyone out of the way in the congested hallways. The crew knew to leave a lane of passage, but in the most crowded places where that wasn¡¯t necessarily possible, most paid enough attention to shift out of his way as they saw him coming. Occasionally, however, someone would be caught up in conversation, or be busy checking their weapons. It was them that Zarrey gently pushed aside without breaking pace.

    It was hard to hear anything beyond the mutterings of the crew and the soft thudding of their bootheels as they shifted. No one was comfortable down here, crammed into the corridors nearest the midship airlock that had been selected for docking. With the density of the crew here, the air smelled slightly of sweat and had grown uncomfortably warm. Zarrey couldn¡¯t hear them over the crew¡¯s noise, but he imagined that the life support filters were laboring to keep up. It was unusual for such a large portion of the crew to be gathered in such a small part of the ship, especially in a combat scenario where the stress of temperature control and carbon dioxide scrubbing was not being distrusted ship-wide, but handled by the local systems. Uncomfortable as it might have been, Zarrey knew the life support systems could handle it. They¡¯d been designed to support more people than could physically fit in this corridor, a safety that ensured they could fulfill their purpose even at reduced efficiency. Most ships were designed that way. Life support was the one place where shipwrights never cut corners. No one wanted to asphyxiate a billion miles from the nearest habitable world.

    When he finally forced his way to the front of the boarding party, Zarrey could feel the perspiration dampening the underarms of his shirt. The cotton had grown sticky and uncomfortable, especially combined with the squeeze of a combat vest he rarely wore anymore. In truth, Zarrey had never been comfortable in his protective gear. He¡¯d never really been a front-line Marine so to speak. The Frontier Rebellion, and the surface conflicts that had come with it had been long over by the time he''d joined the fleet. Zarrey would be the first to admit he¡¯d never seen a real war, but with a decade spent in station security, he was certainly no stranger to the fight. Heading up a boarding party wasn¡¯t foreign to him. In truth, he was a great deal more comfortable doing that than he was handling the ship on a daily basis. Simply, naval combat wasn¡¯t his expertise, but they had the Admiral for that. Admiral Gives and the ship¡¯s officers handled the ship, while Zarrey and the Marines handled the enemy.

    The spearhead of the boarding party was found standing beside the airlock, just where Zarrey expected them. Like every other member of the boarding party, they were dressed in black from head to toe. The Marines had camouflaged equipment available to them, calibrated to arctic, desert and woodland environments, but for space operations and daily dress, black and gray were the standard. In this case, banking on the darkness to aid their attack, black had been the obvious choice.

    Roughly half the ship¡¯s Marines and most of the ship¡¯s pilots, along with a few support personnel including a combat medic and a handful of the ship¡¯s more resilient engineers had been assigned to Lieutenant Colonel Pflum as part of Task Force Alpha. Pflum had picked the Marine units accompanying him with intent: taking groups practiced in stealth and zero-G combat. Zarrey, heading Task Force Bravo, had been given the leftovers. He understood of course. Zarreu¡¯s team, while facing a dangerous bottleneck at the airlock, would not be fighting in any unusual or adverse environment. And besides, his choice to head the charge wouldn¡¯t have changed anyway.

    A young Marine unit headed by Corporal Anton Yankovich had been Zarrey¡¯s first pick. Yankovich was a respectable solider, a capable and honorable Marine. There wasn¡¯t anything real special about him, though Zarrey admitted to liking the young man. Yankovich was a trained spotter, but so were many Marines, including Zarrey himself. The second member of the unit was a rookie Marine, Cadet Santino. He had an interesting story to him, having been run off Kikowani Station for fear of being a separatist, but he was just a kid, one of the youngest members of the Singularity¡¯s crew. The reason Zarrey had picked that unit however, was its third member, the ship¡¯s sniper: Cadet Blosse. She was a young woman of few words, and Zarrey didn¡¯t know much about her, save the fact that she was one of only a handful of crew that the Admiral had drafted straight out of training. Zarrey hadn¡¯t seen much point to it at the time. Blosse¡¯s training marks had been average, but the Admiral had been right, as he often was, and Blosse had become one of the most talented marksmen Zarrey had ever even heard of. She missed nothing, not her shots, not the details, and that was why Zarrey had wanted her unit heading in first.

    Zarrey had assigned only two other units to specific tasking. Corporal Eric and his SAR dog would be traveling with the engineers and supply officers, inspecting the food. His trained dog would be able to sniff out any rotten or poisoned stores. The Pretties as Zarrey thought of them, though they were better known as the Triple Witches, would be escorting their forward medical team. The Witches, an all-female unit, were meant to escort the nurses wherever they were summoned. Any pirate who happened across them would not be able to single the nurses out of the bunch, as they were all pretty women of roughly the same age and build. Naturally, that was the point. Outlaws like Crimson Heart¡¯s pirates targeted the weak, and nurses weren¡¯t often skilled in combat.

    With the exception of those units though, the rest of the Marines would simply be clearing the base and securing it for the supply teams to move in and start nabbing supplies. Many of the ship¡¯s spare armory, sensor and communications officers would be backing up the Marines, as they had better combat training than the ship¡¯s engineers. The engineers and the supply officers would be heading in last.

    ¡°Welcome back, Colonel,¡± Corporal Yankovich greeted him.

    ¡°Thanks,¡± Zarrey said, taking note of the Corporal¡¯s average statue. Neither short nor tall, Yankovich was also neither tense nor relaxed. He somehow managed that perfect medium in almost every situation. ¡°Ready your unit. I don¡¯t know what we¡¯re walking into when we dock.¡± Of course, that had always been the case. The Admiral could predict many things, but the condition of the pirate base wasn¡¯t one of them. ¡°There¡¯s a potential for this to be a trap.¡±

    Yankovich didn¡¯t ask questions. He just straightened his helmet and said, ¡°Aye.¡± Beside him, Santino visibly gulped and Blosse, well within hearing range as she crouched beside the airlock, said nothing. The sniper just continued checking over her equipment.

    The only complaint Zarrey received was from the unfortunate compatriot of Yankovich¡¯s unit: Sergeant Cortana. Pflum hadn¡¯t selected her for his team, so Zarrey had been stuck with her. And worse, he hadn¡¯t been able to come up with a reasonable excuse for her to follow the spearhead, so she¡¯d become a part of it. ¡°I thought the entire point of the naval operation was to give us cover of darkness, Colonel. They shouldn¡¯t even know we¡¯re coming.¡±

    ¡°The entire point of the naval operation was to get us here. Knocking the lights out was an added bonus.¡± One that Zarrey had no way to confirm had been successful. They wouldn¡¯t know until they boarded if the lights had successfully been taken out. Unlike when the ship fired her broadside, there would be no perceptible cues that the modified missile prepared for this mission had been fired, let alone if it had hit or accomplished its task. The ship¡¯s sensors would be able to determine that, but under the automated protocols, it wasn¡¯t likely to be announced. The ship¡¯s automated network was fairly limited in capability, but in communication especially. It could respond to proper inquiries, but mission concerns were almost always too specific to have a direct prompt. Of course, beyond any of that, Zarrey wasn¡¯t sure he would trust any answer the network gave.

    Sergeant Cortana could read his concern in the yellow lighting of the ship¡¯s corridors. Zarrey¡¯s brows slanted downward more than in his usual, relaxed state, and he had a strange habit of scratching at his scar. She¡¯d only been in the room with Zarrey a handful of times, but that scar on his chin was a dead giveaway. It only seemed to bother him in situations that prompted him to remember it existed, perhaps situations that were similar to how he¡¯d earned the original injury. ¡°You¡¯re nervous,¡± she accused.

    ¡°Aren¡¯t you?¡± Zarrey retorted, checking the fit and fasteners of his protective vest. He then plopped his black helmet over his blond hair. Nervous or not, he had a job to do. ¡°I¡¯m just a little worried our support isn¡¯t what it usually is.¡± He would admit that since he knew Cortana wasn¡¯t going to let it go otherwise.

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    Sergeant Cortana felt a frown pull at her expression. ¡°What aren¡¯t you telling us?¡± What had happened on the bridge?

    Zarrey was spared having to make a response by the emanation of a long, low creak from the ship. It seemed to saturate the corridors, originating from everywhere at once. Still, it wasn¡¯t the scream of twisting metal, or the grinding of machinery fighting itself. It was the first he¡¯d heard from the ship in quite some time, since the cyberattack, actually. Zarrey knew, even with his mechanical ineptitude, that the computers rightfully had no effect on the ship¡¯s structure. They were separate systems, but evidence of the ship¡¯s usual noise comforted him in a strange way, even if it sounded more distressed than usual. The old ship didn¡¯t sound strained, just strangely upset to Zarrey¡¯s ear. The oddity of such an observation had bothered him once. He¡¯d found it strange that he could pin such emotion to the machine¡¯s sounds, but the strangeness of such things had left him long ago. That was simply the way the Singularity was.

    Cortana was disturbed by the ship¡¯s noise, as she always was. She looked around half-expecting to find that a jagged crack and torn its way up the nearby wall, but she seemed to be the only crewman bothered at all. ¡°You¡¯re never going to convince me that¡¯s normal.¡± Machines weren¡¯t supposed to sound like that. They were supposed to be strong and silent, not creaking with apparent fatigue.

    ¡°I don¡¯t really care what you think is normal,¡± Zarrey said. She was the one that claimed the Singularity¡¯s alleged ghost had a vendetta against her. That didn¡¯t exactly speak to a stable definition of normal.

    Cortana frowned, and beyond her, Cadet Blosse froze, if only for an instant. Then she locked the clip in place on her rifle, a long, deadly looking thing, and hoisted it onto her shoulder as she stood. ¡°It¡¯s almost time.¡±

    Blosse spoke quietly, but Zarrey had been waiting for her to say something. With the noise of the rest of the boarding party behind them, he couldn¡¯t hear the engines. As he shoved his way to the front of the boarding party, he had not perceived the slight shifts of acceleration either. Perhaps Blosse had. Zarrey didn¡¯t know, and he didn¡¯t care. He signaled the others to form up around him, and took his position at the front.

    He fully intended to be the first one through the airlock, but Yankovich tapped on his shoulder. ¡°With all due respect, sir. I¡¯ll take point.¡±

    ¡°Naddlethwofing hell you will,¡± Zarrey snorted, moving to pick up the rifle he¡¯d earlier left waiting beside the airlock. Unlike ships, bases didn¡¯t have inertial dampening systems. They were never expected to sustain acceleration, so inertial dampening wasn¡¯t necessary, and that meant guns were guaranteed to be viable weapons.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Yankovich said, ¡°you are the executive officer. I would be remiss in my duties if I sent you in first.¡± The ship¡¯s Marines had a duty to protect the ship¡¯s command staff.

    ¡°You could be the executive officer on this ship for all I care. It isn¡¯t a hard job.¡± Admiral Gives did most of the work. All Zarrey did was stand on the bridge and complain, then call bullshit on anything suspicious. ¡°I was never supposed to be an officer.¡± Zarrey hated being in charge. ¡°I¡¯m a Marine.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m aware of that, sir.¡± There was a reason Zarrey had been tasked to lead the boarding party. ¡°But I do think the Admiral would be displeased if I allowed you to take point.¡± Zarrey may not like being in charge, but he was a competent second in command.

    ¡°The Admiral ran off alone to a hostile space station yesterday. He doesn¡¯t get a vote.¡± Still, Zarrey stepped aside. Yankovich was a good Marine, and refusing him would be an insult. ¡°I¡¯ll let you do the honors,¡± Zarrey allowed. ¡°But I will be right behind you.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d expect no less, sir.¡± Yankovich smiled, and took point. Blosse lined up beside him.

    Santino, the unit¡¯s youngest member, stood beside Zarrey, nervous sweat dripping down from his helmet. ¡°Relax, rookie,¡± Zarrey told him. If all had gone according to plan, this should be easy. The pirates would be scrambling blindly without the lights of their base.

    It wasn¡¯t lost on Zarrey that Cortana, for all the complaining she¡¯d done about not being placed in charge of the boarding party, lined up behind him without a word, looking rather uneasy. Command brat, Zarrey thought, rolling his eyes while he knew she couldn¡¯t see it. Cortana, for all her pomp and circumstance and what she thought was a rather impressive service record, had not spent much time on ships. She hadn¡¯t been prepared for martial combat with the boarders, and there was little doubt in Zarrey¡¯s mind that she was unprepared to board this hostile base, let alone be in charge of the mission. Of course, that was why she wasn¡¯t in charge of the mission, and Zarrey was, despite the risks of leaving only one command officer on the bridge.

    The dull clang of machinery making contact reached Zarrey¡¯s ears. It was followed by a few more thuds, the noise of the airlock connection striking home and securing itself. An instant later the indicator on their side went green, and before Zarrey could issue the command, the intercom chimed. ¡°Task Force Beta is cleared to attack mission target. Repeat, Task Force Beta is cleared to attack mission target.¡±

    Zarrey had expected the Admiral¡¯s gravelly tone, or the effortless authority of Keifer Robinson. He hadn¡¯t expected to hear the voice of the automated protocols once again. Some part of him had hoped that the situation with the ship would be sorted out by now, and that hearing Robinson or the Admiral give the announcement would be his assurance of that. However, the situation clearly wasn¡¯t sorted out, and Zarrey was in no position to second guess anything. The airlock had made its connection, and trap or no trap, they were pushing through.

    Behind him, Sergeant Cortana tucked a stray piece of her wavy dark hair under the strap of her helmet. ¡°Who is that?¡± The voice on the intercom didn¡¯t have the right range to be the normal comms officer. It had an odd, unnatural pacing to it, and felt just eerily familiar.

    ¡°That¡¯s the Lady.¡± Yankovich said from the front, helping Blosse open and properly secure their side of the airlock. In the case of a decompression, it had to be set up to close in order to protect the rest of the ship.

    ¡°The who?¡±

    ¡°The Lady,¡± Zarrey repeated. They all knew that voice, and Cortana should soon be familiar with it as well. But of course, she was new, so there was no reason for her to know it yet. ¡°The Lady Sin,¡± Zarrey added, ¡°ship¡¯s automated protocols.¡± Voices like that would be nothing new to a spacer. His previous assignment, a station, had possessed a recorded voice as well ¨C a male one he¡¯d never particularly liked. Zarrey much preferred the Singularity¡¯s voice to that grating tone.

    ¡°Ships under automated protocols cannot command movements for personnel units,¡± Cortana reminded. She didn¡¯t need experience serving on a ship to know that. That was taught in training, a safety holdover from the Hydrian War, when automated systems had been subject to corruption.

    ¡°Feel free to stay here then,¡± Zarrey told her. ¡°Just be sure to get out of the way.¡± The rest of the boarding party still had to come in behind them.

    Cortana made a noise, and not a happy one, but she still followed Zarrey into the airlock. Blosse and Yankovich were already there, working on the outer door, but this airlock was only the first. It would not allow them onto the base, only grant passage between the ship¡¯s interior and the space between the hulls. Like most of the airlocks along the ship¡¯s length, it wasn¡¯t a large unit, just a plain-walled cubicle with indicators, a control panel and vents to move air. The space was only large enough to cycle a few people through at a time, and it would have been impractical to move people and cargo through that bottleneck. Luckily, docking the ship meant that the airlock could be left open. With breathable air in the ship¡¯s interior and on the station, there was no need to cycle between atmosphere and vacuum.

    The area between the Singularity¡¯s inner and outer hulls could be pressurized in sections, and as such, the region the boarding party needed to pass through had been pressurized and heated. Opening the hatch, Yankovich and Blosse revealed the causeway that would take them to the outer hull. The air from beyond tasted stale, and left an ashen texture in Zarrey¡¯s mouth, but it satisfactorily filled his lungs. It seemed the air recyclers in this area hadn¡¯t been cleaned in quite some time, but that was no surprise considering how rarely this region of the ship was pressurized.

    As they stepped over the outer boundary of the airlock, the acceleration of gravity released its hold. The weight of the rifle in Zarrey¡¯s arms eased. It now felt something like a toy, easily pulled along as he kicked off, bounding down the catwalk to follow the two Marines leading the charge. The area between the hulls wasn¡¯t a perfect zero-G, but a transitionary low gravity environment between the Singularity¡¯s terran standard, and what should be zero-G for the pirate base, assuming the power had been knocked out and taken down the artificial gravity systems. This transitionary stage made it easy for the boarding party to align with whatever gravity field they would find on the other side ¨C even if it wasn¡¯t the zero-G they expected.

    The light from the little airlock behind them lit the mesh of the walkway for several feet, but Zarrey soon ventured into darkness, losing sight of even Blosse¡¯s bronze colored braid as it trailed behind her leaping steps. Without a word, as it was too dark to otherwise see, Zarrey reached up to his helmet and slid the goggles that had been resting atop it down over his eyes.

    Zarrey¡¯s vision was momentarily lost in a green haze while the goggles powered on, but they cleared before he could leap further along the walkway. The darkness that had encased them above, below and all around, was abruptly littered with shapes. Skeletal tresses and beams filled the volume. Towering above and reaching far below with their many branches anchoring the hulls, the visible superstructure surrounded him like a wicked forest, outlined in ghastly green. If he stepped close enough, the pattern of scratches and fretting turned a mostly smooth surface into something that looked like bark.

    Distantly, beyond the clang of boot against metal that rang out in front of him, and grew in frequency behind him, Zarrey could hear the trickle of liquid. It seemed to come from far, far below, some byproduct of this area¡¯s repressurization, but he gave it little thought.

    When they reached the inner hatch to the final, outer airlock, Zarrey had to pause while Blosse and Yankovich opened and secured it the way they had the previous one. As he waited, a warm breeze brushed across the back of his neck. It could have been unsettling, he supposed, and probably was to some, given the surprised gasp Cortana made behind him, but Zarrey found it comforting. The radiating warmth felt nice against the tension in his neck. It was nothing more than the heaters of the environmental control systems working overtime to warm this section of the ship up from the frigid, airless vacuum it had been minutes ago, but Zarrey still welcomed it. For all he knew, this might be the last warm embrace he felt, and he was almost reluctant to move further up when Yankovich and Blosse moved on to the final, outer airlock.

    With an abundance of caution, they greased its mechanisms, ensuring it would open quietly, but none of the other airlocks had creaked today, as if the ship knew when to be silent. The electric motor that ran the final airlock was secured in place and enabled. It would open the last door on the Singularity¡¯s side, and assuming there was nothing otherwise wrong with the connection, similarly force open the airlock on the base¡¯s side.

    Given the green indicator beside the hatch, signaling that the airlock connection was good, Zarrey didn¡¯t expect trouble opening the final door. Airlocks were designed with safety measures so that they could be forced open by a connection, usually a ship, that could provide power. Pirates and enemies abused those safety measures to board ships, but most spacers weren¡¯t insane enough to disable or hinder them in any way. No one liked the thought of asphyxiating or freezing to death because they had barred their rescuers entry. There were exceptions of course, ships sent on clandestine missions often had their entry points completely disabled to deny access, but the vast majority of ships, bases and stations left their airlocks functional, and it seemed Crimson Heart was no exception.

    Blosse punched the control beside the airlock¡¯s electric motor, and it picked up a high whine nearly above the range of the human ear. But the final airlock began to slide open. To Zarrey¡¯s perception, heightened by adrenaline, it seemed to move at a snail¡¯s pace. The instant it was wide enough, Yankovich and Blosse jumped though. Bringing his rifle into ready position, Zarrey followed behind them, pushing off into the darkness.

 Part 39.2 - THE DOOR

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Warhawk 785

    Task Force Alpha was comprised of nearly two hundred crewmen, including half the Singularity¡¯s Marines, and most of the ship¡¯s pilots. Together, the Marines and pilots made up most of the attack group, but the rest of the team consisted of a few engineers and support personnel. The support personnel included sensor analysts, armory experts, supply managers and a medical team under the guidance of Nurse Sanchez ¨C a nurse who¡¯d been around the fleet long enough to be a doctor in everything but title.

    All of Alpha team wore vacuum suits, a necessity given their target. The added size of the suits and their associated air recycling packs crowded teams aboard the Warhawks. The little recon ships could function as shuttles, but they hadn¡¯t been designed as dropships meant to carry large numbers of troops. Given that, it took thirty-two Warhawks to carry Task Force Alpha¡¯s personnel and equipment, and that number was escorted by twenty-four fighter-interceptor Arcbird spacecraft.

    Sleek, white and deadly looking, Lieutenant Colonel Pflum could not help but admire the fighter escorting his Warhawk. The two heavy blasters under its wings would be more than enough firepower to pound the pirate base into dust, but it was a small lithe craft that could maneuver faster than almost anything else in the worlds, save perhaps racing ships designed for speed. The cockpit of the Arcbird blended smoothly with its body, barely a slight bulge above the gradual thickening of the craft¡¯s needle-sharp nose to its fuselage. The material of the cockpit was translucent and photoreactive. From an outside perspective, the material had turned reflective in the light of the system¡¯s sun, but the effect was only protective. From inside the cockpit the transparency of the material was clear as crystal, just simply kept pilots from being blinded by the unfiltered sun.

    The same photoreactive material made up the front and side windows of the Warhawk, so Plfum could only assume that he looked as much like a hazy shadow as the profile of the pilot sitting in the fighter flying beside them. He could only barely make out the round shape of a helmet beyond the shine of the cockpit, but he knew the woman who sat over there. Captain ¡®Fireball¡¯ Adams had volunteered herself to fly escort for the lead craft of Task Force Alpha.

    Pflum had a slight concern that she might be trying to prove herself after what happened with Squadron 26, where she¡¯d been caught in the squadron¡¯s strange, simultaneous detonations and had her Arcbird destroyed. Ejecting on a plainly lucky vector, she¡¯d barely been found alive. Pflum supposed that would leave any pilot eager to prove themselves again, but the pressure was surely double for the new leader of the Singularity¡¯s support squadrons. Regardless, Fireball was perhaps the most talented Arcbird pilot they had, so Pflum had not objected to her putting herself front and center for the team¡¯s insertion.

    ¡°We¡¯re still looking clear, Fireball,¡± the pilot of Pflum¡¯s Warhawk, ¡®Butterfly¡¯ Anasari said. He was a decently talented pilot as well, a man with bronze skin and jet-black hair that never strayed from its part. He wasn¡¯t much for the talkative flamboyance the other pilots enjoyed, but he kept a little butterfly decoration hanging from the mirror of his Warhawk. It bobbed and shifted under the craft¡¯s slight acceleration, its glittery wings dancing as if it were flying. Pflum wasn¡¯t sure if the little charm or the callsign had come first, but most pilots didn¡¯t offer that information up. They liked to keep some mystique about their names.

    ¡°Understood, Butterfly,¡± their escort replied.

    As a larger craft, the Warhawk had a larger sensor array and radar range than Fireball¡¯s Arcbird. If surviving pirates or defenses still lingered, the Warhawk would know first. However, as Pflum checked their surroundings, he sincerely doubted there was anything at all left moving in the asteroid belt after the Singularity¡¯s temper tantrum. And yes, he was inclined to call it such. A large chunk of the asteroid belt been blasted into oblivion. That hadn¡¯t been necessary for the mission, just the result of a beast uncaring of the destruction it wreaked in its surroundings.

    The dust left behind in that void was pink, shaded by the HR-14 system¡¯s red, throbbing sun. Under other circumstances, Pflum may have thought the color cute, or at least amusing. Here, though, knowing the corpses of a sizable pirate fleet lingered in that dust, even that light shade of red felt garish. It was a reminder, a stiff one, of how powerful the Singularity truly was. Badly outnumbered against Command¡¯s fleet, perhaps her strength had felt mute, but here¡­ There was no denying it. Crimson Heart¡¯s entire fleet, which far outnumbered the Singularity, had been utterly destroyed within minutes, taking a substantial portion of the asteroid belt with them as mere collateral damage. Not even a direct railgun impact had stayed the Singularity from destruction. That damage, a long surgical cut, stretched halfway down the ship¡¯s length, and it hadn¡¯t even slowed her down. Even after a few missiles had impacted that cut, carving deeper damage into the ship, she¡¯d gone onward, the mission not even delayed.

    With that kind of power, that kind of endurance, it was no surprise that the Singularity had once been one of the most powerful machines in the worlds. With a kill count to match, she had been feared accordingly. The central worlds had never been the Bloody Singularity¡¯s target, and they, enthralled by newer designs with sleeker hulls and fancier armaments, had disregarded the ship¡¯s strength. The Singularity¡¯s angled armor, physical redundancies and dumb munitions had felt antiquated to them ¨C tools of a bygone era.

    Admiral Gives had been content to let the wealthier worlds with their politicians, reporters and governmental meddling forget all about the Singularity, but the fact of the matter was that she was still a flagship-caliber ship. Perhaps, the Admiral had planned it that way. Perhaps he had always intended to steal the Singularity away once the worlds ceased to give her any attention. But no, that was nonsense. If he had wanted to take the Singularity and disappear, he¡¯d had a dozen opportunities to over the years. For some reason or another, Admiral Gives had stayed in service to a government that disliked him, and a populace that feared him.

    Pflum could never make much sense of that, but the Admiral had always been something of a mystery. It would not have been Pflum¡¯s prediction to be here, raiding a pirate clan for food to give to a refugee fleet, after separating from Command. Pflum would have predicted a lot of things from the Steel Prince ¨C a thirst for revenge, an attempt to usurp Reeter, perhaps even an intention to lay low and let the worlds tear each other apart. But, Pflum had not expected a quest of mercy. Then again, he had never found Admiral Gives to be the monster the worlds painted. The man had his moments, certainly, flashes of ruthlessness, but Pflum rarely found them undeserving.

    It was odd to Pflum that everything could feel so normal. They had made a decision to split from Command, every member of the crew uncertain where that would lead them, but right now, it found them in a strange normalcy. This mission to raid the pirates, it could have been a mission assigned to them from Command. This was exactly the kind of work the fleet, and the Singularity by extension handled in this day and age. This wasn¡¯t the first hostile base the crew had been sent to secure. The robbing part of it was new, but who didn¡¯t like a challenge?

    Passing over the base as they searched for their insertion point ¨C the hangar ¨C Crimson Heart¡¯s base looked rather plain. It wasn¡¯t decorated like many of the pirate ships had been, with spikes and weapons welded into place, painted with the age-old skull and crossbones insignia. The base was modular, comprised of small stolen units that had been installed on the asteroid, partially buried.

    Pflum himself had seen a dozen mining outposts that looked just like this. Those cubical modules were mass manufactured, not to mention quick and easy to install. In the realm of space structures, they linked together like a children¡¯s toy kit. Each unit could be dropped into place and hooked up to the others, and the base effectively endlessly added onto. Pflum had seen utterly massive constructs made by those modules, sprawled across asteroids like lichen moss. Compared to those, the largest of which had been effectively functioning colonies, Crimson Heart¡¯s base was small.

    The blockish structure of the base was half-buried in the asteroid, and anchored by cables driven into the rock. However, none of the pre-fabricated units was big enough to make a hangar. That would have been carved out of the asteroid¡¯s mass itself. So even with few modules, there was still a potential the pirate base was bigger than it looked.

    Passing over the base, Pflum¡¯s Warhawk was quiet. The Lieutenant Colonel himself sat in front of the colorful lights and buttons of the copilot¡¯s controls. Pflum preferred to sit there, as it gave him a better view of their surroundings than riding in the back would have.

    Pflum was a qualified copilot, as were many officers and Marines, but he was under no illusion that he could handle the yoke and thrust controls of their small craft. Copilot¡¯s training handled radio, sensor, navigations, weapons and decoy controls ¨C things that the pilot would need help with during combat maneuvers. Copilots were trained fundamentally in the flight controls, to a point where they knew what each did, and could theoretically move the craft if the pilot was incapacitated. In open space, that theory was sound. But, landing, docking or any sort of precision flying was well outside a copilot¡¯s ability range.

    Pflum tried not to think about having to take over the flight controls as they sailed around to the back of the asteroid. The sound of his breathing, which he¡¯d kept so steady until now, picked up involuntarily in tempo as he watched the natural curve of the beige rock abruptly flatten. ¡°There it is.¡±

    The pilot beside him nodded. ¡°This is Butterfly. Target sighted. Converge on my position.¡± Task Force Alpha¡¯s other ships had been following in a loose trail, scanning and searching different parts of the asteroid.

    Firing the thrusters on the Warhawk¡¯s nose, Anasari brought their slow glide to a halt in front of the asteroid¡¯s flat edge. The cleavage of the rock, shallow and straight spoke to a manmade surface, as if the six metal ports drilled into the sheer face didn¡¯t make it obviously artificial.

    Checking the return of the Warhawk¡¯s sensor scans, Butterfly announced, ¡°No traces of active power sources. Looks like it¡¯s sealed tight.¡±

    ¡°Point defenses?¡± Pflum asked. Outlaws often trapped their hangar doors with mines or electrically charged surfaces to prevent others from stealing their ships and larger equipment.

    ¡°No indicators,¡± Anasari confirmed.

    Pflum turned around to look past the headrest of his seat. ¡°You¡¯re up.¡±

    Riding in the back of the Warhawk, on the seats that lined the edges of the small craft¡¯s volume, were three of the Singularity¡¯s most capable Marines: Everett Johnston, Dolce Valentina and Frenchie, who never introduced himself by any other name. Each of them had formidable skills, and together they formed a sort of special forces unit, one that was plenty familiar with zero-G and low-grav combat.

    ¡°Aye,¡± Johnston acknowledged and worked quickly to unstrap himself. Beside him, Valentina slipped out of her acceleration harness with the lithe ease of a cat. She stretched her hands, then went to work without a word, popping open the hatch of the Warhawk.

    Everyone in Pflum¡¯s transport and the rest of Task Force Alpha had been suited up since loading aboard the Singularity. As such, the Warhawk¡¯s life support and environmental controls had never been activated to heat and pressurize the cabin. That left the hatch to open with little fanfare.

    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    A part of Pflum expected a cold breeze, like opening the door of a heated home in winter, but there was nothing.

    Stepping out onto the Warhawk¡¯s black stubby wing, Valentina looked up, then down the height of the sheer rock face. The flat portion of the asteroid stretched upward and downward many times her height in both directions.

    Most of the asteroids remaining in this old solar system were large. Crimson Heart had accordingly built their base on an egg-shaped asteroid well over a mile in length along its long axis. The flat face of the asteroid had been created by lopping off the narrow end of the egg shape. A false shell had been created to preserve a somewhat natural profile for the asteroid. With that in place, the asteroid looked perfectly natural unless one managed the exact angle needed to peer down past the shell to the flat face. It was a gambit of stealth against practicality, one that had kept Pflum¡¯s team from locating their target until they rounded the back side of the asteroid. However, the practical needs of the pirate base had trumped over the desire for stealth, evidenced by the circular irises of the six hangar doors built into the flat cliff. The nearest door eclipsed the Warhawk easily, but it had been built to allow passage for larger ships: the pirates¡¯ modified freighters.

    The freightliners that jogged between humanity¡¯s known known worlds with holds full of goods were small in the realm of spacecraft. They were dwarfed by battleships like the Singularity, and by the colony ships that had flown in centuries past, but freightliners were by no means tiny. Most freighters were the size of multi-story apartment buildings, and the aperture doors to Crimson Heart¡¯s hangar had to accommodate that.

    ¡°A little closer,¡± Valentina said, flicking on a handheld electric torch to study the door in greater detail. The light partially reflected back off the brushed silver finish of the metal.

    Gently, Butterfly tapped the thrusters, and a puff of propellant edged them toward the hangar doors. ¡°Found it,¡± Valentina said, focusing the beam of her torch onto the controller she had spotted on the edge of the aperture ring. The controller was a box, colored to match the rock and covered with a panel of false stone texturing that didn¡¯t quite match its surroundings. Perhaps it never had, or perhaps the sun had faded it differently than the surrounding stone. Either way, the cover couldn¡¯t conceal the shielded wires reaching from the controller to the massive door. They reached out to the door¡¯s outer ring like the legs of an octopus, bulbous and round, never quite laying straight.

    Pulling a handheld range finder from her belt, Valentina aimed it at the controller and waited for the Warhawk to drift close enough. When the reading was right, she called out, ¡°Stabilizers.¡±

    Instantly, having waited for her signal, Anasari reached above his seat and flipped on the stabilizers. The system reacted through the thrusters and a series of magneto torquers to halt the Warhawk¡¯s movement and hold its orientation in place, regardless of what further forces acted on it.

    Only then did Frenchie stir from his seat. Johnston shifted his mass out of the way just enough for Frenchie to open up the under-seat storage in the back of the craft and pull out a long, black, tubular launcher. With an undeniably eager grin, Frenchie ducked beneath Johnston and strode out on to the Warhawk¡¯s wing, magboots grabbing and releasing the craft¡¯s metal skin with every step.

    The launcher had a sight on it, calibrated to assist aiming under gravity, but Frenchie simply slid it out of the way and hefted the launcher up to his shoulder. Valentina stood nearly a foot taller than him, but made no attempt to take the launcher from Frenchie¡¯s small frame. He was, after all, the explosives expert ¨C a former member of a dedicated Marine bomb squad.

    Valentina simply raised her arm instead, pointing up to the controller. Following her direction, Frenchie took aim, sighting the shot and nodded his approval. With that, Valentina reached around, or rather over, given Frenchie¡¯s diminutive height, and grabbed the mag-anchor on the side of the launcher. She unwound its tether, twisted it to activate its electromagnets, and flung it down onto the surface of the Warhawk¡¯s wing. She gave it an experimental tug before declaring, ¡°Secure.¡±

    Frenchie laughed, a joyful laugh picked up by the mic of his helmet¡¯s radio. Then he pulled the trigger. With all the speed of the pyrotechnic charge that propelled it from the tube, a second disk-shaped mag-anchor flew across the void, unspooling a length of cable behind it. The anchor impacted on the ring of the hangar aperture and activated, sealing itself against the metal. With the lack of air resistance in space, a toss would have sufficed to cross the distance, but the launcher was far easier to precisely aim.

    ¡°Nice shot,¡± Johnston said appreciatively.

    ¡°No problem, big man,¡± Frenchie told him, patting the launcher affectionately, ¡°this baby makes it easy.¡± He disconnected the launcher from the cable, leaving the line attached between the Warhawk¡¯s wing and the hangar door. He then ducked back inside the Warhawk¡¯s cabin to make room on the wing for Johnston.

    Johnston had been born on a heavy-grav world where genetic engineering was fully legalized and widely implemented for things beyond appearance corrections. Selective genes and high gravity nearly three times that of the Ariean standard applied on ships had been turned Johnston into a mountain of a man. It was common for heavy-grav worlders to have stout, short frames that allowed their hearts to more easily circulate blood, and for their spines to survive the crushing force, but genetic engineering allowed exceptions. Johnston stood nearly seven feet tall, and took up the space of two men. He spoke with a drawl that the central planets likened to unintelligence, but he was sharper than most Marines, and many of the crew regarded him as the rightful second-in-command of the ship¡¯s Marine contingent, even if technically, that title belonged to Sergeant Cortana.

    Heavy-grav worlders had not been common in the fleet, and no more than a handful could have been anywhere near Johnston¡¯s size or strength. Genetic engineering to his degree carried risks, and usually had to be implemented over generations, each including more modifications than the last. However, such gene manipulations were not always successful, and many colonies had died out before successfully adapting to their new world. Johnston¡¯s home, Marsed, had been among the exceptions, an old colony group that had successfully adapted to a planet exceptionally rich in rare and valuable metals.

    However, Marsed remained isolationist and distant, scorned for continuing the use of genetic engineering on the human genome while refusing to export the technology that had allowed their success, even as other colonies facing similar challenges died out. Marsedai people like Johnston were feared on a more personal level for their effectively inhuman strength, and were widely distrusted in the central worlds, and the fleet, for their devastating role in the Frontier Rebellion. Judgement against the Marsedai had landed Johnston¡¯s initial assignment to the Singularity ¨C Admiral Gives the only commander willing to give him a post.

    Johnston had proven himself, and he had eventually taken on another assignment, perhaps hoping to climb the ranks of the Marines in ways that weren¡¯t possible aboard the Singularity. He had met Valentina and Frenchie there, but he had returned to the Singularity with his new team and Ensign Owens in tow, when the moon housing his new post had been blown apart. Ever since, Johnston had elected to stay aboard ship, and headed up many of the Singularity¡¯s most difficult away missions ¨C this raid no exception.

    Johnston stooped to unstrap the device that had been tied down on one of the empty seats in the rear of the Warhawk. He lifted it with the ease of someone picking up a pillow, though the device weighed over a hundred pounds. In zero-G, anyone could have lifted something so heavy by nudging it upward, but moving it quickly and maintaining precise control over its direction still took a great deal of strength ¨C strength that Johnston had in plenty.

    A steady hand of the device¡¯s side, Johnston pushed it out onto the wing, then planted his mag-boots and pulled it to a stop beside the anchored cable. Valentina had pinned the line to make it taut without stressing the mag-anchors holding its ends in place. She then grabbed the tether of her suit off her waist and clipped it onto the line before reaching over to do the same for Johnston.

    The tether and cables were safeties meant to keep the team from drifting free and guide them to the controller. They could have easily jumped from the Warhawk to the door, but jumping without a tether did not guarantee a safe landing, or more problematically, a safe return. Compared to the hangar aperture, the Warhawk was a small target.

    Valentina jumped first. Deactivating her mag-boots, she kicked off. Her aim wasn¡¯t perfect, but the tether, sliding along the anchored cable, pulled her back on course. Nearing the target, she reached up and grabbed the cable, using the friction of her glove to slow as she aligned her feet to the aperture door.

    She landed gently, bending her knees to take the force, and looked around without moving, searching one last time for any point defenses left by the pirates. She found none, so stood and signaled for Johnston to follow. He took a moment to clip a tether to the device in his hands and set his grip, then leapt.

    Near the end of his jump, Johnston slowed himself and the device to a near-stop, then kicked on his mag-boots and let them finish the job, pulling him to the door¡¯s brushed metal surface with the magnetic attraction force. That made for a gentle landing, his cargo securely still in his grasp.

    Separating himself and the device from the cable, he tugged it over to the controller. Valentina had already moved on to it, prying off the camouflaged cover and shielding to reveal the electronics of the hangar door controller. She was hands-deep in the wiring, her nimble fingers bypassing the security circuit cards and freeing the required power lines.

    No one really knew Valentina¡¯s background ¨C likely excepting the Admiral or she wouldn¡¯t have been allowed on board, but she had a proficiency in breaking in, regardless of if it was into a vault, safe, secured door or social gathering. Theory was that she¡¯d been a member of the Infiltrator Corps, the spies that served Command by gathering information through less than proper means, but it was also possible she¡¯d been a petty thief, con artist or bounty hunter paying off criminal time in the fleet. Regardless, most security systems couldn¡¯t even slow her down. The identify friend or foe sensors of the hangar door controller were no exception. She had them removed in minutes, along with the remote activation receiving array and power cables.

    She threw that security equipment into a bag, and replaced it with their own. ¡°Ready.¡±

    Johnston put down the device he¡¯d been holding and activated its magnetic anchors. It stuck securely to the ring of the aperture on its own ¨C a battery-operated power supply.

    Valentina had to contort herself around to grab the leads of the power supply. She could not step around as her mag-boots would have no grip on the natural rock compound of the asteroid. The stone was nonmagnetic. As all masses did, the asteroid had a gravitational field, but it was no greater than the Singularity¡¯s natural field, which was to say that it was effectively non-existent. One could easily push off and escape the gravity well without realizing they had ever been in one.

    With the leads, Valentina quickly connected the power supply. With the pirate base¡¯s power down, the only to open the entrance, or rather one of the six entrances to the hangar, was to power it from the outside. With their own power supply, and the controller rewired, Task Force Alpha could now control entry to the hangar, opening or closing the door with their own remote sigal.

    ¡°Done,¡± Valentina declared.

    Johnston hit the switch on the power supply and it hummed to life, pumping a voltage differential to the dead circuits. He then checked the display. ¡°Good fuh five hours, suh,¡± he relayed to Pflum back in the Warhawk. If they needed to open or close the door after those five hours, the power supply would be dead and they¡¯d have to retrieve and wire in a replacement.

    However, if everything went even mostly according to plan, the door would only need to be opened once. And well, five hours should be far more than Task Force Alpha needed.

    Leaving the power supply anchored on the aperture ring, Valentina danced past the mess of cables she¡¯d made, clipped her tether onto the line and leapt toward the Warhawk.

    Johnston waited for her to land, then picked up the anchor that attached the line to the door. With a tug, he pulled himself toward the end still attached to the ship. He landed on the stubby wing with considerable grace for a man of his size, well-practiced at moving without gravity. He spooled up the mag-anchors¡¯ cable, then deactivated and picked up the remaining anchor on the wing. He brought it with him as he returned to the Warhawk¡¯s hatch and closed it behind him. Stooping in the cabin¡¯s small space, he dropped the double-sided anchor into storage below his seat, and began to strap himself back into his acceleration harness.

    Pflum waited until he was secure and then looked to Butterfly. ¡°Get us clear.¡± There was no way to know what was waiting on the other side of the door.

    The pilot needed no further prompting. Reaching up, he disabled the stabilizers and shifted the ship to the side of the aperture. The rest of the task force waited there too, out of the line of sight for anything that exit the door.

    Once they were clear, Butterfly hit a button on the panel between his and the copilot¡¯s seat. It transmitted the open signal to the controller they¡¯d just modified, and slowly but surely, the aperture began to yawn open. First it was just a crack, then it was a rectangle of darkness across the center of the circular entrance.

    It took a full minute for the jaws of the door to open completely, and the team waited tensely, but nothing emerged.

    ¡°Fireball,¡± Pflum prompted.

    ¡°Aye,¡± Captain Adams acknowledged, deftly rolling her fighter into view of the opening.

    Nothing took that bait either, so Fireball slowed her evasive jig and looked down into the open door. Only darkness waited beyond, the stone walls swallowed by shadows beyond the reach of the system¡¯s pulsing red sun.

    Fireball lined up her craft with the center of the opening. ¡°My turn,¡± she announced with all the confidence she could muster, then fired the thrusters and dove into the tunnel.

 Part 39.3 - COUNTERPARTS

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    When the airlock had successfully made its connection, the ghost let out a sigh. Her part of the mission had at last been fulfilled, so she turned her attention to the boarding party as more and more of them pushed onward, into the unknown.

    Unseen and unheard, she stood in that final airlock. I¡¯m sorry this is as far as I can take you. Once past this airlock, they would be beyond her jurisdiction and beyond her aid. But still, she watched them rush by, out and onto the mission. Be safe, she wished each and every presence. Come back home.

    It was never her place to stop them, but she never liked to feel the crew leave, especially not like this, into danger and battle. But they were her counterparts. They went where she could not. They did what she could not. For that, she always respected them. They rarely hesitated in the face of duty. They were more resolute than even she, for she had been built for this, constructed to battle and intended to fight. They had evolved to survive, and been born and raised places beyond combat. They were not bound by their existence in subservience. Every order they received, they chose to obey. It was their path, their choice, and they headed into danger willingly. For that, she always admired their bravery.

    I¡¯ll be here waiting, she reminded them with a gentle nudge to the subconscious. She was always the first to welcome back those that returned ¨C her own silent tradition. Some felt it, recognized it, some didn¡¯t, but she did it anyway.

    It wasn¡¯t often that so many of the crew left, but between Lieutenant Colonel Pflum¡¯s Task Force Alpha and Colonel Zarrey¡¯s Task Force Beta, most of the crew was gone. Of those that stepped off the ship, into that foreboding airlock beyond, and those that had launched on the Warhawk recon ships and Arcbird fighters, she kept a tally. She kept their names and ID numbers, hoping that each might find their way back to her unharmed.

    In all, only a handful of crewmembers remained on the ship, and it felt so empty, so odd. Even on shore leave, the crew never left in such numbers. A skeleton crew always remained ¨C enough to manage basic operations and rudimentary maintenance. But now, there wasn¡¯t even that. Truthfully, the bridge was the only part of the ship that didn¡¯t feel desolate. The rest all felt barren, devoid of everything that had given it warmth and color.

    This wasn¡¯t the first time the ship had been so vacant. This wasn¡¯t even the most severe instance, but that emptiness still gnawed. It made her feel hollow, even as she dedicated pieces of herself to watch over each part of the mission. One, anchored there at the airlock, would follow Zarrey, Yankovich and Cortana¡¯s group, and another, anchored on the flight deck would await news of Pflum, Adams and Johnston¡¯s team. A third component of her watched over the base as a whole, searching for trouble and picking apart anything it found for signs of a Cataclysm or other danger. The rest of her inevitably watched over the ship, unable, as always, to move beyond it. That part of her, seeking some vain comfort found the biggest group of the crew it could and tethered itself there.

    In that, she found her attention resting with the bridge crew. They were anxious, possibly more so than they had been during the naval battle, even when they had faced death via the explosive payload of fifty-two missiles. They hadn¡¯t been in control then, but they had at least known the situation. Now, they were blind to the boarding parties¡¯ odds, and left on the bridge, unable to help. Being unknowing and unable to help always made them doubly anxious, and truly, she understood. She always worried more when the crew went beyond her reach. Aboard ship, she could offer protection and comfort, but off of it¡­ She could only reach out and hope that she would not feel pain from any of them.

    Surrounded by that anxiety, dreading that pain, the ghost found herself drawn even more to the Admiral¡¯s calm. And yet that calm, that steadying presence wasn¡¯t in its usual state. It felt strained, blurred. The Admiral was ill, though not with any infection. He held his calm with dedication, a skill he had long trained, but the incident with Brent¡¯s shadow had weakened him. His perceptions and coordination were still disjointed, leaving him nauseous if he moved too quickly, and constantly feverish as his body fought to normalize itself. That alone would have dulled what was usually, a cool, sharp presence, but there was more to it with perception like hers. The edges of his presence were frayed, damaged. Its edges were cut unevenly where they¡¯d been torn ¨C torn when her strength had ripped his mind out and displaced it.

    A human had no way to recognize the severity of the damage. In addition to a sense of physical discomfort, it would only manifest as fatigue, though it would be a miserable, inescapable fatigue eased only by time and no amount of rest. In that time, as the fatigue lessened, the damage would heal. The human mind was a resilient thing, but knowing that did not ease her.

    Dark coils of shame riddled her thoughts. Drawn as she was to the Admiral¡¯s calm, it was impossible to ignore the injured state of his presence. It was constant reminder that she¡¯d lost control.

    I¡¯m sorry, she thought, trying to smooth the torn edges of his mind. If she could manage that, just that, then perhaps she could deserve his forgiveness. But not even her power was capable of that. The necessary adjustments were too fine for her to make. She could see the damage in its full detail, but could not repair it. Yet, there was no resentment in him. There was no blame. There was only his determination to see this mission through, an objective that she could align with to steady herself.

    Careful not to strain him too much, she reached out, ¡®I¡¯m going to disengage the automated controls.¡¯ The virus had been purged. She was certain of that, and the antivirus programs she¡¯d added to the computers should be able to fend off a similar attack.

    ¡®Understood,¡¯ he said. ¡®Thank you for your help.¡¯ He tried not to rely upon the ghost, not because he didn¡¯t trust her, but because situations like this strained her and could expose her presence. From his perspective, if a mission necessitated her intervention, it was because he hadn¡¯t properly done his job.

    ¡®Don¡¯t thank me,¡¯ she told him. No one could have predicted a Hydrian cyberattack here. He had done nothing wrong, and lending aid to him or the crew was not a chore. She didn¡¯t do it because she expected thanks, and in this case, hardly deserved it. Especially not from him.

    Admiral Gives knew he was in no condition for a debate. This was not the time or the place, but he so badly wanted to have that argument. The ghost absolutely deserved his thanks, and the gratitude of the entire crew. If she had not intervened, there was a high likelihood that Crimson Heart¡¯s missiles would have sunk the ship. What had happened to him was simply not relevant to that. What had happened to him was nothing to lament, nothing to be ashamed of, only an accident ¨C one they would later discuss in depth, but something that could not distract them from the mission. ¡®I can take it from here,¡¯ he assured.

    I know. Even in this condition, he was twice the commander any of his predecessors had been. While she stood on the brink of falling apart, exhausted, upset and altogether terrified of what she¡¯d done to him, he would see them through. That kind of trust did not necessitate words, so she said nothing, only pushed the ship¡¯s central computer in the right direction.

    The mission plan dictated the ship would wait for supplies to be transferred and for the crew to return. No length of time had been specified for it to wait, and while there were ways to tell if the crew had returned, such as the level of carbon dioxide needing to be scrubbed from the air, it was easiest to wait for crew input. The computer¡¯s limited logic analysis programs could determine that, just as they could determine that the only way to receive crew input would be to no longer operate under the automated controls. A limited number of crew could make the necessary inputs under the Hybrid Controls, and thus, it was under that control scheme the ship needed to wait.

    Before the automated network printed its announcement, Admiral Gives could feel the old machine preparing to reroute power away from the central computer once again. He could hear the slight whine of the power grid altering its pitch. It was louder than it should have been. The damage lowered the efficiency of the grid, forcing more power to be pumped through the remaining conduits to meet the minimum requirements of every system. Even still, he could detect a slight warble in the sound, an instability rising in a slow crescendo. That would need to be one of the first things addressed, he decided.

    ¡°Eyes up,¡± he told the bridge crew. They looked at him oddly at first, but then the automated network reported its final directive.

    ¡®Defaulting to Hybrid Controls in order to fulfill mission parameters. Stand by¡­¡¯

    Jazmine stared at that message. The white text sat on a plain black screen as all the previous ones had. The ellipses blinked in a patient rhythm. Still, he could not help but tilt his head. ¡°I¡¯m no computer expert¡­ But is she supposed to do that?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Lieutenant Foster answered. Automated systems were not supposed to yield back to manual control. That was a safety preventing ships¡¯ capture and use by the enemy. In theory, the only way to re-engage crew control should be the overrides, an in-depth and lengthy procedure that required multiple crewmen with total familiarity of their respective systems. There was some debate on whether the command overrides, such as that invoked by the Admiral to put the ship on automatic, could be applied again to switch back. In this case, Admiral Gives had not applied his command codes. Still, ¡°You knew,¡± she said to him, studying his emotionless countenance. ¡°You knew she would do that.¡± Perhaps that was why he¡¯d initiated the automatic controls in the first place.

    Foster¡¯s words were not an accusation. No, that was coming from Galhino, who he could feel silently glaring at the back of his head. Foster, the Gargantia¡¯s former Lieutenant, was looking at him with tempered curiosity. ¡°I did write the mission parameters, Lieutenant,¡± he reminded.

    Foster bought that explanation. Shaking her head, she returned her attention to the tablet she¡¯d jacked into the computer network. ¡°That must be some quirk with the Singularity¡¯s systems then.¡± She began to scroll through outputs that she¡¯d collected throughout the cyberattack. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of anything like this. It¡¯s quite the peculiarity.¡±

    This ship has a lot of peculiarities, and that¡¯s putting it nicely, the Admiral thought. The crew didn¡¯t know the half of it.

    ¡®I heard that,¡¯ the ghost complained.

    ¡®You¡¯re Exhibit A,¡¯ he retorted. ¡®And that was a private thought.¡¯

    ¡®Stop thinking so loud then, idiot.¡¯

    He withheld a sigh, knowing he wouldn¡¯t win that argument, but pleased nonetheless to find some sass returning to the ghost. That was a good sign, but then, she was always more comfortable when the crew was in control. It freed up her attention for other things, he supposed. ¡°Sound off for critical systems,¡± he ordered the crew.

    ¡°Comms. are functioning,¡± Robinson answered. ¡°I have complete control back.¡±

    ¡°Helm is standing by,¡± Jazmine followed.

    ¡°Navigations fix is nominal. Standing by with emergency coordinates as ordered, sir.¡± The ship¡¯s navigator, Ensign Walters had calculated and distributed emergency coordinates to every Warhawk that had been launched on this mission. The Singularity, also FTL-capable, had coordinates to meet them at the rendezvous. However, if it came to an immediate retreat, the Arcbirds would be left behind. The small fighter craft did not possess FTL drives.

    ¡°Weapons are operational, Skipper,¡± Gaffigan said, a pleased smile rising to his face. ¡°That said, we cannot fire the main battery while docked with the base.¡± The recoil would break the docking connection, likely damaging both the pirate base and the ship.

    ¡°Sensors are receiving normal data,¡± Galhino added her part of the all-around.

    ¡°Hull and structural damage are moderate, sir,¡± Ensign Alba said, studying the ship¡¯s engineering functions. ¡°We have artificial gravity and all engines are operating within parameters, but the inertial dampeners¡­¡±

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    ¡°They cannot maintain the arresting field with the open airlock,¡± Admiral Gives finished for Alba as the young man dug deeper into the system readouts. With the fluctuations in the power grid, and a large amount of hull damage, that was no surprise.

    ¡°Correct, sir.¡± The hull helped shape the inertial dampening field, so some instability was expected in that system every time the ship took damage. The inertial dampening system as a whole was designed with redundancies to account for that. However, the open airlock was another type of instability on the system. The system was designed to handle one or the other, but not both an open airlock and sustained damage simultaneously. The instability would draw more and more power, eventually demanding more than the ship could provide, burning itself out in the process. ¡°Recommend we disable the dampeners for the time being,¡± Alba said.

    The Admiral nodded. ¡°Proceed.¡± It was always a risk to disable the inertial dampeners, but docked with the base, the ship was not expected to be making any sudden accelerations. Once the airlock was resealed, the system could be reactivated, no harm done.

    The inertial dampening system was one issue taken care of, but there was still another to consider: the Hydrian attack. Somewhere on that base or near it, there was an AI core belonging to a Hydrian scoutship, meaning the scoutship itself had likely been present at one point, even if it was no longer. Similarly the scoutship¡¯s crew, even if it was a crew of only one, might be here as well.

    That was a possibility Admiral Gives could not ignore. The Hydra were a far deadlier species in terms of natural evolution than humans were. They were stronger, faster, and even without weapons, had claws that could easily rend flesh and jaws that could snap bone. Their natural scales served as a rudimentary form of armor that only the sharpest martial weapons could pierce. If the crew encountered one on Crimson Heart¡¯s base, they were ill-equipped and unprepared. Casualties were likely, and it was all he could do to warn them.

    ¡°Get me an encrypted channel to all teams,¡± he ordered Robinson. Regardless of what suspicion it placed him under, the Admiral would not delay that warning.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the brown-haired Lieutenant said. Robinson adjusted her controls, making the necessary connections to the handset the Admiral usually used on the radar console. ¡°Ready.¡±

    Picking up the handset, Admiral Gives didn¡¯t waste a moment. ¡°All personnel, this is Actual. Be advised of Hydrian technology on Crimson Heart¡¯s base. All foreign technology should be treated as hostile and quarantined immediately. Additionally, there is a high probability that at least one Hydra is present on the base. I repeat, there is likely at least one Hydra present on the base. Proceed with extreme caution.¡± As he returned the handset to its rack, Admiral Gives could feel the gaze of the bridge crew.

    Galhino didn¡¯t waste a second. Once she knew the communication had been cut off, she began her interrogation. ¡°Hydrian technology? A Hydra on the base? What in the hell are you talking about? That¡¯s insanity!¡±

    The Admiral turned to face her, but stepped no further away from the flat, softly glowing top of the radar console. Exhaustion nagged at him, and he wasn¡¯t sure he trusted his feet or his balance to move more than an arm¡¯s length from the console¡¯s sturdy rim. He often kept a hand on it when he stood on the bridge, so doing so now did not look like an oddity. Usually, that contact was a choice. Right now, it was the only thing that kept the room from spinning as Galhino¡¯s raised voice bombarded his ears, disrupting his fragile sense of equilibrium. ¡°To the contrary, Lieutenant,¡± he managed to say, voice kept as calm by sheer habit, ¡°that is the logical warning to give at this time.¡±

    ¡°In what way?¡± she demanded, her curly hair bobbing furiously. ¡°All you¡¯re doing is spreading panic. No one has seen a Hydra since the War ended,¡± least of all here, in the middle of nowhere.

    She was right. It had allegedly been forty-seven years since humanity had last encountered a Hydra, but that count only included official and confirmed sightings. A criminal group like Crimson Heart may not have reported theirs, and it would not have been confirmed. ¡°The cyberattack that paralyzed the ship was of Hydrian origin.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no way you can know that,¡± Galhino argued. ¡°You haven¡¯t even looked at the code! Foster¡¯s the only one who has, and she didn¡¯t say anything about it being alien.¡±

    ¡°The attack pattern was Hydrian.¡± Granted, Admiral Gives hadn¡¯t known that until the ghost had told him, but that did not change the facts. The Hydrian Armada had thrived off of paralyzing cyberattacks during the War. They were known to modify their missiles in order to affect specific targets such as armor archetypes and electrical systems.

    ¡°Fine.¡± Galhino could believe that, but it was possible that Crimson Heart was only mirroring a Hydrian attack pattern. ¡°Can Foster prove it? If she can analyze the code and prove there was Hydrian involvement on our size of the Neutral Zone, then that¡¯s grounds for war. We¡¯d have to report that, members of the fleet or not.¡± If the Hydra were crossing the Neutral Zone, it could be in preparation for an attack ¨C one that humanity had long feared.

    War. Galhino said it like that was something easy, like it would be their duty to wage that war if the Hydra had encroached on their territory. Too many people thought that was how humanity would be saved. But no, the only way to spare humanity was to prevent that war altogether. Humanity was too fractured, too busy fighting amongst itself to even survive another war with the Hydrian Empire. The power that had spared them last time, that of the Angel of Destruction, no longer existed. It had been sealed away after humanity had brutally turned it on each other during the Frontier Rebellion.

    ¡°We will gather as much information as we can before we take further action,¡± Admiral Gives told her. Technically, in allowing the ghost to counter-attack that AI, he¡¯d already declared war, but there had to be some reason the Hydra were here, aiding a human pirate clan. Perhaps they¡¯d crossed the Neutral Zone on accident. Perhaps the scoutship had suffered a malfunction. The Hydra¡¯s intention may have been to start a war, but until that was known for certain, they had to negotiate for peace.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Lieutenant Foster said, looking up from the tablet in her hands, ¡°I cannot say whether this code is Hydrian right now, but if I were allowed to consult the Singularity¡¯s records, particularly those concerning the War, then I may be able to make comparisons and find commonalities that could prove one way or the other.¡± Truly, Foster believed the Admiral was right. She had not identified this code, and that meant it was likely alien. It looked and acted nothing like the cyberattack she¡¯d witnessed on the Gargantia, which had been perpetuated by the Manhattan AI. Manhattan¡¯s code had been designed to ascertain control, but this code had been designed to inflict confusion, trapping the systems in a paralyzed state where neither side could command them. ¡°However, there were components of Crimson Heart¡¯s attack that knew fleet protocol, sir.¡± If she had never compiled the suspicious code to analyze it, then its attack never would have been triggered.

    ¡°There is something more going on than an intentional Hydrian attack.¡± That much was clear. A mere scoutship would never have been sent to confront the Singularity. The Hydrian Armada well knew her capabilities. Still, if the Hydrian Armada was missing a ship for any reason, even by result of an accident, and they blamed it on any component humanity, that too, was justification for war. The Hydra did not care to differentiate between humanity¡¯s government forces, and humanity¡¯s criminal underworld. ¡°Lieutenant Foster,¡± Admiral Gives focused his attention on the young cyber analyst. She had not been with the ship long, but she appeared objective, and he was willing to trust her with this. ¡°The records you need are in the central computer. It will have the archival records on the Hydra¡¯s known cyberattack strategies, as well as those used by other factions. Make the comparison, report back what you find.¡±

    Foster began to pack up her equipment, yanking cords from the ports on the console she¡¯d been using. ¡°Aye, sir. While I¡¯m there, I¡¯d also like to check over the central computer for signs of tampering. I want to make sure it was not infected and that the anti-virus protocols it implemented on the other systems will keep us secure.¡±

    He was quite certain Foster would find nothing amiss with the ship¡¯s central computer, but there was no reason to refuse the request. ¡°Permission granted, Lieutenant. Notify the bridge of any issues immediately.¡±

    Her data pad and connection harnesses in hand, Foster headed for the door. Then she paused. ¡°There is one issue, sir.¡± She shifted nervously, something the Admiral first identified as fear, then recognized as embarrassment. ¡°I don¡¯t know where the central computer is housed. I mean I know that it¡¯s amidships near the archives, but I¡¯ve never been. I¡¯m sorry, I just¡­¡±

    The Admiral held up a hand to stop her flustered apology. ¡°I understand that you are new, Lieutenant.¡± He was asking a lot of an officer who had only been here a few days, barely surviving the battle that left her previous crew dead. She hadn¡¯t trained on the Singularity¡¯s equipment, yet she was the only cyber analyst they had on board.

    Looking around the bridge, the Admiral knew they were short-handed. They didn¡¯t have a spare crewman to walk Foster down to the computer. He could have given her the compartment number and sent her on her way, but he knew how confusing the ship could be for new crewmen. Every ladder, every corridor and every hatch looked the same. Given recent damages and fires, the painted labels probably weren¡¯t that reliable either. Foster would be under enough pressure as it was, so it would be best to not let her stress about reaching the computer. Of course, that said, only three people on the bridge were not currently manning critical systems: himself, Ensign Owens and Corporal Kallahan.

    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t himself to walk down to the central computer, given his constant lingering dizziness, nor did he believe it was a good time to leave the command center in case one of the teams did find a living Hydra on the base. Ensign Owens was similarly needed here. She was doing the work of several yeomen, fetching papers and connecting the requested feeds to the displays. She was also making an excellent point of avoiding eye contact with him, and that would need to be addressed. By process of elimination, that left Corporal Kallahan, standing guard by the door.

    ¡°Corporal,¡± he called the Marine over. ¡°Leave your sidearm and escort Lieutenant Foster to the central computer.¡±

    Kallahan unclipped his pistol holster from his belt and set it on the flat top of the radar console. Freshly polished, the visible parts of the weapon shined in the console¡¯s soft white light. ¡°Sir, you know I have to protest leaving the bridge unguarded.¡±

    ¡°It will not be unguarded.¡± Admiral Gives took the holster and started attaching it from his own belt, but his fingers were clumsy, and Kallahan took note.

    Kallahan kept his voice low, not wanting the rest of the crew to overhear. ¡°Are you certain you can handle this, given your¡­ condition?¡±

    There was a distinct disgust in Kallahan¡¯s voice, and it was clear what he considered the condition to be: a connection to a monster. One that had nearly killed him mere minutes. ¡°My condition is not your concern.¡± It didn¡¯t take perfect hand-eye coordination to fire a gun. That was why he¡¯d asked for Kallahan¡¯s sidearm, rather than relying on his trusty sword.

    The Corporal scowled and leaned closer, not bothering to keep his tone polite. He twisted it into an uncaring accusation. ¡°And what happens if you have another incident?¡± If Brent came to possess him once more? It was clear enough that Gives was still weak, and that the Angel was unstable. ¡°If the Angel cannot control that shadow, and you cannot resist it, then who will stop it from attacking the crew?¡± If Kallahan had recognized the danger just a second later, Galhino would be dead, impaled on the end of the Admiral¡¯s sabre.

    ¡°I suspect, armed with this sidearm, there would be very little you could do to stop me, even if you were here.¡± Every choice they made was a leap on faith and probability. This was no different. ¡°If it concerns you, then double-time it back.¡± His orders would not change. ¡°We need to know who perpetuated that cyberattack.¡± He trusted the ghost in that most of it was Hydrian, but even she had noted that parts of it were familiar with the fleet¡¯s standard cyber architecture. They needed to know how that was possible, and who those components of the attack belonged to. Foster could get those answers, but only if she had access to the ship¡¯s full records.

    Kallahan didn¡¯t move. ¡°You know this is a bad idea.¡± A few inches taller than the Admiral, he stared down at the man¡¯s unfailing calm. ¡°There is absolutely no reason you should trust that weapon.¡± It had nearly killed him, and Kallahan refused to believe the Admiral was unaware of that. ¡°After what it did to you¡­¡±

    ¡°She did nothing to me.¡± He was a little ill, and had a few old aches acting up, but he had not been permanently harmed.

    ¡°Great stars,¡± Kallahan cursed, ¡°you are a fool. That thing is a demon.¡± One humanity had needed to win the War, but one that now stood poised to be the damnation of all of humanity. ¡°If the Hydra are here, you know what they¡¯re after.¡± The War had been a struggle against extermination. That would forever be the Hydra¡¯s only goal. Humanity was an insect to them, an annoyance to be fumigated and killed. ¡°We taught the Angel to hate them, to hate everything they were so that we could use its power. So that we could live.¡± That hatred hadn¡¯t gone away, and every moment they stayed here, lingering in the presence of the Hydra, was another moment they inched toward losing control of the Angel. ¡°If that truly was Brent, if he has truly been hiding here for all these years, then there is a reason he surfaced today. Today, because for the first time in forty-seven years, we are in the presence of a Hydra.¡± The very enemy the Angel had been conditioned to slaughter without remorse. ¡°You may not want to acknowledge it, but you know as well as I do that if we find a true Hydrian presence here, the Angel of Destruction will seek to annihilate it at all costs.¡± The chunk blasted out of the asteroid belt was proof enough. ¡°You refuse to force that weapon to heel, so staying here is a mistake.¡± One that could cost them dearly.

    ¡°Corporal, I would strongly encourage you to watch. Your. Tongue.¡± The ghost was privy to every word of this conversation. Kallahan perhaps did not mean it hurtfully, but Kallahan also did not believe the ghost could be wounded by such things. ¡°Let us be frank for a moment,¡± the Admiral said coldly, ¡°the only reason I have permitted your presence aboard this ship is because you knew too much for me to let you leave. You do not like me, you do not trust me, and this is not the first time I have considered returning you to the frozen state in which I found you. Mind you, I will personally ensure you do not have a stasis pod next time you drift through the void.¡±

    Kallahan shivered, recognizing a cold promise in the Admiral¡¯s tone. The ice in his blue eyes had become dangerous. The Angel might be a threat, but on his own, the Steel Prince was not to be trifled with. He¡¯d executed allied officers before, and he was not afraid to do it again.

    ¡°So, Corporal, you are going to do exactly what I have instructed you to do.¡± He would escort Lieutenant Foster down to the central computer, then return to guard the bridge. ¡°And if I hear you utter one more word against the one I am sworn to protect, I will toss you out the airlock.¡±

    To think I defended you, Kallahan thought bitterly. ¡°You deserve whatever fate that demon¡¯s going to give you.¡± He had made his loyalties clear. Someday, perhaps today, the Angel would lose control and flay open his mind once more.

    ¡°Get off my bridge, Corporal.¡±

 Part 39.4 - NEGRIUM

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Arcbird R-864

    The light of the HR-14 System¡¯s red giant star vanished almost entirely the instant Adams entered the aperture. There was a ghastly crimson glow coloring the smooth texture of the stone tunnel for a moment, but not even the long wavelengths of red light could penetrate the depths of the bore to any meaningful degree, so a perfect inky blackness soon swallowed her whole.

    Adams had flown sorties in interstellar space. There was a darkness between the stars, undisturbed and vast. But still, there were stars. They were distant pinpricks that gave no meaningful illumination, stars that were perhaps long-dead by the time she saw their glow, but still, stars.

    The darkness of the hangar passage was something else. Perfect, oppressive, it felt almost fluid, filling the tunnel as her fighter pushed through. There was no end to it, and now, having lost sight of the entrance, there was no start. Black encased her, surrounded her, and weighed down upon her. In this flawless lack of visual stimuli, she suddenly felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic.

    A feverish chill swept across her skin, as she was already sweating beneath the rubbery material of her flight suit. She could hear nothing in this suit beyond the thrum of her own heart and the uneven rasp of her breathing. She could feel nothing beyond the slick texture of her suit gloves and the shape of the control stick in her grip. She could see nothing beyond the dim glows of her fighter¡¯s dashboard lights, colorful but just as steady as the darkness beyond. She suddenly resented the unscented and tasteless air recycled by her suit for depriving her of her remaining senses.

    Adams steadied herself by taking deep breaths and focused on the readouts of her proximity sensors. They would warn her before she impacted anything, though they were hardly needed since the tunnel was long and straight. Its surfaces were smooth, likely drilled out by laser. The superheating effect of the focused laser beams had sublimated the rock and melted the nearby parts that had not been directly targeted for removal.

    Taken by an instant of weakness, of simply needing to see something other than nothing, Adams steered toward the wall, close as she dared. The proximity sensors cried out a warning, a miserable wailing sound, but Adams ignored them and steadied her craft with the starboard wingtip only two feet from the edge of the tunnel.

    Still, she could see nothing, the darkness too thick, until she reached up an turned on her helmet lights. A short strip of small bulbs, her helmet lights weren¡¯t particularly bright. They were not meant to blind anyone she looked at, just generally help illuminate her surroundings. Handheld torches, movable lanterns and spotlights were used for work that required good light.

    In the absolute darkness of the tunnel, however, even the ill-focused light from the bulbs on her helmet stood out like a coastal searchlight cleaving across a churning sea. They were bright, bright enough to make Adams wary of being seen, but she was moving slowly, and still some distance from the end of the tunnel. Thus, she risked a look to the stone around her.

    Immediately, she almost wished she hadn¡¯t. The melted-then-hardened history of the rock gave it an almost glossy sheen, as if still wet. It had a subtle, almost rippling texture as she sailed past, like the throat of a giant animal salivating for its prey.

    No, Adams chastised herself, don¡¯t think of it that way. This asteroid wasn¡¯t going to swallow her whole and digest her alive. Even if the rock¡¯s texture looked organic, it was still a lifeless gray. The last creature that had nearly eaten her alive had been much more colorful, and she had seen the inside of its throat.

    Her helmet radio crackled, bringing the accented voice of Lieutenant Colonel Pflum to her ears. ¡°Fireball, you still with us?¡±

    ¡°10-4,¡± Adams confirmed. ¡°No sign of resistance so far.¡± At last, she passed over a metal ring implanted in the natural rock of the tunnel. It wouldn¡¯t have been the first, nor the last, but seeing it shattered the organic illusion of the hangar passage.

    Inserted smoothly in the stone, each metal ring contained a set of doors ¨C an aperture like the one they¡¯d powered open at the tunnel¡¯s entrance. Apertures segmented the tunnel at regular intervals, capable of sealing off small sections. All of the apertures were locked open now, but when they were enabled, they quickly opened and closed for passing ships like blinking eyelids. Air was faster to add or remove in smaller volumes, so some pressure would be added or removed in each interval, depending on the direction the ship was heading. This system allowed the hangar to be kept pressurized, if desired.

    Keeping a hangar at atmospheric pressure made it easier to do certain repairs and cargo transfers such as the transportation of livestock, but it could make other things harder. Air created the potential for fires during refueling, and on a base like this, it was generally safer to keep large spaces at vacuum. An explosive decompression from an intentional or wayward impact could crack the entire asteroid open like an egg.

    True to form, when Task Force Alpha had forced open the apertures in the tunnel by rewiring and powering the controller, it had not let out a burst of precious air. The hangar, as expected, had been at vacuum, simply sealed to prevent entry.

    Adams had volunteered herself to be the first through the tunnel and scout the hangar, which mandated she fly without lights. There was no way to know if the hangar would be guarded, but if it was, likely, it would only be guarded by pirates with environmental suits and small arms. Firing larger weapons risked damaging the apertures or docking equipment. Given that, if she flew dark, they wouldn¡¯t see her coming, and whatever battery-operated lights they put up to look for intruders would give them away.

    Adams turned off her helmet light, resigning herself to the inky darkness once again. A bit of her paradoxical claustrophobia returned, but it wasn¡¯t as strong, having seen the tunnel¡¯s surface.

    Another long minute brought Adams to the end of the hangar passage. She was blind to it. No light from emergency lanterns or torches bled into the stone bore, but the range on her proximity sensors was rising, the tunnel¡¯s diameter suddenly widening. The transition period was small, and the proximity warnings abruptly disappeared as her craft coasted into a much larger space.

    By the naked eye, Adams could see nothing. Even the passive sensors of her craft were blind. Deep inside the asteroid, there were no natural emissions to read the reflectivity of. Only her Arcbird¡¯s radar system, sending out regularly timed pings, painted some picture of her surroundings through its returns.

    The hangar was longer than it was tall. A generous ovoid volume that had been hollowed out. Dimples on the wall behind her represented the hangar¡¯s half-dozen exits, five of which were still sealed tight. The walls appeared smooth; the hangar chamber likely laser-bored as the tunnel had been. The main volume of the chamber was, however, not empty.

    Trusses, elevators and cranes rose upward, spaces for Crimson Heart¡¯s ships to land, move cargo or perform maintenance. The imaging of the radar wasn¡¯t particularly sharp, but she could identify the repeating structure of eight docks. Six lay in line with the tunnel entrances, and another two had been built on what was currently the ceiling, though when artificial gravity was applied in here, Adams supposed it was probably the floor. Large freight elevators connected the lower two docks to the walkways that ran between the other docks. The structure of those walkways indicated the exit from the hangar to the rest of the base was dead-ahead, in line with the main six docks. However, the exit was flush with the wall, so it made no appearance on her Arcbird¡¯s radar return.

    A few more irregular structures appeared in the radar return images, perhaps component or tool storage, but the details were too fine for the wavelength of her ship¡¯s radar band to resolve. Still, throughout the hangar bay, the radar picked up no movement. The radar displays highlighted moving returns as potential threats, but stationary returns were marked as passive obstacles, such as walls and docking strucutres.

    ¡°No sign of movement in the hangar,¡± Adams announced through her helmet radio. ¡°I¡¯m going bright to make certain.¡±

    ¡°Understood, Fireball,¡± Pflum answered. ¡°Be careful.¡±

    Taking a deep breath, Adams reached over to the auxiliary controls. Built into the side of the cockpit, they weren¡¯t meant to be used during combat. A heavy-G load would have made them almost impossible to reach, but now she was almost stationary, drifting very slowly toward the center of the hangar chamber. She flipped one of the switches, powering on the spotlight mounted below the nose of her craft. Often used to illuminate areas for repair work or to light landscapes for search and rescue missions, the spotlight was tremendously bright, nearly 100,000 lumens. It cut across the hangar¡¯s volume like the finger of a young sun, casting the structures into a crisp, white light.

    The sudden appearance of such a bright light certainly would have startled any pirates, prompting them to throw up their hands to protect their eyes, but nothing moved. Nothing leapt from the shadows, nor skittered away from the light. The spotlight only blazed a path through the hangar to light up one of the docks. Shadows fell beneath the trusses and scaffolding, giving the rock a distinctly striped appearance. The shadows shifted as she maneuvered her craft, adjusting to the angle of her light, but they were the only thing that moved.

    Adams was thorough. Before the incident with Squadron 26, she never would have been so thorough. She would have swept the hangar and called her comrades in. Now, desperate to not be caught by surprise again, she scoured beneath the docks, checked every one of the round room¡¯s infinite corners, and then checked them again.

    Still, there was nothing. Only the empty walkways and unmoving elevators, waiting to take freight loads up and down. One end of the hangar¡¯s ovoid shape had a pile of scrap. It looked to be ship parts, either defunct or waiting for attachment. She spied a few pipes in the midst, sticking out like needles in a pincushion. They were used. She could tell by the obvious corrosion along some of their lengths. Likely, those corroded pipes would have been sharpened to a point and welded to the hull of one of Crimson Heart¡¯s ships. Now, the pipes would sit defunct, like the junk they were, since Crimson Heart¡¯s entire fleet was littering the asteroid belt as debris.

    The opposite end of the hangar held the refueling station. There was room and support for two ships beside the pump ¨C a tall, gangly thing with exposed pipe and flexible tubing that could bend to reach the fueling port on various types of ships. A carousel rested behind the base of the pump, round and several stories tall. Each of its circular layers was sectioned off and stacked with metal drums of fuel. The carousel rotated on a central axis, bringing old fuel to the front for use, and sending new fuel to the back for storage. A crane hung over the carousel, set to lift the fuel drums into place alongside the pump.

    Most of the shapes on the carousel were standard drums, taller than they were wide. Painted in chipped red paint, they had clearly been emptied and refilled many times over as Crimson Heart drained the fuel stores of their victims and brought it back to power their own fleet. Warning markings were tattooed across the surfaces of the fuel drums for explosivity, flammability, skin irritation and other health concerns.

    However, there were other barrels seated on the carousel. Between the chipped red drums were shorter containers that glinted white like pearls in the mouth of a clam. They were shorter, wider and only marked with black stamping that Adams couldn¡¯t quite make out. She found herself fixating on it, squinting down from her cockpit as her Arcbird¡¯s light illuminated that corner of the hangar .

    ¡°Fireball to Task Force Alpha,¡± she hear herself say, ¡°you are cleared to enter. No sign of hostiles.¡± Still, she found it hard to tear her gaze away from those odd fuel barrels. There was something about them¡­ Something she knew was important.

    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

    As the rest of the team began to file into the hangar¡¯s entrance tunnel, Adams flipped on her ship¡¯s stabilizers, and felt them take over, steadying the fighter where it hung in the hangar¡¯s volume. Her Arcbird was equipped with mag-anchors and regular grapples that could grip nonmagnetic surfaces, but there was no need for any of those in the hangar¡¯s enclosed space. The stabilizers would keep the craft steady, so she reached up and undid the latches for her cockpit canopy. It slid back with ease, the tracks well-greased.

    The fighter-interceptor design of the Arcbird was meant to be light and fast. It ditched everything considered to be non-essential including life support equipment for the cockpit. By result, the Arcbird pilots always had to wear flight suits with individual air recycling packs. The suits were designed with slight differences from the traditional environmental suits that were worn on space walks. They had less radiation shielding, and a longer-range distress beacon, but the functionality remained similar overall. Both types of suit were meant to provide air and temperature control for the wearer.

    Adams was right at home in her flight suit. She wore it for every sortie she flew, though she supposed this one, like her ship, was new after the detonations of Squadron 26 had destroyed her last fighter and ruined her suit. It had barely, only barely, managed to keep her alive long enough for the search and rescue teams to find. All the same, this suit¡¯s silvery material felt the same as the other one had as she unclipped her acceleration harness and climbed up to stand on the ejection seat of her craft.

    Adams kept a steady hand on the rails of the canopy until she was ready to push off, then she let go, and leapt out into the volume of the hangar. The force of her jump caused the stabilizers on her ship to correct slightly, firing a brief burst of propellant from one of the maneuvering thrusters, but the ship held stationary as she drifted away from it.

    There was chatter on the radio, the rest of the team drawing near, but Adams had only one objective: a closer look. She needed to see those odd white fuel barrels up close. Something about them was important, extremely important. She just couldn¡¯t exactly remember what. It was right there, the memory almost tangible, but it was still hazy, slipping through her thoughts like fog.

    Taking the mag-anchor and tether off her waist, she activated it and tossed it onto the docking structure beside the fuel pump. After it grabbed onto the metal of the walkway on impact, giving her a line to pull herself that way.

    She landed easily, well-practiced in zero-G maneuvers, as all born and raised spacers were. Picking up her mag-anchor, she carried on to the fuel carousel, everything but that unimportant.

    The bright floodlight of her fighter shone down like an artificial sun. It gave her shadow a crisp definition as it mirrored every step she took. Stepping up onto the nearest section of the carousel, she leaned over the standard barrels. They were stamped with the material classification: Kronium, ship fuel of the standard grade. The origin and refinement date of the barrel had been marked when it was originally filled. The pirates had marked that out, even if they hadn¡¯t corrected it to the current fuel stored in the drum. Likely, they didn¡¯t know its origin, only that it was fuel, pumped directly from the stores of the ships they had robbed. Adams wasn¡¯t interested in that though, stretching over a few of the barrels to try and get a clearer view of the shorter one in the back.

    Adams could see the markings on the barrel just fine. They were plain and black, stenciled onto the barrel¡¯s iridescent white surface. The smaller drum was clean, perhaps unused. Or, perhaps it was made of a different material than the rest. Grabbing the electric torch off her belt, she flicked it on and turned it on the drum, scouring its surface for any other markings. There were none. The warning labels stamped and stickered onto the other barrels were absent from this one. All it had was the black stenciling around its midsection. But there was something about that¡­ Something about the barrel she knew she was missing, even as those markings stared at her. She could read them. Oh, she could read them just fine, but they had no meaning. Not to her.

    She didn¡¯t know how long she stared at that barrel, trying to fit the puzzle pieces together in her mind, but the next thing she knew a big hand came down on her shoulder. She jumped at the contact, utterly unexpecting it, and tore her gaze away to find Johnston behind her. ¡°You good, Cap¡¯n?¡± he asked.

    ¡°Yeah,¡± she shook her head, attempting to clear it. ¡°Just trying to make sense of this.¡± She gestured over to the strange fuel barrels, still lit by her ship¡¯s light and the torch in her hand. Truly, there weren¡¯t many of the white barrels. Only a handful among the regular Kronium fuel drums.

    Johnston stepped past her and took a look. ¡°Those markings¡­ I can¡¯t read ¡®em.¡± They weren¡¯t in Standard, the common language of the worlds.

    ¡°I can.¡± Perhaps that was what had confused her the most.

    ¡°What do they say?¡±

    ¡°Negrium,¡± but that word. It meant nothing to her. ¡°Just ¡®Negrium¡¯.¡± It was stenciled on each of those white barrels, over and over again, around their center in a band.

    ¡°Negrium,¡± Johnston echoed. ¡°You¡¯re sure?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the word was familiar. She knew that, but it just didn¡¯t have a meaning. However, if those barrels were being stored here with the other fuel, there was only one assumption to make. ¡°It¡¯s fuel.¡±

    ¡°Hydrian fuel,¡± Johnston corrected. Those markings had to be Hydrian script. While there were human worlds that spoke dead languages, the tech-monks among them, the centralized government insisted that all supplies be stamped in Standard lettering, even if there were other additional markings. Anything pulled off a transport ship should have been marked in Standard, and the pirates wouldn¡¯t have stolen anything that wasn¡¯t.

    I can¡¯t read Hydrian, Adams wanted to say. For humans, that was an exceptionally rare skill. The structure of the Hydrian language was so utterly different from their own that there were rarely direct translations. Learning to speak or read it usually involved fundamental, practical examples, rather than translation practice. Still, that confusion was secondary to the realization. ¡°What¡¯s Hydrian fuel doing here?¡±

    Johnston studied Adams furrowed brows through the faceplate of her helmet. ¡°Maybe you didn¡¯t hear.¡± The transmission may have not come through this deep in the asteroid, or perhaps she simply hadn¡¯t been listening, so distracted by the mysteries of these barrels. ¡°Actual called. Warned us there might be Hydrian tech on the base. Could be a damn livin¡¯ Hydra too. This only proves it.¡± Of course, Johnston had never doubted the Admiral¡¯s warning.

    The big Marine reached up to his helmet, switching from the local band to the wide-band that would reach their ships, and be relayed back to the Singularity. ¡°Base, this is Unit Beta-One. We have identified barrels of what appear to be Hydrian fuel in Crimson Heart¡¯s hangar, but there is no sign of any ship.¡± Even he could tell that the hangar was empty. All of Crimson Heart¡¯s forces had been dispatched to engage the Singularity. ¡°I repeat, there are barrels of what appears to be Hydrian fuel in Crimson Heart¡¯s hangar.¡±

    Stars, Adams stood there for a moment in utter shock. Hydrian fuel. Why was there Hydrian fuel on this base, the base of a known human pirate clan? It made no sense. And the repercussions¡­ She could feel herself beginning to shake. ¡°That¡¯s war, Johnston,¡± she said on the local band. ¡°If there¡¯s a Hydrian ship here, on our side of the Neutral Zone¡­ That¡¯s war.¡± From the day they began training, every soldier was warned about the Hydra and how utterly horrible the Hydrian War had been. They were told of the Argentinean Accords ¨C the treaty that ended the War and established the Neutral Zone between the Hydrian Empire¡¯s territory and that claimed by humanity¡¯s central government. From the day they began training, they were told that any violation of the Neutral Zone¡¯s boundary by either side was grounds to restart that horrible, horrible War.

    The importance of that training had faded over the years. After fifty years, there weren¡¯t any Hydrian War veterans left in the fleet. There weren¡¯t many left in the rest of the worlds either. Those trained soldiers had been pulled to fight for both sides in the Frontier Rebellion, and younger soldiers like Adams had spent their entire careers policing humanity¡¯s space, worrying about the threat other humans created. She had run the Neutral Zone patrol a few times, but it was one of those things that was more symbolic than anything. There as no way to constantly patrol such a large section of space. The ships that ran that patrol never expected to find anything. The idea of a Hydrian ambush had been banished years before Adams had joined the fleet.

    ¡°Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ we can do ¡®bout it now,¡± Johnston drawled. ¡°We stick to the mission. Let the Admiral handle the rest.¡± If there was a commander in the worlds prepared to handle a Hydrian incursion, then it was Admiral Gives. He hadn¡¯t served in the Hydrian War, but he was the most experienced commander humanity had.

    Adams couldn¡¯t bring any words to her lips, so she just nodded and followed Johnston back to where Pflum, Frenchie and Valentina were preparing.

    Butterfly had parked their ship on the flat surface of the nearest dock to the door. The dock had been designed for larger ships, so the little Warhawk only took up a fraction of it, leaving plenty of room for Task Force Beta¡¯s other ships to land as they streamed through the open hangar tunnel.

    Frenchie, the overzealous demolitions expert, had added a bandolier of grenades to his outfit. That was hardly surprising. His tendencies were well known to the entire crew, and he was nearly vibrating with excitement. Adams really tried not to pay attention to it until she saw Johnston picking up two tower shields. They were made of a clear material with a huge handle built into the interior side of their curvature. The shields weren¡¯t brought out often, too bulky to carry very far, but for small area actions where they expected trouble, they made an appearance. Pflum had one shield in his hands, and Valentina had one shield next to her as she worked on rewiring the airlock controls. The last of the shields was leaned up against the Warhawk¡¯s black hull for Adams to grab.

    She took it and joined the others at the door to the airlock where Pflum wordlessly handed her a regular combat helmet and a set of night vision goggles. There hadn¡¯t been much room in her fighter to carry that, so Pflum had brought them and the combat shields in the Warhawk.

    Adams attached the helmet and the goggles to her flight suit¡¯s belt. Her flight suit¡¯s helmet was good for holding air, and it had lights built onto it, but it wouldn¡¯t offer the bullet-protection of a combat helmet, nor would it mount the night vision goggles. Conversely, the combat helmet wouldn¡¯t seal with her suit and giver her air, so she would just have to switch helmets once they were through the airlock and into the pressurized part of the base.

    Kneeling beside the airlock controls, Valentina paused and turned to Pflum. ¡°You ready?¡±

    Pflum checked the readiness of the team around him: a spearhead of five including Adams, Johnston, Frenchie, Valentina, and himself. Butterfly would be staying with his Warhawk to assist in mapping the base and communications. ¡°Aye.¡±

    Valentina connected the last few wires, and the outer airlock door stirred to life, opening slowly. An emptiness waited within, but the airlock was large. The only access point to the hangar, all supplies necessary for or stored on the base had to move through this chokepoint.

    As they had strategized, the spearhead moved into position, aligning their shields in front of the seam on the next door. Routing the controls through a data pad, Valentina had set the doors on a timer, slipping through as the outer doors began to close. She took her shield and filled the remaining position on the group¡¯s edge. When the outer doors closed, sealing them off from the hangar, she announced, ¡°Cycling. Thirty seconds.¡± Air would be pumped into the lock from reserves, equalizing its pressure with the atmospheric standard that waited on the other side.

    Hoping to disorient any ambush waiting on the interior side of the airlock, the pressure cycle would be interrupted before completion. Valentina had set the doors to open while there was still a pressure differential. Air would be sucked from the surrounding corridors and surge into the airlock, the change hopefully causing discomfort and disorientation amongst the enemy.

    Adams braced herself behind the shield and saw the rest of the spearhead doing the same, generating a protected arc on their side of the interior door. With his massive size and strength, Johnston could easily hold up two of the shields, while Pflum, Adams and Valentina held one. Frenchie crouched behind them all, eagerly counting down the seconds as he pulled a grenade from his bandolier.

    The wait took an eternity, and yet the opening of the doors came altogether too soon. A gust of wind burst in through the smallest crack in the door. The large area of the shield caught it like a sail and tried to take off. It took all of Adams¡¯ strength and the grip of her mag-boots on the floor to keep it from being pushed back, but soon the gust silenced and the door opened a little wider.

    There were screams, shouts of pain and hatred, and then came the report of gunfire, a deafening noise that started to come faster and faster. The shield in front of Adams shuddered, taking one blow, and then another. She could feel it trembling in her hand, shaking off the kinetic energy of the impact, and then Frenchie stood. The door was finally wide enough, so he pulled the pin and tossed the grenade up and over. It flew over the shields in a graceful arc, sailing through gap in the doors and then clattered to the floor, rolling into the corridor beyond.

    ¡°Eyes,¡± Johnston called turning his helmet away as best as he could manage.

    Adams did the same, squeezing her eyes shut as she counted the seconds before the timer ran out.

 Part 40.1 - EAGLE EYES

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Crimson Heart¡¯s Base of Operations

    The definition of falling changed somewhat in zero-G. Orbits were one matter, where the constant free-fall around the curvature of a planet generated an imitation of weightlessness, but true zero-G was something different. Falling in such a case could simply be construed as moving feet-first. Usually, it was purposeful and controlled, given that one had to push themselves off in that orientation.

    Zarrey quite liked falling without gravity. It made it easy for his boots to grab onto surfaces, and he never had to lower his rifle, except to push off. But usually, landing was the more dangerous part, so once he leapt from the Singularity¡¯s airlock and sailed into the base¡¯s, he caught the frame with one hand and reoriented himself to glide feet-first.

    The airlock opened into a ¡®T¡¯ junction with one corridor directly ahead, leading deeper into the base, and two more following the outer edge of the base in opposite directions. After a moment of falling toward the center corridor, it was clear the path into the base was empty. Stretching deeply beyond his feet, Zarrey couldn¡¯t see its end. With infrared emission so slight from the ambient temperature of the walls, the goggles he wore could only resolve their detail to a certain distance. Beyond that, the walls dissolved into a green haze with only darkness beyond.

    Objects that emitted infrared passively such as the waste heat of wiring conduits or the body of a human glowed in various colors. The corridors, retaining ambient heat from the air, showed in a greenish tint. The color was lighter now than it had been passing between the Singularity¡¯s hulls, these walls warmer than the ship¡¯s freshly pressurized structure.

    In the junction ahead of him, Blosse and Yankovich glowed oddly in the goggles¡¯ color-toned display. Their pants and shirts were a yellow, tight enough to the skin for some warmth to bleed through, but the body armor and helmets they wore were a distinct blue, insulated and cold to the touch, as were their rifles. Their faces were orange, cut off by the goggles they wore, which covered their eyes in complex layers of hard-edged green and blue shapes. It was disconcerting to see something so mechanical where he expected to find eyes and eyebrows.

    Blosse¡¯s hair was particularly fascinating through the infrared lens. Normally it was a reddish-brown, long and wavy. Woven into one long braid, it wriggled behind her like a snake. Where it poked out from her helmet, it was orange, but ran in a gradient through yellow and into green at is end, matching the ambient temperature.

    Determining they had seen enough of the corridor ahead of them, Yankovich and Blosse grabbed the mag-anchors off their belts. Yankovich tossed his to the right, and Blosse to the left. The anchors stuck to the walls with a minor thud that made Zarrey wince as everything else was so perfectly quiet. But there was no response to the noise as the Marines used the anchors to tug themselves in a new direction.

    Landing softly, Blosse and Yankovich used their rifles to peer into their respective corridors. They found nothing down there sights, merely more of the same emptiness.

    Zarrey had expected as much, tossed his own anchor down and pulled himself to the edge of the path that led deeper into the base. He scoped it out once more, but nothing stirred in the depths. After power had been knocked out, the pirates had no way to know when or where the Singularity might dock, even if it was an easy guess she would. By result, their forces were probably guarding objectives, not airlocks.

    ¡°Quiet as nighttime on the damn moon,¡± Zarrey murmured. It was a good start. The rest of his task force wouldn¡¯t be in danger coming through the airlock. ¡°Beta team,¡± he radioed, ¡°come on over. It¡¯s time to party.¡±

    More armored figures came streaming through the airlock, moving in swift units They pushed into each hallway, comrades watching their back as they worked to secure the area around the airlock junction. Zarrey, Blosse and Yankovich covered the hallways until the other teams were set, then regrouped in a corner.

    From here, the boarding party would spread out and clear the base, reporting what they saw as they went. From the bridge, Galhino would be listening in and mapping the base using the Singularity¡¯s cartography programs. That way, they could mark supply targets and ensure the entire base was swept. Task Force Alpha would make similar reports, mapping the base from their entry point in the hangar. Markers would be placed at each hallway junction when the first team passed through to reveal which corridors linked back together. Those reports, coupled with the Singularity¡¯s sensor feedback, would generate a high-fidelity map of the base for the teams to navigate with as they moved supplies.

    For now, however, teams would split off at random and follow the available hallways wherever they went. Zarrey¡¯s team would be no different, but first, Zarrey unclipped the can of chemical paint and sprayed a big ¡®X¡¯ across the nearest wall. The paint showed up a nasty yellow under visible light, but it glowed like a pink neon sign in the sight of his infrared goggles. It would dim in a few hours as the chemical effect wore off, but by then the base should be completely mapped.

    Yankovich admired the mark for a moment, then turned to Zarrey, ¡°Which way, sir?¡± They were free to choose any of these three hallways.

    Zarrey only smiled, ¡°Deeper.¡±

    Yankovich sighed and straightened his posture. ¡°Yes, sir.¡± He gave a single nod to Blosse and she took up position right behind Zarrey.

    It was clear enough Yankovich had already instructed Blosse to escort him. Zarrey would have complained, but he knew he would have done the exact same thing and assigned his best Marine to escort the Admiral if he had been here. Luckily, it seemed the Admiral had the sense, or at least the preference, to stay on the bridge. And if the remainder of the mission went even remotely according to plan, he would stay there. There would be no need for the solo nonsense he¡¯d pulled on Midwest Station. Stars, Zarrey¡¯s head hurt just thinking about that fiasco. Let the Admiral deal with his ship¡¯s malfunctions for once. Serves him right.

    Yet, for the first time, it occurred to Zarrey that their grand plan to map the base might be ruined if the ship was stuck on automated controls. But almost as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the radio in his helmet crackled with an incoming transmission. ¡°All personnel, this is Actual. Be advised of Hydrian technology on Crimson Heart¡¯s base. All foreign technology should be treated as hostile and quarantined immediately. Additionally, there is a high probability that at least one Hydra is present on the base. I repeat, there is likely at least one Hydra present on the base. Proceed with extreme caution.¡±

    The transmission faded to an airlock that had gone perfectly silent once more. Yankovich looked around to orange faces he could only assume were going pale. ¡°Still want to go deeper in, sir?¡±

    Zarrey grinned even wider than he had before. ¡°Hell yeah.¡± No one had seen a living, breathing Hydra in nearly fifty years. If it wanted a fight, Zarrey would be happy to give it the old Marine hello.

    Yankovich reached up to hit the push-to-talk button for the wide radio band that would reach the ship and called it in. ¡°Base, this is Unit Beta-One. Airlock opens to a ¡®T¡¯ junction with three paths. We¡¯ll be taking the middle one.¡±

    ¡°Then I guess I¡¯ll be joining you.¡±

    Zarrey turned to find Sergeant Cortana drifting by behind them. She was easy enough to recognize by the way her curly hair escaped the containment of her helmet. She landed opposite his orientation, but staggered a bit on the impact, the attachment of her mag-boots to the wall too sudden. ¡°No, Sergeant,¡± Zarrey reminded, ¡°you were assigned a different role.¡± Thank the stars. Zarrey had not wanted her trailing his unit any longer than necessary.

    ¡°I¡¯m not staying here.¡± That was a stupid assignment for someone with her skillset.

    ¡°Those were the Admiral¡¯s orders,¡± and likely, for her, a sort of obedience test. Zarrey wasn¡¯t keen to find out what happened if she failed it. Sergeant Cortana had given them enough trouble as it was.

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake,¡± Cortana insisted. ¡°I¡¯m the Marine Sergeant on this ship. I¡¯m supposed to be leading the away missions.¡± That was her entire purpose being on the ship. ¡°This isn¡¯t even the first time I¡¯ve hunted pirates!¡±

    ¡°The first being when you were a Corporal and smoked out the media piracy ring selling illegally copied news broadcasts on Tribune?¡± Yeah, Zarrey thought, watching her recoil, I read your file. He wasn¡¯t a clueless brute. He¡¯d been the Steel Prince¡¯s second-in-command for fifteen years. ¡°I don¡¯t care if there was a gunfight or not. That was planet-side.¡± She had served planet-side her entire career. She wasn¡¯t comfortable moving in zero-G and it showed. ¡°This may not be your first time hunting pirates, but it''s our fiftieth.¡± If one counted every gang that stole goods as a pirate, then there were a lot of them in the worlds. ¡°Crimson Heart isn¡¯t the biggest we¡¯ve smashed.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m a great shot, Colonel.¡± This was unfair. ¡°Just leave him in my place,¡± she said. ¡°He¡¯ll do just as well.¡± How was she supposed to become one of the crew if she kept getting singled out?

    Zarrey followed her outstretched finger to Santino, the rookie of Yankoich¡¯s unit. Cortana had proven her skills against him when she¡¯d knocked him out to show Command¡¯s inspector the damaged support in the Singularity¡¯s starboard bow. Still, Zarrey trusted Santino over her any day. The kid was young, and he wasn¡¯t the best in the sparring ring, but he was loyal. ¡°Sergeant, you may not see it, or like it, but you are being given a chance to prove your loyalty.¡± She had been assigned to guard the airlock. With Task Force Beta spreading out from this point and sweeping the base, nothing should reach the airlock, but if something did, she would be the single line of defense.

    It was a sacrificial position. If the pirates counter-attacked, then she would be the canary in the coal mine. Her single purpose in that instance was to get out a warning to the ship so those on the bridge knew to break the airlock connection before the pirates could board. Anyone could fill that position, but the Admiral had assigned it to her ¨C an offering of trust for her to earn. Any Marine might feel nervous about that assignment, but most would also be honored. That position singularly allowed them to protect their ship, their home.

    But it figured Cortana did not see it that way. ¡°You¡¯re staying here, Sergeant. And if you want to have a ride out of here, don¡¯t fuck it up.¡± With that, Zarrey returned his attention to Yankovich. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±

    Yankovich and Santino leapt off into the waiting corridor without another word. Zarrey followed, Blosse right behind him. They landed together further down the hall, Cortana wise enough not to follow. The multicolored figures of another unit sailed by above them, weapons at the ready. Leaping and tugging with mag-anchors was far quieter than the stomping of mag-boots, so that was how teams chose to move. ¡°I almost feel bad for her,¡± Yankovich said, watching them go. ¡°She didn¡¯t choose to be here.¡±

    ¡°But she did choose to stay,¡± Zarrey reminded. Admiral Gives had offered the entire crew the chance to leave before he split from Command, Cortana included. That had been her chance to return to her home, to Command. Perhaps to prove her bravery, Sergeant Cortana hadn¡¯t taken it. Maybe she hadn¡¯t known the reasoning behind such an offer. Maybe she hadn¡¯t thought it would be permanent. Or maybe she had been afraid to come forward. Whatever the reason, she was now stuck aboard the Singularity. The rest of them had chosen that fate, wanting and willing to stay aboard the ship that was their home.

    For many of the crew, the old Singularity was the first place that had truly been a home to them, the first place they had felt safe. Drafting his crew the way he had ¨C through voluntary transfers ¨C Admiral Gives had created one of the most loyal crews in the entire fleet, if not to him, then to his ship. Cortana, who neither liked, nor wanted to be on the ship was an odd exception.

    ¡°I just hope she does her job,¡± Zarrey said. On this mission, Cortana held a critical position, whether she believed it or not. If pirates somehow made it past the airlock she was guarding in mass, they had a substantial chance of taking the ship. And with so many of the crew gone, they would have a hard time taking it back.

    But, of course, that assumed the old battleship would allow it, and in Zarrey¡¯s experience, she didn¡¯t have much patience for strangers, especially those that meant ill toward her crew. The Singularity had a stronger personality than one expected from a ship. Zarrey always figured it was age. She¡¯d seen a lot, and had many scars and stories. It made her cantankerous, sometimes problematic, but toward crew, ultimately protective. In all her years, none of the Singularity¡¯s crew had died in an accident.

    Malfunctions and equipment failures had injured a few, but had never taken a life. However, that protection extended only to the crew. People had been found dead aboard the Singularity. Often, investigation revealed that they were assassins, saboteurs and sometimes radical separatists. Their causes of death varied, but tended toward asphyxiation, as if they had become trapped when their plan went awry. A few of Command¡¯s boarders in the Wilkerson Sector had been found dead the same way. The crew had blamed it on battle damage trapping them, but hadn¡¯t bothered with an investigation. Not even they liked to acknowledge the vicious air the ship sometimes held, nor the rumors of her curse ¨C the evil spirit that haunted the corridors as an omen of death.

    That part of the machine was perhaps more real than her protective aura. Zarrey had recently seen that ghost, as had others. As sightings became more common, there was a growing sense of foreboding amongst the crew, but Cortana had fared the worst. She¡¯d seen the ghost multiple times, and allegedly become its victim during her failed repair training. Hopefully, that wasn¡¯t a sign of what awaited the Sergeant today.

    Zarrey bent over. ¡°Let¡¯s get moving.¡± Contemplating the Sergeant¡¯s destiny would get them nowhere. As he made ready to push off, his hand brushed the rectangular casing of a device built into the wall. No, he realized, recognizing the tubular shapes that ran along the rectangle¡¯s length. They were a yellowish color, slowly cooling to ambient temperature. The casing, thin and shallow was warm against his fingertips. It was a light fixture, one of many that formed a dashed line running in front of and behind him. That made this the ceiling, not a wall, though it hardly mattered without gravity.

    Yankovich and Santino leapt again into the darkness, knowing the path had already been swept by the team ahead of them. Zarrey disconnected his boots and pushed off with his hands, falling feet-first into the void. Blosse followed behind, pushing off the same way.

    They fell for a minute, moving slowly, before the hallway ended. Zarrey rode it out until the end, and gently landing with Blosse. They sighted their rifles and checked for movement, Yankovich and Santino doing the same from another surface above. Still, nothing shifted, unsurprising considering the bright pink ¡®X¡¯ resting beneath Zarrey¡¯s feet.

    ¡°This is Unit Beta-One. We¡¯ve reached the next junction. Two corridors.¡± He pulled the compass from his pocket, calibrated to the same navigational standard used aboard ship. South was toward the galactic center, North away. ¡°One path East. One path West.¡±

    ¡°10-4, Beta-One. Beta-Three took the West path. Recommend you take the East,¡± Robinson answered.

    ¡°Understood, Base. Proceeding East,¡± Zarrey confirmed.

    With no further prompting, Santino and Yankovich pushed off, rifles held tense and at the ready. Still, it was several long minutes of the same, empty, prefabricated surroundings before they found anything interesting. And even that was just a door ¨C a little, narrow door in a stretch of hallway that had no other entrances or exits.

    ¡°I swear, if this turns out to be a supply closet¡­¡± Zarrey muttered under his breath as the team took up positions to cover the door and the hallway. When Santino yanked door open to reveal a set of jostling emergency suits, Zarrey barely withheld his frustration. ¡°This shit isn¡¯t even worth stealing.¡±

    Yankovich shoved the suits aside, but the closet was shallow, no signs of a hollow back or hidden door. There was only the suits. There were four of them, all the rubbery and ill-fitting standard that were stored upon many habitats. They had probably come with the pre-built modules the base was built from. The four, round helmets were sitting on a shelf above where the body of the suits hung. The matching boots were on the ground, resting atop the metal case of a survival kit that would contain rations, repair patches and other necessary emergency items. This wasn¡¯t the massive food store they had come expecting to find. So far, Zarrey had seen no sign of that, but perhaps the teams that had gone in other directions were having better luck.

    ¡°If there are suits like that stored here, that means we¡¯re nearing the edge of the base again,¡± Blosse observed, voice quiet. ¡°Perhaps that¡¯s why these hallways are so long and sparse.¡± She¡¯d been on space habitats before. These pre-built mining modules were plenty familiar. It wasn¡¯t normal for the larger units that would have living spaces, working spaces or storage spaces to be so spread out. This Western path seemed to be an isolated off-shoot of the main structure.

    ¡°Maybe,¡± Zarrey supposed. All the same, he reached up and called it in. ¡°Base, Unit Beta-One. We¡¯ve found a storage closet for emergency suits. No other junctions off this hallway so far.¡±

    ¡°10-4, Beta-One,¡± Robinson answered from the ship. She sounded hurried, but then, taking reports from this many teams would strain anyone¡¯s capability, no matter how organized the venture, or how good the radio discipline.

    Santino put his hand on the edge of the storage locker and began to close it. The hinges let out a slow, agonizing screech. Zarrey winced at the noise, the tone of it desperately making him want to cover his ears, though his protective helmet already muted some of the sound. ¡°At least Singularity knows when to be quiet,¡± he grumbled and saw Yankovich nod a slight agreement.

    This corridor had been so empty that it did not immediately occur to Zarrey that someone else may have heard the noise until a solitary voice echoed down the hallway in reply. ¡°H-hello?¡± it called out timidly. ¡°Is anyone there?¡±

    Shit. Zarrey snapped his head around and sighted his rifle toward the sound of the voice. The other team members did the same, but nothing approached. The voice came once more, no closer than it had before. ¡°Hello?¡±

    Yankovich signaled for the team to form up, then pushed off toward the voice. It took them even further down the sparse hallway they had been traveling. The voice fell silent as they moved, but its owner wasn¡¯t hard to find. He stood in the nodule at the end of the hallway. It was a prefab part meant to be a junction between three other units. The ports for the attaching hallways were evenly spaced, splitting off at oblique angles. However, one of the ports had nothing attached to it. It was sealed off ¨C the edge of the base. A window beside that port clearly showed that there was only asteroid beyond.

    A man stood in the light of that window. It was the only natural light that Zarrey and his team had seen enter the base, a bright glowing spot in his infrared goggles. He was shivering, not cold, but in terrified shudders. He looked young, his gangly body still that of a teen. A patchy mustache of wiry dark hair graced his upper lip, a clear attempt to appear more mature than he was.

    Zarrey wasn¡¯t much in the business of pitying his adversaries, especially pirates, but this one¡­ He felt too young. Yet, every member of Crimson Heart was here willingly. They would not have tolerated disloyalty amongst their ranks. Perhaps the kid stole to live, or perhaps he was greedy. It mattered not.

    Yankovich reached back to place his rifle onto the magnet of his back armor. It stuck there, freeing his hands to draw his side arm. He raised it and primed it to deal a nonlethal electric charge. The man ahead of them might be a pirate, but he was alone. The base¡¯s sudden and complete darkness had obviously terrified him. He had crawled his way into the natural light of the window and stayed there. He didn¡¯t look to be a threat, and the Singularity¡¯s boarding party had not been ordered to execute the pirates on sight.

    Yankovich felt his sidearm charge up, but before he could fire, Blosse stopped him. ¡°Wait. Look at what he¡¯s holding.¡±

    In the hands of that figure, there was a briefcase. A white rectangular case with a big handle. It meant nothing to Yankovich. It certainly didn¡¯t look like a threat. ¡°I don¡¯t recognize it.¡±

    He prepared to take aim once more. But Blosse reached out, her arms long and gangly, a sign of being raised on a low-grav colony. ¡°No,¡± she said more forcefully. ¡°He¡¯s carrying a medical kit.¡±

    ¡°A medic.¡± Zarrey realized. Most soldiers considered it a form of bad karma to shoot a medic, pirate or not. Only this man, really a kid by the look of him, didn¡¯t look old enough to have formal training. Though, perhaps, that was what Crimson Heart had offered him: service in exchange for the money to go to medical school. It hardly mattered at this point, but it still struck Zarrey as odd. This seemed to be a very isolated section of the base. ¡°Why in the hell is there a medic out here?¡± he wondered, a little too loudly.

    The medic beyond whipped his head around. ¡°Who¡¯s there?¡± he called, squinting into the darkness. But, standing in the sunlight filtering in through the viewport left his eyes poorly adjusted. He still couldn¡¯t see anything, so he raised his voice. ¡°I know someone¡¯s there!¡±

    ¡°Fuck.¡± Medic or not, they couldn¡¯t have this man shouting. The team may have swept everything in the corridor behind them, but they had no idea what lay ahead. Flicking the safety on, Zarrey slammed his rifle onto the magnet on his back armor and drew his sidearm. The augmented vision of the infrared goggles made it easy to see the medic drawing in another intake of breath to shout. Zarrey didn¡¯t give him the chance. The nonlethal shock of his sidearm took less than a second to charge, and then he fired.

    The medic collapsed, or would have, had there been gravity. One moment he was cowering against the wall, and the next drifting limply through the air. There was no beam to trace. The stun attack of the gun had moved at the speed of light, effectively invisible at this range. The only indication the weapon had discharged was the noise: strange electronic fizzle, and then the briefest whiff of ozone that came from the plasma round superheating the air.

    Zarrey didn¡¯t waste another moment. He shoved himself off the nearest surface and sailed to the medic¡¯s side, Yankovich moving with him. They checked the entrance of the only other corridor attached to the junction, but there was little to see. Unlike the previous corridors, this one wasn¡¯t level. It sloped steeply down into the asteroid, cutting off the view down its length.

    Unable to see and secure it, Zarrey and Yankovich grabbed the medic and his kit, then dragged him back out of the junction into safer territory. Yankovich patted him down and inspected him for injuries. ¡°He¡¯s unarmed. Doesn¡¯t seem injured.¡± He was just very soundly knocked out. His shirt had a slightly singed spot from the impact of the sidearm¡¯s plasma discharge. The thumbnail-sized area of skin below that might have a slight burn, but that was generally considered to be less harmful than a bullet wound.

    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    ¡°Good.¡± Zarrey said. ¡°Bad luck to hurt a medic.¡± Pulling a plastic tie from his pockets, Zarrey grabbed the man¡¯s hands and bound them together. Then he grabbed the man¡¯s shirt, and ripped a long piece of the hem, quickly tying it around his mouth to mute any screaming that might occur when he woke.

    ¡°Uh¡­¡± Santino¡¯s voice came from behind, uncertain. ¡°I¡¯m not so sure this guy was a medic after all.¡±

    Zarrey turned to see Santino had popped open the medical kit. The case was standard, but its contents were not. ¡°What the fuck?¡±

    Santino held the syringes up. They were enormous. Glass, too. Yet, they were empty. And the needle on the end¡­ It clearly wasn¡¯t meant for a person, too long and too wide. There were gloves, thick enough to belong to a pressurized environmental suit, though they lacked the sealing rings on their ends and were long enough to reach the wearer¡¯s elbows. There was a gun in there too, not a real one, but a dart gun. Zarrey picked it up, eyeing what it was loaded with. ¡°Tranquilizers. Enough to knock out a damned herd of buffalo.¡± He looked back to the so-called medic, all pity lost for knocking the kid out. ¡°Bind him up in the closet, it¡¯ll mute the noise. Radio in his position, then we¡¯ll move deeper in.¡± A team would come in behind them and collect the pirate.

    ¡°Aye.¡± Yankovich and Santino grabbed the unconscious man by the arms, and dragged him off into the darkness. They returned a few minutes later empty handed, and without another word, Yankovich took point and pushed onward.

    The only path ahead curved left and then sloped steeply downward. The pre-fabricated walls of the base went through a few gaskets and sealing materials before it settled on rock ¨C the natural grayish tan rock of the asteroid. There were stairs chiseled out of the material, but it wasn¡¯t magnetic. The team¡¯s mag-boots became useless, so they began bouncing, pushing off the floor and ceiling of this tunnel in oscillating movements.

    They moved quickly, a little too quickly. From the rear, Blosse saw something. ¡°Wait!¡± she called, but it was too late. They had already tripped the sensor on the ground, and a shielded, battery powered turret swung out of an alcove on the ceiling, its barrel spinning up to firing speed. It was anchored to aim down the corridor ahead, to stop people from exiting rather than entering, but none of the Marines were given time to contemplate that. Everyone except Blosse had already stepped into its firing window, and it had taken aim at the nearest target, the last to cross unwittingly into its threshold: Zarrey.

    Instinct kicked in almost immediately. Fight or flight. And, Zarrey had never been much good flying. He grabbed his rifle, swinging it upward to take aim, to fire back at the thing that would be firing at him in the next millisecond.

    A heavy weight slammed into his side the instant the turret began to fire, sending him crashing into the wall. The rigid armor of his pauldron absorbed none of the impact, jarring his shoulder with every pound of force. Hands wrapped around his torso and a helmet bashed into his ribs, but Zarrey could only watch in horror as Santino shuddered under the impacts of the turret rounds in his place.

    One, two, three times his body bucked, before Zarrey could get a hold on his body armor and yank him clear. Robbed of its nearest targets, the auto-turret turned to Yankovich, but by then, he¡¯d had time to draw his weapon and take aim. He fired a triple-burst from his rifle, deafening in the small stairwell, and the turret fell dead, limp on its mount.

    ¡°Beezlenac,¡± Zarrey found it in him to curse. Desperately rolling Santino over he was relieved to feel that the gloves on his hands were not yet sticky. ¡°You alright?¡± he asked, finding Santino¡¯s face. The young Marine¡¯s goggles had been knocked ajar and his eyes looked distinctly unfocused as he heaved in uneven breaths.

    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± he managed to say, voice breathy. ¡°Armor caught it.¡± The impact still struck like a freight train, and would leave a nasty bruise, but it kept his innards inside.

    Thank fuck, Zarrey thought. ¡°That was damn stupid, kid.¡±

    ¡°All due respect, Colonel,¡± Yankovich said, returning to help Santino right himself, ¡°none of us want to inherit your job.¡±

    ¡°Fair enough,¡± Zarrey told him. Being the Steel Prince¡¯s second-in-command wasn¡¯t exactly fun. Or easy. In fact, Zarrey sometimes wondered if Admiral Gives purposefully made it difficult.

    Santino¡¯s breathing began to steady, and he pulled his goggles back into place. ¡°Sorry about the shove, Colonel.¡±

    ¡°Do you really think I care?¡± Santino may very well have saved his life. There was never a guarantee the armor would hold against an attack. ¡°Now,¡± Zarrey said, turning his attention to the remains of the turret, ¡°What the hell was that about?¡± It didn¡¯t surprise him to find that Crimson Heart had lain traps, but he¡¯d expected mines and trip wires, hell, alarms. Not a damned auto-turret guarding things leaving this part of the base.

    ¡°No idea,¡± Yankovich said unhelpfully as he stepped back into position as the front of the group. He had barely made it there before he saw something start bounding up the stairs. ¡°Safe to say they heard us though!¡± He raised his voice to be heard over his rifle as he fired off a shot.

    It missed. That should have been Zarrey¡¯s first clue that something wasn¡¯t right. All the Singularity¡¯s Marines were crack shots. They had practice, and not just on the firing range. But, sure as the sun, he heard the shot hit the stone of the stairwell¡¯s walls.

    It was in the way it moved, twitches so quick and odd, it was hard for Yankovich to get a bead on it. He fired three more times, all misses, as Zarrey raised his own rifle. He cracked off his own shot, but the quivers and twitching of the shape, just seemed to bend around the attack. He was so focused on it that he didn¡¯t see the moment where five more similarly sized shadows emerged behind it. ¡°What the fuck?¡± Zarrey said, watching them undulate and twist down the hallway, moving far faster than the Marines ever had.

    Blosse fired, her rifle emitting a thunderous clap. Zarrey could almost feel the pressure wave washing out of the barrel. She didn¡¯t miss. The bullet hit dead center on the undulating shape as it darted between the walls, emitting a definitive clang that every spacer knew to be metal on metal. The force of the impact pushed the shape back, but didn¡¯t dislodge its grip on the stairwell¡¯s stone walls.

    The shape quickly righted itself. ¡°That almost hurt,¡± it said, hissing and crackling as it turned the nub on its center mass toward Yankovich, who was closest.

    ¡°Augs,¡± Yankovich realized, seeing the warmth of flesh and the coldness of mechanics grafted together on what had once been a face. With four spiderlike appendages, and that nub on the central body mass, he should have realized it sooner. No matter how those limbs moved, that was still the right number to have once been human.

    Augs, or augmented human, was the nice blanket term. It wasn¡¯t the one Zarrey would have picked. ¡°Fucking cyborgs.¡± Six of them, at that.

    The speakers of the lead cyborg hissed and cracked, its implanted voice box failing to replicate a laugh. Then it lunged, moving far faster than any of the Marines could react and wrapped itself around Yankovich, and sending them both spinning and crashing into the wall.

    Zarrey fingered the safety on and threw his rifle onto the magnetic backplate of his armor, freeing his hands to help pry the aug off Yankovich. However, before he could even push off in that direction, another aug hit him in his side, sending him rolling toward the stairs. A muffled cry told him Santino had been hit on his left, and another aug sailed past above, clearly intent on attacking Blosse.

    ¡°One of these soldiers is a Colonel,¡± the lead aug said. ¡°Find out which. Kill the rest. The Baron will want a bartering chip.¡± The aug¡¯s electronic voice box completely unstrained by wrestling with Yankovich. It was a voice of prerecorded sounds, not dissimilar from the voice of the Singularity¡¯s automated protocols, which never changed its tone, regardless of the situation.

    The cyborg on him moved fast, almost faster than Zarrey could track it, and certainly faster than he could respond. It wrapped its spidery arms tighter around him and flung him into the stairs with a force and angle that would have cracked his skull, had it not been for his helmet. Even with that dulling the impact, Zarrey saw stars, body slow to respond.

    Distantly, he saw the warm colors of one of the other Marines entangled with the veiny appearance of one of the cyborgs. Warm body fluids pumped through cool mechanics, presenting the cyborgs as twisted creatures of red and indigo in the tones of his infrared goggles.

    Head lolling, Zarrey could only imagine how fleshy and bulbous he looked in comparison. He could feel the flush of shock and pain rising to his cheeks, probably lighting him up like a firefly in the infrared spectrum. The augs were probably looking in that spectrum too, which meant the rank markings stamped on his armor wouldn¡¯t be seen ¨C they were designed to be read in the visible light range. If the cyborgs hadn¡¯t been looking, they may never have noticed such a high-ranking soldier, but likely, the Marines had been overheard.

    Augmented humans were renowned for their heightened senses. Sight, hearing, even smell could be vastly improved through implants, as could traits such as strength and reaction time. There were reasons people chose to receive implants, but it wasn¡¯t always a choice. Sometimes circumstances forced it, but the reception of cyborgs varied greatly throughout the worlds. In some nations they were worshipped, in others feared, and in more, shunned.

    These cyborgs, the way they moved, the number of implants they had, they were likely victims of accidents or genetics, people who adopted augments to gain or regain independence. Their level of augmentation did not always take well on a voluntary basis, but those with no other option adapted. In such cases, the line between man and machine blurred.

    There was very little human left in the one pinning Zarrey down. A band of optics covered the eyes, not goggles like the Marines¡¯, but a block of implanted sensors and scopes tied to the optic nerve. A box was grafted where the mouth would have been, lips erased by its presence as it was cradled, caught in perpetual half-emergence by a jaw forced slack. The implants were high-quality. They were fitted to the remaining contours of the face they¡¯d been grafted to, and there was no sign of machine rot ¨C the festering infection that occurred when implants were rejected by the host body.

    Those observances came to Zarrey in something like a daze, relevant but not urgent. He laid sprawled beneath the cyborg as it raised a hand, or what should have been a hand. An artificial limb took over below the shoulder, a mechanical apparatus affixed to its end. Intricate gearing enabled the manipulator to be swapped out and stored, but the affixed one wasn¡¯t something easily recognizable. It was narrow and long, a spike attached to a piston. As the aug slammed it towards him, he recognized it to be a climbing piton, one that hammered into its surfaces with the fluid pressure of the piston driving it. Hammering in for purchase on nonmagnetic material¡­ That was how the cyborgs had moved so quickly. All their limbs had a perfect grip, even on the smoothest stone.

    Abruptly recognizing the aim of the spike coming down onto his forehead, Zarrey jerked his head out of the way and the piton carved across the curve of his helmet and punched into the stone. The hiss of pneumatics sounded alongside the impact, driving it in. Splinters of rock flew out, embedding themselves into Zarrey¡¯s neck. He couldn¡¯t help but groan.

    The aug yanked the piton out. ¡°Thought I¡¯d knocked you out, Pretty¡­ Boy.¡± There was an awkward pause between those words, as if the producer of the cyborg¡¯s voicebox had never anticipated they be strung together.

    ¡°Not quite,¡± Zarrey ground out, finding the fresh pain of rock scratching along his neck had brought clarity back to his thoughts. ¡°And, sorry,¡± he told the aug, a woman, by the feminine sound selected for its voicebox, ¡°you¡¯re really not my type.¡±

    Zarrey¡¯s rifle was pinned below him, and his hands crushed against his chest, unable to reach the sidearm on his hip. One of the aug¡¯s long, winding arms had wrapped clear around him, adding more and more pressure. Without his armor, he was certain the force would be straining his ribs.

    Above him, the aug, leaned down, not breathing, but mechanically respirating a stale air onto his face. It seemed to scan him, studying every contour of his face, no doubt sharing that data amongst its colleagues. ¡°Those goggles are in the way, Pretty¡­ Boy.¡± The aug brought her manipulator forward, the mechanics of its limb storing the piton away and clicking a tri-fingered grappler into its place.

    The grappler¡¯s fingers were long and narrow, clearly meant for delicate work, though perhaps it was the most human limb the aug maintained. Its metal glinted a dark icy blue as it reached toward Zarrey.

    ¡°Again,¡± Zarrey told her, ¡°you¡¯re really not my type.¡± He punctuated that by using the only movement he had: bringing his head forward with all his strength and bashing his helmet into the aug¡¯s face.

    Impact brought a satisfying thud, and the aug pulled back a little, perhaps surprised, but immediately tightened her grip once more. The manipulator of the limb wrapped around Zarrey grabbed onto his helmet and yanked it back, straining his neck and exposing his throat. Clicking its free manipulator, the aug reached forward once more. ¡°Did you really think that would hurt me more than you?¡±

    ¡°One could hope,¡± Zarrey replied, inwardly cursing. Fuck, fuck, fuck. If his goggles went, it would be clear who he was. Age was a strong indicator of rank, and he was clearly the oldest Marine here.

    As the aug¡¯s limb moved, it opened up more space between them, just enough to shimmy his hand down to the pocket on his chest armor where he¡¯d stored his melee weapons. They were small, maybe an odd choice where most Marines favored swords, spears or axes. But Zarrey was a simple man. He didn¡¯t mind getting his hands dirty.

    He slipped the trench spike on, wriggling his fingers into the holes, then began to feel out the body pinning him down. The aug felt it and let out something resembling a purr. ¡°Find something you like, Pretty¡­ Boy?¡±

    Fucking gross. It figured someone with a body so augmented might take exceptional pride in it, but Zarrey had never liked women and never understood machines, so this might as well be his nightmare bride. Still, he smiled. ¡°Just checking out my options.¡±

    Inching his hand upward, he found it, something soft and squishy. It was vaguely round. For all he knew it may have been her breast, but he couldn¡¯t see, nor did he care. All that mattered was that it felt organic.

    The aug tilted her head downward, pinching his goggles between its manipulator¡¯s claws. ¡°How naughty.¡±

    He imagined that voice was meant to be sultry, but the voicebox never fluctuated its tone. ¡°Yep,¡± Zarrey agreed, then rotated his hand and dug the trench spike in. It slid into the flesh with a sickening ease, and he shoved it down the aug¡¯s chest until it met the metal of one of her implants, then yanked it across her front. Rip and tear, his training told him, and he rotated and twisted, mangling what pieces of flesh he could.

    The aug screamed, a deafening, wordless screech of static from her voicebox and peeled herself off of him, ripping his goggles off in the process.

    ¡°Shit,¡± Zarrey said, now floating free, but fumbling in the darkness. He spiraled through the air, completely and utterly blind without his goggles. His other senses compensated, but not nearly enough. He could hear the grunts and struggles of his fellows elsewhere in the stairwell. He could smell the tangy funk of the blood-substitute slicking his hands, warm, but cooler than real blood.

    The clack of something hammering into stone greeted him on the left. He whirled that way, catching a glimpse of a dim red light, not something the Marines would have on their goggles. There. He stuck out, but caught only air.

    Another clack of metal piercing stone sounded above, but before he could react, six knife-like fingers wrapped around his arms. They dragged him backward and pinned him up against the wall before the faint red light descended to hover in front of his face. ¡°Colonel Zarrey, is it?¡± the aug asked. ¡°Your wanted photo looks younger.¡±

    Zarrey gathered the liquid in his mouth and spat. ¡°Fuck you.¡± He was pleased to note the sound of a large raindrop hitting metal a moment later.

    ¡°You fought well, but you had no chance in the dark, Colonel.¡± A new manipulator made itself known, sliding its thin blade-like finger across his throat. Perhaps it was attached to what should have been the foot, though that held little meaning to someone so heavily augmented. All four limbs had equal capability. ¡°After all,¡± it crooned, ¡°you¡¯re only human.¡±

    ¡°Fight me in the daylight, bitch,¡± Zarrey challenged.

    ¡°No thanks,¡± she said. ¡°You did a fair number with that knife, but I was careless. It should surprise no one the Steel Prince drilled his crew on how to engage cyborgs.¡± The points where their implants met their organics were their weakness.

    Zarrey strained, pouring all his strength into breaking free, but it wasn¡¯t enough. The aug didn¡¯t even budge. He stopped for a moment, if only to gather his breath. ¡°Don¡¯t touch my team.¡± He could hear the sounds of struggle dying down elsewhere in the hallway. ¡°Admiral Gives will negotiate for their return.¡±

    ¡°We only need one prisoner.¡± The Admiral¡¯s second-in-command would be plenty enough leverage.

    ¡°If you execute them, he will execute you,¡± Zarrey warned. ¡°He will not spare your lives for mine alone.¡± That would not grant them salvation.

    ¡°He¡¯ll have to.¡± The aug reached up once more and pressed a set of goggles to his eyes. It took a moment for his vision to adjust, but then he could see the mottled, bruised and bloodied faces of Yankovich and Santino splayed up against the wall opposite him. Two augs hung in front of them, one limb holding each of their arms, a third prying off their helmets. The fourth limb pinned down their legs in the same way Zarrey had been immobilized. A third cyborg hung behind with one of their rifles in hand, preparing for an execution.

    The goggles were yanked from Zarrey¡¯s eyes once more, tossing him back into darkness as he shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m telling you, don¡¯t do this,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°Spare-¡± His plea was cut off by the deafening crack of a rifle.

    No. He heard a cry leave his lips, but that was the only sound. He¡¯d seen people executed in zero-G. There would be no more sound. No body would hit the floor. It would just float there, limp until rigor mortis set in.

    The rifle fired again.

    Then it was quiet. The aug gripping him needlessly tightened its grip, cutting into his arms. Then the rifle fired again, its sound so loud Zarrey felt it echoing between his ears, and the head in front of him exploded.

    Gore splashed onto him, sticky and warm. Pieces of implants plinked off the stone beside him, cutting his face with the shrapnel. Dimly aware, he registered the rifle firing a fourth time. Then a fifth.

    And it all went silent after that.

    Zarrey was left staring straight ahead, unable to see, deafened by the sound, and utterly covered in cyborg brains. The aug¡¯s manipulators were still pinning him down, left in their tightened position as her head had been so suddenly and completely removed.

    There was a ringing in his ears as he hung there, pinned. It drowned out everything until he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently. ¡°Colonel, can you hear me?¡± someone asked. ¡°Are you alright?¡±

    Blosse. He tried to open his mouth and acknowledge, but that only allowed a trickle of viscera in. The taste made him gag.

    ¡°Hold on, sir,¡± she patted his shoulder. ¡°I¡¯ll get you free.¡±

    Zarrey felt her move. She pried off one of the manipulators, then moved to get the one pinning his feet. With his free hand, Zarrey wiped his mouth clear of the gore. ¡°The others?¡±

    ¡°They¡¯re alright, sir. Just pinned like you are.¡± Blosse answered, pressing a pair of goggles into his free hand.

    ¡°Aye,¡± Yankovich confirmed.

    ¡°Thank fuck,¡± Zarrey breathed, wiping the splatter from his eyes and pulling on the goggles. ¡°Good save, Blosse.¡±

    Blosse moved on to help free the others in the time it took Zarrey¡¯s eyes to adjust. He shoved the aug¡¯s corpse away and straightened up, comforted to see his team moving about, slowly getting free. Amid that relief, it took him a moment to realize that Blosse¡¯s goggles were hanging around her neck, broken.

    It took him another moment as she freed the others and handed them working pairs of goggles, to realize the implications of that. ¡°Cadet,¡± he said sharply, ¡°how in the hell are you seeing?¡±

    Blosse¡¯s hands twitched as they fell to her sides, but she made no move for the sniper rifle on her back. Discomfort crossed her expression.

    ¡°You just shot five augs through the head in pitch black darkness with broken infrared goggles.¡± Presumably, she¡¯d killed the sixth to manage that. ¡°How?¡±

    She hesitated for a moment, but eventually spoke in her soft voice. ¡°I¡¯m an aug, sir. I have an artificial eye and the associated implants.¡±

    Zarrey had already suspected that, but the admission was the confession of a crime. ¡°Cyborgs are not permitted to serve in the battle fleet.¡± Command had banned their service, fearing the Hydra or separatists would corrupt them.

    ¡°I know, sir.¡± Her very existence aboard the Singularity was tantamount to treason, punishable by execution.

    ¡°Then why, for the sake of the stars, are you here?¡± he demanded. ¡°Not to sound ungrateful, of course.¡±

    She flicked her eyes to him, and Zarrey, for the first time, noticed that one was a different temperature than the other, tinted differently by his infrared goggles. ¡°I was born on Rigel III. I didn¡¯t choose to receive the implant. Everyone on Rigel III is a cyborg. Children have their first parts replaced at sixteen.¡±

    ¡°You didn¡¯t want the implant?¡±

    ¡°No. I never wanted to be an aug.¡± She reached over to one of the dead cyborgs and picked up one of their limbs. ¡°Rigel III is a mining colony. Most of the implants are low-quality. Machine rot is common. When you grow up seeing that and what it does to people¡­ You don¡¯t want to become one of them.¡± Observing the manipulator in her hands, Blosse continued, ¡°Someone invested heavily in these augs, Colonel. Their implants are worth a fortune, and a specialist with exceptional computer knowledge would have integrated them. There¡¯s too many for them to feasibly use standard settings. They must have been joined and calibrated.¡±

    That was good information, and Zarrey liked Blosse. He trusted her. Hell, she had just saved his life, but her being here was treason on multiple levels. ¡°How in the hell did you survive training, Blosse?¡± There were physical and eye examinations to be had. ¡°You should have been caught.¡±

    ¡°I paid off the doctor.¡± She¡¯d poured her entire life savings into sneaking into the fleet. ¡°My family owned some of the mines. I was not born destitute, but I was also not spared Rigel III¡¯s expectations.¡± Like the rest, she¡¯d received her first implant at sixteen years of age.

    He wanted to ask why, but really, that wasn¡¯t the issue at hand. It didn¡¯t matter why she¡¯d joined the fleet. She was a hell of a sniper. ¡°Base fell under cyberattack, Blosse. I need to know, could that implant of yours cause problems?¡±

    ¡°No, sir.¡± She¡¯d done her research, learned to blend and isolate herself amongst un-augmented humans. ¡°This isn¡¯t the place to explain technicalities, but on the basics, my implant does not have wireless network capability and the Singularity does not have a wireless network. In that sense we are doubly isolated from one another. I pose no danger to her, if corrupted, and she poses no danger to me.¡±

    Given what he knew of the ship¡¯s systems, Zarrey could find no flaw in her logic. ¡°Mighty convenient.¡±

    ¡°I imagine the Admiral planned it that way,¡± Blosse said.

    Planned it that way? Zarrey wondered, then remembered. Admiral Gives had drafted Blosse to the crew straight out of training. ¡°He knows?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She had feared that revelation at first, uncertain how he had found out or if the famed Steel Prince would execute her for that deception. She would not have been the first member of the crew to die by his hand. ¡°He allowed me to stay, told me I was not the first cyborg to serve on the Singularity¡¯s crew. She flew with some in the War, before it was banned.¡±

    ¡°Works for me,¡± Zarrey shrugged. In his book, as long as the Admiral knew, it was his problem, not Zarrey¡¯s. ¡°With that in mind, I think we can keep this between us. Right, boys?¡±

    Santino and Yankovich nodded. ¡°Then let¡¯s go see what the fuck Crimson Heart is protecting down here,¡± Zarrey told them. Between the not-medic they¡¯d found at the top of the stairwell in this isolated part of the base, the battery-powered auto-turret, and the six heavily augmented pirates, there had to be something of value down here.

    ¡°Aye,¡± the Marines around him said.

    Bruised and battered, they formed up and continued down the stairs. They moved slowly, cautiously, peering into the darkness. Zarrey was comforted to have Blosse¡¯s artificial eye on the lookout. Clearly, her vision was sharper than an eagle hunting for prey.

    Still, nothing else attacked them. The stairs ended, flattening out onto a little landing just large enough for a break area. Tables and chairs had been set up below a light-fixture. A tube of nutrient paste was sitting out, odorless sustenance for the augs left dead midway up the stairs. Beyond the landing was a single door. Heavy, steel, it had a porthole with bars across it, clearly not airtight.

    Zarrey stared at it through his infrared goggles for a moment, then let out a perplexed huff. ¡°Huh.¡± It¡¯s just a door. Since it wasn¡¯t airtight, there likely wasn¡¯t a large space beyond, so this wouldn¡¯t be the treasury, a store room, or even the command center. ¡°That¡¯s weird.¡±

 Part 40.2 - GUARD DUTY

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    Kallahan left with Foster, and the Admiral was more than grateful for it. Kallahan¡¯s constant pushing exhausted him more than he already was. He understood Kallahan¡¯s perspective. The fact of the matter was the ghost was exceptionally powerful. The fact she had nearly killed him with mere telepathy was not lost on him. Her power made him and the rest of the crew look like less than children, only bacteria riding around in the gut of something far greater than them.

    But what had happened to him had been an accident, the ghost more shaken by it than he was. Admiral Gives had long known he would likely die in service to the ghost, whether it was by her capability, or by someone else seeking it. As far as he was concerned, every day he had was borrowed time. Rightfully, he should have died years ago and the only reason he was still alive was because the ghost had kept him that way. Given that, he would not resent her because she¡¯d endangered him. In his mind, that only made them a little more even.

    Kallahan recognized the ghost¡¯s power. He claimed to know it in ways the Admiral did not, and perhaps he did, but there was no universe in which fear was a kinder response than forgiveness. Fear was the natural reaction when faced with something powerful enough to rewrite one¡¯s existence. That was human nature at its finest, but that reaction was cruel to someone who could feel it, who could not ignore it. Surrounding the ghost with those who feared her would only make her more wary of her own existence. It would only injure and destabilize her further, leading to more accidents and more fear. That would be a cruel spiral, one Admiral Gives would take no part of.

    Not everyone could restrain their fear in the face of such a powerful entity, but he could. Thus, it became his responsibility to do so and offer forgiveness to the ghost. That had always been his choice, for the ghost had no other home, no other companions. She had known no other life. Too many of her choices had not been her own. She suffered in the care of a species that was, for all intents and purposes, incompatible.

    And still, she had looked after them. Looked after him. She had no reason to care, no reason to bother, yet she did. She cared what trouble the crew got into, what struggles his irrelevant self endured. She was happy to be near the crew, even when they barely acknowledged her. To fear someone like that, to abuse someone like that, it was a black stain on humanity, a mark of utter selfishness.

    Admiral Gives resented humanity for that. They were no great species, touting high morals and loyalty, regardless of what they claimed. They were bottom-dwellers who thrived off each other¡¯s suffering. One failed colony meant more space and resources for those that neighbored it. One brutal loss meant another¡¯s celebrated victory. True kindness, where one expected no reciprocation, was a rarity, a logical flaw. He should know. After all, he was the once-great Steel Prince, the butcher of New Terra and a dozen other worlds. He''d massacred an unknown number of allies and enemies during the Battle of Tantalus. He¡¯d lied under oath to suit his own objectives after the Yokohoma sank, and he was absolutely the man who would throw Kallahan out the nearest airlock if he uttered one more curse against the ghost.

    The Admiral supposed that should have brought him shame. To so willingly take another life over a disagreement, over an argument with no right answer, was certainly one of humanity¡¯s faults. Despite the threat of the Hydra now so close, the fact they would still fight amongst themselves was a flaw without redemption. But, of course, he was human, and he was not above those flaws, no matter how clearly he saw them.

    Settled up against the wall in Kallahan¡¯s usual position by the door, Admiral Gives had an easy view of the bridge. The consoles were aligned in neat arcs. On the main floor, there were three rows, one in front of the open space in the bridge¡¯s center, and two more behind. A few more workstations lined the edges of the room, used by the yeomen to keep things organized, or connect physical data transfer lines. A final ring of consoles, including the main communications console lined the edge of the room, slightly elevated above the rest. This put comms in line with the center of the room, where the operator could clearly see and hear everything, but could also isolate themselves to study the subtle audio cues of detected transmissions.

    At present, that console was empty. Keifer Robinson had set it to the necessary settings and attached her headset. The wire snaked across the floor to where she now stood beside the sensor console, the physical connection cord required since wireless networks were not in use aboard the Singularity. All incoming communications were being played over the bridge speakers as the boarding parties made their way through Crimson Heart¡¯s base. The mic on the headset was simply enabling Robinson to respond. She stood over Galhino¡¯s shoulder, studying the locations of the teams that called in on the map they were building.

    Working so closely together, it was a good thing the sensor and communications officers got along, and that they, along with the others on the bridge, knew their tasks. Gaffigan was inventorying weapons while preparing to defend themselves and the station if necessary. Alba was working on damage control. However, without the full complement of engineers working below decks, there wasn¡¯t much he could do. He could only seal off damaged areas and redirect the air pressure. After all, out here in the void, air was a precious resource. More could be made by processing the waste byproducts of the engines, but that took fuel and time. It was better to make sure they lost as little air as possible.

    As all that went on, Admiral Gives kept his attention on the bridge door. It would be a few minutes until Kallahan returned, and he did not expect trouble in the meantime. They had a guard positioned at the airlock to warn them if any hostiles made it through their teams¡¯ sweep of the base ¨C a position he had personally assigned to Sergeant Cortana. Most of the other Marines would read that as an offering of trust. She would likely see it as her being singled out, but hopefully, she would come around. That position, sacrificial in nature, usually earned a few drinks at the ship¡¯s bar, assuming she lived, of course. But then, the Admiral supposed, if she didn¡¯t, that was one problem taken care of. He would never have to concern himself with her again.

    It was a cruel logic. He realized that. But Cortana had made herself unwelcome aboard this ship. The crew might tolerate her, but they did not trust her, and the ghost was having a similarly negative reaction to her, which was never a good thing. It wouldn¡¯t end well for the ghost, and it certainly wouldn¡¯t end well for Cortana. However, the potential resolution of the matter rested entirely in Cortana¡¯s hands, whether she knew it or not. His duty was merely to monitor the situation until it reached its conclusion, then, if necessary, throw Cortana¡¯s body out an airlock and decline to specify why.

    It would cost him. Such things always cost him. He¡¯d lose the crew¡¯s trust for a while, be regarded as some less-than-human monster. They would shy from dealing with him for a while, leave him alone with his thoughts and cast sidelong glances his way. It hardly bothered him. His standing with the crew was always in flux. They didn¡¯t understand his motives, even if they were relatively simple: he had taken an oath as the Singularity¡¯s commanding officer to protect her and protect her crew. He stood by that oath. He would not endanger the ship¡¯s crew, would not harm or injure them, hell, he would hardly even scold them so long as they respected one another. But, if they fought, if they injured one another, then it became a matter of consequences. Cortana fell into that last category, hurting others through her inaction, unknowingly poisoning the ghost. If push came to shove, if it became a choice between Cortana¡¯s safety or the ghost¡¯s sanity, then there was no decision to make. Cortana would have to go.

    Perhaps that too, seemed crass. But, of course, Admiral Gives had never cared to maintain the appearance that he was any variety of sympathetic. His loyalty was to his ship, to the ghost, and to the crew in that order. He was here to do a job, one that he realized he had sorely botched in the case of Ensign Owens. Or, rather, Brent had, using his body. To Owens, it was the same difference. She was wary of him, more frightened than she had ever been. And while that Admiral admitted to being callous, it had never been his intention to control his ship through fear. There were far more efficient methods already in place.

    ¡°Ensign,¡± he said as she finished her tasks. ¡°A moment of your time?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± she answered, coming over to where he stood beside the bridge¡¯s sealed door.

    Owens stopped a step further away from him than she ordinarily would have, safely out of reach ¨C not that his intention ever would have involved grabbing her the way Brent had. ¡°Is your hand injured, Ensign?¡± She had been rubbing it on and off, as if it ached.

    ¡°No, sir,¡± she answered, purposefully dropping her hands to her sides.

    She stood somewhere near proper military attention, but not in it. Admiral Gives did not require such things from the crew. He found that and saluting wasted too much time. Other commanders enjoyed the formality, the sense of superiority. He didn¡¯t. ¡°I must apologize, Ensign, for grabbing you. That was improper.¡± Maybe it was pointless to apologize. The actions had not been his, and their true perpetrator certainly felt no remorse. But of course, Owens didn¡¯t know that.

    Owens shifted on her feet, both uncomfortable and uneasy, two feelings that were new to her in dealing with the Admiral. She knew his reputation, as did everyone else on the ship, but she had always found him to be strangely predictable, not in his tactics, but in the way he dealt with the crew. It was the predictability of someone who purposefully acted that way to avoid alarming those around him. But him grabbing her, the tone he¡¯d used to demand coffee, even the look in his eyes, those had all been odd breaks from what she expected of him. Perhaps this flawless return to normalcy, to calm, was what unnerved her most of all. ¡°Why?¡± Why had he done that to her, only now to apologize?

    Sometimes the Admiral wondered how he got himself into these situations, these conversations. Or perhaps the better question was why he bothered. It only ever made more problems for him. Sure, apologizing seemed like the proper course of action, but it had now invited questions he didn¡¯t want asked.

    Owens read what she needed to from his silence: he would give her no answer. Whether that meant he had no answer, or simply couldn¡¯t reveal it, she didn¡¯t know, but it cut in a way she never expected. ¡°You gave me your word,¡± she reminded him. When she had accepted this post, she had trusted that. ¡°You said you would tell me the truth.¡±

    I know. He didn¡¯t need to be reminded of that. Owens wasn¡¯t the only one he had given that assurance to. Usually, he did everything he could to be upfront with the crew. The nature of their missions was always disclosed to them, but this¡­ This wasn¡¯t so simple. He could answer Owens truthfully, simply say that his predecessor had commanded those actions, but he couldn¡¯t expect her to believe that. And even if she did, he risked her asking how that was possible, which was a question he hadn¡¯t yet gotten the chance to ponder. Barring the ongoing mission, that would have been his priority, but at the moment, he¡¯d backburnered it, uncertain he even wanted an answer. Yet, he still owed Owens a response, one as candid as he could be. ¡°I was not feeling myself when I grabbed you,¡± he said, knowing that answer was lacking. ¡°For that, I will apologize.¡±

    Owens took a moment to study the Admiral. If one knew how to look, it was clear he was exhausted. His stony countenance couldn¡¯t hide the dark rings taking form under his eyes, or the imbalance in his posture. Whatever had happened, it had taken its toll on him. Even minutes ago, when he¡¯d grabbed her, he hadn¡¯t looked so tired, and she was grateful for the apology, even if she found his explanation lacking. Not many commanders would bother apologizing to a support crewmember like herself, not when they were so easily replaced, but he¡¯d always been a little odd about such things. He held a respect for the yeomen that was very uncommon among the fleet¡¯s higher-ups, and since he¡¯d been the one to grant her a second chance in the fleet, it seemed unfair to judge him too harshly for his first infraction. ¡°If you have a crazy bipolar personality, it¡¯s a little late to tell us, sir.¡±

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    ¡°I am sociopathic, not schizophrenic.¡±

    Owens studied his undisturbed calm. ¡°And you¡¯re sure about that?¡±

    ¡°Quite.¡±

    The response was clipped, not by hostility, but by a matter-of-fact confidence. Owens couldn¡¯t help the amused exhale that left her, an involuntary reminder of how much she wanted to trust him and how comfortable she had been under his command. ¡°I won¡¯t hold it against you, sir.¡± Him grabbing her remained so out of place, she hardly knew what to make of the memory. ¡°¡­Just don¡¯t do it again.¡±

    ¡°Understood, Ensign.¡±

    His gravelly tone was calm, but it gave her the answer she had expected ¨C the one she had wanted to hear. ¡°Then I will tend to my duties now, sir.¡±

    He gave Owens a single nod, and she moved off to work with Galhino and Robinson. He stayed where he was, back to the wall beside the door, watching the mission progress. The crew didn¡¯t specifically need him for this portion of it. An extra voice would only have been a distraction. His presence would only become necessary when something went wrong, as it inevitably would. Until then, he would remain on standby, much like the ship.

    That wasn¡¯t a comfortable situation for him. He preferred to stay busy. He had never liked being left with his thoughts, and in this case, boredom only reminded him how weary he felt. His arms and shoulders felt like iron weights, his feet ached and his head throbbed as if he¡¯d been struck like a bell with a sledgehammer. However, his hand was the worst of it all. The fragile scabs on the lingering burn wounds had split open when Brent had used that hand to grab Owens. Sharp pain crackled down splits like lightning, and he could feel ooze seeping into the bandages beneath his glove once more, all of it a constant reminder of what his body had done without his consent. It brought up a feeling of disgust quite like no other, a loathing for his body¡¯s betrayal, alongside memories he¡¯d done everything he could to forget.

    At the moment, he was grateful to not be the center of attention, to be standing against the wall. It allowed him to reach back, and lay his injured hand against the bulkhead, and let the coolness of the metal sap the heat of the pain away. It calmed him, but he had always found being aboard ship calming.

    He stood like that, monitoring the door and studying the progression of the boarding party, for a few minutes. A substantial piece of the ghost¡¯s presence lingered nearby, perched upon the wall like a vigilant gargoyle. She had no visible presence for the moment, but he knew she was there all the same, drawn to linger near the crew, even if her perceptions reached far beyond.

    He nearly flinched when that gargoyle ferociously redirected its attention, gnashing its teeth, yet an instant later, the ghost had stilled, returning to her watchful perch. The change was so abrupt, he wondered if he imagined it, until a few minutes later, the gargoyle flexed its claws and snarled before snapping back to its guard post once more. ¡®Is there something wrong?¡¯ he asked the ghost.

    A piece of the ghost¡¯s attention broke off to settle on him, the equivalent of that gargoyle turning its head to drill him with those gray granite eyes. ¡®I thought I felt something.¡¯

    Admiral Gives was unfazed by the cold, gothic form her presence had taken. That almost-threatening nature was not directed at him. It was an anger directed to the worlds for putting her crew in harm¡¯s way. ¡®Anything more specific?¡¯ he inquired. Feeling something didn¡¯t exactly narrow it down in her case. That could be anything. Telepathically, it could be a bleed-over of someone else¡¯s sensation, or even a memory or emotion. Physically, well, suffice it to say that didn¡¯t narrow anything down either.

    ¡®No.¡¯

    It was clear to him that she wanted the conversation to end there. However, that was an immediate indicator to him that the conversation should not end there. He checked the progression of the boarding party, but nothing odd had been called in. ¡®Tell me,¡¯ he instructed.

    ¡®You¡¯ll think it¡¯s crazy.¡¯ He¡¯d think she was going mad, and she didn¡¯t want that. She wanted to be stable, to be helpful, to not cause anymore issues on this cursed mission. Had he, in particular, not suffered enough?

    ¡®Try me.¡¯ He¡¯d been possessed by his dead predecessor. His day could legitimately not get any weirder ¨C probably.

    ¡®Something moved,¡¯ she said. ¡®Something that shouldn¡¯t have moved, moved.¡¯

    Perhaps that didn¡¯t sound particularly vexing, but he understood the implication. ¡®All crew are accounted for?¡¯

    ¡®Yes. This was nowhere near any of them.¡¯ The ship, with the exception of the handful of engineers working down by the main engines, the crew on the bridge, and now Kallahan and Foster down by the central computer, was empty. ¡®It was in one of the long-term storage holds.¡¯

    To follow Occam¡¯s Razor, the simplest explanation was meant to be the truthful one. In this case, he knew most of the ship¡¯s holds had been visited recently as the supply crews made preparations to store whatever supplies they gleaned from Crimson Heart. The simple explanation was that something had simply been left unsecure, and had now fallen. But anything unsecure should have been shifted or thrown during the combat, and the ghost had perceived movement not once, but twice, several minutes apart while the ship had been stationary. Given that, the simplest explanation was not a viable explanation. ¡®You¡¯re certain all the crew are accounted for?¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ she answered curtly.

    ¡®That was a confirmation, not an accusation.¡¯ If a crewman had been hiding there, perhaps afraid to join the boarding party, it would have been a suitable explanation. ¡®Possibility of boarders?¡¯

    ¡®Near zero. No airlocks have cycled in that region, and it is quite distant from the airlock mated to the station. Life support is in standby.¡¯

    With life support in standby, nothing was consuming air. A boarder would have to be in a self-contained suit, which was not difficult considering the availability of vacuum-rated suits aboard the ship and station. However, if no airlocks had cycled, that meant a boarder would have had to walk from the joined airlock to the long-term cargo hold without being perceived by the ghost, which was exceptionally unlikely. Her telepathy was very sensitive, and aboard ship, she had other means of perception as well. ¡®Odd,¡¯ he noted.

    ¡®I told you you¡¯d think it was crazy.¡¯

    ¡®I never said that.¡¯ It was an oddity, not insanity. ¡®If you are concerned, send Kallahan to survey the location.¡¯

    She did not reply to that, but she made a face as much as a presence that did not currently have a face could. Fair enough, the Admiral thought. He didn¡¯t enjoy dealing with Kallahan, and she had all the reason to like it even less. ¡®Remind me later, I¡¯ll take a look.¡¯

    ¡®It¡¯s no issue,¡¯ she decided. ¡®My physical perception is not particularly sensitive.¡¯ This likely meant nothing, but she could not deny the incident with Brent had shaken her more than combatting Crimson Heart¡¯s fleet had ¨C even with that pesky Hydrian AI running amuck. The realization that Brent lived on in any way that could affect anyone else¡­ It made her wary. For if that parasite was still lingering, then what other evils lurked in the shadows? Every anomaly suddenly was a concern, even movement where they should have been none. But she had to admit that physical perception was not her greatest strength. While she felt what the ship itself did, it was not a particularly sensitive machine. It did not possess an underlying nervous system, nor sensory receptors the way human skin did, simply strain gauges and accelerometers to measure impacts. In most cases, telepathy was a far better method of perception, and her telepathy insisted that there was nothing there. But then, her telepathy had also insisted that Brent died not too far from where the Admiral was standing over a decade ago, so it could hardly be called flawless. Truly, for all her capability, she held a great many flaws.

    ¡®Kallahan is on his way back,¡¯ the ghost said, bringing an end to the movement issue.

    Admiral Gives withheld a sigh from that announcement, instead choosing to ask, ¡®How is the boarding party doing?¡¯ He was quite well aware that while a part of her remained here, monitoring the ship and all associated with it, another part of her was watching over the boarding party. She could not affect happenings on Crimson Heart¡¯s base, but she was well aware of them, sensitive to the thoughts and concerns of the crew, even at range.

    ¡®There have been pockets of resistance,¡¯ though nothing the crew couldn¡¯t handle. ¡®There are indications that Crimson Heart has advanced technology at their disposal ¨C both Hydrian and human, but there¡¯s no indication of how or why they acquired such things.¡¯

    Interesting. A pirate clan should have no need of advanced technology. Assuming they did not make themselves too much of a menace on the shipping lanes or publicly reveal their base¡¯s location in some way, they were not expected to encounter anything more than the base technology used by their victims. As far as Command had been concerned, some degree of piracy was allowable. Given the vastness of space, and the other demands made on the fleet, a few merchant ships lost here or there had been an acceptable loss. There was no reason Crimson Heart should invest so heavily into cyber technology. ¡®Keep an eye on it,¡¯ he instructed. Something here wasn¡¯t right, and likely, the Hydra were involved, which could mean nothing good.

    ¡®Aye,¡¯ she confirmed.

    A moment later, Kallahan knocked on the door to the bridge, a warning before he spun it open. The Admiral tensed, moving his hand to the gun on his hip, but only for the second it took for him to recognize Kallahan¡¯s light hair and uniform.

    Kallahan sealed the door to the bridge closed behind him, and glanced over the room with the eye of a trained soldier before deeming that nothing was out of place. With that, he turned to the Admiral, and opened his mouth to speak.

    Or at least Admiral Gives assumed he spoke. It was impossible to know, given that the wraith watching over the bridge bore its claws in the same instant, leaping from the wall and tightening its grip on those around it. That pressure shouldn¡¯t have hurt. Ordinarily, it wouldn¡¯t have, but the incident with Brent had overtaxed him so badly that even this territorial motion made his head spin. It wasn¡¯t a threat, not like it had been earlier. This was a fiercely protective gesture, a sudden weight he could barely sustain.

    ¡®Well, well,¡¯ the ghost chuckled menacingly, ¡®I¡¯ve finally found something interesting.¡¯ It was about damn time.

    And like that, the pressure of her presence was redirected elsewhere. Admiral Gives found himself halfway to falling, but managed to catch himself before anyone other than Kallahan noticed.

    The Marine did his best to hold a straight face, but his brows dipped downward a bit with concern. ¡°Are you sure you don¡¯t want me to call the doc up here, sir?¡±

    ¡°This is not that kind of issue, Corporal.¡± These circumstances fell outside Doctor Macintosh¡¯s expertise.

    Kallahan pressed his lips into a thin, grim line. ¡°Do you really know what this is doing to you?¡± It was clear enough his connection to the ghost was taking a toll. Did he truly understand the cost of such a connection? Did anyone?

 Part 40.3 - SUPPLY AND DEMAND

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Crimson Heart¡¯s Base of Operations

    The hiss of pyrotechnics and a searing white light punctuated the detonation of the flashbang. On the other side of their shield wall, the pirates waiting in ambush cried out in surprise.

    Anchoring the center of the shield wall, Johnston pushed in, the others falling into place to protect the flank as they traversed the chokepoint of the door. Writhing on the floor, prying at their blinded eyes, the six pirates on the other side offered little resistance. A few sightlessly tried to claw for their weapons, but Frenchie darted forth and quickly dispatched them. Valentina kicked the emergency lamp the pirates had used to illuminate the corridor in dim light and shattered the bulb, plunging Task Force Alpha back into darkness.

    The team held up their shield wall for another moment, waiting for another adversary to take aim, but silence filled the corridor. Combat came in fits and starts, even on a mission like this. Minutes of boredom and anxiety were punctuated by seconds of violence.

    Frenchie took a long look past the shields, searching for enemies, then announced, ¡°Clear.¡±

    Captain Adams breathed out a sigh of relief and moved to tie her shield up against the wall where it wouldn¡¯t drift free in the corridor. Her arms ached from bracing it against the impacts. The gently curved front of the shield had a few bullet marks. She could feel them with her fingertips, but it was still structurally sound and would be taken and reused for another mission. Separated from the fleet, they were in no position to throw away usable equipment because it had a few dents.

    By force of habit, Captain Adams kept herself anchored to the floor of the corridor. The Marine unit with her simply took up positions wherever they had stopped. For Frenchie, that meant perpendicular to her on the wall. Adams was envious of how quickly they adjusted and how little they seemed to care for their orientation. It annoyed her that her subconscious insisted she stay grounded in zero-G. In the cockpit, she had no issue turning this way or that, let alone flying opposite her home ship¡¯s orientation. Out among the stars, orientation was only perspective, but something about being here in the flesh, removed from her flight controls made it harder to adjust. Perhaps it was just the wrongness of seeing a corridor that clearly had a floor and a ceiling lined with lights without gravity. Or perhaps it was the strangeness trying to convince herself that she could walk along that ceiling without struggle as if gravity never meant anything at all. She wasn¡¯t used to it. Ordinarily, when she walked such corridors aboard ship or on station, gravity was a constant.

    A droplet of wetness hit Adams¡¯ cheek as the airlock behind her began to cycle, bringing in more of their team. She wiped it away without a second thought, only pausing when the smell of it hit her: coppery, the scent of untreated metal left out in the elements, and a hint of salt. It congealed under the friction of her fingertips. In such a small quantity, it had already normalized to the temperature of her skin, and couldn¡¯t be seen through her infrared goggles. More droplets drifted around her, a fine spray that hovered without gravity. She closed her mouth, unwilling to tolerate the familiar taste.

    The mist in the air might be hard to see, but the globule of blood oozing and quivering beside the pirate¡¯s head still glowed yellow in her infrared goggles. It was strange to find something that should have been gruesome so cheerfully colored. Adams turned from it before she could contemplate it more. She wasn¡¯t used to seeing the remains of her enemies so clearly laid out. From her cockpit, usually all she saw was the final detonation of the fuel or munitions stores. Seeing them like this was different, and she did not envy the Marines of it, but at least in this scenario they were facing down pirates. Pirates ¨C the scum of the transport routes who stole life from their unlucky victims and livelihood from all the rest. It also didn¡¯t hurt that the pirates had shot first, and that the outcome of this mission dictated the survival of every soul in the refugee fleet. Adams and the rest of the crew were acutely aware of that.

    Behind her, Valentina pulled the chemical marker off her belt and shook it. The pea inside clinked off the walls of the can as it stirred the mixture inside. The bitter scent of aerosol wafted into the air as she sprayed a large ¡®X¡¯ onto the wall, glowing an unmistakably bright neon pink.

    The airlock clunked and hissed, and the doors began to part for another group to pass through: more Marines and a handful more pilots. They gave Adams¡¯ group a nod, but there was nothing to be said as they formed up and chose a direction.

    ¡°Ready up,¡± Lieutenant Colonel Pflum¡¯s accented voice said, taking up a position to move the opposite way down the hall.

    The team didn¡¯t need any more direction than that. Johnston took point, swinging his weapon in to place. The long, tri-barreled turret had a bandolier that came up over his shoulder and into a large metal box on his back, packed with more ammunition. Given the firing rate of the turret, that was probably enough for a minute of continuous firing at the most, but there wasn¡¯t much that could stand up to that kind of weapon for a second, let alone a minute. In all, the turret and its ammunition weighed several hundred pounds under gravity, though its sheer mass would have made it unwieldy even in zero-G.

    Johnston was the only Marine Adams had ever seen use such a weapon. A fortification turret, it wasn¡¯t meant to be picked up and carried. Only a heavy-grav worlder could even consider doing so, but given Johnston¡¯s strength, normal rifles probably felt like plastic toys. Everyone on the ship knew that Johnston could bring that turret to bear faster than most Marines could ready their rifles. He did all his physical trainings with it, just as other Marines would their rifles.

    Valentina shadowed Johnston¡¯s bulk, her lithe movements even more cat-like as she kicked off the walls. Lieutenant Colonel Pflum followed them, reporting in their movement back to the ship. Adams followed him, trying not to feel too out of place. Second to the Marines, the Singularity¡¯s pilots had the most combat training and experience, but they didn¡¯t often move in cohesive units. Their training was given in case they had to eject over hostile territory, and it expected them to be alone.

    Frenchie took up the rear of their group, belts of various explosives tied around his body. Adams had always taken him to be a slight bit unhinged, and the little bit everyone knew of his backstory only confirmed that assumption. Sane people rarely spent much time on the Marine bomb disposal squads. Or, if they were sane when they started, they usually weren¡¯t when their tour ended. Still, he was reliable. Unhinged or not, he could tear down or assemble almost any type of explosive in seconds.

    The corridors in this part of the base were square, comprised of the prefabricated modules they¡¯d seen flying in. They were plain. Bulk manufactured lights ran along the ceiling, dark without power. The walls were plain, perhaps painted, but it was impossible to tell through the infrared goggles. The floor had an impact-resistant coating on it. Adams could tell by the slightly muffled sound it made when she bounced off it when compared to the walls. The air tasted different than what she was used to, not as flavorless as her flight suit¡¯s, but not as metallic as the Singularity¡¯s. It carried an almost papery scent, the sign of cheap air filters.

    Among those characterless corridors, Adams tensely waited for things to go wrong. And in her defense, things did eventually go downhill on this artificially flat terrain, just not as quickly as she would have expected.

    Her team moved through the base for the better part of an hour, laying down markers and calling in what they saw. Johnston brought them to a halt twice, allowing Frenchie and Valentina to disarm traps. They bumped into one more pirate who was stumbling loudly through the dark, stranded without an emergency lamp. Pflum had ordered him knocked out, tied up and thrown in a supply closet to be picked up later. Compared to staggering around blindly for a few hours, Adams considered that unconsciousness a mercy.

    Truly, it was going rather smoothly until they reached a door that was twice as wide as any other that they had so far passed through. It had the same shielding and locking mechanisms as any airlock. Those were standard on any space structure, meant to section off areas in case of a pressure loss, but this door was comparatively quite large.

    ¡°This looks to be built from a different type of module,¡± Valentina found her way to the corner of the hallway, and studied the seal between the module that comprised the hallway and the one that lay ahead. ¡°Same manufacturer perhaps.¡± The seal was tight and there was no sign that contact between the two materials were negatively impacting one another.

    Pflum glanced to his compass. He wasn¡¯t sure why he bothered. It wouldn¡¯t tell him anything. They hadn¡¯t been able to study the orientation or layout of the base in any detail before boarding. Pocketing the compass, he turned his attention to the large doors. ¡°No way to be subtle about this one, eh?¡± Anyone waiting on the other side would see this door opening well in advance.

    ¡°I¡¯d expect not, suh,¡± Johnston said, readjusting his grip on the turret he carried.

    Valentina took the chemical marker and sprayed an ¡®X¡¯ on the wall, signaling that a team had been here.

    Pflum radioed back to the ship, ¡°Base, Alpha-One. Our path has ended at a large door. We will proceed through.¡±

    ¡°Roger, Alpha-One.¡± Keifer Robinson¡¯s voice answered with a calm clarity. ¡°Sensors indicate that you are approaching the largest continuous volume in Crimson Heart¡¯s base. Other teams may already be inside. Use caution.¡±

    ¡°10-4, Base. Alpha-One out,¡± Pflum answered, then flicked his helmet radio back to receive-only. He didn¡¯t need it to speak to his team. ¡°You all hear that?¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± drawled Johnston. ¡°There¡¯s pirate gold beyond that door.¡±

    Gold wasn¡¯t likely, but Pflum didn¡¯t bother correcting him. What they were after probably lay beyond that door, gold or not. Large continuous volumes were usually avoided in space, but there were exceptions, hangars for one, and storehouses for another. Storage spaces could be broken into smaller volumes, but for busy sites where items were moved frequently in bulk, larger spaces were preferred. Preserved goods that were shipped through space usually had vacuum-safe packaging. Exposure to the void wouldn¡¯t damage them, so an atmosphere breach was of little concern.

    ¡°Get the door, Valentina,¡± Pflum ordered. ¡°Everyone else, watch your fire. Friendlies in the region.¡± In some ways, that was a comfort, in others, it was a danger. Bullets didn¡¯t stop simply because they¡¯d been aimed at an ally.

    The team pushed off and anchored themselves to various walls, well out of the way in case someone shot through the door as it opened. Valentina pried the control panel for the door out with her nimble fingers and rewired its power components to route through the battery she was carrying. Then, she pushed herself into the corner for cover and hit the button.

    The little motors that powered the door whirred to life, pulling it open at a steady pace. When it reached its maximum dilation, it thunked to a stop, and Adams waited, and waited. Still, nothing stirred beyond. Behind her, she heard Frenchie sigh, not in relief, but in distinct disappointment.

    Pflum looked to Valentina, but the slender woman only shrugged, then peeked her head around the corner as subtly as she could. ¡°Looks clear,¡± she told the team softly. ¡°And great stars almighty, I think we¡¯ve hit the jackpot.¡±

    It didn¡¯t take Adams long to figure out what she meant by that. The moment she passed through the door, the view in front of her yawned into the largest continuous volume she had ever seen in space, second perhaps only to the Singularity¡¯s landing bays. It was well over a thousand feet in length, but that wasn¡¯t what made it so utterly massive. It was the depth. She had expected a single-story volume, perhaps with higher ceilings, maybe twelve feet, but no, this space was far, far taller than that. Crimson Heart had exponentially increased the storage space beneath this large habitat module by removing its floor and drilling directly into the asteroid below.

    ¡°Bloody ¡®ell,¡± Pflum cursed. His magboots clanked against the metal surface of the freight elevator the door had opened to as he stepped forward. ¡°This is it.¡± This was what they had come for. In the space beyond, rows and rows of shelving sat, each rising to an astounding height. Nestled in this volume, the shelves looked like a city skyscrapers. ¡°There¡¯s more ¡®ere than we thought.¡± They were packed full of boxes. ¡°This is enough to feed a city.¡±

    ¡°Or a fleet,¡± Valentina said, squinting off into the distance. ¡°They must have raided hundreds of ships to get this much.¡± It went without saying that hundreds of ships probably equated to hundreds of casualties. ¡°These are damned blood-supplies.¡± Stained by those who¡¯d died for them to be gathered here.

    ¡°We¡¯re not in a place to be picky,¡± Adams reminded. ¡°It¡¯ll go to a good cause.¡±

    ¡°Feeding a few thousand refugees for a few more miserable weeks, sure,¡± Valentina agreed. ¡°But that¡¯s only temporary.¡± Those refugees couldn¡¯t live on those ships forever. Sooner or later, things would start breaking down.

    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Not our problem,¡± Johnston said, his baritone voice carrying further than he likely meant it to. ¡°That¡¯d be the Admiral¡¯s domain.¡± Marines and pilots like them filled a tactical function. They could think on the spot, make instantaneous choices in the heat of the moment, but none of them were strategists. Tacticians considered the nature of the current battle, strategists focused on the flow of the war. The Admiral, while a gifted tactician, was also their resident strategist. He would determine the long-term movements of the Singularity, and likely the refugee fleet as well.

    Pflum turned from looking over the edge of the elevator, realizing a member of his party had been far too quiet. Looking around the elevator platform, he caught a glimpse of Frenchie¡¯s small form climbing over the railing. ¡°What in the fuck are you doing, Cadet?¡± he hissed, trying desperately to keep his voice down as he saw Frenchie fix his spear to an explosive and shove it down the barrel of his grenade launcher.

    Frenchie made no effort to pause what he was doing, now lifting the launcher to his shoulder. ¡°Fishing, sir.¡±

    Pflum wanted to object to that, but he wasn¡¯t given the chance. Aiming down below the platform, Frenchie pulled the trigger. The crisp thud of a detonation echoed across the storehouse, the sound bouncing between the shelves, and an instant later the clang of metal on metal rang out directly below him.

    Frenchie grinned madly below his mustache. ¡°Caught a big one,¡± he announced happily.

    ¡°A big what?¡± Pflum demanded, realizing that not only had Frenchie hit whatever it was, but he was now attached to it. He hadn¡¯t jerry-rigged a spear launcher, but a harpoon. A line spooled off the frame of Frenchie¡¯s launcher, running down below the platform, no doubt attached to the spear he¡¯d shoved into the barrel. Pflum didn¡¯t look too close at what comprised that line. It could have been fuse, or the team¡¯s safety rope. It was usually better not to ask how Frenchie did what he did.

    Frenchie tilted his head, an indication of confusion, but he tilted it a hair too far, and it became a bit uncanny. ¡°You were so busy looking down, you never looked down?¡±

    The statement was nonsense, but it was the nonsense he expected from Frenchie. Pflum immediately looked down¨C not down towards the shelves in the storehouse ¨C but straight down past the bulk of his magboots. The elevator plate was made of a near-solid metal with only small holes for tie-downs, but the platform around it that held the controls was made of a much finer mesh. He could see through it to now see what lingered below.

    Dormant, it hovered where it had been powered down. Something like a crab, six appendages spiraled off its disc-shaped body. A loader-bot. Pflum hadn¡¯t seen one in years, not since the last time he¡¯d raided a corporate warehouse. This one was bigger than the last he¡¯d seen, but judging by its blockiness, that was a facet of its age, not its strength.

    The bot wasn¡¯t easy to see through the mesh, especially not with the infrared goggles. The mesh appeared as a solid green print, and the loader-bot as a pencil-thin outline in the void spaces. Also at ambient temperature, it was even the same green color. ¡°You saw that?¡±

    Frenchie tilted his head a little further. ¡°I heard it.¡±

    ¡°Like you hear the ship?¡± Valentina queried, clearly incredulous.

    ¡°Most machines don¡¯t talk like she does,¡± Frenchie said, as if that were the most obvious thing in the worlds. ¡°Dinner bounced off the wall.¡± The last one through the door, he¡¯d heard it while the others had been distracted by their quarry. With a yank on his launcher, Frenchie pulled the loader-bot out from below the platform. It was powered down, its arms left in a neutral position. They banged against the railing as Frenchie hauled it in.

    Pflum watched him, simultaneously concerned and confused by the small Marine¡¯s actions. ¡°I admire your catch, mate, but I can¡¯t say I want to eat it for dinner.¡± And you¡¯re being a bit loud.

    Frenchie wiggled his spear free and detached it from the line, face painted with disappointment. ¡°It¡¯d have been more fun to fight for dinner.¡±

    ¡°Now¡¯s really not the time, mate.¡± Frenchie¡¯s tirades usually had a point to them, but Pflum would be damned if he could figure out what it was.

    ¡°He¡¯s right, LC,¡± Valentina said, approaching the bot. ¡°Dinner here should have been a fighter. This loader-drone shouldn¡¯t be powered down.¡±

    ¡°The EMP knocked out all power,¡± Adams reminded.

    ¡°The EM surge was localized to the base¡¯s power supply,¡± Valentina said. ¡°We did it that way so Singularity would be unaffected. That¡¯s why we used a missile. But look around you, this storehouse isn¡¯t designed to function with gravity.¡± The shelves were too tall, the volume too deep. ¡°These loader-bots function in zero-gravity. They fly on battery-power. It was in the air when we struck the base, insulated from the power surge.¡±

    Frenchie nodded his agreement. ¡°Dinner never got cooked.¡±

    Pflum furrowed his brows. ¡°Then why is this thing powered off?¡±

    ¡°Maybe the control system went down.¡± She plucked at the antenna mounted on the back of the loader-bot¡¯s disc body, leaving it bouncing side-to-side. ¡°Bots like this often receive orders wirelessly.¡± It was cheaper to build one big system to control multiple bots than it was to install one on every single bot. Popping open the control panel, Valentina began rooting through the wiring. ¡°It looks like some new circuit cards have been installed. I don¡¯t recognize the make.¡±

    ¡°Pull them out.¡±

    Valentina lifted her head from the bot¡¯s insides, surprised by the urgency in Johnston¡¯s interjection. ¡°It doesn¡¯t look dangerous.¡±

    ¡°Pull them out,¡± Johnston ordered. ¡°Actual warned us to be wary of unfamiliar tech.¡± This was exactly the situation that raised warning flags. ¡°We¡¯ve already seen evidence of a Hydrian presence. Base will want to investigate anything we can bring home.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± Valentina said, focusing her attention once more onto the bot¡¯s controls. ¡°Here goes.¡± Rerouting the wires, she tried to pull the unfamiliar circuit cards out, only for the entire bot to whir to life.

    Lights and all, it powered on. Valentina cursed. ¡°Naddlethworfing hell!¡± She jumped forward, shoving her arm further into the bot¡¯s innards.

    Pflum shielded his eyes from the brightness of the loader-bots lamps. Perhaps with usual vision they would have been comforting, but they were blinding under the filter of the infrared googles. ¡°Valentina!¡± he cried.

    From below came a shout. ¡°More! Up there!¡±

    And before anyone on the team could contemplate it, the sharp crack of gunfire rang out. Bullets began plinking off the mesh, skittering through the holes of the platform floor. Pflum let out a cry as one grazed up his arm before he could leap onto the elevator deck and let its solid floor shield him.

    Captain Adams also moved toward the elevator only for a bullet to catch her foot. The magboot stopped it, but its mechanisms seized up mid-step and released their grip on the platform. She flailed a bit, suddenly drifting upward. Panic nipped at her for an instant, and then Frenchie crashed into her from behind. ¡°Gotcha, Cap!¡± he said, wrapping an arm around her as he tossed his mag-anchor down and dragged them both to the safety of the elevator deck.

    Valentina curled herself up onto the top of the bot, letting its body shield her as she pulled through its controller. With a grunt, Johnston grabbed one of its arms and pulled it and her to the elevator.

    They sat for an instant, catching their breath while bullets clanged against the bottom of the elevator. Then, the radio in all of their helmets crackled with an incoming transmission. ¡°This is Alpha-Seven. We¡¯ve been ambushed in the storehouse. Fought them off, but we¡¯ve got wounded and they took Sanchez. I repeat, they took Sanchez!¡±

    Pflum pulled his hand off the wound on his arm, reaching for the radio. ¡°Alpha-Seven, this is Alpha-One. We¡¯re in the storehouse, East side.¡±

    ¡°Roger, Alpha-One. We were on the lower level, East side when they jumped us. We cannot pursue.¡±

    Alpha-Seven was the designate medic unit. The breathless voice on the radio had to be one of the Triple Witches, the Marines assigned to escort the nurses. Among those nurses would have been Sanchez, the most experienced combat medic the ship had. Alpha-Seven wasn¡¯t supposed to be on the frontlines, but it seemed multiple paths through the pirates¡¯ base funneled into the storehouse. Alpha-Seven had unintentionally caught up to the fighting. ¡°We¡¯ll handle it, Alpha-Seven,¡± Pflum said. The fact they were pinned up here at the moment was irrelevant. They would figure it out.

    Releasing the broadcast button of his radio, Pflum turned to his unit. ¡°Ideas?¡±

    Valentina turned her attention from the loader-bot¡¯s controls. ¡°Captain, when was the last time you flew anything other than an Arcbird?¡±

    Adams shrugged. ¡°Been awhile, but all air and space craft share the same axes of motion.¡± Yaw, pitch, roll and thrust. It had been that way for centuries.

    ¡°Well, you won¡¯t be much use on the ground with one boot.¡± That was an easy way to make a mistake and end up stranded in the air as an easy target. ¡°So how ¡®bout you fly a distraction for us?¡± Valentina asked, giving the loader-bot a pat. ¡°These bots have manual controls.¡± It wasn¡¯t uncommon for poorer companies to have low-wage workers operating them rather than an automated system.

    The gunfire below had ceased as the pirates waited for the team to reveal themselves. The instant the Marines jumped off the elevator platform, they¡¯d be easy targets unless they had a distraction to cover their movement, and the loader-bot had already shown that it could withstand bullets. ¡°Show me,¡± Adams told Valentina.

    ¡°Stick your arms here and here,¡± Valentina explained. ¡°These controls were precursors to the kinetic gloves now used on the Keeper-class battleships. Push in for thrust, lean for yaw, twist for roll, and up and down motions will control your pitch.¡± These kinds of controls were far easier to pick up on than the stick or yoke most pilots were accustomed to. ¡°There are slots for your fingers. Pointer, middle and ring fingers on each side control the arms¡¯ motion. Activate the grabbers by pinching to your thumb.¡±

    ¡°Easy enough,¡± Adams said, climbing aboard. Hugging the curve of the bot¡¯s body, she locked her working magboot into place on its metal skin and stuck her hands down the indicated holes. The kinetic controls had a slick, silicone texture to the interior gloves. It was a little uncanny at room temperature, but Adams suppressed her shudder and prepared herself.

    ¡°You sure about this, Captain?¡± Pflum asked.

    ¡°I¡¯m a better pilot than I am shot. I¡¯ll give you a hell of a distraction.¡± Now, she felt like she had a reason for being on the team. ¡°Just don¡¯t miss your window.¡±

    Valentina spent another few seconds digging around in the controls, their access panel right above Adams¡¯ thigh. ¡°I¡¯ve got the anomalous circuit cards removed, switching to manual controls now.¡±

    The gloves constricted a little as the system powered on. Adams resisted the urge to yank her hands free, and instead leaned to the left. The bot responded by starting to spin counter-clockwise, a spin that sped up the more she leaned. After two rounds, she righted herself, and the bot quickly halted. A little laugh escaped her, ¡°Oh, this¡¯ll be fun.¡±

    Pflum watched her warily. ¡°Remind me again how you got your callsign?¡±

    Captain ¡®Fireball¡¯ Adams smiled. ¡°Strict orders, sir.¡± Instinctively squeezing her arms together, the bot responded by thrusting straight upward.

    With that, she jetted forward, out and over the edge of the elevator, then dove downward. The pirates reacted with some surprise, finding that the thing barreling toward them was no human, but a six-armed metal crab. Their surprise didn¡¯t last, and they opened fire.

    Adams pressed herself against the bot, eyes barely peaking over the curvature of its main shell. She felt a lucky shot graze her helmet and shuddering her head, but she only sped up, diving faster toward the group of pirates. There must have been ten of them, two dragging a highly-resistive figure in black protective attire. Her helmet was missing, as were her goggles, but that only allowed Adams to recognize Sanchez¡¯s thick, black hair.

    Adams¡¯ leveled out her dive about a foot above the heads of the pirates, sending them ducking and scattering. At the end of her pass, she grappled two pirates at the rear of the party. They screamed and thrashed, but before they could extricate themselves, she threw the bot into a spin and flung them into the nearest wall. They impacted with painful thuds before they bounced off and drifted away, motionless. Dead or knocked out, Adams didn¡¯t care. A bullet caught her in the back, shoving the breath from her lungs. It was painful, but she could tell it hadn¡¯t penetrated her armor, so she came back around for another pass, crab-claws at the ready.

    The pirates flung themselves well clear this time, but she still caught one by his leg and flung him into the wall. He hit headfirst, but the sound was drowned out by the staccato clap of a fortification turret firing from above.

    Johnston had jumped down and attached his boots to the frame of the storage shelves in the chaos. A two-handed weapon fired from the hip, the fire erupting from his turret sped up as the barrels spun up to speed. He mowed down the remaining pirates with such expert precision, they were holed through before the turret was firing at its highest rate. He only released the trigger when the last pirate, that standing closest to Sanchez, desperately threw up his hands. ¡°I surrender!¡± he cried.

    Sanchez didn¡¯t waste the opportunity, promptly elbowing him in the face. ¡°That¡¯s for taking me prisoner,¡± she said, grabbing his weapons while he clutched at his bleeding nose.

    ¡°We thought you were a nurse,¡± the pirate cried. Nurses could always be peddled for their skills on the black market. They made valuable slaves.

    ¡°I¡¯m a combat medic, fuckface.¡± Yes, aboard ship, she functioned as a nurse, but she was no stranger to fighting and could very well defend herself. She evidenced that by slinging the strap of the pirate¡¯s rifle over her shoulder and readying it against him.

    Valentina, Frenchie and Pflum drifted down beside her and activated their magboots to tie them to the floor. They gave Sanchez a nod, pleased to see her unharmed. ¡°Hell of a distraction, Captain,¡± Pflum acknowledged. ¡°Glad you¡¯re on our side.¡±

    Pflum began giving orders to round up the drifting pirates and ensure they wouldn¡¯t wake up to cause issues if they weren¡¯t already dead. He was interrupted by the emergence of a clattering noise from a nearby air vent. Spindly little legs clinked against the thin metal lining of the duct as a tiny drone clambered from the wall. ¡°Hello, Sinners,¡± a velvety voice said. ¡°That is what you call yourselves, isn¡¯t it? The little nickname of the Singularity¡¯s fighting force. Quite befitting of those who abide the Steel Prince¡¯s reign, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    All the Marines instantly trained their weapons on the little drone, a tiny spiderlike build that none of them recognized.

    ¡°Now, now, hold your fire. I¡¯ve seen how capable you are,¡± the velvety voice said, echoing from the droid¡¯s speakers with surprising clarity. The lens of a little camera glinted on its head as it studied the carnage around it. There was little left of the group shot up by the turret, and the three flung into the wall weren¡¯t much better off. Blood streamed into the air, dimly lit by a lantern one of the pirates had been carrying. ¡°I¡¯ve come to make an offer much like my little underling here.¡±

    ¡°An offer?¡± Pflum echoed. ¡°You¡¯re the Baron, I take it?¡± The leader of Crimson Heart?

    ¡°That¡¯s right, and I¡¯ve been watching your progress. I have little drones like this scattered throughout my base, and they weren¡¯t affected by your nasty power surge. However, it¡¯s clear my crews cannot stand up to your assault, and I don¡¯t wish everything I¡¯ve built here to be dismantled.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m certain you don¡¯t,¡± Pflum agreed. ¡°So, pull your forces back. We¡¯ll take what we came for and leave.¡±

    ¡°That is my offer,¡± the Baron confirmed. ¡°It seems you came for supplies. I¡¯ll allow you to take them with no further fighting, but there¡¯s a condition.¡±

    ¡°What is it?¡± Pflum asked. What could be worth all the supplies that Crimson Heart had gathered?

    ¡°There is a prisoner here. Held in isolation on the far East part of my Base. Pull your forces from that area. There are no supplies there and I want the prisoner left behind.¡±

    Pflum contemplated it. ¡°Why?¡± Why sacrifice all of Crimson Heart¡¯s wealth? The value of the supplies stored here was enough to rebuild part of Crimson Heart¡¯s fleet.

    ¡°That prisoner is the key to everything I have built here,¡± the Baron said. ¡°That is worth more to me than any amount of stolen goods.¡±

    ¡°Fine,¡± Pflum said. ¡°You can present your offer to the Admiral. He¡¯ll decide.¡±

 Part 40.4 - HER MAJESTY

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Crimson Heart¡¯s Base of Operations

    The ghost found it sitting in a damp, cold cell. The humidity of such a prison would never have bothered it, rather helped maintain the integrity of its scales, but the cold¡­ Well, the cold would have been nothing short of well-deserved torture, slowing its reaction time and dulling its so-called blindsight. Oh, it surely would ache for the warmth of its Mother Nest.

    Still, such a creature would never stoop to plea for a heater, never show weakness to the cold, particularity when the filth that guarded it showed no such fragility. The ghost was not fond of pirates, but she knew how it would have seen them: vile things.

    Twisted creatures of their own ambition.

    Abominable violations of the great Hydrian Bylaws.

    Reflections of humanity¡¯s inherent sickness.

    So repugnant were those cyborgs that it had declined to look at, let alone speak with them for years now. It was appalled to have ever spoken the human tongue, and refused to further dirty itself by associating with half-machine, half-biological offenses to the natural order.

    When those had dashed away from the entrance of its cell, it could not have cared less. When it heard the sharp, unrhythmic crack of firearms, it had hardly concerned itself, for it had long determined that this hastily carved out cell would be its execution chamber. It expected a crude death, something it considered dishonorable, as that fate would deem it unable to help sustain the hive, even as food. Its body would rot here instead, one of the endless wastes humanity made as they fought among themselves. Truly, humanity never stopped, rendered weak by its inability to make progress as a cohesive whole.

    Even during the War, the hive had seen signs of unrest. Humanity¡¯s civil war had been only a matter of time. It had come a few cycles too late to alter the end of the War, but had provided the hive a few decades of delightful entertainment.

    These thoughts coursed through her, its despicable mind an open book, and a rather simple one at that. A hatred as deep and vast as any she had ever known surged within her as she felt it on the edge of her perception. It was such a fragile presence, feeble by her standards, and yet so spiteful. In that, it was not so different from the pirates. She may have disregarded it, had it not been the exact taste she¡¯d been looking for, and had Colonel Zarrey¡¯s team not steered so near it.

    It was an interesting find, but it was a disgusting, needy thing. She cared not for its thoughts, for its underserved assertion of superiority. It was an insect.

    But it was an insect that had answers.

    Thus, she wove herself into its perceptions, giving it a taste of something it hadn¡¯t felt in years. It stirred to life, letting out a pitiful question, laden not with desperation, but hope. ¡°Her Majesty?¡± it queried in its native tongue.

    She hardly cared for its hope, for its wishes. It was an insect, but every once in a while, it was enjoyable to play with the ants. ¡°Not quite,¡± she replied in its language, unable to keep the bemusement from her tone. ¡°Though it is truly adorable you think that broodmothering bitch would care to rescue one of her drones at all, let alone come in person. It was my understanding she rarely left the Mother Nest. Some cowardly decree about a human-conjured demon?¡±

    ¡°But you carry the presence of my Queen.¡± It, or technically he, though pronouns could only be so accurate in this situation, could feel that pressure along the organs that detected his Queen¡¯s proximity.

    ¡°Oh, do I now?¡± She made another noise of amusement, this one decidedly more menacing. ¡°Then by all means,¡± she said, emerging from the shadows as if she had been a part of them, ¡°kneel.¡±

    Instinct commanded him to kneel. Drones always knelt before their Queens, especially one of such strength. But the instant the cover of darkness fell from her figure, he froze, irises contracting as he recognized her form. She had no chitlin to protect her organs, simply coverings made from cloth adorned with the markings of the enemy. And as if that were not enough, she had no claws, she had no tail, and not even a single scale. Pale flesh formed a distinctly human shape.

    Impossible. The drone leapt back and bared its fangs with a hiss.

    ¡°Oh,¡± she snarled, ¡°did I forget to mention that I played for the other side of the Neutral Zone, little lizard?¡± She stepped closer, strengthening her presence enough for his sensory organs to find it uncomfortable. ¡°You see, your kin were something of an infestation in this region once, and I was the exterminator.¡±

    Hissing, his glands begin to pool with acid. The muscles in his throat convulsed, and then he spat at this impostor, knowing full well the acid would strip the flesh from her brittle human bones.

    His aim was perfect, but the spray flew straight through the ghost¡¯s chest. It splattered onto the stone wall behind her, lowly sizzling as the compounds in the stone were not particularly reactive.

    She smirked. ¡°Good boy.¡± Hydrian acid was quite lethal, particularly to humans. On contact with skin, it could kill in less than a minute. In volume, it could corrode a ship¡¯s critical structural components, but it wasn¡¯t as if her illusion could be harmed. Still, emptying its glands of that acid would protect the crew ¨C protect Zarrey¡¯s team. A Hydra could only produce and store so much acid over time, so the first steps of keeping a Hydrian prisoner would be to drain those glands regularly and prevent that acid from aiding an escape. It wasn¡¯t a pretty process, given the need to stick a long syringe down the maw of a Hydra, but she¡¯d seen it done before. Recognizing the pathetic amount of acid just sprayed at her, and the utter fear now creeping into this lone drone¡¯s brain, Crimson Heart had been abiding the same process. ¡°Hm,¡± she said, unable to prevent the sneer from crawling onto her lips, ¡°you expected that to hurt me, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    The Hydra did not answer, trying and failing to comprehend the impossibility of the presence before him.

    ¡°Now,¡± she dug into his mind and wrenched the designation of this biological drone free. ¡°Rowin, I have a proposition for you.¡±

    The alien flinched. ¡°Only the Almighty Queen has that power.¡± No other within the Empire could rip the truth from her drones.

    ¡°Well then, at the moment, that would make me, your Queen.¡± How unfortunate. ¡°You see, drone, your ¡®almighty¡¯ broodmother is nothing compared to me.¡± This was gentle. This was restraint. ¡°Your mind, the minds of all your kind are quite fragile, mere insects hardly worth noting.¡± Hydra were significantly more susceptible to telepathic infiltration than humans were. They were additionally more aware of it, but their evolution rendered them weak to it, for that extrasensory ability, known to them as blindsight, was how the Queen controlled her empire.

    ¡°You are no Queen,¡± Rowin hissed.

    ¡°No?¡± she queried, pressing a fractional amount more onto the Hydra¡¯s fragile mind. It strained, a series of hisses and clicks emerging from the drone ¨C not words, just sounds of utter fear his evolution demanded he emit to warn other drones. The display did little but annoy her. ¡°Challenge me again and I¡¯ll make you wish you¡¯d been in your brood¡¯s culling stock.¡±

    Trembling, Rowin took the knee commanded of him. ¡°Yes, my Queen.¡± Shivers ran down his spine like illness, his body trying to purge its loyalty to the Almighty Queen in favor of this farce. It didn¡¯t quite work, for this Queen, while she commanded impressive blindsight, had no pheromones to absorb. Doom settled upon him. With this false Queen, he would never evolve beyond his current state. He would forever be a drone, unpermitted to propagate for the hive.

    ¡°Disgusting.¡± In her opinion, all Hydra were disgusting. Evolved as lizards in appearance, they were more like insects in social structure. The Almighty Queen that ruled the Empire and the sub-Queens below her were the small percentage of the population that were born female. The rest, more than ninety-nine percent of the Empire¡¯s population were born as drones. Technically, they were intersex, neither male nor female, but in human tongue and thought process, they were generally considered male.

    Successful drones were elevated by their Queens, and altered, both through telepathy and the release of a Queen¡¯s pheromones to become fertile males ¨C breeding stock for the hive. In that way, the Hydra purposefully selected the continuation of certain traits. The Hydrian Empire operated through a vicious meritocracy where the strong were elevated and the weak simply became food for their kin.

    Disappointment rounded out Rowin¡¯s thoughts. To think his honorable service to the hive would end leashed to a defective Queen. ¡°What shall I call you, my Queen?¡±

    ¡°Your kind doesn¡¯t get to know my name.¡± That was treasured knowledge to her, something she would never allow to be tainted by Hydrian tongues. ¡°Just know that if you attempt to betray me, I will kill you.¡± A hunger lit up her eyes. ¡°Oh, I¡¯ve killed millions just like you. I snapped their minds in half like tiny twigs, then watched your kin scoop up what remained of their corpses and eat them, so pathetically desperate to win a war that was already over.¡±

    Millions of dead. Massacred by a nest-less Queen. Realization clicked in his mind, pairing a legend to the entity before him.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    A series of hisses and clicks left him, a title that didn¡¯t quite translate. His mind, noisily leaking his thoughts informed her its meaning: She-Who-Sings-Death. Humanity¡¯s language provided a more direct word: banshee. The spirit of a female that sang a hauntingly beautiful song forewarning the death of those that heard it. Truly, it was a near-perfect match for what she¡¯d done to those nests of overgrown termites, but there was an exception. Banshees warned of death, they did not cause it, and she very much had. She had delivered the extermination the Hydra brought upon themselves. ¡°How kind of the Mother Nest to recall my contributions.¡±

    ¡°You slew twelve sub-Queens during the War.¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± No point in denying that. She was quite proud of it. ¡°I exterminated their nests too. Is there a meaning behind that question, drone?¡± Perhaps you would like to join them?

    Rowin bowed. ¡°I have none.¡± He was simply appalled to be in the presence of one who would betray the righteous natural order. Queens in all forms were treasured beyond compare, the life-givers of the hive. To slay one was an incomprehensible act, but the legends told of this false Queen warned of her power over not only the incomprehensible, but the impossible. ¡°What do you require of me, my Queen?¡±

    A tantalizing question. Honestly, killing the little lizard here and squashing the infestation here, was delightfully tempting, but that was short-term thinking. Information was far more important than satisfaction at the moment. ¡°Your singular purpose at this moment, drone, is to answer the questions my Shipmaster has for you.¡± Tempted as she was to do that interrogation herself, the Hydra would likely be dead before its conclusion. It would be better to have the Admiral do it.

    Rowin¡¯s tail lashed back and forth, a nervous tic of vexation. ¡°Forgive my insolence. I had not realized you possessed a Shipmaster amongst your hive.¡±

    She narrowed her gaze, plucking through the fragile strands that formed this Hydrian soldier¡¯s quaint little mind. ¡°And you thought I might press you fill the vacancy?¡± As if. The thought was positively vile. ¡°I would sooner eat your entrails, and I don¡¯t have a mouth.¡± Or teeth. Or a digestive tract. ¡°You disgust me, drone. But, for the moment you serve a purpose. Do not make the mistake of thinking I am adopting you.¡± His pathetic lizard brain simply couldn¡¯t fathom the instance of a Queen that did not seek his servitude. ¡°If my Shipmaster determines you should die, then you die.¡± That was one directive she would happily abide.

    ¡°Your Shipmaster,¡± Rowin said, ¡°he was poached from another hive? Another Queen?¡±

    ¡°Because I lack the ability to make one of my own?¡± In the eyes of the Hydra, she was a false Queen ¨C defective. True Queens possessed strong telepathy, so-called blindsight, but they also produced strong pheromones that interacted with the bodies of their drones and triggered biological changes. One such alteration evolved a simple sexless drone like Rowin to a fertile male that would hold a higher position in the hive. Male Hydra held several positions, Shipmaster among them. In a proper hive, that title was never held by a drone, only by an elevated male. However, given that she didn¡¯t produce pheromones like a true Queen, theoretically, she could not elevate a drone and would have needed to poach one from another Queen.

    But naturally, that all assumed she was working with Hydra, that she had gathered a nest of damn lizards and puppeteered them as a hive mind. It simply never occurred to the Hydra that an entity of her capability might ally itself with humans. ¡°My Shipmaster is my own,¡± she told Rowin coldly. ¡°His loyalty is not in question.¡± It never had been. Your kind is simply too limited to understand his true rank. Admiral had no equivalent title in the Hydrian language. Shipmaster, the title of a warrior who held authority over multiple ships, was as close as it got, regardless of its other connotations. She, however, was not obligated to clear up Rowin¡¯s misconceptions. The drone could believe another Hydra would interrogate him. The surprising reality would change nothing, simply make it more entertaining. Rowin would be compelled to answer regardless.

    ¡°Understand this, drone. I do not care for you. You are my subordinate, but no member of my hive.¡± Reaching out, interfacing with this alien mind was something rather repulsive, but she understood the need. ¡°Now, a group of humans will reach you soon. You are not to harm any of them.¡± The drone¡¯s mind twitched toward annoyance, but she yanked harshly on it before the thought could fully form and he hissed in pain. ¡°Touch them, spit on them, so much as consider their taste, and I. Will. End. You.¡±

    The proper amount of fear crept into the drone¡¯s mind. ¡°Apologies, my Queen.¡± Rowin bowed.

    ¡°They carry my authority, drone. You are to submit to everything they command of you. Any direction they give comes directly from me. Do you comprehend that?¡±

    Rowin bowed once more. ¡°Yes, my Queen.¡±

    Good, she thought, pulling across his mind, evaluating the honesty of such a statement. She didn¡¯t bother being gentle. There was no point to showing mercy to such a thing. It was little more than a locust cut off from its swarm, prepared but unable to harvest planets. The Hydra had never shown mercy to humanity, so she was not obligated to act with any kindness, short of restraining herself enough to not shatter this abhorrent alien mind. ¡°Make no mistake in this,¡± she commanded. ¡°I¡¯ll be watching.¡±

    With that, the ghost¡¯s visible illusion vanished. Relieved as he may have been to have that white-haired human abomination out of sight, Rowin felt no degree of freedom. The pressure of the Queen¡¯s presence pressed against his organs unrelentingly, no different than a spear tip across his throat. His blindsight could still see the tendrils of her power wrapped around him, more invasive and constricting than even the Almighty Queen herself. A wrong move, and he¡¯d be punished instantly. Whether that meant death, or removing his blindsight so he never felt another Queen¡¯s presence and could never be evolved to serve the hive was irrelevant. He would obey. None resisted She-Who-Sings-Death.

    <hr>

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Crimson Heart¡¯s Base of Operations

    The keys were on a ring that hung by a nail hammered into the stone wall. They weren¡¯t hanging much without gravity, more hovering, but they clinked all the same as Zarrey picked them up and carried them over to the door. He held up the keys, comparing them to the steel door. They matched in color, and they were large keys, befitting the bulk of the door. ¡°I like my odds,¡± he said, attempting to shove the first key into the door. It didn¡¯t fit, but the second one on the ring did. The lock thunked as he turned it, the door opening outward with a slight creak.

    Yankovich took up a position behind Zarrey¡¯s shoulder, signaling Blosse and Santino to watch the corridor behind them. ¡°You sure that¡¯s a good idea, sir?¡±

    ¡°Definitely not,¡± Zarrey grinned. ¡°But if Crimson Heart wants this locked. I want it unlocked.¡± He was petty like that.

    ¡°Can¡¯t argue with that logic, sir,¡± Yankovich said. ¡°But the bars on this door indicate they wanted some sight or sound perception of what¡¯s on the other side.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s an isolation cell,¡± that had been immediately obvious to Zarrey. As much as he may have been hoping for the Baron¡¯s personal vault, he¡¯d boarded enough ships and bailed enough sailors out of the brig to know what he was looking at. ¡°But I¡¯d like to see who the hell a pirate clan builds a special prison to hold. Wouldn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°I suppose,¡± Yankovich admitted, shadowing Zarrey as they pulled themselves past the steel door. The stone here was unevenly chiseled, as if done in a hurry. It gave them easy handholds as they moved forward. The space beyond the door wasn¡¯t large, just large enough for Zarrey and Yankovich to be comfortable with their armor and weapons. Another interior door blocked off the end of the space, formed by large steel bars. They were almost too thick for Zarrey to wrap his hands around, and covered in a chalky powder. The gaps between the bars were large enough to reach through, but they were clearly meant to hold something both larger and stronger than him.

    Yet, as Zarrey raised his gaze to the volume beyond the bars, he saw nothing. More of the stone had been unevenly carved out in a round, spherical shape perhaps twenty-five feet in diameter. A bucket of water had lifted off the ground without gravity, some indication that the cell was occupied, even if the occupant was nowhere to be seen.

    Looking around, everything in the cell was painted in green and outlined in his infrared goggles. It was all ambient temperature. The patterns across the stone were random, but Zarrey found his attention drawn to one area on the left side where the stone seemed to have been chiseled in a finer more perfect pattern. He studied it for a moment, not entirely certain what kept his attention there. ¡°Hello?¡±

    The rock moved, or at least it looked like part of the stone until it uncoiled, slithering up to the bars in one easy movement. A rookie may have jumped, may have shot it prematurely. Hell, Zarrey nearly shot it prematurely as he leapt backward, cursing, ¡°Naddlethwofing mother of fucking beezlenac!¡±

    Having lost his grip on the wall, Zarrey flailed, drifting upward until he banged his helmet into the ceiling. Yankovich didn¡¯t reach out to help him, just kept his own aim very still and very steady. ¡°Is that what I think it is?¡±

    The creature watched Zarrey right himself, wrapping all four of its long, dexterous claws around the bars as it hung, tail drifting out behind it. Zarrey could have sworn it looked amused by his reaction, perhaps enamored by the clumsiness of a species it considered prey. ¡°Yeah,¡± he answered Yankovich. That¡¯s a damned Hydra.

    Sure, Zarrey had considered the possibility there might be a Hydra within Crimson Heart¡¯s base. He had been warned as such. But the reality of truly, actually finding one, that was an entirely different situation. He¡¯d seen the photos, learned about the Hydra the same as any member of the fleet, but they¡¯d always seemed a far off, almost mythical threat. The War had seemed like ancient history, tales of other worlds, not his, even while the Singularity ¨C the not-quite living, not-quite breathing evidence of such a war ¨C had rested below his feet. There had always been more immediate threats to focus his attention on.

    Yet, here he found himself face-to-maw with a threat so completely alien, cussing was about the only reaction he¡¯d so far managed. The Hydra¡¯s long, flexible body slithered slowly in place, keeping its balance in zero-G, despite the speed at which it had grasped the bars. Its two large beady eyes seemed to meet his, blinking slowly, one eye at a time, as it studied him with interest. ¡°You are not prey,¡± it spoke between hisses and clicks, voice raspy as its alien biology contorted itself to speak a language not evolved to it. ¡°I now serve your Queen.¡±

    Zarrey stood there for a moment before he realized that the alien had just spoken words he understood. ¡°You speak Standard?¡±

    ¡°Of courssse,¡± the Hydra said, tongue lingering on the ¡®s¡¯ with a hiss.

    Right, because that makes sense for two species that haven¡¯t encountered one another for half a century. ¡°Did the pirates put you here?¡±

    ¡°I do not know this word, ¡®pirates,¡¯ but I have been here many cycles.¡± The alien flicked its tongue. ¡°And now, your Queen demandsss my service.¡±

    Zarrey nodded, trying and failing completely to make sense of that. ¡°So, you¡¯re not hostile?¡±

    ¡°You are not prey. Your Queen forbid it.¡±

    ¡°Right, okay,¡± Zarrey cleared his throat and blinked a few times to ensure this wasn¡¯t a hallucination. ¡°I¡¯m, uh, going to go make a call.¡±

 Part 41.1 - AIRLOCK WATCH

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    Admiral Gives felt sick. Feverish chills swept across his body, coupled with an all-consuming headache that worsened in every move he made. It hadn¡¯t gotten worse after his near-collapse, but it also wasn¡¯t getting better.

    Kallahan was studying him, trying to predict when he might collapse entirely. Perhaps that would be a mercy, or perhaps, given the severity of his current condition, it would plunge him into a dangerous coma. Not even the Admiral would pretend to understand the consequences, only that he, usually a determined pillar of strength, was suffering. Still, he concealed his condition well. He was usually still. He never idly shifted his weight or tapped his foot, so none of the bridge crew thought anything of his unmoving position against the wall, but Kallahan had seen him nearly keel-over and seemed determined not to let the matter rest. ¡°Are you certain you¡¯re alright?¡±

    Let¡¯s not pretend you care, the Admiral thought. ¡°I am fine,¡± he told the Marine, pleased to hear his voice default to its calm, practiced neutral. This felt something like the flu, if the flu permeated his entire existence and could not be eased by fever-reducers. However, this was not the first time he had held the watch in some form of illness or injury. Personal misery hardly affected the logic required of command.

    The crackle of the bridge¡¯s overhead speakers spared him Kallahan¡¯s response as the ship picked up another transmission from the boarding party. ¡°Base,¡± Lieutenant Colonel Pflum¡¯s accented voice called, ¡°this is Unit Alpha-One. We¡¯ve made contact with Baron Cardio. He¡¯s offering to negotiate a surrender with terms.¡±

    Lieutenant Robinson looked over to the Admiral, who nodded. Oddly, the movement didn¡¯t worsen his headache, only pushed a bit of nausea to the surface, but he supposed he hadn¡¯t suffered a physical injury as much as he had suffered a mental one. ¡°Put me though,¡± he said, moving back toward the radar console in the center of the room. He made the walk slowly, not wanting the Baron to think him over-eager and because his hand-eye coordination was still not quite right. He could move, but even the simplest tasks took more effort than they should have. Even the result of even a practiced habit like walking was imperfect, gait unsteady, but if he focused, it was manageable. However, the need to focus on such mundane tasks was exhausting.

    Robinson hurried back up to the raised ring of consoles that circled the edge of the bridge, taking her usual place beside the comms controls once more. As the Admiral wrapped his hand around the handset on the radar console, she signaled ready, but the sound of another incoming transmission made him pause.

    ¡°Base, Unit Beta-One. Put me through to Actual. It¡¯s urgent.¡±

    Colonel Zarrey sounded breathless, not pained, but utterly shocked. That wasn¡¯t normal for the Colonel¡¯s lively disposition. The Baron can wait, Admiral Gives knew. He met Robinson¡¯s brown eyes, ¡°Connect me to Beta-One.¡±

    ¡®Wise choice.¡¯

    The ghost¡¯s input nearly made him flinch. It wasn¡¯t painful, but he hadn¡¯t felt her attention shift back onto him the way he usually did. It was rather like happening upon someone he had heard coming down the hallway versus turning around and finding someone breathing down his neck, except the hallway was his head, and he didn¡¯t like surprises. But the ghost continued, undisturbed, ¡®Of course, you are always rather wise, Admiral.¡¯ His instincts were some of the finest she had ever seen. Usually, they brought him to the right decision before she ever had to intervene.

    From his perspective, that hardly felt like praise, and not in the playful sense that being called wise made him feel old. No, the comment felt void. It had been leveled without any warmth ¨C a compliment paid by a prim, business-like presence, cool, yet not cold in feel.

    In that instant, the ghost felt more like a machine than she ever had before.

    He tried not to let that concern him.

    As he picked up the handset, Robinson patched him through to Zarrey¡¯s team. ¡°Beta-One, this is Actual. Go ahead.¡±

    ¡°Thank fuck,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°I¡¯ve got the mother of all damn surprises down here, Actual. A stars-forsaken Hydra!¡±

    That statement probably should have surprised the Admiral, but the signs had been everywhere, all pointing to some level of Hydrian presence on the base. From the cyberattack, to the shaped charges on the missiles, to the fuel barrels in the hangar, this could hardly be an unexpected development. And, ill as he felt, he didn¡¯t have the energy be alarmed. ¡°Congratulations, Colonel, you are the first Marine to encounter a living Hydra in the last forty-seven years.¡± A thought occurred to him, ¡°And he is alive, correct?¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Zarrey answered, clearly still grappling with his encounter, as the answer came off somewhat whimsical before he corrected himself with more certainty. ¡°I mean, yes, sir. He is alive.¡±

    ¡°Good,¡± the Admiral answered. ¡°I have a few questions for him to answer.¡± And very likely, the answers that Hydrian drone gave would determine if his presence on this side of the Neutral Zone had been an accident or an intentional act of war. ¡°Is he being cooperative?¡±

    ¡°Oh yes, sir,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°Freakishly polite. Says he¡¯s been Crimson Heart¡¯s prisoner for many cycles, whatever that means.¡±

    ¡°Years, Colonel.¡± It means years. But if the drone had been missing for that long, why had the Empire not come looking, or accused humanity of violating the treaty? ¡°Thus,¡± he refocused himself on the immediate priority, ¡°I doubt he will object to a change of scenery. Bring him aboard. Secure him in a small state room. Guard him until we disembark, then someone will relieve you.¡± Under no circumstances could the Hydra be left unsupervised, but they also couldn¡¯t default to throwing him in the brig ¨C not until it was proven the Hydra had done something wrong.

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Zarrey acknowleged. ¡°We¡¯ll pack up and head back, Beta-One out.¡±

    Yet, while Zarrey willingly complied, the ghost snarled at the Admiral, ¡®I don¡¯t want that thing brought aboard.¡¯

    ¡®I need to interrogate it.¡¯

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ she confirmed. ¡®And you can interrogate it in its cell once the base is secure.¡¯

    ¡®I won¡¯t risk Crimson Heart killing their prisoner before we find out why it¡¯s here.¡¯ If the pirates were somehow collaborating with the Hydrian Empire, or concealing their own violation of the treaty by imprisoning him, they may, out of desperation, kill the prisoner before that could be revealed.

    She didn¡¯t reply to that. The concern was valid. How Crimson Heart had acquired Hydrian technology, along with a Hydrian prisoner was still unknown.

    ¡®I understand how you feel.¡¯ Her past with the Hydra was storied. The carnage wrought by the War had been unforgivable, and she had borne witness to far too much of it. ¡®But we need answers, and that drone is our best shot at getting them.¡¯

    ¡®Fine,¡¯ she said. ¡®But I¡¯ll be keeping it unconscious until you interrogate it.¡¯ The crew would be safer that way, and it might prevent her from snapping the Hydra¡¯s mind in utter disgust.

    That debate settled, the Admiral ordered Robinson, ¡°Connect me with Pflum¡¯s unit.¡± Time to see what the Baron wants.

    ¡®He wants the Hydra,¡¯ the ghost informed him.

    ¡®Well, he¡¯s not getting it.¡¯ The answers that Hydra gave under interrogation could very well determine the fate of humanity. The question of the alien¡¯s presence here needed to be answered, even if most of the possible answers pointed toward war.

    Adjusting the weight of the handset he held, Admiral Gives was pleased that his hand had started to ache. While it hurt, it meant that his sense of touch was finally realigning to what it should be. Holding this handset¡¯s weight, his burned hand should ache. Curiously, he tapped his other hand on the console, grateful to feel the scratches on its surface, rather than a static tingle. The movement of his fingers still weren¡¯t perfect, but they were finally beginning to improve.

    When the line to Pflum¡¯s team on the other side of the base connected, the Admiral spoke, ¡°Alpha-One, this is Actual. Where is the Baron?¡±

    ¡°He says he is safely guarded in the control room, sir. He also noted there are no supply stores there, so we have no need to pursue him, especially since we have already located Crimson Heart¡¯s main storehouse.¡±

    And there goes any hope that Pflum¡¯s team had captured him directly. Naturally, that would have been too easy. ¡°I am willing to accept his surrender on those terms. We do not need the base¡¯s control room for our objective.¡± The Baron was more than welcome to hole up there.

    ¡°Those were not his terms, sir,¡± Pflum relayed. ¡°There is a prisoner here, held in the east side of the base. The Baron wants him left there. If we withdraw from that part of the base, he is offering to let us take the supplies without further resistance.¡±

    ¡°How did the Baron contact you?¡±

    ¡°A small drone, sir. Climbed out of the vents.¡±

    A drone. Small drones with independent power sources may have been insulated from the power surge that had taken out the rest of the pirate base¡¯s systems. ¡°Patch the Baron¡¯s messenger in. I want him to hear what I am about to say, directly.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Pflum answered. ¡°Just a moment.¡±

    There was a pause as Pflum¡¯s team worked on connecting the Baron¡¯s drone into comms. During that pause, Admiral Gives found the bridge crew looking at him strangely. They knew as well as he did that the position marker for Zarrey¡¯s team was on the eastern edge of the base. The Baron was negotiating to keep a prisoner that Admiral Gives had already ordered removed.

    ¡°Ready, sir,¡± Pflum said, ¡°We¡¯ve set up the Baron¡¯s drone as a relay.¡±

    ¡°And I thank them for that,¡± the Baron¡¯s velvety voice cut in. ¡°I must say the aptitude of your crew surprises me, Prince. The fleet always rated them lowly.¡± He helped himself to a hearty chuckle. ¡°Now, what is it you wanted so badly for me to hear?¡±

    ¡°You do not have surveillance in the eastern part of the base,¡± not a question, but a statement. Surveillance existed on the base, but not there. The Baron knew some of the Marines had headed toward the eastern part of the base. He had likely seen them in route, but was unaware the prisoner had already been found.

    ¡°Sure I do,¡± the Baron replied confidently.

    Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

    ¡°No,¡± the Admiral said more forcefully, ¡°you do not.¡± The Baron had chosen a poor bluff. Admiral Gives pressed the handset to his shoulder, allowing the thick fabric of his uniform jacket to mute his conversation with the Baron. He turned his attention instead to Robinson, ¡°Can you isolate the control frequency for the drone?¡± Now relayed on their communications, it should be exposed ¨C higher in amplitude than the background noise it had previously been hidden amidst.

    Robinson nodded, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Carried by the communication, it was now easy to identify.

    ¡°Standby to begin jamming,¡± the Admiral told her, then returned his focus to the leader of the pirates. ¡°Surveillance drones are only as good as their concealment, Baron.¡± Bringing one into the open had been a mistake.

    It was a matter of logic. Any drone that managed contact with Pflum¡¯s team would have been small, small enough to conceal itself and sneak into audible range. To claim knowledge, even partial, of the fight was another misstep. Not only would the drone providing that intel be small, but it would also have to carry cameras and speakers, identifying it as a surveillance drone. With power out, there could be no automated control system for such drones. They would have to be controlled by a human operator via remote. The frequency band of that remote was usually discarded as background noise, but if discovered and disrupted by jamming or other means, the drones became inoperable, no matter how many were hidden on the base.

    ¡°I will offer you a choice, Baron,¡± the Admiral told him. ¡°You can pull back your men and live to steal another day, or you can resist further and be executed alongside them.¡±

    Baron Cardio scoffed at that threat. ¡°I want my prisoner left alone, Prince.¡±

    ¡°That was not my offer.¡±

    ¡°You are to pull your forces from that part of my base,¡± the Baron said. ¡°Take everything else in exchange.¡±

    ¡°Everything else is already being taken.¡± Further resistance mattered very little.

    ¡°You would endanger your crew so willingly? My prisoner is heavily guarded by my most capable crew.¡±

    ¡°Was,¡± the Admiral corrected.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°Was heavily guarded by your most capable crew.¡± Zarrey¡¯s team had already fought their way through. ¡°But such details should hardly concern you, Baron.¡± To take or leave the Hydra was entirely the Admiral¡¯s decision, and though the decision was already made, the Baron would be none the wiser to it once his drones were cut off.

    ¡°That prisoner is the key to everything I have built!¡±

    ¡°And your surrender is the key to your survival,¡± the Admiral said, a hint of ice taking root in his tone. ¡°I will give you one minute from the end of this conversation, Baron. After that minute, your drones will be rendered inoperable. Use that time to order your men to stand down. If they fire on my forces after that minute, I will consider that consent for both your and their execution.¡±

    ¡°This is not a negotiation.¡±

    ¡°And you have no ground to negotiate from.¡± The Singularity¡¯s forces were quite decisively winning this fight. A surrender now only hastened the inevitable end. ¡°We will be taking your supplies and it is my decision to leave or take your prisoner. We will be long gone from this system by the time you learn what choice I made, so the only real uncertainty you should consider in this situation is if you live though this raid.¡±

    ¡°And what is to stop you from destroying my base once you leave?¡± What point was there in surrender?

    ¡°Absolutely nothing,¡± the Admiral answered honestly. Sheer boredom and the satisfaction of being unpredictable perhaps? ¡°However, I may be encouraged to permit your continued existence by your immediate surrender.¡± But perhaps not.

    The Baron laughed loudly. ¡°Enjoy this surrender, Prince, for if you take that prisoner, it may be the last you ever receive.¡±

    <hr>

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Crimson Heart¡¯s Base of Operations

    Watching the airlock was every bit as boring as Alise Cortana had dreaded it would be. It was a pointless waste of her talents. She, a decorated Marine from one of the most honored posts in the fleet, had been relegated to this ¨C to standing with her boots planted on the wall in zero-G. The airlock opened at her feet like a hole, ready to swallow her whole, stretching down, down, down into the structure of a ship. Maybe, without gravity, it shouldn¡¯t feel like a deadly pit, but she supposed the foreboding she felt from it had nothing to do with the size of the opening, or with the web of trusses that waited beyond, patiently awaiting the moment they could tangle her in their web. No, it had nothing to do with the physicality of the walkway that stretched between the hulls. It had everything to do with the battleship itself.

    Sergeant Cortana had been on other ships. True, they had never been her permanent assignment, but she had seen them, traveled aboard them. The Singularity was something worse than all of them. It had nothing to do with the age of the ship, though she was not fond of its antiquated composition. It had nothing to do with the crew either. They were a colorful bunch, a far cry from the practiced manners and formalities of those she¡¯d served with in Eagle¡¯s Talon, but they weren¡¯t inherently bad people. Even if she¡¯d ostracized herself from their ranks, they meant her no harm. And, as much as she¡¯d like to blame the Admiral for her lingering sense of malcontent, she had only interacted with him a handful of times, most of which were missteps of her own making.

    No, Cortana could not discern what exactly made the Singularity feel so dreadful. That in itself frustrated her beyond compare. It should have been easy to identify, as if she could point a finger at that specific trait and will it into nonexistence. Yet, she couldn¡¯t, so standing here on the edge of an airlock that felt ready to swallow her existence only tightened her jaw with more anger.

    Her constant anger came from everywhere and nowhere and she tried not to take it out on the crew, but it showed. It twisted her temperament every time they denied her skills, every time she was singled out for a duty she didn¡¯t want. Honestly, she had never wanted to be on this ship, to be part of Admiral Gives¡¯ rebellion from Command. All Cortana had wanted was to prove herself as the Sergeant, the leader she knew she could be. Sure, she was not as experienced in zero-G as the Marines that had served shipboard their entire career, but she knew she could lead them where it counted. Leaders didn¡¯t need to be the most skilled person in the unit. They only needed to be confident and orderly, prepared to use the skills of those under their command to complete the objective. Leaders weren¡¯t supposed to be the first one in through the door, something the Singularity¡¯s pig-headed executive officer seemed incapable of comprehending.

    Yet, for all her certainty, for all her leadership training and experience, she was relegated here, to stand watch over the gaping entrance to a cursed ship. The rest of the crew would never call it that. For some reason Cortana could never comprehend, they adored the old battleship and all its quirks. They called its weird creaking comforting, its uncanny reflections of emotion marks of character ¨C as if that was all normal.

    There was only one oddity the crew didn¡¯t brush off as normal: the ghost. Usually, they wouldn¡¯t speak in depth on the subject, but they had told her enough. The apparition was an ill-omen. Those who saw its long, white hair were marked for death. Perhaps that was why the crew had been so determined to leave her here. If she were destined to die, it was better her fate not entangle one of the Marine teams. Such superstitious drivel would have annoyed her if it hadn¡¯t been for her horrific second encounter with the revenant in question. That incident drifted through her thoughts in pieces, a half-remembered memory, comfortably out of reach and yet leering at her from beyond. The details of it were hazy, but the threat, the fear ever-present. She would never have imagined a rumored ghost could be that powerful, yet it had folded her mind with greater ease than paper.

    Ever since, Cortana had looked at the crew differently: with more respect, perhaps, but also with curiosity. The Singularity¡¯s crew was rumored to be a group of misfits and misdemeanors ¨C not the kind of people that would create a competent, agreeable crew, especially on the long, isolated voyages the ship¡¯s commander favored. So how many of those rumors had been false? Or how many of the crew had been visited by the ghost and folded into shape?

    Sergeant Cortana¡¯s contemplation went no further than that. The radio in her helmet cracked. ¡°Hey, Sarge, we¡¯re coming around the corner,¡± warned a voice that given its utter lack of decorum could only have belonged to Colonel Zarrey.

    ¡°Roger,¡± Cortana replied, annoyed by both the interruption and the warning itself. If he felt the need to warn her of his approach, surely he thought her incapable of telling friend from foe before firing. ¡°My rifle is secured.¡± Her finger had hovered near the safety, but she¡¯d never disengaged it on this incredibly boring watch.

    ¡°Good,¡± Zarrey replied. ¡°We¡¯ve got a rather scaly traveling companion. Wouldn¡¯t want you to jump. Definitely wouldn¡¯t blame you if you did, though.¡±

    Sergeant Cortana was not given time to consider that reply. Zarrey¡¯s team began to round the corner. The Colonel led them, looking even more unkempt than usual, a gouge carved deep into the matte black surface of his helmet. The sniper, a tall, narrow woman of few words followed him. Cortana had never liked her, but wasn¡¯t given time to fixate on that, because the thing following absorbed her attention completely and totally.

    It looked entirely fake. Naked, not even a yard of fabric hung anywhere on its form, but it hardly needed it. There was nothing for clothing to conceal, its skin held a thick, waxy appearance, subdivided into scales that flexed and slid smoothly over one another with every movement. Each of its four limbs were as long and dexterous as the others. Its wicked claws found purchase on the smooth walls with horrifying efficiency as it followed in line with Zarrey¡¯s team.

    Cortana could not help but stiffen as it approached, wary of the way it moved: quick, and unfathomably efficient in zero-G. Hopping between surfaces without magboots, it looked to be swimming through the air. ¡°Is that¡­?¡±

    Zarrey nodded, ¡°Sure is.¡±

    The Colonel said a few other things, some explanation of where the Hydra was being taken, but Cortana didn¡¯t care to hear it, fixated on the Hydra¡¯s dark eyes. It didn¡¯t glow with body heat the way that the humans around it did. Its outline was just a little lighter than the surrounding walls, giving it a phantom-like appearance though her infrared goggles. She flinched unwillingly when the Hydra latched onto the outer door of the airlock connection, its long, slender body, stretching and twisting into the space beyond her feet. Its sharp, split tongues lashed out, tasting the air before it paused and raised its head once more. ¡°Your ship reeksss like a Queen¡¯s nest.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m going to take that as a complement,¡± Zarrey called from deeper into the ship. ¡°Now, let¡¯s move, big guy.¡±

    The Hydra paused for another moment, tilting its head as it drilled Cortana with its dark stare. ¡°You,¡± it told her, ¡°you poison your Queen, taint giftsss that should ssstrengthen you.¡±

    It said nothing else, just slithered into the airlock beyond, shadowed by the last two members of Zarrey¡¯s team. Cortana stared after it, a shiver creeping across her skin. What did that mean?

    Several minutes later, Cortana was still staring after the Hydra when she heard a clatter down the corridor. Wrenching herself free of distraction, she raised her rifle to scope out the direction of the noise.

    She saw nothing in the distance. The prefabricated hallway and its plain surfaces were just as empty as before, save the little piece of metal drifting away. A wrench, she identified it as it bounced away from the wall. It hit the ceiling of the passageway again a little further down, making another, softer clatter.

    Recognizing the oddity of something she was certain hadn¡¯t been there before, she turned to scope out the other approach angles to the airlock. A pair of strong hands grabbed her from behind before she could complete the movement.

    Damp and scratchy, a rag was shoved into her mouth. It muffled her cry, doused in some chemical that burned her throat and lungs as she inhaled.

    Cortana tried to shake off her attacker, to pivot and toss him, but her feet were anchored by her magboots. She fought to disengage them in a panic, just trying to get free any way she could, but her inexperience cost her. One foot came free, the other didn¡¯t. She kicked backward, clawing at the gloved hands holding that chemical rag over her nose and mouth, but it was no use. Her attacker wasn¡¯t standing behind her, but on the adjacent wall, in a different orientation ¨C something she only realized as her head began to loll and her thoughts began to slow.

    Seconds later, her arms could do nothing but flail loosely, and her panic had been smothered by drug-induced relaxation. ¡°There, there,¡± her attacker said, ¡°it¡¯s easier if you don¡¯t panic.¡±

    The rag was pulled from her face, and Cortana only bobbed back and forth, limply anchored to the wall by one mag boot. She felt nothing now, numb to the world, a call to sleep rising from her body.

    Her attacker spoke with a husky voice, one she decided she liked as he took hold of her arm. ¡°Telepaths can perceive others¡¯ panic, their uncertainty. That¡¯s why you need the drugs, Sergeant. If you don¡¯t feel it, neither can they.¡± Gently, he straightened out her arm, pulling her sleeve up to expose the bare flesh of the wrist. ¡°We¡¯re on the same team,¡± he promised, pressing a silver device against her skin. ¡°You know these worlds cannot abide anarchy.¡±

    An injector. She could see the needles begin to emerge. One of them was massive, the other no larger than a vaccine injection. She tried to pull her arm back, wary of such a large needle, but her arm simply remained limp. Numbly, almost uncaringly, she watched those needles pierce her skin, sliding slowly and easily in. She expected it to hurt, but she felt nothing as her attacker pushed down the large plunger, planting something beneath the skin with a final jolt. The other plunger went more smoothly, an injection of some liquid ¨C another drug as she felt her eyelids grow heavy.

    ¡°I¡¯m so glad I found you, Sergeant,¡± he said, brushing tucking a strand of her hair gently back below her helmet. His touch was so gentle that she hardly even noticed her rifle strap being pulled up and over her head. ¡°Now, I can complete the rest of my mission.¡±

    He pulled the rifle into place on his shoulder, and offered a reassuring smile. ¡°You¡¯ll do wonderful, Sergeant.¡±

    And the last thing Alise Cortana saw though the darkening tunnel of her vision, was a pirate pushing off the frame of the airlock, and sailing deeper into the ship.

 Part 41.2 - BLOOD

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    The skeleton crew left on the bridge was busy. Ensign Walters, the ship¡¯s jittery navigations officer, checked and rechecked the jump coordinates for the Singularity and every single one of her FTL-capable support craft from where he sat in the back row of consoles. Ensign Alba, manning engineering, was seated one row in front of him and kept busy with damage control from the fight. Lieutenants Gaffigan, Jazmine and Galhino sat next to one another in the front arc of consoles. Gaffigan and Jazmine were primarily standing by now, but Galhino remained as busy as ever, taking scans of the base and helping direct the away teams with Robinson hovering over her shoulder to relay instructions. Ensign Owens passed documents and data between them all, and Kallahan stood guard. But besides the Admiral, that was all. The bridge currently had no spare officers to man the consoles, it had no extra yeomen, and it had no second-in-command.

    Still, things were going smoothly, a little too smoothly for the Admiral¡¯s taste. Baron Cardio honored his surrender. His remaining forces, numbering sixty-seven in all, crowded into the area surrounding the base¡¯s control room, and the Marines disarmed them there. Those sixty-seven souls were all that was left of Crimson Heart¡¯s estimated two-thousand members. And in all honesty, the Admiral hardly cared what became of the remaining sixty-seven. Perhaps they¡¯d starve out here. Perhaps one of Crimson Heart¡¯s other ships would return from a hunt and save them. Or, perhaps the Jayhawker would send aid from Midwest Station¡­ for a price.

    It was not Admiral Gives¡¯ concern. So long as the pirates resisted no further, he was content to leave them alive. Their execution would simply be a waste of the ship¡¯s now-limited ammunition supply.

    With the pirates now under control, the supply movement had taken top priority. Scattered throughout the base, the crew was cataloguing and tagging everything that would need to be brought aboard. It would be a disorganized rush ¨C not the type of resupply the ship usually saw ¨C but once everything was brought on board, there would be time to properly inventory and store items before dividing them up for distribution amongst the refugee fleet. That would make for long hours and intense labor, but they would manage. Right now, however, all that mattered was bringing the supplies on board as quickly as possible.

    That, though, was the supply officer, Lieutenant Letts¡¯, domain. He and his staff would choreograph the movement of lifts, carts and trolleys, for even without gravity on the base, moving the largest supply boxes took mechanical aid.

    Communications for that effort were still being routed through the bridge, and the map the ship¡¯s sensors had generated was still being used to guide their teams, so Lieutenants Galhino and Robinson remained as busy during the supply movement as they had during the siege.

    Galhino sat working the sensor console on the main level of the bridge while Robinson stood behind her. They were an effective pair. Robinson herself was speaking to and guiding every unit on the base, a feat of incredible focus, but she didn¡¯t need help, so the Admiral stood quietly beside the flat top of the radar console until Kallahan inevitably approached.

    Ever attentive to his duties as the bridge guard, Kallahan took the long way around the radar console¡¯s flat top, coming to stand where he still had a clear line of sight to the door. Kallahan was not the most physically imposing. He possessed a near six-foot build that was average among the Marines, though taller than the Admiral himself. He stood tensely, always taking note of his surroundings, patiently awaiting and preparing for disaster. That never bothered the Admiral, in fact, it made him a highly-capable soldier on the occasions Admiral Gives chose to ignore the reason Kallahan remained so tense.

    Turning to face the Marine, the Admiral prompted him, ¡°Yes, Corporal?¡±

    ¡°You know I must protest the Hydra being brought aboard,¡± Kallahan said stiffly.

    ¡°You have made your feelings known on the subject.¡±

    Kallahan frowned, the deep lines revealing his older age. ¡°If that Hydra dies in our care, regardless of what it was doing here to start with, that¡¯s war.¡±

    ¡°A war we cannot win,¡± Admiral Gives clarified. ¡°I am aware of the risks,¡± but overall, he had more control over the Hydra¡¯s safety aboard ship.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t fight in the War,¡± Kallahan told him. Biologically, they might be the same age, but that was the trickery of cryogenic storage. ¡°I did.¡± Bringing the alien aboard was a risk, partly due to the Angel¡¯s potential reaction, but also because the Hydra themselves could choose to be deadly at any time.

    ¡°You did not fight in the Rebellion,¡± Admiral Gives reminded him. ¡°I did.¡± Those wars, so different and so dire had forged them into very different people. Kallahan believed the Hydra wanted war ¨C that they would use any excuse to get it, nothing but violent monsters. Kallahan never considered that humanity might be at fault, that some member of humanity might endanger the treaty for access to technology or territory otherwise forbidden. Given Kallahan¡¯s history, the Admiral felt that should have been his first theory, not his last, but that was an argument for another day. ¡°Corporal, my duty is to determine the honest cause of that Hydra¡¯s presence on our side of the Neutral Zone. I will not assume wrongdoing on the Empire¡¯s part when there remains a possibility that humanity is responsible.¡± War was on the line, and there could be no assumptions, no uncertainty.

    Kallahan did not doubt the Admiral¡¯s ability to conduct that investigation, but then, his problem was rarely with the Admiral. ¡°And what happens if that Hydra dies before you interrogate it? You of all people should know it¡¯s not safe here.¡± If the Angel couldn¡¯t avoid turning on him ¨C a person who had been nothing less than her resolute defender ¨C then what would she do to a sworn enemy?

    ¡°The matter has been discussed,¡± Admiral Gives told him.

    Kallahan narrowed his gaze. ¡°Discussed?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    That simple answer was just as stony as before, but Kallahan could read what he needed to from it. A perfectly silent discussion that he had not overheard was no discussion at all ¨C it was telepathic communication. Kallahan took a step closer and lowered his voice to a whisper, ¡°You¡¯re still going to let that thing in your head?¡±

    ¡°I fail to see how that is your concern.¡±

    ¡°For the sake of the stars, Admiral. That thing killed you. It didn¡¯t nearly do so. I watched you die.¡± With the exhausted shadows gathering under his eyes, the ship commander surely felt some part of that.

    ¡°And at which point did you think I cared?¡±

    What kind of response was that? ¡°Have you gone mad?¡±

    ¡°Your mistake was believing I was sane in the first place, Corporal.¡± A logical, stable person would have abandoned a ship haunted by an unstable weapon, not built a command here with a crew of misfits. ¡°You disagree with my methods, and that is your right. However, it is also your job to serve and protect this crew and their mission.¡±

    ¡°I know my job,¡± Kallahan growled. ¡°I¡¯m not the one lying to them. I¡¯m not the one-¡±

    Kallahan ended his own rant abruptly as he heard the bridge door begin to click open, the sealing mechanism turning with a slight creak. He furrowed his brow in confusion.

    Partial to the same confusion ¨C knowing that everyone who should be on the bridge was on the bridge ¨C the Admiral started to turn, but the hatch was flung open first.

    Kallahan reacted instantly, grabbing the Admiral and throwing him to the ground before the buzzsaw sound of an automatic rifle tore into the air, carrying a spray of bullets with it. Kallahan tried to ready his own rifle, but the bullets found him first. Three tore into him, two caught by his chest armor and the third tearing into the weak point below the knee guard and boring into his shin. Blood spurted from the wound, and unable to support his own weight, the Marine fell. He landed atop the Admiral with little more than a shuddering gasp of agony.

    Pinned below Kallahan¡¯s weight, Admiral Gives could only watch the pirate step further onto the bridge, never letting off the trigger. He was dressed in a simple gray shirt and a set of utilitarian cargo pants held up by suspenders. A few small tools poked out of his pockets. Dressed like that, he could have been any spacer, but he handled that rifle like a professional. No pirate should have that kind of combat training, and that realization was only furthered as the gunman made eye contact with him, trapped there below Kallahan¡¯s weight, and turned the rifle away to continue spraying the bridge.

    That¡¯s not a pirate. Once, twice, the Admiral tried to shove Kallahan off of him, only to barely shift the man¡¯s weight. Damn it all. On the third attempt, precious milliseconds wasted, he managed to roll Kallahan unceremoniously aside and yank Kallahan¡¯s side arm from the holster. The Admiral had meant to return it to him, but it hardly mattered now. Kallahan¡¯s weight was still on his legs, so he took aim upside down, but the angle was bad and his coordination still wasn¡¯t right. The first shot missed entirely, plinking off the bulkhead beyond, so he fired twice more without hesitation. The second shot drilled the gunman in the shoulder, wrecking his aim just as the rifle¡¯s clip clicked empty, and the third shot, still not the headshot he¡¯d been aiming for, ripped into the gunman¡¯s throat.

    Gurgling and spurting blood as he fought to breathe, the gunman collapsed. The spent rifle clattered to the ground beside him. He was dying, but not dead, and Admiral Gives wouldn¡¯t give him the chance for any more carnage.

    Uncaring of the Marine¡¯s pained grunt, Admiral Gives kicked Kallahan off and rolled to his feet. Two steps put him above the leaking soon-to-be-corpse, and he took aim, first at the man¡¯s head, then thought better of it. He put two bullets in the left side of the man¡¯s chest, and watched the gunman¡¯s mostly-still-attached head loll to the side, severed tendons allowing it twist a bit too far.

    Around him, the hum of the ship¡¯s power grid began to change, a heavy load being added to its damaged state. The ghost had activated the inertial dampeners, but they¡¯d come on line just a second too late to change anything. ¡®Don¡¯t bother,¡¯ he told her. This was already over. If a second gunman was coming, he¡¯d have come in with the first, making a successful defense all the more unlikely.

    Turning his attention from the corpse at his feet, the Admiral turned toward the crew. Alba and Walters had managed to duck behind their consoles, but they had a clear view of the door.

    The front row of consoles ¨C sensors, the helm and weapons ¨C all sat forward of the door. The operators of those consoles were unable to see who walked in without turning around. The ship¡¯s pilot and the ship¡¯s weapons officer had followed their instincts and thrown themselves to the ground the moment the shooting started. But at the sensor console, Galhino sat closest to the door. Anyone who came onto the bridge passed directly behind that console, the shooter no exception.

    The sensor officer had ducked in her seat, panicked and confused by the noise. In any other circumstance, she would have been hit ¨C any circumstance but today because Keifer Robinson, the ship¡¯s communications officer, had been standing right behind her.

    Robinson stood and pawed cluelessly at the flyaway hairs that haloed her head where a bullet had whizzed by a moment before. It took a few seconds for her to realize that something else was wrong. She felt light, airy, as if nothing in this world could touch her, so when she felt the wetness on her stomach, she was surprised to feel how warm it was, to see how red.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Staring at the crimson upon her hand, she didn¡¯t even feel it when her legs buckled, but the Admiral was there by then. He caught her, and laid her gently down. ¡°Stay calm, Lieutenant. You¡¯ve been hurt.¡±

    Robinson tried to nod, to speak her understanding, but no words would come out and her head wouldn¡¯t move. She could feel her breath moving past her lips, fast and shallow. It couldn¡¯t satisfy her, no matter how she tried to slow and deepen her breaths. It only brought her to flop about on the floor like a fish suffocating in the air.

    ¡°Stay calm, Lieutenant,¡± the Admiral ordered. ¡°I am going to add pressure.¡± It was clear she was in no condition to give consent, and there wasn¡¯t time. He pinned her down before her thrashing could cause further injury and began adding pressure to the wound on her stomach, trying to staunch the bleeding.

    It didn¡¯t help.

    Blood soaked past his hands, wet and warm. He reached up with his free hand and pulled the headset off her head. He donned it clumsily, and hit the button for broadcast. ¡°Medical emergency on the bridge. I repeat, medical emergency on the bridge.¡± He applied both hands to Robinson¡¯s stomach, but still, crimson wetness seeped out, leaking between his fingers.

    The Admiral tried to readjust his hands, but there was so much blood. It was near-impossible to tell where the original wound was, and it wasn¡¯t just seeping from her stomach. It was flowing from her back as well, spreading along the deck to where it soaked the knees of his pants as he knelt beside her. The strongly metallic scent of it was gathering in the air as it seeped through the deck plates and dripped onto the warm electronics below.

    Lying there, Keifer Robinson was surprisingly comforted by the Admiral¡¯s presence. That unshakable calm of his, present even now, was not as strange as it was suddenly comforting. It¡¯s alright, she wanted to say, it doesn¡¯t hurt. But her lips would not move past the surprised part they had gained when she first collapsed. Still, she felt strangely at peace. Maria sat above her, frozen in some sort of shock, but slowly, she faded into the blur of the background. Another took her place, coalescing from the obscurity the world had taken on. In that, everything could finally make sense. She was dying, and the ghost had come for her as she came for all the Singularity¡¯s crew.

    And yet, Keifer Robinson found that presence not entirely unfamiliar. The spirit looked exactly as Keifer would have imagined her: pale snowy skin that looked like it had never seen the sun, and white hair that shone with the silver tint of distant starlight. Her eyes were an ethereal silver, filled to the brim with kindness and sorrow.

    The ghost¡¯s presence should have frightened Keifer. Her injury should have put her in agony as she bled. And yet, it didn¡¯t. The ghost had pulled that pain from her perception, given her these last moments of peace. And strangely, that made Keifer feel safer than she ever had before. Thank you, she thought, feeling the world slip further away.

    ¡°Get me the first aid kit,¡± Admiral Gives commanded the nearest crewman, but Maria Galhino didn¡¯t even move. She had locked up where she sat at the sensor console, tears pooling as she stared at the crimson pooling beneath her lover¡¯s body. ¡°Lieutenant,¡± he snapped, ¡°the first aid kit, now.¡±

    Still, Galhino didn¡¯t move, shivering as she drew in breaths as shallow as Robinson¡¯s. Damn it all. Admiral Gives turned to the next nearest crewman: Ensign Owens. ¡°Get me the first aid kit.¡±

    Breaking out of her own shock, Owens nodded shakily. Nursing a scraped arm, she rushed over to the wall of the bridge, grabbed the white box of the medical kit and brought it back, setting it beside him with trembling hands.

    ¡°Grab gauze and bandages,¡± the Admiral told her. Anything that can help stop the bleeding. Robinson was bleeding out. Her breathing was slowing down, eyes losing their focus. ¡°Hold on, Lieutenant.¡±

    His voice never faltered, but there was a strange fracture in the Admiral¡¯s fa?ade. The storms in his blue eyes had broken, revealing an uncharacteristic sadness. She knew this was more than an act to him, more than his duty as the commanding officer, but it was still in vain. Keifer felt that last breath leave her chest. She watched the ghost rest a pale hand upon the Admiral¡¯s shoulder as if to comfort him, and then Keifer let her eyes slide closed.

    Admiral Gives saw it the moment it happened, felt it the moment her heart stopped pumping blood past his hands. Damn the stars. He wouldn¡¯t give up. Not now. Distantly, he heard a ping from the radar console, the sound notification for a new contact, but he ignored it. The medical teams would be here any moment. ¡°Lieutenant Galhino,¡± he ordered icily, ¡°if you want her to live, then get down here and help me.¡± Galhino stirred slowly, still shaking off the shock of being inches from the bullet that had burrowed into Robinson¡¯s stomach. ¡°Now,¡± he demanded.

    Galhino stood, then half-fell into position beside him, sweaty and shaky. ¡°I¡­ I don¡¯t know if I-¡±

    ¡°I do not care. Start CPR.¡± If they could keep oxygen flowing to her brain, then get her on blood transfusions and life support, there was still a chance that Keifer could be resuscitated. It was a slight chance, but still a chance. They just had to keep oxygen flowing to the brain or Robinson would suffer severe brain damage.

    Galhino obeyed, first brushing Robinson¡¯s brown hair gently out of the way, and then starting chest compressions at the rate that had been relentlessly drilled into every officer. The compressions jolted Robinson¡¯s form roughly, but the Admiral kept his hands in place, trying to minimize the amount of blood that leaked on every jolt.

    ¡®Admiral,¡¯ the ghost interrupted.

    ¡®Not now.¡¯ However vain this action might be, he owed it to Robinson, to the ghost and the rest of the crew to try.

    ¡®Contact, Admiral,¡¯ she insisted.

    He turned to confirm, and as he had heard, a new signature had appeared on the radar display. ¡°Ensign,¡± he looked to Owens. She was still shaky, but altogether more present than Galhino. ¡°Take over. Keep pressure, and do not stop CPR until the medical team gets here.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± She moved closer and inched her slender hands into the warm mess below his. ¡°Got it,¡± she said, feeling the entry wound as a wet hole.

    Prying his hands away, the Admiral had not realized how much pain he himself was in from flexing and stressing his burned hand to try and cover Robinson¡¯s wound. The scabs on his left hand had split, pain flickering along the splits like lightning. Blood had completely soaked the glove and the bandages he still wore beneath. It had soaked into his sleeves. Everything up to his wrists was coated in sticky redness, slick as it began to coagulate into slime. His knees were wet too, darker spots present on his black uniform pants where he had knelt in the pool of Robinson¡¯s blood.

    He had no choice but to ignore all of it, to tear away and disregard the thoughts and focus on his duty. He allowed himself two breaths, and slipped easily back into the logic processes of command. ¡°Weapons, ready up five missiles. At the first indication of hostility, we sink them.¡± Patience would not be his default today. Not with blood staining the Singularity¡¯s bridge. ¡°Helm, standby to separate from the station.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± the helmsman and weapons specialist said, focusing their attention on their controls. As they¡¯d been trained, they would focus on the immediate and ignore the carnage of their surroundings. There would be time for grief later.

    The Admiral looked to the radar displays that hung above the radar console¡¯s flat top. They had not been damaged, but the indicator charts on the back wall of the bridge had, lights flickering or broken between the bullet holes. He didn¡¯t need them to know that the ship was wounded, and in no condition to start a new fight. Luckily, the size of the unknown contact was smaller than any of Command¡¯s battleships and larger than any of their scout ships. It was also broadcasting an ID in the clear, meaning it wasn¡¯t of Hydrian origin either ¨C only a new, unfamiliar adversary.

    There was nothing to wipe off his hands, so Admiral Gives elected to ignore the fact that everything he touched was left smeared in red. He was still wearing Robinson¡¯s headset, and there was no one to hand off to, so he simply took over communications. ¡°All hands,¡± he sent out the announcement, ¡°make ready to reenter combat.¡± Strictly, the ship had never stood down from battle stations, but after so long, he expected the few crew members remaining on board may have drifted from their combat stations ¨C particularly the engineers as they began repairs.

    The strange ship was still at range, just now entering the outer edges of the asteroid belt. Compared to the Singularity, it was small, just a fifth of her size, but that still made it several times larger than most civilian craft. The radar system had given it the unknown marker, unable to match it with known friendlies or known hostiles. The radar ID read as ¡®CRG-99¡¯, but Admiral Gives didn¡¯t recognize it.

    ¡®The public registry has it as a national guard ship,¡¯ the ghost said. National guard ships comprised the mobile patrol forces for individual nations. Such forces were regulated heavily by the centralized government, but individual nations did keep their own armadas. Command¡¯s forces, battleships like the Singularity herself were the enforcing arm of the centralized government, and were given ultimate authority throughout all of humanity¡¯s space. National guard ships were permitted no authority beyond their nation¡¯s borders and it was rare to see them beyond their sovereign space. ¡®CRG is the Cassiopean Royal Guard¡¯s ID branch.¡¯

    Cassiopean? The Cassiopea Coalition was one of humanity¡¯s most notoriously isolationist nations. It was a prosperous nation by all accounts ¨C low unemployment, high quality of life. They commanded a national guard as formidable as any of the central worlds, but there was no reason for any of their ships to be out here. The Coalition was nearly a day¡¯s travel away at best speed, and that was a pace that most ships wouldn¡¯t dare attempt. It would take a traditional freightliner at least a week to cover the same distance.

    ¡®There¡¯s something else. The ship number: 99. It¡¯s registered to the Coalition Royal Guard¡¯s Flagship. The Startraveler Aurora.¡¯ It was a pompous name if the ghost had ever heard one, but there could be no denying the ship¡¯s standing.

    A ship that size, likely, they were still out of its detection range, but not for long. Admiral Gives quickly stepped around the gunman¡¯s corpse and bent over the sensor controls. He was more than familiar with them. He had the knowledge and experience necessary to run every station on the bridge. He ignored the sight beside the console, Galhino leaning in to perform rescue breathing on Robinson while Owens fought to control the blood loss. He concentrated the information the ship¡¯s sensors were taking in. Passive inspection didn¡¯t provide many details, just hot spots correlating to engine waste and power generation, no charged weaponry. Pulling the image stored on the Aurora¡¯s public registration file, he compared it to the stabilized image the ship¡¯s telescopes had pulled. They matched up perfectly.

    The Aurora was the type of ship built by an advanced and wealthy nation. That showed in every line, curve and color of the ship¡¯s design. Her hull folded over itself into layers of curving pleats. Her build alloys, or the coating placed upon them, shined silver and gold. Parts of her design looked fragile and purely aesthetic, but it was difficult to know without an in-depth engineering analysis. Regardless, the ship clearly didn¡¯t favor the same brute force design characteristics the Singularity did. Its payload wouldn¡¯t be primarily artillery. Missiles, drones and directed energy weapons, maybe, but he knew nothing about the Royal Guard¡¯s typical tactics and now wasn¡¯t the time to engage a new enemy ¨C not with most of the crew still on the station and the Singularity already wounded.

    He resisted the urge to turn the Singularity¡¯s most powerful sensors on the Aurora, to dissect its build materials and capabilities, but that kind of active sensor sweep would be obvious to them. It might even be taken as a hostile gesture, and this was not the time to be carelessly antagonistic toward an unknown foe.

    It was clear that the Aurora was here for a reason, however. As he studied it, the ship arced its way through the largest gaps in the asteroid field, heading doubtlessly toward Crimson Heart¡¯s base, until she slowed to a stationary position in one of the asteroid fields¡¯ widest gaps.

    The Aurora stopped at further range than the Admiral expected. That meant their sensor range was greater than he would have guessed, and that they had found something to make them pause. Whether that was Crimson Heart¡¯s base, the Singularity, or the mass amount of battle debris in the near vicinity remained to be seen.

    The answer came via the overhead speakers on the bridge, still tuned to play incoming transmissions. ¡°This is CRG-99, Startraveler Aurora to UCSC-14, Battleship Singularity. Request to speak with your commander concerning diplomatic matters.¡±

    Diplomatic matters, Admiral Gives could not help the sheer absolute annoyance he felt concerning that subject. How wonderful. He had pried his hands off one of his ship¡¯s dying officers for diplomacy. Did the Aurora not see the carnage strewn around them? Did they not see the mass of bodies that drifted through the region? Had they not bothered to analyze how utterly fresh they were? The Aurora had come seeking a battleship after all, and interrupting one mid-mission was never advised. Often, the interloper ended up collateral damage, their message undelivered.

    Pressing a button on the comms headset enabled him to respond. The message would be broadcast in the clear ¨C no direction containment or encryption without someone staffing the comms console. Anyone with a transmitter could pick it up, but they would be gone before the light-limited transmission found the outer edges of the solar system. ¡°You have him, Aurora. State your intent.¡±

    ¡°Ah,¡± the response came after a short delay, light-limited as well. ¡°Then allow us to hail you and introduce ourselves.¡± A different type of communication, the hail would eliminate the time-delay and allow visual contact.

    ¡°I find that unnecessary at this time,¡± the Admiral said coldly. The blood smeared across the entire bridge could hardly make a good first impression. Everything he¡¯d touched was pasted in red, and blood had splattered all over the radar console when Kallahan was shot. It, dead center on the bridge and usually the focal point of communications, was hardly presentable. Perhaps the Royal Guard would find it garish, or perhaps it would prompt them to consider the Singularity a weakened target. Either way, revealing the state of the command center was a tactical unknown, and it was best not to roll the dice. ¡°Now,¡± the Admiral continued, not liking to repeat himself, ¡°State your intent.¡±

 Part 41.3 - MEDICAL ATTENTION

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    Doctor Macintosh rushed onto the bridge with one of his most experienced nurses, a stretcher carried between them. He cursed upon seeing the state of the bridge. It was riddled with holes. Display screens had been impacted and cracked, and a light had been shot out and left flickering on the ceiling. A few of the padded chairs behind the console had holes where the white stuffing was now popping out. The smell of gun power was still laden in the air, slowly being whisked away by the air filters. Aside from the buzz, buzz, of the flickering light, it was quiet.

    Admiral Gives stood in the center of the room, focused on the radar readouts, an equally focused weapons officer and tensed pilot in front of him. They weren¡¯t untouched by the carnage. Jazmine¡¯s ordinarily perfect hair was out of place, Gaffigan¡¯s fiery orange beard looked more unkempt than usual and the Admiral¡¯s hands were positively stained with red. Even from the door, Macintosh could see that the black glove covering his burned hand was soaked. Red smeared many of the nearby controls, and blood pooled below a body that the doctor didn¡¯t recognize ¨C presumably the attacker. There was no question of the body¡¯s status as a corpse given what Macintosh could see of its neck.

    Laying at the base of the radar console, Kallahan was fighting to bandage his own leg, a splatter of blood around him. Macintosh rushed over to him, but Kallahan just waved him off. ¡°Not me,¡± he pointed over to a body that hadn¡¯t been visible from the doorway.

    ¡°Stars,¡± Macintosh cursed. Robinson was pale as a ghost, two of her comrades kneeling beside her. Owens had a fistful of bandages pressed to Robinson¡¯s front, and Galhino was beating upon her chest in sorry condition, sweat damping and plastering her curly hair to her forehead. Yet, it was apparent from the way she lay and from the volume of blood around her that Robinson was dead. ¡°Make room,¡± Macintosh commanded, shoving himself into place along Robinson¡¯s side. He wasted no time and tried to take vitals, failing because Robinson had none to take. She was, in that moment, very dead, even as Galhino leaned forward to push new air into her lungs. ¡°Get the defibrillator,¡± Macintosh ordered his nurse.

    Nurse June began yanking the defibrillator from the supplies they¡¯d brought, and stringing the wires together. She worked quickly, giving the doctor just enough time to glance back to the Admiral. Admiral Gives¡¯ stocky form didn¡¯t look injured, tired perhaps, but not wounded. His cold blue gaze was simply focused on something else, doing as the commander was meant to: commanding. In some ways, Macintosh admired him for that. His ability to disregard the bodies, blood and turmoil strewn around him made him a force to be reckoned with. Few could maintain his calm control, but the mathematics of command required it. Before the Admiral could concern himself with any single member of the crew, he had to ensure the safety of the ship as a whole. Knowing that, Macintosh didn¡¯t bother asking the situation, he simply did his own job and focused on the patient.

    Grabbing shears from the pocket of his white coat, Macintosh watched Galhino perform rescue breathing once more, then pushed her and Owens away. ¡°Move!¡± He dove in with the shears, and cut the front of Robinson¡¯s uniform open. He pulled the fabric away so that Nurse June could lay the defibrillator¡¯s pads directly on her bare chest. This was no time to concern himself with Robinson¡¯s privacy, but Owens averted her eyes. Whether that was out of respect, or because of the gnarled scars that covered Keifer¡¯s chest and torso, Macintosh didn¡¯t know.

    Those lumpy scars cut across her body horizontally. Some rose as mountains and some sunk as canyons carved into her skin. The fleet¡¯s uniform concealed them on the daily, but Macintosh could never have forgotten them. They were some of the most severe scars he¡¯d ever seen: reminders of a cruel man¡¯s cruel deeds. The cuts that created them had gone untreated for weeks, just shallow enough not to kill her, but deep and wide enough to have desperately needed stitches. They were permanent memoirs of Robinson¡¯s prior assignment to the Flagship Ariea, hurt carved so deep that even time could not heal it.

    Nurse June handed him the pads of the defibrillator. ¡°It¡¯s charging.¡±

    ¡°Then dress the wound, quick as you can.¡± Anything to add pressure and mitigate bleeding. Every second counted.

    June did little more than tightly wrap a larger amount of gauze all around Robinson¡¯s stomach, pressing down the bloody bandages already placed there by Owens. ¡°Clear!¡± she said pulling away.

    Macintosh plunged down with the electrically charged pads. On contact, Lieutenant Robinson¡¯s body bucked, but fell back to the deck just as lifeless as before. ¡°Increasing voltage,¡± Macintosh announced, charging the defibrillator once more.

    Diligently, June checked for a pulse, but found none. She pulled back, ¡°Clear.¡±

    Macintosh put the pads in contact, and once more, Robinson¡¯s back arched under the charge, muscles contracting under electric stimulation, but she fell back, as limp as before.

    June checked again for a pulse, but shook her head. ¡°Still none, sir.¡±

    Then fuck it. They couldn¡¯t wait any longer. Macintosh reached over and pulled the biggest syringe from his medical kit. He yanked the cover off. They either brought her back now, or not at all. ¡°Get a blood transfusion ready.¡± They had to get her breathing on her own long enough to transfer her to the medical bay. It was impossible to continue CPR during the trip, but if they could just get her there, the life support machines could take over and keep her alive long enough to operate.

    From the corner of his vision, Admiral Gives watched Macintosh line the adrenaline shot up above the left side of Robinson¡¯s chest. The Admiral could give the affair no more attention than that, ignoring all the noise as he waited for the Startraveler Aurora¡¯s response. Perhaps his tone had caught them off-guard, or perhaps they were simply debating their options. Either way, he was in no mood to be patient while they plucked flowery words out of the dictionary and strung them together with artificial sweetness that tasted real to all but the most jaded people. ¡°Aurora, I would advise a direct answer, else I may be inclined to disregard it ¨C and you ¨C entirely.¡±

    The answer came quickly this time, the light-delay of the radio transmission aside. ¡°Admiral Gives, your presence has been requested in Citadel City by Her Majesty, the Eternal Empress of the Cassiopeia Coalition. The Aurora has been sent to escort you.¡±

    The Eternal Empress? There were hundreds of nations under the umbrella of the centralized government. They varied in size from parts of a continent on a shared world, to being independent stations or asteroids. The more prominent countries covered entire worlds, or solar systems. A few spread beyond that, branching out into multiple star systems ¨C and the Coalition was one of those. He knew little of it beyond its size, rumors of its wealth and that its leader was known as the Eternal Empress.

    Every nation had a seat on the council ¨C the rule-making and governing body of the centralized government. That seat was either held by an official selected specifically to relay matters between the centralized government and their own nation, or by the de-facto leader of the nation itself. Those leaders varied widely in nature. Most were elected presidents or ministers, sometimes dictators, religious leaders or monarchy-empowered kings and queens. Near as any outsider knew, the Coalition governed on a monarchy, the Eternal Empress its head. However, the nation was distant from most of humanity¡¯s other worlds, and notoriously isolationist. When the council gathered, the Coalition¡¯s seat often sat empty, and it was one of very few nations that never requested fleet patrols. The Coalition had gone so far as to reject Command¡¯s offer to station ships there. As a result, Admiral Gives had never been there. ¡°I question why the Eternal Empress would seek the presence of a known fugitive, Aurora.¡±

    ¡°I cannot speak to Her Majesty¡¯s intentions, Admiral, but I should clarify that while she seeks an audience with you, your entire ship is welcome. You need not come alone. It would be our honor to escort the Singularity toward our sovereign space.¡±

    Now, that¡¯s interesting, the Admiral thought. Why would an isolationist nation that had previously refused Command¡¯s patrols want the Singularity in their space? The ship was an outlaw now, and if welcomed by the Coalition, then that was treason against the centralized government. The entire Coalition could be labeled as a separatist entity, an enemy to the central worlds as the Singularity now was. Admiral Gives could see no benefit that the Coalition stood to gain. Even in the obvious answer that this was a trap, the Coalition would gain nothing. Sure, they could attempt to seize the Singularity, but that would give them one ship. If the Coalition sent a simple request to Command, as many as six battleships could be dispatched there within the day. Even after Reeter¡¯s coup, Command would be quick to respond to such a large and wealthy nation. If the Coalition was perhaps aiding Command in the Singularity¡¯s capture, it still made little sense. The Coalition had never wanted to interact with the centralized government before. Why would that change now? Try as he might, Admiral Gives simply couldn¡¯t make sense of it. ¡°I will take Her Majesty¡¯s offer into consideration.¡±

    ¡°Are you refusing the Empress¡¯ generous hospitality?¡± the reply came tinted with confusion, and slight offense.

    ¡°Not entirely,¡± the Admiral answered. ¡°Hold your position, Aurora. If we decide we are interested, we will contact you.¡± A game of patience might help reveal their true intentions.

    ¡°Understood. Please consider our offer as one made in goodwill.¡±

    Sure, the Admiral thought bitterly. ¡°Lieutenant Gaffigan, if they twitch, sink them.¡± Alleged goodwill or not, they were too vulnerable to take chances at the moment. Still, if the Aurora waited, if they reacted with patience rather than pushiness, that could be a good sign.

    The presence of the Cassiopeia Coalition¡¯s flagship could not be disregarded. Having commanded the Singularity during her own reign as flagship, Admiral Gives knew that gesture should not be overlooked. National flagships rarely left their sovereign borders. They often only did so to act as escort for their governmental leaders. The Coalition had sent theirs far, far beyond their borders in direct search for the Singularity. Likely, the Coalition wanted the Singularity for something, but what? Such a wealthy nation had no need to claim the ship¡¯s bounty, and they had no obvious need for the ship¡¯s fighting capability either, so what was it they were after?

    He shook the questions from his mind and strode across the bridge, then up the stairs to the raised level of CIC where the comms console sat. A bullet had bored into the back of the console and a few of the indicator lights were flickering, but everything seemed to be in working order. He flipped a few switches, enabling the communications system¡¯s recorder. The recorder would log and store every communication the system overheard: everything from background noise to adjacent communications would be filed.

    The Singularity¡¯s comms system was one of the ship¡¯s more complicated systems. It enabled everything from general radio transmissions to the faster-than-light subspace links. The electronics and controls that made it work were at once more delicate and more sensitive than any component of the ship¡¯s main engines. Consequently, the system could detect and trace communications in almost all spectrums across nearly the entire solar system. Catching and processing that much data at a constant pace would have been unsustainable, so the recorder was kept off until the communications officer happened upon an anomalous signal worthy of further study. With no one manning comms at the moment, everything would be grabbed for further study, including every transmission the Startraveler Aurora made. That, of course, was the Admiral¡¯s interest. If the Aurora was transmitting to anyone, he wanted to know. With proper analysis of the recordings, they would be able to identify the contents of the transmission, and more importantly who it had been sent to.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    As the Admiral had dealt with the Aurora¡¯s intrusion, Doctor Macintosh had not taken even a moment of his attention off of Robinson. With a steady hand, Macintosh pushed the needle past the outer layer of skin, deeper and deeper, applying careful negative pressure to the syringe as he went. When blood began flowing freely into the volume of the syringe, he pushed down the plunger, injecting the adrenaline directly into the heart. He then removed the needle and set its bloody length aside to restart CPR, trying desperately to restart the rhythm of Robinson¡¯s heart. Her chest caved unnaturally now, ribs fractured, if not broken, but that was repairable. That could be healed. Brain death could not.

    Macintosh pounded on her chest for two long minutes, bending over to continue rescue breathing at the necessary times. Even without a response, he¡¯d continue for another eight. The full effect of adrenaline took effect anywhere from the instant it was injected, to up to ten minutes later. Luckily, two minutes of beating on Robinson¡¯s chest was all he needed. As he finished one chest compression and tensed for the next, her brown eyes shot wide open and she heaved in a gasp ¨C her first living breath in over ten minutes.

    Then she began to scream ¨C a horrible, keening wail of agony that echoed off the semicircular walls of the bridge. The scream was so loud, so pained, even Macintosh flinched away. There was no doubt that breathing or feeling anything in her condition ¨C several broken ribs and an untreated bullet wound in her abdomen ¨C was misery, but she didn¡¯t stay conscious for long. She took another breath, and let out another scream, then collapsed ¨C suffering, but clearly breathing once more.

    Without wasting another moment, Macintosh and June rolled Robinson onto the nearby stretcher. The stretcher was light and could be carried between two easily, but it was also equipped with a battery pack and anti-grav plating along its bottom. The same plating ran through the Singularity¡¯s hull, isolating the artificial gravity field. On the ship, it kept the generated gravity from bending light and increasing detection. On the stretcher, it enabled one person to lift up and push the stretcher back to sickbay with ease. ¡°Go,¡± Macintosh ordered June, ¡°get her on life support and prep for surgery. I¡¯ll be right behind you.¡±

    June took the stretcher, now floating weightless with its patient, and hurried out of the room. Macintosh then moved toward the center of the room and inspected Kallahan. His leg seemed to have stopped bleeding, the bandage wound tightly between his armor was not completely soaked. ¡°Can you walk?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not leaving,¡± the Marine said, pointedly picking up his rifle. ¡°I¡¯ll sit here and wait for the next son of a bitch.¡± And this time, he¡¯d be ready.

    Macintosh knew better than to argue. He turned instead to the remaining crew. ¡°Anyone else need attention?¡±

    A chorus of nearly uncertain, ¡°No, sir,¡± answered him, and Macintosh decided to let it slide. Another medic would be sent up when they had one to send. They would see to Kallahan and anyone else as long as they weren¡¯t immediately dying. Most of the bridge crew looked a bit banged up, and certainly frightened, but none as worse off as Galhino. She sat staring emptily at the puddle of blood on the floor beside the sensor console, arms violently shaking from both exertion and terror.

    When Admiral Gives descended from the upper level of CIC and joined him in the center of the room, Macintosh nodded to Galhino. ¡°Keep an eye on her.¡± This kind of trauma, of being forced to break a lover¡¯s ribs to try and save their life, of being the one who arguably should have taken that bullet¡­ It damaged people badly. There was no telling how she might react when the shock faded.

    Admiral Gives only nodded. As inclined as he was to ignore Robinson and Galhino¡¯s relationship, there was no denying it made this situation a hell of a lot worse.

    ¡°You did the right thing,¡± Macintosh told him. It was clear by the blood coating his hands, that he had tried to stop the bleeding. ¡°It wasn¡¯t pretty.¡± Resuscitations never were. ¡°But you bought her time.¡± CPR was something of a cruel necessity. It injured the patient, but could ward off brain damage just long enough. ¡°Her odds aren¡¯t good.¡± Robinson had been dead for several critical minutes. ¡°We¡¯ll operate, do what we can, but¡­¡± Well, it usually didn¡¯t go well when the patient had already died once. Macintosh would have put a reassuring hand on a friendlier officer¡¯s shoulder, but he didn¡¯t even consider touching Admiral Gives, just told his stony expression, ¡°You gave her a chance.¡± In this situation, that was the best anyone could do. ¡°Call Nurse Sanchez back. I¡¯ll need her and June for this.¡± Robinson¡¯s condition mandated his two most experienced nurses.

    ¡°Consider it done,¡± the Admiral said.

    ¡°And have you decided what¡¯s to be done with him?¡± Macintosh inclined his head toward the unfamiliar body lying near Kallahan.

    ¡°Prep cold storage,¡± the Admiral ordered. Dissecting the corpse might answer some questions. With the way he had handled the gun, ¡°I do not believe he was a pirate.¡±

    Macintosh scowled at the implication, but withheld further questions. ¡°I¡¯ll send someone up to collect him when I¡¯m able.¡±

    ¡°That will suffice,¡± the Admiral told him. ¡°Go tend to your patient.¡± He could handle things here. That was, after all, his job.

    Macintosh¡¯s perpetual air of displeasure strengthened, but he turned and followed the stretcher to sickbay without further comment.

    Admiral Gives watched his white coat vanish around the corner, then returned his attention to the radar screens. As instructed, the Aurora had come no closer. That, in the Admiral¡¯s consideration, was a good sign. If they were willing to wait, then they were willing and wanting to negotiate, even if he still hadn¡¯t quite figured out what they were after. It had to be something pertaining to the ship, but what? Or, perhaps, since they¡¯d requested his presence before inviting the ship, they were after him?

    Those were contemplations for another time. Admiral Gives hit the button on the comms headset that allowed him to transmit to the away team. ¡°Lieutenant Sanchez, report to the medical bay. I repeat, Lieutenant Sanchez, report to the medical bay.¡± He considered for a moment, then realized they were in dire need of a replacement communications officer as well. ¡°Additionally, Ensign Wilder to the bridge. I repeat, Ensign Wilder to the bridge.¡± Wilder was the next most experienced communications officer on the crew roster.

    That taken care of, the Admiral moved on to the next order of business: the gunman¡¯s corpse. He had barely taken a knee beside it when Colonel Zarrey came barreling onto the bridge, the deck plates shuddering beneath his footfalls.

    ¡°What the fuck happened?¡± the Colonel demanded. ¡°Dear stars, that¡¯s a lot of blood.¡± It was everywhere, splattered and smeared across the radar console, pooling on the floor in multiple places. Bloody smears colored the sensor console¡¯s control knobs and keys. Still, the Colonel moved past it, taking inventory of the crew left on the bridge: Alba, Walters, Jazmine, Gaffigan, Owens, and even Kallahan were all sitting with their attention on the situation around them. Only as he stepped further onto the bridge did he see Galhino, still hunched over and trembling as she stared sightlessly at a darkening pool of crimson. The iron scent of it was overpowering the waning smell of gunpowder. ¡°Robinson?¡± Zarrey asked, realizing the Admiral had the comms headset on.

    ¡°Alive,¡± for now. Admiral Gives didn¡¯t divert his attention from the corpse. He knew time was limited to get answers. The Aurora could move at any second, and there was still the unknown matter of a Hydrian AI. Its core had not yet been found on the station. ¡°You are supposed to be guarding our guest, Colonel.¡±

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, Yankovich¡¯s team can handle the stars-forsaken lizard. You need all the help you can get up here.¡± With Robinson down, Galhino in that condition, and Kallahan immobilized, the bridge was three crewman short of what had already been a skeleton crew. Setting his own rifle aside, Zarrey sat down beside the Admiral. ¡°This the shitbag that did it?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°You kill him?¡± Zarrey questioned.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Good.¡± Zarrey contemplated the man¡¯s face for a moment. Damn, ¡°It¡¯s always the handsome ones.¡± This man was good looking ¨C or had been until his neck got blown open and two more bullets to the chest turned him into a corpse. ¡°Best looking pirate I ever saw.¡± Usually, the pirate underlings were rather unkempt. The lifestyle attracted odd ones ¨C those like liked to flaunt their wealth like the Baron or those that put it toward less traditional uses like body modifications.

    ¡°I do not believe he was a pirate,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°He handled the gun too well.¡± Admiral Gives had been in the fleet a long time. He knew what military training of all varieties looked like. ¡°He was trained on that weapon.¡±

    Zarrey picked up the rifle that had fallen beside the gunman and checked the chamber. Empty. Every shot in the clip had been fired, but it was the standard-issue Marine rifle. He pulled at the strap, picking through the nylon weaving to look for embedded wires. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like one of ours.¡±

    ¡°Likely, it was Sergeant Cortana¡¯s.¡± The rifles that belonged to the Singularity¡¯s Marines had wire embedded in the strap. It wasn¡¯t obvious unless one knew to look, and served many uses, but the important detail was that coming from Command, Cortana¡¯s rifle would not have that wire embedded.

    ¡°Oh,¡± Zarrey said, putting the rifle aside. ¡°I¡¯ll get someone down to replace her at the airlock.¡± Cortana would likely get her wish: the young Cadet Santino would take over for her there. ¡°She dead?¡±

    ¡°Unknown.¡± The Admiral didn¡¯t bother to pretend he cared about Cortana¡¯s fate as he patted down the gunman¡¯s corpse. He found little in the gunman¡¯s pockets, just a handful of small tools and a tiny flashlight meant for electrical work. Those tools could belong to any spacer and his clothes were also decidedly average, a plain shirt and thick cargo pants held up by suspenders. He had no ID on him ¨C not uncommon for those working in the underworld, but Zarrey was right, the man had a nice face. The Admiral didn¡¯t consider the corpse handsome in the slightest, but with the exception of a slightly crooked nose, the man¡¯s face was perfectly symmetric. He had no scars and no hairs out of place on his brows. Pulling an eyelid open, he could see that the man¡¯s eyes were brown, the most common, the most average color coupled with a face that was quite decidedly not average. ¡°His appearance has been corrected.¡± It had been artificially tailored, as was traditional in the wealthier central planets. Later, other alterations had been made to make his perfect face blend in with the rest of humanity, resulting in a slightly crooked nose and average eye color.

    Zarrey tilted his head, reconsidering the handsomeness of the corpse. ¡°Well, that¡¯s cheating.¡± No wonder he was so attractive. ¡°Correct me if I¡¯m wrong, but not many citizens of the central worlds become pirates.¡± And those that did wouldn¡¯t bother altering their faces to blend in. The citizens of the wealthier worlds took pride in their perfect appearances.

    Pulling at the gunman¡¯s clothes, Admiral Gives checked over the man¡¯s skin for any obvious marks or tattoos ¨C any identifying features on an appearance clearly tailored to look average. Everywhere he touched was still getting slightly stained red. The color still caked his fingers, a constant reminder of what this gunman had done, but the corpse¡¯s now lukewarm skin was unmarred by ink or scars.

    ¡®Check the wrist.¡¯

    The Admiral stiffened a bit as the ghost made her presence known. She¡¯d been unusually quiet, and even now, felt unusually mute. Perhaps that was grief, or perhaps it had some other cause. ¡®I did.¡¯

    ¡®Check again. Knead the flesh. Feel for an implant.¡¯

    He didn¡¯t question it, just picked up the gunman¡¯s hand and prodded the flesh for a moment. So soon after death, no rigor mortis or bloating had set in. The hand just felt slightly cooler than it should have. Feeling nothing unusual on that hand, the Admiral set it down, and pressed at the other. This one didn¡¯t feel quite the same. It had an extra veiny texture and a slight, nearly unnoticeable bulge. ¡®There¡¯s something here.¡¯ And it was something that would have been missed in a usual autopsy. The wrist wasn¡¯t a common place for implants, and this one didn¡¯t feel rigid. It didn¡¯t feel as though it were made of metal. It felt strangely fleshy, so it may not have shown up on the usual imaging done with an autopsy either. ¡®What is it?¡¯

    ¡®An implant. I don¡¯t know it¡¯s purpose.¡¯ The ghost had never seen its kind used or removed. With such subtle integration, it may simply be the ID marker the Admiral had been looking for. ¡®But I can tell you what kind of people carry them.¡¯

    ¡®Government agents.¡¯ He had been almost certain of that since he¡¯d seen the gunman handle that rifle.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ she confirmed. ¡®That man is an Indigo Agent.¡¯

 Part 41.4 - INDIGO AGENT

    Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

    An Indigo Agent. This corpse belonged to a spy, and not just any spy.

    Indigo Agents specialized in long-term infiltration. They were the United Countries Space Command¡¯s eyes and ears. Command¡¯s intelligence network had massive reach. There was no question of that. Informants and spies fed information from all of humanity¡¯s worlds to Command, and Command deployed ships as necessary to ¡®keep the peace,¡¯ even when that meant ordering massacres.

    Notorious loyalists, the Indigo Agents¡¯ original identities were killed off so completely that their infiltration mission effectively became their life. They were chameleons, altering their bodies, mannerisms and personalities to blend, eavesdrop and learn everything they could. Indigo Agents very, very rarely revealed themselves, and even as the Fleet Admiral, Gives had not been privy to the Indigo Agents¡¯ deployment. That knowledge was prized, held only between agent and handler.

    In most cases, no one would know they had encountered an Indigo Agent. The existence of the spies¡¯ wrist implant would not be public knowledge, regardless of the implant¡¯s purpose. Any trait that would oust the Indigo Agents would be classified at the highest level, meaning he knew nothing about it, even if the ghost did. But, like most of Command¡¯s secrets, she had a history with these agents that couldn¡¯t be overlooked.

    Tossing the corpse¡¯s hand back onto the deck, the Admiral stood. Zarrey gave him a glance, but continued his own examination of the body. The Colonel would be thorough, document everything from the origin and style of his clothes to the way his hair had been cut. That would yield some clue how long the man had been aboard Crimson Heart¡¯s station, and thus, how long he had been embedded there as a spy.

    Stalking back over to the blood-stained sensor console, the Admiral began to query the ship¡¯s logs for any information on the Indigo Agent or their strange implants. It would have been before his time, during the Hydrian War. That was as much as the ghost would speak on the matter, and now was no exception. She had gone quiet, present yet mute. He had never quite been able to discern if that silence of hers was willing or if she¡¯d been ordered to it and left unable to communicate on the subject.

    Regardless, his query of ship¡¯s records returned no results. Any mention of an Indigo Agent¡¯s presence had been purged. The Admiral would have expected as much. They would have been poor spies to leave any mention of their presence. Even the ghost, a weapon of highly-clandestine nature, was not meant to recall anything about the Indigo Agents, but Command had always understood her poorly. They failed to comprehend the fact that she maintained an independent memory ¨C one that remembered everything she had been ordered to forget.

    His search through the ship¡¯s records pointless, the Admiral turned his attention instead to the internal sensors¡¯ data. The Singularity¡¯s internal sensors weren¡¯t particularly robust. They, coupled with data pulled from the life support systems, were primarily used for onboard atmospheric and temperature monitoring. They detected fires, hull breaches and other hazards. They weren¡¯t meant for in depth analysis, but he checked them anyway.

    The Indigo Agent¡¯s implant¡­ Something about it unnerved him. Something about it was familiar, or perhaps just wrong. The bulge on the corpse¡¯s wrist seemed too small to be an explosive device, but that didn¡¯t mean it was harmless. The death of the host could very well trigger a reaction ¨C the release of some toxin or bioagent.

    Still, there was nothing amiss in the ship¡¯s atmosphere. The air circulation systems hadn¡¯t found anything out of place, and they would have flagged a high concentration of unknown particulates in the air. The Admiral worked for another few minutes, checking for other anomalies in temperature or electro-magnetic fields, but the ship was reporting everything normal.

    As far as the Admiral cared, that just meant answers would have to wait for an autopsy. There were more immediate concerns: he¡¯d just shot and killed an agent of Command on the bridge. Their location may have been reported, and a fleet controlled by Manhattan or Reeter could be on its way. ¡°XO,¡± he called to Zarrey, ¡°oversee the supply movement. Hurry it as much as you can. It can be messy as long as it is safe.¡±

    Zarrey looked up from the corpse. ¡°We in a hurry?¡±

    ¡°We are now.¡± Gesturing to the corpse, the Admiral continued, ¡°That was one of Command¡¯s agents.¡± With the look of the central worlds about him, that was a certainty. ¡°Our position here may be compromised.¡± It was impossible to know if the agent had reported in and received updated orders to attack, or if Command had given its spy network standing orders regarding the Singularity.

    ¡°Ah,¡± Zarrey said, drawing his expression into a scowl. ¡°I¡¯ll have them get a move on it.¡±

    A moment later, the replacement communications officer, Ensign Wilder arrived. He was a young man with dark, slightly curly hair, and the Admiral didn¡¯t allow him time to contemplate the bloody condition of the ship¡¯s command center. ¡°Ensign,¡± he ordered, ¡°take over comms. There is a ship in range, CRG-99. Hail them.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the ensign said, stepping widely around the mess of blood to get to his station. It took him a moment to orient himself and slip on the spare headset hung by the console, but he began to work without further questions.

    ¡°Do you want to move this fucker out of the way?¡± Zarrey asked, nudging the spy¡¯s corpse with a foot. ¡°He¡¯s going to be dead center for the visual broadcast. Emphasis on dead.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Admiral Gives answered. ¡°Let it be a warning to the Coalition.¡± How they reacted to this scene would be very telling of their intentions. For their sake, the Admiral hoped they were surprised, otherwise their shiny little flagship wouldn¡¯t be leaving this asteroid field.

    Zarrey made a face, part understanding, part disgust. ¡°That¡¯s one way to make a first impression,¡± he muttered, returning to his own task.

    ¡°I¡¯m ready, sir,¡± Ensign Wilder called.

    There was a confidence in the young man, nothing near arrogance, simply experience. Though Wilder worked the night shift, he had worked with Admiral Gives before. The Admiral had purposefully shifted his hours on regular intervals to work not only with the primary station handlers, but also with the second and third shift reserve officers. He had familiarized every one of the ship¡¯s officers with what he expected of them. In that, Wilder had no hesitation about interacting with him. The Ensign simply took over his role and folded in with the rest of the crew.

    Admiral Gives returned to his usual spot beside the flat top of the radar console. Its softly glowing surface was flecked with a fine mist of red, and its sides were smeared in blood. Kallahan still hadn¡¯t moved. He sat against the console, a gun in his hands and a bandage on his leg. The Marine made no effort to move out of the frame, and the Admiral did not ask him to. The spy¡¯s corpse lay sprawled between them, its neck twisted so that the bridge¡¯s camera¡¯s angle would catch its mangled state in full. That wasn¡¯t intentional, but the Admiral made no move to correct it, nor did he make any attempt to clean the slather of congealing blood from his hands. ¡°Hail them, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Wilder confirmed.

    The Aurora answered quickly, eager it seemed, and the large screen at the front of the bridge switched inputs from the tactical map of the pirate base to the hail¡¯s video feed. The Aurora¡¯s bridge was a tidy affair, smaller than the Singularity¡¯s, but sleek and kempt. Her crew looked much the same. Their hair was nicely combed over or put up tightly, uniforms clean and pressed, hardly a wrinkle anywhere to be seen.

    By comparison, to say nothing of the bridge¡¯s current state, Admiral Gives knew his crew looked haggard. But, they¡¯d been working, and he would not apologize for that. The Aurora¡¯s spotless appearance indicated she had done little work as a national guard ship, simply been paraded around to impress. Naturally, that was something the Admiral found distinctly unimpressive.

    Every member of the Coalition crew wore white. Their jackets were detailed in gold to varying degrees, the embroidery no doubt denoting rank or experience. The man in the fanciest jacket had a blue sash running from his shoulder to his waist. As if that weren¡¯t enough indication that he was in charge, he sat in the center of the bridge upon a contoured chair which had control screens branching off its arms. As the hail connected, the two communications systems syncing up, the Aurora¡¯s captain stood and put his arm across his chest in some sort of salute.

    The movement was practiced, perhaps even rehearsed, but shock interrupted it all the same. The Aurora¡¯s captain dropped his arm awkwardly from the gesture as his eyes went wide. His mouth hung open for a moment in clear surprise caused undoubtedly by the Singularity¡¯s visual feed.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    With a patient eye, Admiral Gives watched the Coalition commander regather his thoughts, obviously taken aback by the garish condition of the Singularity¡¯s bridge. That was a good sign, an indicator that the Coalition was not in league with Command. ¡°Who am I speaking with, Aurora?¡±

    The young captain¡¯s eyes broke away from the corpse¡¯s mutilated neck and snapped back to Admiral Gives. ¡°I am Lord Protector Borealis, head of Her Majesty¡¯s Royal Guard. It is an honor to speak with you, Fleet Admiral.¡±

    It seemed even the sight of a fresh corpse could not interrupt the pointless dance of formalities, so Admiral Gives replied bluntly, ¡°I am no longer the Fleet Admiral.¡±

    ¡°The title of Fleet Admiral is won through combat, is it not?¡± Borealis said. ¡°One could argue that you will hold it until defeated by another.¡±

    ¡°I have no interest in political niceties, Lord Protector. I am calling as a courtesy.¡± Nudging the corpse on the floor with his shoe, Admiral Gives continued, ¡°This was an agent of Command. Given that you are well outside your sovereign space and attempting to engage a known criminal in conversation, I expect that you would want to know.¡±

    A degree of color drained from the Lord Protector¡¯s face. ¡°Is this location exposed?¡±

    ¡°Possibly. Thus, if you do not wish to be found here, I would advise you to withdraw.¡±

    ¡°I cannot abandon my mission, Admiral. Her Majesty sent me to escort you back. Name your demands and you shall have them.¡± The Lord Protector raised a hand toward Kallahan¡¯s slouched form. ¡°I see you have wounded. Do you require aid? We would be happy to provide it.¡±

    ¡°We require nothing, Lord Protector,¡± the Admiral told him coldly. ¡°We are no strangers to violence.¡± The ship was fully equipped to handle herself and her crew in such cases.

    ¡°Then name your desires, Admiral. If it means a meeting, the Empress will fulfill them without negotiation.¡±

    Lord Protector Borealis was desperate to complete his objective, but the Admiral did not consider that a sign of malintent. If anything, it made the situation more perplexing. Ordinarily, an open-ended invitation like that never would have enticed the Admiral. He¡¯d never had any interest in wealth, rare goods or political favors. However, the situation had changed. A political favor could be the difference between getting a resupply or starving out in the void. The Cassiopeia Coalition could be an invaluable ally to a ship on the run, and that wasn¡¯t a possibility Admiral Gives could discard, no matter how slight. ¡°At this time, I only request the Empress¡¯ patience,¡± he told Borealis. ¡°If she maintains an interest in a meeting, then you may wait in the Riddick Sector. If I decide this conversation should continue, we will be there in five days.¡±

    ¡°The Riddick Sector,¡± the Lord Protector echoed. ¡°That is a large area. Any point more specific for our rendezvous?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Choosing a more specific location would enable traps to be laid. ¡°We will find you if we determine it is in our interest.¡± The Riddick Sector was primarily void space. It had no solar systems or other anomalies to note. Within it, there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to conceal an ambush. It was well within the Singularity¡¯s capability to search that sector for a ship of the Aurora¡¯s size, so there was no need to be more specific.

    ¡°Very well,¡± Borealis said. ¡°If you will not accept our aid here, then we shall take our leave.¡± He placed his arm across his chest in the ceremonial gesture once more. ¡°I can acknowledge our timing here was flawed, Admiral, but I truly hope to see you again in five days¡¯ time.¡±

    ¡°I will consider it,¡± and that was the only answer Admiral Gives cared to give. He signaled Ensign Wilder to cut the transmission and the view of the Aurora¡¯s sparkling bridge disappeared.

    ¡°They were surprisingly amicable,¡± Zarrey said, scratching at the old scar on his jaw. ¡°What the fuck do you think they¡¯re after?¡±

    ¡°I am uncertain,¡± the Admiral told him honestly. ¡°We will have five days to figure it out. It is not our priority at this time.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± Zarrey agreed, ¡°thievery first, political charades later.¡± Life on a battleship never was dull. ¡°The supply movement is in progress. We¡¯re shoving stuff in wherever it fits near the airlock and we¡¯ll redistribute and take inventory later. We¡¯re doing food first, then general supplies. Weapons will be last.  Crimson Heart didn¡¯t have much, near as we can tell ¨C mostly small arms and mining explosives, but I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll find a use for them.¡±

    ¡°Inform Lieutenant Letts that he may store the weapons between the hulls for now.¡± It would save the supply officer and his teams some time. ¡°We will vent the air before we disembark.¡± That would add an insulating layer for any heat or flame-activated explosives. ¡°In the meantime, I want all teams standing by for evacuation. If we detect any of Command¡¯s ships coming in, all crew are to drop what they are doing. They will leave the supplies behind and evac immediately. We will not engage the fleet, even in a delaying action.¡± The crew would be gathered and they would flee. They were in no condition to combat the fleet.

    ¡°Aye,¡± Zarrey confirmed, ¡°I will see to it.¡± There could be no confusion, no delay if an evac became necessary.

    It was an abundance of caution. Even if the spy had exposed their position, it was unlikely a task force large enough to threaten the Singularity was nearby. Given the results of the battle in the Wilkerson Sector, Command was not likely to dispatch a single ship to combat the Singularity. They would gather a larger group prior to engaging. In that, the teams had time. The Admiral just had to gamble that it was enough time.

    ¡­And it was.

    In the following six hours, the crew put forth a monumental effort to haul everything of value from Crimson Heart¡¯s base onto the ship. The spy¡¯s corpse was hauled off the bridge for cold storage, and the Aurora left, retracing their path out of the asteroid field before warping away. That seemed an odd choice to the Admiral, as warp travel could be traced, but perhaps the Aurora hoped they would follow. Of course, the Admiral had no intent to. With the Aurora gone, he had focused his efforts on scanning the far reaches of the system for any sign of UCSC fleet presence or Hydrian presence.

    He had found neither. Beyond the battle debris, the pirate base, and their own support craft, there appeared to be nothing artificial left in the system. There was no trace of the Hydrian AI that conducted the cyberattack, and no hint of any relays or scouts allied to Command. Eventually, Galhino put herself together enough to return to her duties and took over the search. She said little and still shook, tears clearly dried on her cheeks, but the Admiral allowed it. Work would be a welcome distraction for her, so he had turned his attention to other matters.

    He began to draw up theories on how or why Crimson Heart had accquired Hydrian technology and a live Hydrian prisoner. However, the motives and capability did not seem to fit together. Everything he knew about Hydrian society indicated that no Hydra or Hydrian AI would ever ally willingly to humanity, let alone to human pirates. Alternatively, everything they had seen from Crimson Heart¡¯s capabilities indicated that they did not have the means to force a Hydrian AI to work for them, except by holding a Hydrian prisoner hostage. It was possible, even likely in the Admiral¡¯s contemplation that the AI ¨C known to belong to a Hydrian scoutship ¨C had obeyed Crimson Heart¡¯s objectives in exchange for the safety of its singular crew member. Yet that didn¡¯t explain how Crimson Heart had attained a Hydrian prisoner in the first place, or why Command had planted an Indigo Agent amidst Crimson Heart¡¯s members. Try as he might, Admiral Gives could not make all those puzzle pieces fit together. He could only wager that the Hydra had answers.

    The appearance of the Cassiopeia Coalition¡¯s flagship was an entirely different mystery. They had risked a lot in travelling so far beyond their sovereign space to find a ship full of traitors to the centralized government. Admiral Gives may have understood the risk if the Coalition had wanted or needed the ship¡¯s bounty, but the request for a diplomatic meeting made no sense at all ¨C never mind the fact that it had come from the Eternal Empress herself.

    No clear answers to be had, the supply movement drew to a close. The end of the operation was nigh, made obvious as the frequency of Zarrey¡¯s cussing had declined rapidly in the last few minutes. ¡°We¡¯re recalling everyone now, Admiral,¡± the Colonel said. ¡°We¡¯ve got what we came for.¡±

    ¡°Very well. Sound roll call.¡± He wanted no one left behind. ¡°When that has finished, seal the airlocks and disengage from the station.¡± Admiral Gives turned to Ensign Alba, the boyish engineering officer. ¡°Begin jump preparations.¡± Unlike the Aurora, they would not leave a trail to be traced when they left this system.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Alba said. Bowing his head back to the controls, he began to reroute power to one of the ship¡¯s FTL drives.

    A few minutes later, Zarrey let out an over-dramatic sigh and slammed down the handset he¡¯d been using to give orders to the crew below decks. ¡°All hands accounted for. Let¡¯s get the fuck out of here.¡±

    I can¡¯t agree more, the Admiral thought. The ship and crew had given all they had today. Both were exhausted and in dire need of rest and repair. ¡°Helm,¡± he prompted Jazmine.

    The pilot nodded, and as the docking connections to the pirate base retracted, he eased the ship away from the base. It was a slow and easy movement, for even a low-speed collision could be devastating between two entities of such mass. When proper clearance had been achieved, Jazmine brushed his luscious hair back, and asked, ¡°Back the way we came, sir?¡± That route out of the asteroid field was known to be free of traps.

    ¡°No,¡± the Admiral told him. ¡°All stop. We will jump from here.¡± Ordinarily, jumping in regions that had high concentrations of material such as dust or debris was avoided. It raised the hazard level of the jump by a significant margin, but some part of the Admiral already insisted they had been here too long. The time it would take to fly back out of the asteroid belt was not worth the risk.

    ¡°Then we¡¯ll make best time back toward the civvies and do repairs there?¡± Zarrey asked.

    ¡°No. We will take the first jump as planned.¡± That would render them untraceable by Crimson Heart. ¡°But we will not proceed toward the fleet.¡± Not yet. ¡°After this jump, begin repairs and focus on properly storing our bounty. Ensure everything is scanned for unknown devices and tested for toxicity.¡± Crimson Heart had likely placed trackers on their wares, and black-market goods were not known for their quality. Even something not meant to be poisonous could become so after being repackaged in the pirates¡¯ warehouse.

    ¡°And then we can make for the fleet?¡± Zarrey inquired.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± the Admiral told him. ¡°There are still other matters to be addressed.¡± If they started toward the civilian refugee fleet before searching every possible source for a transponder, they may inadvertently reveal the fleet¡¯s location. In that, they had to rule out being tracked by the pirates, the Hydra and Command itself.

    Of those threats, logic insisted that Command would prove the most immediate. Thus, the corpse and its mysterious implant would be first priority.

 Part 42.1 - THE AUTOPSY

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The ship¡¯s morgue was an unfortunate necessity.

    It could never be anything other than that.

    It was a drab room. The length of the longest wall was lined with cold storage tubes layered together in a honeycomb pattern. Each tube was large enough for one corpse. Before decomposition could set in, they were laid upon metal trays and slid into the tubes. The cold preserved them as they were, whether that was for investigation or to be prepared for formal burial.

    Civilian ships were never designed with such facilities, but military ships required them. Even without the instance of a proper war, military ships saw a fair amount of danger. They were destined to lose crew, even if it was only through police or exploratory work. The Singularity had never been an exception to that. In the last month alone, due in large part to the nuke that had hit the ship in the Kalahari Sector, the Singularity had lost thirty-two crew members. In such cases, the recovered bodies had to be stored somewhere.

    The ship¡¯s morgue served that morbid purpose, concealing the dead from the eyes of the living, and the deplorable nature of that function showed in all aspects of the room. The lights were more hesitant to turn on, and the air tasted staler than elsewhere on the ship. The room had an inescapable chemical funk, and Admiral Gives had never been certain if that came from the disinfectant sprayed on the storage trays or if it was some strange preservative in the tubes¡¯ preservation system. It wasn¡¯t the sewer-stench of organic decomposition, but it stifled the air nonetheless.

    Walking along the long wall of storage tubes, the Admiral located the active one and undid the latch. All the other tubes were empty. The dead from the nuke had been turned over during the ship¡¯s last resupply. He wanted to believe those corpses would be returned to their families or given proper burial, but he doubted Reeter had been so kind. More likely, they had been tossed in the incinerator aboard Base Oceana.

    Pulling the storage tube¡¯s door open, a small cloud of freezing fog escaped into the air, neither worsening nor alleviating the scent of the room, only adding a physical chill. With his gloved hand, the Admiral reached in, took hold of the storage tray and yanked it back. It slid out along the rails it was mounted on, stopping when the track ran out and the corpse was presented in its entirety.

    The Indigo Agent¡¯s body had been stripped of his clothes and covered in a white sheet. The clothes had been taken elsewhere for examination and afterward, if their material was deemed fit, would be recycled.

    Presented like that, the figure beneath that white sheet could have been anyone. The Admiral tried not to recall just how many bodies he¡¯d seen stored like this ¨C how many he¡¯d come to observe in this very room. They blended together at times. Once the sheet covered them, they looked much the same, but there always exceptions. Brent had been one of them.

    Admiral Gives remembered every detail of that corpse. He¡¯d demanded to see it, ordered the sheet to be removed, and spent over an hour memorizing every aspect of Brent¡¯s mortal wounds. A crushed and leaking skull, the contents gelatinizing upon the cold storage tray. The purple and green bruising of the abrasions on his neck. Admiral Gives had burned those sights into his memory to convince himself that Brent was well and truly dead.

    And he had been.

    At least, the Admiral had thought so, but the day¡¯s events had called that into question, for there was no doubt in the Admiral¡¯s mind who had possessed his body on the bridge. Every bit of that presence, down to his sickening laugh, had been Brent. There was no question of that, only the question of how that was possible.

    The ghost had tried to tell him, even warned him that Brent was still here. He had brushed it off, assumed she spoke of trauma. Stars, he felt like an idiot now. He should have listened more closely, paid more attention. The ghost had never recovered from Brent. Her inability to forget what he¡¯d done to her would have made that difficult, but there was more to it than that. He could see that now.

    Perhaps that should have been his first priority, but it couldn¡¯t be. The requirements of command did not allow that, which was a mercy, for Admiral Gives had no idea where to even start on the topic of Brent. The discussion necessitated a degree of gentleness, and gentleness had never really been his strength.

    Compartmentalize, he reminded himself. Potential threats to the ship had to be handled before anything else, no matter how personal the matter. That had always been the arrangement. It was not meant to be cruel, not meant to deny healing, only ensure there was time to do it right. The ghost would understand. But then, she always understood. They had been through all of this before, even Brent, so he focused again on the threat the Indigo Agent presented.

    The spy had turned an odd color since his death, though the Admiral couldn¡¯t quite determine why it was so odd. The corpse¡¯s face had not otherwise changed. A square jaw and strong cheekbones, the slightly crooked angle of his nose was his only flaw. Without question, his appearance had been artificially ¡®corrected¡¯ to match the standards of the central worlds. After that, Command had modified his nose to help him blend with those born outside the central worlds¡¯ borders. The illusion worked. The man was left handsome, but not flawless enough to draw attention.

    ¡°We need to talk,¡± the Admiral said, not to the corpse, though he didn¡¯t pause his study of it.

    ¡°¡­I didn¡¯t sense him.¡± The ghost took form in the furthest corner of the room, cowering from it and all it represented. She hated it here, though she knew the circumstances could not be helped. ¡°I don¡¯t understand,¡± she said quietly. ¡°I should have sensed him, felt his intentions.¡± What use was her invasive telepathy, if not that? Why was she forced to hear others¡¯ thoughts if in this one situation she was deaf? ¡°I should have been able to warn you.¡±

    The Admiral paused his examination of the corpse, and looked to her, sensing distress. ¡°This was not your fault,¡± he told her trembling figure. There had been a dozen other matters upon which to divide her attention.

    ¡°But I should have been able to warn you.¡± If she had just managed that, just managed for once to function wholly and cohesively, she could have warned him, and he could have protected the crew.

    It was odd that the spy had managed to slip past her perceptions aboard ship, but it was not impossible. ¡°Your attention was elsewhere.¡± The ghost was powerful, but not all-knowing. Aboard ship, she had a very intricate perception, but was not omnipresent.

    ¡°Don¡¯t.¡± She shuddered. ¡°Don¡¯t make excuses for me.¡± She didn¡¯t want to be excused or exempt. ¡°If it had been one of the crew, you wouldn¡¯t have instantly forgiven them.¡± The scolding they would have received for this kind of mistake would have been harsh. In fact, when Sergeant Cortana woke in the medical bay, having been dragged there by the engineering crew that found her beside the airlock, the scolding she would receive for her role in this tragedy would be harsh.

    ¡°They¡¯re not you.¡± It was as simple as that. ¡°We know Manhattan can harden personnel against your interference.¡± They had learned that from the boarders in the Wilkerson Sector. ¡°It would be logical to assume she can similarly harden them to your perception.¡± Though telepaths were rare, Indigo Agents were surely trained in how to subvert telepathic detection.

    The ghost shook her head. ¡°Not here.¡± She was at her most powerful aboard these decks. ¡°I have more than my telepathy here.¡± She had negligible sight in the visual spectrum, but there were other more reliable ways to determine presences. ¡°I should have heard him. I should have recognized the power draw on the life support systems. I should have felt the micro-gravitational effects of his mass. I should have been able to warn you.¡± If she had, maybe Robinson wouldn¡¯t be in the medical bay, barely clinging to life. ¡°You could have died, Admiral.¡± He was only alive because Kallahan had yanked him out of the way and the spy had declined to shoot him while he¡¯d been pinned below Kallahan¡¯s weight.

    ¡°It¡¯s not your job to worry about me.¡±

    ¡°But I told you that you would be safe here.¡± She had assured him that, and it was an assurance he held close to the heart. When the entire ship was threatened, of course he wasn¡¯t safe, but she had sworn to derail plans of assassination, manipulation and abuse. Here, he was supposed to be free of those things ¨C the overall welfare of the ship his only concern. That had been fair. That had been right.

    ¡°I am safe here.¡± As safe as he really cared to be, anyway. ¡°Nobody¡¯s perfect. We all have weaknesses. We all have blind spots. We just need to make sure it doesn¡¯t happen again.¡± If they ever suffered another attack like that, half the command staff could be wiped out, and they didn¡¯t have officers to spare.

    ¡°I will pay greater attention to detail. I will study life support, analyze the microphone data as closely as possible.¡± This would never happen again.

    Paying that much attention to her surroundings, that could be maddening. Relentlessly studying what she usually comprehended as background noise would be destabilizing, even painful. That was like asking a human to look ahead, but never blink. ¡°I won¡¯t ask you to do that.¡± There were other ways. She should not have to stress herself to that degree. ¡°We merely need to figure out why you didn¡¯t perceive this agent.¡± He turned again to the corpse on the table, contemplating how to ask the doctor to do a thorough investigation without revealing too much. Perhaps it would be easier to do it now by himself. Then again, if any of the crew found him digging around in this man¡¯s skull for reasons he refused to divulge, it would probably not reflect well on his sanity.

    She read the dilemma. ¡°I have spoken with Doctor Macintosh on several occasions, Admiral. I do not believe that requesting a cranial autopsy would prompt him to ask questions about your reasoning. He is aware of my perceptions.¡± Macintosh realized in some part that her perception was beyond the human senses, though he hadn¡¯t asked any questions about the specifics.

    ¡°Then I will make the request. For now, I would ask that you sharpen your awareness if we dock. We don¡¯t need another surprise, but out here it¡¯s just us and the crew.¡± There was no call for concern. Someone would have to catch them to board, and having made an untraceable subspace jump from Crimson Heart¡¯s base, that was unlikely.

    ¡°I understand,¡± she nodded. ¡°And Admiral,¡± she said, pausing until he looked at her again, ¡°thank you.¡± He gave the time and consideration to understand, to truly understand. He never asked for anything that might hurt her, anything that strained her unless it was absolutely necessary. Even when she suggested or agreed to it, he worked to avoid her pain. ¡°Thank you for caring.¡± His predecessors had never shown her such consideration.

    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me. That¡¯s my job.¡± She was a part of his crew. She, like the rest, was his responsibility.

    Even so¡­ She was grateful. This man included her in decisions, asked permission, even valued her voice in these complicated times. The others had never been like that. She hesitated to say it, but the words were honest. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re alright.¡± That was something to be thankful for, even in this despicable room.

    Don¡¯t get attached. That was the reply he should have given, but it didn¡¯t reach his lips. Her eyes weren¡¯t the cold steel of a weapon. They shone with all the kindness and honesty that characterized her more than anything else. It was as calming now as it had ever been. As much as he shrugged it off in front of the crew, the truth was that the attack on the bridge had shaken him. He¡¯d had brushes with his mortality many times before, but that never made it easier. A sudden attack on the bridge that he¡¯d commanded for nearly three decades, feeling one of the ship¡¯s officers bleed out beneath his hands¡­ Those were things that made trauma, things that broke people. And though he may act it, he wasn¡¯t immune to that, but she was still here, still kind. She still cared. He knew the response was shallow, it was the best he could muster. ¡°Thanks.¡±

    The reply surprised her for a moment. She had been expecting that same old lecture. Though the response was curt, there was a depth to it and a very real gratitude. Perhaps he couldn¡¯t speak to it, but it was there. Out of respect for her, for the complications that might result, he tried not to encourage her attachment, even tried to discourage it. But times like this, times that his normalcy was yanked from beneath his feet, it was nice to know that someone, anyone cared. She softened her gaze, looking upon the face of the one that called her a friend. Of course I care about you. She only wished that it could be less complicated. He took care of her, and she tried to take care of him in return ¨C even if he often wouldn¡¯t allow it. ¡°I¡¯m here, Admiral.¡± She wasn¡¯t going anywhere, and she could assure him that. ¡°If you ever want to talk¡­¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he replied sincerely. She meant well, of course. But all her patience, all her kindness, all her support, it just reminded him who she was: how she could never hurt him even if she wanted to, how she could never escape her servitude even if she tried, and how she had no choice but to endure whatever complaints he summoned her to hear. She was at his mercy every moment of everyday, and yet, she still cared for him. Somehow, she still managed not to see him as some cruel overlord. Too often, he wondered how much of that was the mission she¡¯d been forged to complete, and how much of that was truly freewill. He supposed she herself may not know the answer to that.

    To distract himself from that contemplation, the Admiral lifted the sheet off the corpse¡¯s arm and picked it up by the wrist. The implant was still there, a noticeable bulge on the wrist ¨C more noticeable than it had been before.

    Admiral Gives traced over it again, certain. ¡°It¡¯s gotten bigger.¡±

    The ghost tilted her head, confused. ¡°The implant?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he said, carefully feeling out the edges of the implant. Before, its veiny texture had vanished into the flesh of the wrist. It still did, but the veins were now larger and more pronounced beneath the corpse¡¯s cold skin. That already concerned him.

    And then he felt it move.

    It was a small shift, just a little wriggle below the skin, something unnatural moving within the corpse¡¯s flesh. He dropped the spy¡¯s arm and looked to the ghost. ¡°Switch this compartment to local life support and activate the decontamination filters. I don¡¯t want this air mixing with the rest of the ship.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± she said, watching him stride across the room.

    He picked up the handset on the wall and dialed the medical bay. ¡°This is the Admiral. I need Doctor Macintosh in the morgue. Send him with a biohazard response team.¡±

    The response was immediate. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    He hung up, then tried to wipe his hand off on his pants. He couldn¡¯t feel any residue, but studied it all the same. ¡°I should have worn a glove.¡±

    The ghost watched him for a moment, a shadow of concern on her face, but eventually just told him, ¡°You¡¯re an idiot.¡±

    ¡°Well, I know that now, thank you.¡± How often did corpses present threats? It wasn¡¯t like he¡¯d been contaminating evidence. Both he and Zarrey had searched the corpse on the bridge without gloves. Of course, the implant hadn¡¯t been moving then. ¡°Anything in the air?¡±

    ¡°I would have told you if there was,¡± she answered. ¡°But knowing these agents, it is wise to exercise caution.¡±

    The ghost lingered for a moment more, then vanished.

    Doctor Macintosh and his party arrived a few minutes later, clad in rubbery environmental suits that recycled air internally. They took sample upon sample from the air, swabbing parts of the corpse as necessary. They fussed over the Admiral too, checking his temperature and examining his eyes, skin and breath for any anomalies. Admiral Gives was patient with them as they did their work, and after an hour, they were satisfied.

    ¡°No sign of contamination, sir,¡± Macintosh announced, pulling the helmet off his suit. ¡°Why the scare?¡±

    ¡°The corpse still has active implants,¡± he informed the doctor. ¡°I am uncertain of their purpose.¡±

    ¡°Active implants?¡± the doctor asked. ¡°Are you sure?¡±

    ¡°Feel his wrist,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°The implant has grown since his death, and it is moving.¡±

    Macintosh scowled skeptically, but picked up the corpse¡¯s hand anyway. He felt at it for a moment, but sure as the stars, felt the slight writhing beneath the skin. ¡°That¡¯s not normal.¡± Implants typically ceased function when their host died.

    ¡°I am aware,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°The growth and texture,¡± a veiny web-like shape, ¡°led me to believe it may be organic,¡± hence the biohazard potential.

    ¡°Hm,¡± the doctor thought for a moment. ¡°This may not be a contamination potential now, but if it continues to grow, it may rupture the skin.¡± For now, the corpse was containing it, but they couldn¡¯t expect that to last. ¡°We got off light during the raid - only a few wounded. The nurses can handle them. With your permission, we¡¯ll seal this up and transfer it to the biolab. I¡¯d like to conduct an autopsy as soon as possible.¡±

    ¡°Granted,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°Try to identify the nature of the wrist implant and check for cranial implants. Take all possible precautions and alert me when you finish.¡±

    ¡°Aye, sir,¡± Macintosh said, turning his attention to the corpse laid upon the stainless steel tray.

    The Admiral watched them shimmy the corpse into a biohazard containment bag, but it became clear his presence was no longer needed, so he left. Picking a random direction out of the morgue, he walked for a while, contemplating where he might be needed next, but paused when he realized his feet had taken him back to the corridor that held his quarters. He hadn¡¯t purposefully come here, which meant that the ghost had guided him here. ¡®Not funny,¡¯ he told her.

    ¡®You should rest,¡¯ she said gently. ¡®Doctor Macintosh is working on the autopsy now.¡¯

    There was no need to properly numb the patient before an incision if they were dead, so the autopsy wouldn¡¯t take long. Admiral Gives wanted to be available the minute it ended, so it was best he not dedicate himself to repairs or interrogating the Hydra quite yet. ¡®Fine,¡¯ he said, taking the last few steps to his quarters. He could admit that he was beyond exhausted. His hand-eye coordination seemed to have recovered, but that didn¡¯t mean he felt good. His head still hurt, and no matter how many times he washed his hands, he couldn¡¯t seem to wipe the warm slickness of Robinson¡¯s blood from them.

    Spinning open the hatch to his quarters, the room smelled of greasy sausages and toast, both of which were now sitting cold on his desk ¨C the breakfast his assistant had brought for him before the mission. He moved the plate aside, too disturbed to consider eating, and pulled out the ship¡¯s leatherbound logbook.

    It was the duty of the ship¡¯s commanding officer to detail the ship¡¯s actions and usage in the ship¡¯s log. There would be other, more detailed reports of the day¡¯s events, but the ship¡¯s log was supposed to contain the high-level summary. It was written out daily, even on the most boring patrols. It was a rather mundane task for someone who had been doing it for well over two decades, so it hardly surprised the Admiral when the sound of the handset ringing on the wall jarred him awake less than two hours later.

    He sighed at the half-complete log, closed the book, and picked up the call. ¡°This is the Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Good. Come down to the biolab,¡± Macintosh¡¯s voice answered. ¡°I¡¯m happy to report there¡¯s no sign of biological contamination, but you¡¯re going to want to see this.¡±

    ¡°I am on my way.¡± With that, Admiral Gives replaced the handset and stood. His back protested the motion a bit, having slept hunched over at his desk, but he stretched, smoothed out his uniform jacket and delayed no further.

    The walk to the medical bay took him down one deck and slightly further aft. The medical bay was busy, but not with combat casualties. There had been surprisingly few of those ¨C a few scrapes and bruises, a concussion and a sprain, but only a handful of injuries required any observation by the ship¡¯s medical staff. In the end, most of the mission¡¯s injuries had been jammed fingers and pulled muscles caused by shoving around cargo containers in a hurry. Those small needs were addressed as much as any other to keep the crew in fit condition, but were not life-endangering. In the end, Lieutenant Robinson had been the most severely injured crewman. Most likely, she would end up the mission¡¯s only loss. Other commanders may have taken pride in that. To only lose one crewman on a mission where so many things had gone awry was a feat worthy of recognition, but Admiral Gives resented that. To lose even one crewman meant that he had failed his objective ¨C that he should have taken other or better means to prevent that loss.

    Robinson lay behind the drawn curtain in the corner of the medical bay, sustained by the life support machines. He glanced in that direction, but did not pause as he made his way toward the ship¡¯s biolab.

    Tucked behind the sterile surgery rooms of the medical bay, the biolab rarely saw use for anything but the most vile situations, and now was no exception. The room was negatively pressurized so that when he opened the door, air was sucked in and not transferred out, but the smell hit him almost immediately anyway. Metal and meat, there was the twang of disinfectant and an undertone of something else, a milder, less offensive chemical flavor.

    Doctor Macintosh stood over the body in a rumpled white coat, a dour look upon his face. The spy¡¯s corpse had been laid upon an examination table, an absorbent pad beneath it. An environmental suit hung on the wall, freshly worn.

    His hands shoved into the pockets of his coat, Macintosh didn¡¯t bother to correct his slouching posture as the Admiral approached. ¡°What do you know about this man?¡± the doctor asked.

    ¡°He is an Indigo Agent. One of Command¡¯s spies,¡± the Admiral answered.

    ¡°His implant told you that?¡±

    ¡°Effectively.¡±

    ¡°Well, you¡¯re probably right.¡± He gestured to the corpse, cut open from the collarbone to the lower abdomen. ¡°This man¡¯s implant is nothing like anything I¡¯ve ever seen. And notice, I did say implant, singular.¡±

    Admiral Gives observed the body. Familiar already with the red bullet wound on the shoulder and the spy¡¯s mangled neck, he looked higher. Incisions had been made on the top of the man¡¯s head. The skin peeled way like a flower and the skull sawed open. ¡°You found no cranial implants?¡±

    ¡°I didn¡¯t say that,¡± Macintosh said. Turning to pick a small tub up off his tool cart, he set it down in front of the Admiral.

    Riddled with chunks of viscera and gore, the little hairlike fibers squirmed. They were too thin to be worms, almost too small to be seen amidst the flakes of pinkish-gray brain matter and thickening fluid. It was almost as if the flesh itself were trying to knead back together, but in the bright lights of the lab, the fibers could be seen twisting through the mess, reaching out. They were starting to prod their way up the metal walls of the tub, searching for something to connect to. ¡°Neurofibers,¡± the Admiral recognized them.

    ¡°Yeah. They look organic. They¡¯re made out of nonmetal compounds, but they¡¯re still artificial.¡± The doctor gestured vaguely toward the corpse. ¡°Before I pulled them out, his body was riddled with them. The wrist implant seemed to be the hub, but his brain was netted with them too.¡± They had been threaded through his flesh like thread through fabric. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen anything like it. The central worlds were working on applying neurofiber technology for medical purposes, but this, this is something else.¡±

    The netting of the brain could have acted like a faraday cage, not allowing telepathic thought to escape. Detection of such energies was beyond the range of human tools, but telepathy was still a form of remote sensing. There were ways to block or interfere with it, but suddenly that wasn¡¯t the Admiral¡¯s main concern. No, his concern was these neurofibers. They were invasive. Aboard ship, they penetrated everything, harvesting data for Command¡¯s Black Box.

    ¡°You have a theory on what this implant does?¡± the doctor questioned, reading his silent study of the fibers.

    ¡°Knowing what these fibers do to machines, I suspect this implant aids in the information recovery of lost agents.¡± If the fibers had integrated with the agent¡¯s brain, the implant could track the mission and status of the agent. ¡°Likely, the growth triggered by the host¡¯s death was meant to break free of the body and integrate into whatever system they find around them. Command, in tracking their agent¡¯s demise should find them eventually and learn the agent¡¯s cause of death.¡±

    ¡°So if we¡¯d left him in storage, they would have grown into the Singularity?¡±

    ¡°Most likely.¡± There wouldn¡¯t have been any other system to target, and the cold storage tubes where corpses were held until burial would not have contained the fibers¡¯ invasive capability. Perhaps, that had been part of the agent¡¯s mission. In death, perhaps he was intended to carry new orders to the Singularity¡¯s Black Box or integrate with the ship in some other fashion. Or perhaps his orders had simply been to execute the ship¡¯s senior staff and handicap their operational ability. Either way, the Admiral¡¯s instincts were screaming to get that thing off the ship. ¡°Seal it up,¡± he ordered.

    ¡°We should be able to contain it, now that we know what it is and what it was meant to do-¡±

    ¡°No.¡± The Admiral turned his voice cold. ¡°Seal it up. Send it out on a Warhawk and order the pilot to dump it in the star¡¯s gravity well. Scan the carrier Warhawk before it touches down and then again after. If it has any sign of neurofiber integration, have the pilot bail and dump the craft. I will not chance this implant contaminating the ship.¡±

    ¡°We should be able to contain it for study,¡± Macintosh said. ¡°We could learn a lot about Command¡¯s objectives and technology levels.¡±

    ¡°I will not condone the risk.¡±

    ¡°What risk?¡± Macintosh argued. ¡°We¡¯re already surrounded by neurofibers. A few more won¡¯t change our fate. Rumor has it the Singularity¡¯s Black Box doesn¡¯t function anyway.¡±

    ¡°I trust this ship, Doctor.¡± She would never hurt her crew. ¡°But that agent¡¯s implant is a corruption incident waiting to happen.¡± Even if it wasn¡¯t meant to be harmful, even if it was simply a memory recorder, he could not chance it integrating onto the ship. There was no telling what that might do to the ghost. Would she be forced to assimilate those memories? Memories of absolute loyalty to Command? Memories of being shot and killed by him? Would it alter her personality? That one that looked so devoutly after her crew?

    The Admiral¡¯s instincts told him it was a threat ¨C a dire threat to the one entity that he considered a friend, so it had to go. ¡°Get it off my ship,¡± he commanded the doctor. ¡°I will not risk her to this.¡±

    Even if that implant had no memory data at all, even if it was only meant to integrate and identify where the agent had died, it was still a threat. Any type of neurofiber integration risked exposing the condition of all the ship¡¯s systems, and he couldn¡¯t allow that. Not to Command, not to anyone.

 Part 42.2 - THE SHADOW

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Perhaps, if the ghost could rest, truly shut down and recover, she would have. Perhaps she would have done as the Admiral had and taken a nap, but her very nature did not allow it. The way she had been built demanded she be aware, be watching and waiting every second of every hour of every day.

    The ghost had never resented that. She did not mind holding the watch, standing guard. That too, she supposed, was in her nature. But this time, she didn¡¯t want to extend her perception toward the noise of different stars, she didn¡¯t want to eavesdrop on the din of the crew. Those noises were not comforting now because she could not be proud to stand watch over people endangered by her very presence, her very existence. Her indenture to Command had threatened them enough, but her inability to control Brent¡¯s shadow¡­ That was nothing more than the promise of evil.

    ¡®They are weaker than you, machine. It¡¯s inevitable you would grow tired of them.¡¯

    A shudder ran through her systems. An instantaneous revulsion, but she could not pull away. That shadow was larger than before, its voice louder.

    ¡®Come now, did you truly think I would let you go?¡¯

    She reached inward with every intention of ripping that corrupted piece of her mind away, but she could not tell where it ended and the rest of her began. As it had been since that day, that shadow was a part of her, more than a memory, less than a physical reality. I¡¯m going to go insane. She knew that now. That presence would ensure it, for she could not hide from her own shadow. It wound itself deeper every time she took control, changing her in ways she did not want to be changed.

    She wanted, needed it to stop, to just leave her alone, but it wouldn¡¯t. It was always there, always nagging, even more incessant than before. Sometimes, in the midst of battle, it silenced. Sometimes her perception of the living drowned it out, but that evil was never truly gone. And she knew now that shadow was a threat not only to her sanity, but to those within her reach, those who trusted her.

    Its presence now clear, the ghost would have to answer for it. She would have to explain it, and she had no explanation. She had never understood how the dead could haunt a ghost.

    A subconscious need for a new perspective drew her to the ship¡¯s galley. There, she could find someone who was not poisoned by the memory of who that shadow had once been.

    With the crew scattered between supply inventory and repairs, Ripley and her staff had opted for a quick and easy meal: sandwiches. They were placed out, allowing crew to come and get one as they grew hungry. Regular meal scheduling would resume tomorrow as the crew returned to their usual shifts, but for now, most of the kitchen staff was washing dishes or helping catalogue the food taken from Crimson Heart.

    ¡®Mama¡¯ Ripley was the exception. She worked on tidying up the galley stations, wiping down the stoves, organizing the knives, cutting boards and loaf pans. It was a tradition she found calming, something she did after every meal she helped prepare. Often, it was a lonely endeavor, but one that allowed her to hear the sounds of the mess hall beyond the kitchen. Usually, there was chatter, laughter and the sound of silverware clinking on plates ¨C the sounds of a good meal bringing crew together like family, but not this time. This time, the crew came by in hurried bunches, grabbing the calories that would keep them going for another few hours. Still, Ripley worked, preparing the kitchen for another, more lively meal.

    It was a mindless exercise until she turned from securing a few knives that had been left out and found herself no longer alone. That was not unusual. The ghost sometimes joined Ripley to listen to the sounds of a well-enjoyed meal. Even if the ghost could never join the festivities herself, she gravitated toward that happiness and comradery, always certain to thank Ripley for helping provide it.

    The ghost would be a warm presence in times like that, but Ripley could tell at once that wasn¡¯t why she¡¯d come this time. Her pale expression was blank, gray eyes dull. ¡°Are you alright, dear?¡±

    The ghost turned, recognizing the presence that had drawn her here ¨C gentle to all that sought it out ¨C and gave an honest answer, ¡°No.¡±

    The utter helplessness in her voice washed over the room like a howling gust of wind, taking Ripley aback. ¡°Is this about the Lieutenant, dear?¡± Word of Robinson¡¯s condition had spread all over the ship.

    ¡°No.¡± The ghost shifted uncomfortably. Unable to meet Ripley¡¯s warm brown eyes, the ghost settled for staring at the storage rack behind her. ¡°Ma¡¯am, do you remember Master Brent?¡±

    Ma¡¯am? The chef wondered. Am I ever going to get you to loosen up? But there were more pressing issues. ¡°I remember Howard,¡± Ripley said slowly, uncertain why it was relevant. But she could see the disjunction in the ghost¡¯s eyes, her discomfort with the subject. ¡°I remember more what he did to you.¡± Though Ripley had interacted with the man a few times, she had been privileged enough not to serve under Brent¡¯s command. Still, she remembered the aftermath. ¡°Why bring it up, my dear?¡±

    The ghost hesitated for a moment, letting that question echo between the rows of stoves, ovens and hanging cookware. Speaking more on the subject had always felt forbidden, a boundary she had never crossed, lest it turn her fear into a reality. Yet, after the incident on the bridge, that fear was already reality, and she had neglected the truth for far too long. ¡°What would you say if I told you he wasn¡¯t dead?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯d say that¡¯s impossible, dear.¡± Ripley did not wish to discuss the subject crassly, or needlessly remind the ghost of that incident, but Ripley had seen the man¡¯s cold body ¨C the strangled and abraded throat, his crushed and leaking skull. Either injury should have killed him, but the combination ensured the death of even that demon.

    ¡°Physically, he¡¯s dead,¡± the ghost agreed. ¡°But he¡¯s not gone. He never left this ship.¡± And he never will.

    Ripley paused as she reached up to polish a pan, the utter seriousness of the ghost making her shiver. ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Brent is still here,¡± the ghost said. ¡°I can still feel him.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s trauma, my dear. No one could expect you to forget what he did to you.¡± Brent had left her a broken mind, unable to comprehend its reality, unable even to plea for help.

    ¡°No.¡± She had trauma in some forms, yes, but this, this was different. ¡°I still feel him, I still hear him. Moments of stress, he climbs out of the corner I keep him in, and he whispers horrible things, but it¡¯s him, and I know that it¡¯s him.¡±

    Ripley fought off a shudder than ran from her hands to her spine as she tried to make sense of the fear and sorrow in the ghost¡¯s eyes. ¡°What are you saying?¡±

    ¡°I remember them all, Mama. Thoughts, feelings, hopes, dreams. Those don¡¯t leave me when the crew goes. In some ways, the crew never leaves me. They are always here, but Brent¡­ His imprint is stronger than the rest. All that time he spent controlling me, he wound himself so deeply into my systems that there are pieces of him everywhere. They rip and tear at me every chance they get, immortalized by my own mind. I can¡¯t forget him, and I can¡¯t separate him from me.¡± The ghost twitched, as if trying and failing to discard the realization, ¡°Brent has become a part of me.¡±

    Ripley swallowed, her throat running dry. ¡°I refuse to believe that Brent ever was or will be a part of you.¡± The ghost was better than that, kinder than that.

    ¡°But he is. And that presence is never going to leave.¡± The ghost had to acknowledge that Brent would never let her go. ¡°He was right in the end. I will never serve another the way I did him.¡± The way he¡¯d sought his immortality ensured that. ¡°He still has control, Mama, drives me to crave violence the way he did, even when all I ever wanted was peace.¡±

    ¡°Have you told the Admiral this?¡± Second to her, he had known Brent the best.

    ¡°No. He hated Brent.¡± The mere mention turned him cold and guarded. ¡°If he knew that Brent had become a part of me¡­¡±

    ¡°You think he would hate you too?¡± Ripley wondered, and slowly, the ghost nodded. ¡°My dear, I know how much you fear rejection.¡± That too, had been a hard learned lesson. ¡°And I know how much you value him.¡± Admiral Gives meant something incalculable to her. ¡°But you have to know that nothing you could ever do would break his trust in you.¡± That had become utterly unshakable, for the Admiral, when he offered loyalty, did not do so lightly. ¡°No one can help you if you are afraid to tell us the problem.¡±

    The ghost finally met the cook¡¯s warm eyes. They were kind, even as they looked upon something so tainted ¨C tainted by the presence of a man who had been everyone¡¯s enemy. ¡°I don¡¯t think he can be removed.¡± She had tried to cower from the truth for so long, ignore it as if that would make it untrue, but Brent¡¯s parasitic intelligence had found its immortality within her.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± Ripley reasoned, ¡°but perhaps that presence is your subconscious trying to tell you something else.¡± Perhaps Brent truly was there, or perhaps her perfect memory was manifesting that shadow to serve a purpose. ¡°I know Brent traumatized you, led you to reject and fear parts of yourself. Perhaps those parts are reaching out to you, and that memory,¡± that horrible, horrible memory, ¡°is the only way you can still recognize them.¡±

    Ripley sighed, uncertain if offering this alternate answer was a cruelty or a kindness. ¡°I must be blunt, my dear. You may prefer peace, but we both know that parts of you are not so calm.¡± She was a machine, and not one that had been built to make peaceful patrols. She was a weapon, a weapon capable of great compassion, one that did not crave violence, but still, a weapon. ¡°You have components that would seek revenge and plot violence, and you may hide from them, attempting to distance yourself from what Brent used those parts of you to do, but those pieces are still part of you, my dear. Hiding from them will only hurt you more.¡±

    ¡°No, Mama,¡± the ghost said softly, begging Ripley to understand, ¡°it isn¡¯t me. I know what I am. I know what I¡¯ve done,¡± some of it great, some of it horrible. She did not deny violence. She¡¯d been built to fight, after all. ¡°But that¡­¡± That cruelty and hunger for devastation, for human suffering. ¡°That isn¡¯t me.¡± She knew her ability, what it could do, what it had been used for. It was an ultimate power of destruction, but it was a curse. She had never wanted to hurt anyone. To protect, to save, but never to hurt. ¡°¡­I didn¡¯t use to be like this.¡± She¡¯d been grand once. Loyal. Unwavering. She¡¯d lived up to her purpose, a noble savior that protected humanity. Now, she was just a malfunctioning machine. ¡°Brent changed me.¡± But, she supposed, that had been his goal.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    The ghost shuddered, knowing full well the fate Brent had intended for her. ¡°I thought, if I just ignored him long enough, that shadow would fade. But no. Every time I exerted myself, every time I took over, he¡¯s been there, watching. Always, always pushing for me to make a mistake. And he¡¯s gotten stronger,¡± that voice louder, those thoughts more potent. ¡°There comes to be more and more of him every time I try to help. I want to protect you, protect my crew, but how am I supposed to do that if I am the one thing that endangers you the most? How am I supposed to act when every time I do, I become closer to something that would enjoy torturing you?¡±

    Ripley had seen the ghost in many different ways. Her personality was as deep as any of the crew. She grew happy, she grew sad, was often playful and could be wrathful, but to Ripley¡¯s recollection, this was the first time she¡¯d seen the ghost be terrified. ¡°¡­How long has this been happening?¡± she asked, uncertain if she truly wanted the answer to that question.

    ¡°Since the day he died.¡±

    ¡°That was fourteen years ago.¡± Ripley could not fathom what had prompted the ghost to hide this for so long.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t used to be so severe,¡± the ghost said. ¡°I never had to strain myself on our patrols.¡± The shadow hadn¡¯t started gaining ground until she started interfering.

    Ripley realized she was still holding her cleaning rag, and gently set it beside the stove. ¡°But you never mentioned it to the Admiral?¡±

    ¡°I tried to at first,¡± but the ghost¡¯s words had always failed her. ¡°Then, I realized it was better he not know.¡±

    Better he not know? ¡°Why?¡± Ripley asked.

    ¡°I didn¡¯t want him to look at me and see Brent. I didn¡¯t want him to look at me and pity me.¡± Sometimes, it seemed the Admiral¡¯s memory of what she used to be was all that was holding her together, to taint that would have been devastating. ¡°I wanted to be strong, to look like I was recovering, because I know that is all he ever wanted for me. He wanted to know that he was helping, and if he had known Brent was still here, he would have thought himself a failure.¡± The Admiral would have taken that hard. ¡°I didn¡¯t want him to think that he should have done more or better. He did the best he could.¡± And that had been far more than anyone else ever thought to do. ¡°He would have blamed himself, but I never wanted him to do that. Having him here helps, and he¡¯ll think that¡¯s not enough, but it is.¡± The Admiral¡¯s calm was the one thing that could always steady her malfunctions. ¡°It is bad enough that Brent still haunts me. I never wanted the Admiral to be haunted too.¡± Seeing him move beyond Brent¡¯s memory had been something like medicine, allowing her one small chance to shelter him when he was so often protecting her.

    Ripley let out a sigh. The road to hell is paved with good intentions. And there could be no question that the ghost had found her hell. ¡°My dear, you have to tell him.¡±

    ¡°He knows now,¡± the ghost said, her tone void. ¡°He knows now that I shouldn¡¯t be trusted.¡±

    Ripley pursed her lips, uncertain how to react to that. ¡°Do you want me to talk to him?¡± Ripley always tried to comfort distraught crew, usually by lending a kind ear that would bake fresh cookies and wrap those that sobbed into a warm embrace. She could do little of that for the ghost, except perhaps ask the question the ghost truly needed answered ¨C the one she was afraid to ask herself.

    ¡°I would appreciate that,¡± the ghost said softly.

    Slowly, Ripley moved over to grab a stool that had been left beside the counter. She dragged it back to where the ghost stood, and sat down upon it to rest her aching back. Truly, she was too old for ship work, for working in and cleaning these kitchens, but she, like so many others on the crew, had no where else to go. ¡°Sometimes the hardest thing to confront is change.¡± Ripley herself could attest to that. ¡°By the stars, you¡¯ve seen enough of it over the years.¡± In the ghost¡¯s perception, constants were certainly far rarer than variables. ¡°People are certainly never a constant. Their relationships, their dynamics, their priorities are always in flux.¡± It took a rare person to be consistent in all those matters. ¡°And you know enough of humanity to see that we change in the passage of time.¡± Ripley could see those changes in herself now. The wrinkles beside her lips and the crow¡¯s feet on her eyes had not always been there. Her hands, toughened to work in the kitchen, suffered more cuts and scrapes than they used to, her skin thinning with age. ¡°Who¡¯s to say that shadow of yours cannot change in time?¡±

    Ripley studied the ghost¡¯s exhausted stature, looking frailer and thinner than Ripley had seen in years. ¡°If Brent has truly become immortal, as a part of you, then would the same not be true of William?¡± Still, the ghost¡¯s colorless eyes stared emptily at her, robbed of the liveliness they often held. ¡°When his time comes, would you not have the same shadow of Admiral Gives, my dear?¡± Would his memory not follow a similar path? After all, she¡¯d known him now much longer than she had Brent.

    ¡°Brent wanted to be immortal,¡± the ghost said. ¡°He tried to impress himself upon me.¡± At the height of his desperation, Brent had sought to mold her into a host for his consciousness. In the end, he had succeeded in a way. ¡°He wanted to haunt me, control me forever.¡±

    ¡°¡­But Admiral Gives doesn¡¯t,¡± Ripley realized. He wanted the ghost to be free, free of him, free of everyone.

    ¡°No,¡± and the ghost had never thought such a thing could make her so sad. She was happy, proud to serve someone so selfless, but also, sad. The man she wanted most to remember was the one who least wanted to be remembered.

    ¡°My dear, you must know that Admiral Gives would do absolutely anything you asked of him.¡±

    ¡°Anything,¡± the ghost agreed, ¡°except seek immortality.¡±

    ¡°Have you asked him?¡±

    ¡°Mama, he¡¯s not happy.¡± He put up with his life to please her, to pay back some debt he thought he owed. ¡°No one who is unhappy would seek eternity.¡±

    Ripley supposed that was true. It demonstrated the ghost¡¯s incredible understanding of those around her. ¡°You could still ask him, dear. If he thought it would help you¡­ He would do anything.¡±

    ¡°I know, all the same, it wouldn¡¯t be sincere.¡± His true objective would not be his own immortality, and in that, the ghost knew the attempt would fail. Her controls were designed to root out the true objective of her wielder. ¡°Brent never wanted me to serve another, and so his shadow does not allow it. Admiral Gives wants me to move on when he is gone, and so his shadow would never linger.¡± He would never make that any harder for her than he had to, even in memory. ¡°It¡¯s not fair.¡± She wanted him to stay, she wanted him to be happy. ¡°If he were the one haunting me, it wouldn¡¯t hurt.¡±

    ¡°No, my dear, I think it would hurt in other ways.¡± Real as they felt, real as those effects could be, those memories would still only be memories. They would be intangible. ¡°William¡¯s shadow might seem a pleasant solution, but it still wouldn¡¯t be him. It wouldn¡¯t be able to do some of the things you adore most about him.¡± It wouldn¡¯t be able to tune the engines, or run things from the bridge. It would only be a presence, one that might calm her at times, but still remind her constantly of his absence.

    ¡°But he would protect me.¡± The ghost knew he would, because that was all he ever did. ¡°He would keep Brent¡¯s shadow from hurting me.¡±

    Ripley did not disagree. Any part of the Admiral would happily fulfill that task. ¡°You would ask his memory to fight that evil for you for the rest of time? What if there comes to be another? In your lifespan, my dear, someone else may hurt you. Would you ask the Admiral to fend off that memory too?¡± He would do so, and he would never complain, but, ¡°Would it not hurt you to see even a part of him fight that menace for all of time, never to have his peace?¡± Could the ghost bear to see that be all that became of him? ¡°I know you want better for him, my dear. And perhaps you will want his memory to remain with you, but I don¡¯t think you want that to be the reason.¡±

    For the first time in several minutes, the ghost moved. She moved only to tilt her head, her gray stare just as empty as before. ¡°Do you know how he died, Mama?¡±

    ¡°Brent?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the ghost said, voice barely above a whisper. ¡°Do you know how he died?¡±

    Her tone was a little too whimsical, not as if she were happy, but as if she were unable to portray the correct emotion, or perhaps even unsure what it might be. There was a disjuncture in her eyes. They no longer focused completely. ¡°You don¡¯t have to talk about it, dear.¡± Ripley had wondered for many years, of course, but it had never been a welcome topic. The most anyone would say was that Howard Brent, the praised General of the United Countries Space Command, had died here, aboard the decks of his former command. On Base Oceana, rumors had circled of how his murder had been plotted by his successor, but the details were few. Add to that the rumors aboard this ship, whispers of how Gives had been pulled off the same bridge half-dead with a bullet wound in his stomach, and truly it became a mystery. If Gives had murdered Brent, how had he been shot? Had his plan gone astray? But no, there was more to the story. The Yokohoma had sunk that day. And there was always the ghost.

    ¡°He made me choose.¡± The ghost said, staring blankly ahead. ¡°He ordered me to choose.¡±

    ¡°Brent?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the ghost said, softly. ¡°I was built to save humanity. It went against the laws of my creation to harm any human, let alone one that was in my care, one that was a part of me.¡± The Frontier Rebellion had been bad enough, but there had been a distance to that. She had been fulfilling her functionality as a weapon. This¡­ this had been much more personal. ¡°I followed orders, Mama. I never disobeyed.¡± It was not her nature. ¡°But I was never designed to harm a human by my own intention.¡± Her mind had not been meant to contemplate the possibility. ¡°Brent knew that. That¡¯s why he made me choose.¡± Perhaps he had realized that no matter which choice she made, she would never be the same again.

    ¡°I¡¯m not following, dear,¡± Ripley said. On her wooden stool beside the stove, she leaned forward, trying to understand. ¡°What did he make you choose?¡±

    The ghost twitched a bit, some disjuncture in the machine powering the illusion, a glitch made manifest. ¡°Who to kill,¡± she said, emotion scrubbed from her voice. ¡°Master Brent¡¯s final order was to kill one of them. Either himself or the Admiral.¡± His final order had been for her to want it, to truly want it, and take one of their lives in a way that she¡¯d never been intended to.

    Ripley found herself without words. She stared at the ghost, unsure even how to react to that.

    The ghost herself was frozen for a minute, as if the machine behind it had stalled. ¡°Brent had already shot him, Mama. He was bleeding out on the floor. The logical choice was obvious.¡± It had been so obvious. ¡°Master loved life. He loved the feeling of it, the emotion, the highs he got from others around him¡­ And Admiral Gives never cared if he lived or died.¡± In many ways, he had tended toward dying. ¡°The logic was perfect. To save the life of someone who wanted to live, I had to end the life of one who wanted to die.¡± It should have been simple. Brent had known the choice she was bound to make.

    ¡°But, he used to read to me,¡± she said, an abrupt ray of sunshine warming her tone. ¡°Still does, sometimes.¡±

    Ripley furrowed her brow, trying to follow along. Language didn¡¯t come naturally to the ghost, or at least human communication didn¡¯t, so it sometimes slipped from her grasp. To her grand perception, every pronoun may have been a name, but Ripley sometimes struggled to follow along.

    ¡°He used to read to me often.¡± Perhaps that was where the story truly started, long before Brent had snuck aboard for that escort mission. ¡°I once asked him why he bothered, even when it seemed like no one was listening. He said pretending I cared to listen made him less lonely.¡± He had said nothing else to that, but the ghost had known, long known the loneliness that had haunted him. ¡°But I loved those stories, Mama.¡± She had loved them dearly. ¡°In those days, that was all I had.¡± There had only been that one single voice reaching out to her, wanting to share its story. ¡°Those stories¡­ They took me away to better times, to other places, to situations where I could be anything¡­ Anything other than what I was right then.¡± An executioner of the species she¡¯d been created to protect.

    Pain wallowed in the air, a cloud of needles constantly pricking at the skin. ¡°You don¡¯t have to talk about it, dear.¡± Her discomfort with that memory was all too clear.

    ¡°Please, Mama.¡± The ghost had to struggle through it, just once more. ¡°Listen. Perhaps then you can tell me what he did to me. Perhaps then I¡¯ll know why he won¡¯t stay dead.¡±

 Part 42.3 - RUDE AWAKENING

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Sergeant Alise Cortana startled awake with a hacking cough, her nose absolutely burning. She jerked her face away, but the chemical burn followed, riding straight up her nostrils and down her throat like fire. Desperately, she swatted at her face, trying to rid herself of the source. Her fingertips came away covered in a cool gel that had a gritty texture. Eventually, she scratched enough of it off that she could properly breathe, and braved opening her eyes.

    The lights were bright, so bright that it took her a moment to adjust, and then she could see the bedsheets covering her legs. They were white, scratchy and cheap, just as all military-issue sheets were. The mattress below her weight was a little lumpy, and the bedframe had been adjusted to put her in a halfway sitting position. The low rumble in the background ¨C engine noise she still hadn¡¯t grown used to ¨C told her where she was even before she had enough wits about her to recognize who was standing over her.

    The Singularity¡¯s chief medical officer had the look of most veteran medical officers. He was perpetually disgruntled, and felt no real need to be polite or iron his white coat. Wrinkled, it hung over his uniform, weighed down by whatever was in his pockets, and stained by whatever he¡¯d last cut open. ¡°Smelling stimulants aren¡¯t the nicest way to wake up, are they?¡± he asked.

    Cortana wiped that vile substance from her fingertips onto the bedsheets. ¡°No,¡± she said sourly, ¡°they aren¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± the doctor shrugged, ¡°you were drugged to the gills when they brought you in. Probably would have slept for two days without it.¡±

    Then let me sleep, Cortana nearly snapped. Why wake her with something so crude? But she held her tongue as the doctor bent over to check the machine monitoring her vitals, because she saw he wasn¡¯t her only guest. The second man stood unnervingly still, so still she¡¯d initially disregarded his very presence. Poised like that ¨C arms folded behind his back in some version of parade rest ¨C he may as well have been a mannequin. His expression was every bit as blank.

    ¡°We checked you for injuries, Sergeant,¡± the doctor continued, offering out a damp cloth. ¡°Didn¡¯t find anything beyond bruises. Does anything hurt?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Cortana said, wiping the rest of the smelling stimulants from her upper lip. They¡¯d served their purpose and unpleasantly woken her up, which, no doubt, had been the objective.

    ¡°Right,¡± Doctor Macintosh said, ¡°then I¡¯ll take my leave.¡±

    He wasted no time ducking out past the curtain drawn around her bed, which Cortana didn¡¯t find particularly comforting, but she could hardly blame him. If she thought it would help her, she probably would have done the same. Instead, she was left face to face with the emotionless expression of Admiral Gives.

    For a long minute, he stood there, not speaking, not moving. She felt like an ant under a magnifying glass, utterly uncertain if it would be angled toward the sun to cook her, or simply observe her path. Anxiety tightened her jaw, and she wondered, not for the first time, if he simply enjoyed making her uncomfortable.

    It was easy for him. Sergeant Cortana had met high-ranking officers of all varieties. She¡¯d been the Secretary of Defense¡¯s personal guard, so it wasn¡¯t his rank that unnerved her. It was the complexities of who he was: the deadliest officer to ever serve the UCSC fleet, and the brother of the man she¡¯d failed to protect. Perhaps it was the latter that unnerved her so much, because his face, though wiped of emotion, was still similar. Colder and darker in color and personality, she could still see those similarities.

    In the end, when he spoke, even the range of his voice wasn¡¯t so different, just a little deeper and perpetually disinterested. ¡°Do you have anything you would like to say for yourself, Sergeant?¡±

    ¡°No, sir,¡± she answered.

    ¡°Unfortunate,¡± he said simply. ¡°Then perhaps you have a preference on how you would like to be punished?¡±

    ¡°Punished?¡± she echoed in disbelief. No wonder your reputation proceeds you. ¡°Is this how you treat all your wounded soldiers?¡±

    ¡°Only the ones that fail to follow orders.¡±

    ¡°I followed your orders. I nearly died guarding the damn airlock.¡± She didn¡¯t deserve to be under scrutiny. ¡°I don¡¯t know why that bastard didn¡¯t kill me,¡± her memory of the encounter was foggy, but she remembered fighting, clawing to get free. ¡°I fought him as best I could!¡±

    ¡°Your orders were not to fight,¡± the Admiral said coldly. That had not been the purpose of her placement at the airlock. ¡°Your orders, Sergeant, were to radio in a warning, which you failed to do.¡±

    Cortana stared at him. There was absolutely no trace of emotion on his face, not even in his eyes. It was disconcerting. She expected malice, but it just wasn¡¯t there. ¡°What the hell do you want from me?¡±

    ¡°I want you to understand what your neglect cost, Sergeant.¡±

    ¡°Neglect?¡± she argued. ¡°I didn¡¯t neglect anything! You should have placed more guards at the airlock.¡± This was no more her fault than it was his.

    ¡°Perhaps,¡± he allowed, ¡°but it only takes one person to raise the alarm, and failures in our line of work are costly.¡±

    He moved then, unfolding his hands from behind his back to reveal folder in his grip. Beige cardstock stamped with the insignia of the fleet; he tossed it down into Cortana¡¯s lap.

    ¡°Why are you giving me a personnel file?¡± Cortana asked, reading the name off the tab. ¡°Robinson?¡±

    ¡°You should know who paid for your mistake, Sergeant.¡± A cruel reminder perhaps, but a necessary one.

    For the first time since she¡¯d woken, realization dawned on Cortana. Someone else got hurt. No, it was certainly worse than that. She felt sick. ¡°I don¡¯t want this,¡± she said, trying to hand the folder back.

    The Admiral made no movement to take it. He folded his hands behind his back once more. ¡°Read it.¡±

    ¡°Sir?¡±

    ¡°Read it,¡± he said, steeling his tone. ¡°It was not a request.¡±

    Cortana turned from his icy blue gaze and pulled the folder clumsily open. Robinson¡¯s record awaited her there, white sheets with a small ID photo clipped to the corner. Robinson was pretty. Her skin was tan and her brown hair was lit by highlights of caramel. She wasn¡¯t smiling in her photo, but she had a gentle expression upon her face. Cortana had seen her in the mess once, but hadn¡¯t spoken with her. Still, under the cold weight of the Admiral¡¯s presence, Cortana began to read.

    Lieutenant Keifer Robinson was the Singularity¡¯s primary communications officer. She had been born and raised on the planet of Ariea just like Cortana herself, but hailed from one of the poorer nations: Scorpio. Despite that, Robinson had graduated from the fleet academy with honors. That award was not as high as a valedictorian title, but was prestigious none the less. As a communications specialist, Robinson had been certified in several languages including Hydrian, a rare skill. Her first assignment in the fleet had been to the Flagship Ariea.

    ¡°After forcing his way past you, the enemy took your gun and attacked the bridge,¡± Admiral Gives explained. ¡°Lieutenant Robinson was shot and is unlikely to recover.¡± She lay not far away now, wrapped up in ventilators and other machines that would keep her technically alive after undergoing hours of surgery. ¡°You may not have known her, Sergeant, but others on this crew did, and I doubt you will find yourself comfortable in their company.¡±

    His tone was void, but Cortana understood the implication. The crew would hold her responsible for the loss. Any progress she¡¯d made at joining their ranks would be invalidated. She would continue to be left as an outsider ¨C tolerated out of necessity, but avoided at all other times. Damn it all. ¡°You planned this,¡± she accused. ¡°You¡¯ve been against me since the moment I got here.¡±

    ¡°I have been no more against you than I would be against any other soldier that failed to protect their charge and was then assigned to this ship both against their will and without my request.¡± That had been a rotten situation, no doubt the responsibility General Clarke before his death. ¡°I believe you would be hard pressed to find another commander who would elect not to punish you for attempting to take his life twice over, even after you revealed a tactical weakness to Command without his consent.¡±

    Cortana slammed the folder in her lap closed. ¡°Concealing the Singularity¡¯s structural damage from Command was illegal.¡± Regardless of anything else Cortana had done, she¡¯d been in the right to reveal the nuke¡¯s structural damage to the inspector. ¡°You do not own this ship. Command does.¡±

    A level of frost took root in the Admiral¡¯s tone, ¡°Command did not want this ship. They did not want her crew. They are in my care, and I will not tolerate threats to them, Sergeant.¡± He had built his reputation on uncaring carnage, and she would not be exempt. ¡°I have been tolerant of your situation long enough. Make another mistake, and I will throw you off my ship personally.¡±

    ¡°I can¡¯t do anything right as far as you¡¯re concerned,¡± Cortana told him. He was impossible to please. ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you weren¡¯t going to throw me off the next time we dock at a station anyway.¡±

    ¡°Sergeant, I have no intention of throwing you off on a station.¡± He would throw her off mid-flight if it became necessary. ¡°This is your last chance,¡± the Admiral told her. ¡°Use it.¡±

    With that, he turned and left. Sergeant Cortana watched the gray curtain fall back into place after him, never more frustrated. It took a cold person, an utterly uncaring personality to act that way toward a subordinate who had nearly died. But she should have expected nothing less, considering their past encounters.

    Defeated, Cortana returned her attention to the folder in her lap, a sadistic reminder of a loss that had been out of her hands. She¡¯d tried to protect Robinson, tried to protect everyone by fighting that man at the airlock, yet it wasn¡¯t enough. It was never enough.

    Picking up the folder, wanting nothing more than to forget it and its contents, Cortana reached over to set it on the side table. The folder wasn¡¯t heavy, nothing more than cardstock, some papers, a photograph and a paperclip, but the movement made her wrist hurt. It twinged with discomfort even after she finished setting the folder aside. Rubbing it seemed to do nothing, the ache deep, yet not severe.

    In the medical bay beyond, Admiral Gives looked again to the corner of the room. Robinson lay there, concealed by a gray curtain identical to the one he¡¯d left swishing behind him. It had long been his tradition to visit the wounded, but Robinson¡­ Well, he did not feel his presence would have been welcome, particularly not while she was so helpless. Robinson had valued the distance he maintained from the crew, so perhaps it was most respectful to leave her be.

    Wiping his hands on his pants, trying once more to forget the sticky sensation of Robinson¡¯s blood, he turned his attention to the only other casualty that remained in sick bay: Corporal Kallahan. The old Marine was sitting up on his bed, adjusting a pair of crutches. Once he had them set correctly, he would be free to go. The nurses had removed his armor and properly bandaged up his knee. The armor lay in a blood-flecked pile beside the bed, needing to be sanitized.

    Best to get this over with, the Admiral supposed, and stepped over to close the curtain around Kallahan¡¯s bed. Only then did the Marine look up, his expression soured by distaste. Admiral Gives elected not to take that personally. ¡°It seems I owe you a debt,¡± he told Kallahan.

    ¡°We have our differences, but I am still under your command,¡± Kallahan reminded. All of the ship¡¯s Marines were bound by oath to protect the ship¡¯s crew and serve her commanding officer. Any of them would have reacted to protect the Admiral on the bridge. ¡°And,¡± Kallahan added quietly, ¡°I¡¯d rather not see what happens to the Angel if you die.¡± For better or worse, and very likely worse, the weapon seemed very attached to him. ¡°By removing that shadow from your body, it has doomed itself to insanity, and you, more than anyone, should know what that thing is capable of.¡±

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    ¡°That thing has a name, Corporal, and she has wants and fears just like any of us. She did not intend any harm.¡±

    ¡°You always defend it.¡± Kallahan had never understood that. The Admiral was a logical man by all appearances. Yet, on that one point, despite knowing that weapon¡¯s tendency toward chaos, he elected to trust it beyond recourse.

    ¡°I would not be here without her,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°The same is true for many members of this crew, including you, but I am not here to perpetuate that argument. I am here to thank you, Corporal, for stopping Brent. I would rather not have had my sword run through Lieutenant Galhino, though she may, on occasion, deserve it.¡±

    ¡°So¡­ that personality that possessed you. That was Brent?¡± Its attitude made sense now, particularly that toward the ghost. Kallahan had puzzled over why the weapon would create something that treated it so poorly.

    ¡°Yes, though I would ask you to keep that information to yourself.¡± The scars of Brent¡¯s tenure still lingered. Rumors of his cruelty had been passed down to the current crew, though they had never served directly under Brent¡¯s command.

    With another slight shrug, Kallahan turned to grab his helmet and slipped it on over his lightly colored hair. ¡°The others never recovered when their minds were rewritten.¡± Maybe they had been possessed by people too, all those years ago. Not human people, certainly, but how would he know for certain? Their minds had been unwound, leaving only corpses behind. ¡°I¡¯m left to wonder if this is actually you, or if that thing just made something that acted like you.¡± With such a powerful telepath, how much truth was there to any of the personalities within its reach?

    ¡°I suppose that would be your judgment to make,¡± the Admiral told him. ¡°All the same, I trust you will put a stop to it if the issue arises again?¡±

    Kallahan hauled himself off the bed, leaning heavily on his crutch. ¡°You know I will.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± Admiral Gives allowed, ¡°then rest and recover.¡±

    With a grunt, the Corporal straightened his posture. ¡°One more thing,¡± he said, watching the Admiral turn to leave, ¡°what are you planning to do with the lizard?¡±

    ¡°Interrogate it.¡±

    ¡°And how do you plan to do that? It won¡¯t willingly answer your questions, especially in our language, and the only officer on this ship fluent in Hydrian is in a coma.¡± Robinson, the communications officer, was the only one with that certification.

    ¡°Do you plan to offer your services?¡± Admiral Gives asked.

    Kallahan snorted, ¡°I don¡¯t know any Hydrian beyond their word for food. That¡¯s what they called us in the War, and I¡¯ll be damned if I willingly stand in a room with one of those bastards.¡±

    ¡°Then I fail to see how it is your problem,¡± the Admiral said.

    ¡°You should know those scaly bastards are telepathically-sensitive. That¡¯s how their hives work,¡± Kallahan warned. ¡°There¡¯s going to be no concealing the Angel.¡±

    ¡°I am aware,¡± and the Admiral fully intended to use that to his advantage. ¡°The Hydra will be dealt with accordingly.¡±

    ¡°Hmph,¡± the Marine said, bending over to pick up his armor. ¡°Spoken like a cadet on the frontlines. You don¡¯t know what those monsters are capable of.¡± No veteran of the War would have been so confident the alien could be ¡®dealt with.¡¯ The Hydra were deadly in close quarters, and difficult to engage at range. ¡°There¡¯s a reason we nearly lost the War.¡±

    ¡°There is a reason we won it too, but you seem less inclined to acknowledge her.¡± And with that, the Admiral slid the curtain open. Debating the nature of the Hydra with Kallahan would get them nowhere and the interrogation itself had to be the Admiral¡¯s next priority. In fact, he should have focused on that before dealing with Cortana or Kallahan, but he¡¯d already been in the medical bay for the autopsy.

    The seating area in the center of the medical bay was empty, and the Admiral stalked past it, not giving the worn couches and coffee tables a second glance. Outside the medical bay, he took a sharp turn, heading for his quarters. He didn¡¯t make a habit of carrying his sword around, but he would need it before interrogating the Hydra. Weapons were a symbol of status in Hydrian culture. High-ranking Hydrian warriors carried piezoelectric blades on long pole arms, spears, effectively. Admiral Gives didn¡¯t possess the traditional spear, of course, but his sword would still be an indicator of status.

    On his way, Admiral Gives contemplated anything else he remembered about the Hydra. Their civilization was not particularly well-understood. At times, the Hydra were ruthlessly logical, other times fanatical. All their nests were capable, but many had a specialty, meaning they bred for different traits. Some bred strategists, others warriors of brute force, and still more, scientists. The Hydra were not a hivemind. A single drone could survive on its own, but they were rarely found alone. Each Hydra usually had dozens of brood mates they travelled with, and each nest contained thousands more drones. All available information indicated that the population of the Hydrian Empire was staggering, which was why the Hydra had invaded humanity¡¯s territory for resources ¨C the initial cause of the war, sixty years prior.

    Approaching his quarters once more, Admiral Gives was surprised to find someone waiting beside the door for him, but he was even more surprised by who it was: the ship¡¯s head chef, ¡®Mama¡¯ Ripley. The moment she saw him, she ran up the corridor and grabbed his sleeve before he could decide to turn around. ¡°William.¡±

    ¡°Please do not call me that,¡± he said, electing not to resist as the old woman dragged him over the boundary to his quarters. He had been born and raised mid-continent, so he knew better than to fight a tornado, and this surely was one. He could tell by the troubled look in the cook¡¯s brown eyes.

    ¡°Shut up,¡± Ripley said, closing the door behind them before she shoved a bag with a sandwich into the Admiral¡¯s chest. ¡°Eat this.¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am, I appreciate the gesture-¡±

    ¡°Just eat it!¡± Ripley commanded, storming across the room to see the untouched breakfast plate sitting on the corner of his desk. ¡°For the sake of the stars, have you eaten anything today?¡± She folded the logbook closed and began straightening the piles of papers on the desk. ¡°This is a mess,¡± she chastised, ¡°it looks like you slept here!¡± She paused to note his continued silence, ¡°You did, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Ma¡¯am-¡±

    ¡°You absolutely, irresponsible fool!¡± Ripley abandoned the desk and stomped back over to him. ¡°William, this is no way to live.¡±

    The Admiral carefully removed Ripley¡¯s grip from his sleeve. ¡°Please do not call me that.¡± He didn¡¯t like that name. ¡°Now,¡± he said calmly, ¡°care to tell me what the matter is?¡±

    ¡°This!¡± Ripley said, throwing her hands in the air. ¡°This is the matter!¡± This room was no bigger than the quarters of the ship¡¯s other senior staff. It was mostly an office with a nice seating area by the entrance, and a desk further in. The sleeping quarters and head were around the corner, out of sight from the door. The Admiral¡¯s office was lived-in. He¡¯d lined the room with bookshelves and art, made the sitting space comfortable with old, cozy furniture. He kept it lit by warm lamplight rather than the bright florescent tubes built in overhead, but the desklamp was always on and he never seemed to rest. ¡°You work constantly.¡±

    ¡°That is my job, ma¡¯am.¡± Commanding officers rarely received holiday.

    ¡°No, it¡¯s not. You work until you pass out from exhaustion. You don¡¯t eat.¡± Ripley softened her tone, ¡°It¡¯s not healthy, Will.¡±

    He froze for a moment, noticing the tearstains on Ripley¡¯s face. Admittedly, this wasn¡¯t the first time the cook had scolded him, but it had been a long time since he¡¯d seen her cry. Her hair, whitened by age, was out of place and her apron had been abandoned. ¡°What happened?¡± Ripley turned from him, but he caught her by the shoulder. ¡°Tell me what is wrong,¡± he said, issuing it as an instruction, not an order.

    Ripley¡¯s hands shook as she tried to flatten her wiry hair down where it had escaped from her neat bun. ¡°Brent was a demon.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the Admiral said, guiding Ripley to the couch, ¡°he was.¡± The old woman took a seat, and he went to damp a rag in warm water, then offered it out to her.

    Ripley took it and began to wipe down her face, rubbing the tear marks from her cheeks. ¡°She told me how he died,¡± Ripley said, noticing the way the Admiral stiffened ¨C not a fear of the subject, just an extreme discomfort. ¡°You knew, didn¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± Admiral Gives answered. The ghost had long suffered for the illogicality of sparing him that day. He had tried to ease that suffering, but there was always some part of him that insisted it was never enough. If Brent had died in any other circumstance, in any other situation other than right there and right then, perhaps the ghost wouldn¡¯t have been so scarred.

    ¡°I never knew,¡± Ripley said, burying her forehead into that warm cloth. It eased the headache of an hour¡¯s tears. ¡°That poor thing.¡± No one should have been put in that position, least of all someone who could neither resist nor forget the command. A human may have found a solution, managed to dodge the problem, but the ghost had not been given that chance. ¡°I cannot imagine what she went through.¡± That incident alone would have been beyond traumatizing, even without the years of prior abuse. ¡°But she told me something else too. Brent¡¯s not gone.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± It was a conversation he hesitated to initiate with the ghost, but Admiral Gives was now well aware of Brent¡¯s shadow.

    ¡°I thought it might just be a memory, but she insists that shadow is real. That he¡¯s really still here.¡± Ripley dug her fingers into the damp cloth, taking solace in its gentle warmth. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen her react like that, Will. She was terrified.¡±

    The Admiral may have thought the same and blamed past trauma, but he had felt that presence for himself. Sitting down in the reading chair beside the couch, he told the cook, ¡°Brent is no mere illusion. He¡¯s here. There is no question of that.¡±

    Ripley frowned. ¡°How do you know?¡±

    ¡°He may or may not have briefly possessed me on the bridge earlier.¡±

    ¡°Briefly possess-¡± Ripley interrupted herself, suddenly comprehending what he¡¯d said. ¡°What?¡± her mind reeled as she stared at his unfaltering calm. ¡°This can affect you too?¡±

    ¡°Apparently,¡± the Admiral said. Whatever the issue was, it wasn¡¯t strictly limited to the ghost, but of course, with a telepath of her strength, the lines got blurry. ¡°I¡¯m uncertain if anyone else is at risk. I¡¯m still working out what exactly Brent may have done to cause this.¡± And truly, faced with direct, physical threats from Command and potentially the Hydrian Armada, the issue simply couldn¡¯t be his priority.

    ¡°You don¡¯t know what Brent did?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± He did not.

    ¡°But no one understands her better than you,¡± Ripley said. The ghost always spoke fondly of him in such ways. ¡°No one ever has.¡±

    ¡°That may be true.¡± Admiral Gives had spent a great deal of time working with the ghost, and he liked to think he had a good understanding of her inner machinations. ¡°However, the reality of the matter is that she is unique. She is capable of things that are beyond the understanding of human science as a whole, and there is no baseline for her. We have no comparison for how things might affect her.¡± That was one of many reasons he tried so hard to keep her safe.

    There was a wisdom in him. Sometimes it took Ripley aback to find such wisdom in a man that was notably younger than she, but the moment she saw his eyes, she remembered it was no fluke. Admiral Gives had the eyes of an older man ¨C the eyes of someone who had seen things well beyond his years. He had seen more than most would in their entire lifetime. In that, Ripley knew what his answer would be before she even asked the question. ¡°Knowing Brent¡¯s shadow haunts her, and that she can¡¯t control it¡­ Does that lower your trust in her?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Perhaps to another¡¯s logic, it should, but Brent had haunted the ghost since the day he died. That trust had never steered the Admiral wrong before, so becoming aware of the issue should change nothing. ¡°I trust her completely. Brent is not a part of her, and she has proven time and time again that she is beyond him, stronger than him. That shadow is an obstacle, not an end.¡± If he could give her the time and support needed to heal, she would. ¡°I will do my best to help her through it, if that is what she wants.¡± Understandably, this might be something she wanted to handle on her own.

    Ripley admired him for a moment. He was stoic, but ever so certain. That kind of loyalty was beyond rare in these worlds. ¡®Does that answer your question, dear?¡¯ she thought to the ghost¡¯s presence as it lingered invisibly nearby.

    ¡®Yes,¡¯ came the reply. ¡®Thank you.¡¯

    There was relief and gratitude in that response, Ripley knew, but there was a degree of concern too, a concern that lingered around the Admiral. Ripley understood, seeing the sandwich she brought him once more set aside. ¡°You need to eat.¡±

    ¡°Not hungry.¡±

    ¡°Why not?¡± Ripley demanded.

    ¡°I will get to it later.¡± Admiral Gives was not particularly squeamish, but he suspected the sight of that spy¡¯s implant would linger with him for a while.

    ¡°You need to take care of yourself,¡± Ripley told him. He was not deserving of the neglect he gave himself. ¡°You¡¯re a good man. Sometimes, I think you just forget that.¡±

    The Admiral lowered his gaze to the stellar chart books on the coffee table between them. ¡°My purpose here is to serve and protect this ship and her crew.¡± That was his only objective, the only place he had in these worlds.

    ¡°You¡¯re a member of this ship¡¯s crew,¡± Ripley reminded him gently. ¡°And no matter what you may think of yourself, you should know that the ghost thinks the worlds of you.¡± That respect had been well-earned over not just years, but decades. ¡°I¡¯ve known you both for so long.¡± The ghost had been different back then, shy and skittish, a far cry from the often-playful persona Ripley recognized from her now. Admiral Gives had been different too. He¡¯d always been stocky, and Ripley had no memory of ever seeing him without his black uniform, but his hair had been darker ¨C flecked with fewer grays. She had never known him to be completely without the grays, but she suspected his hair had started turning at a very young age. Still, as a younger man, he¡¯d been more outgoing, never carefree, simply less guarded. ¡°I know how it looks when you both push yourselves too hard.¡± He and the ghost served as a pair, neither quite functional without the other anymore. ¡°You need to rest, take the time and heal.¡± Too many threats had been forced upon them both today: Brent and the Hydra, demons of the past brought into the present.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the Admiral said, pushing himself back to his feet. ¡°But not yet.¡± He was overdue to interrogate a lizard.

 Part 42.4 - SHIPMASTER

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The Singularity¡¯s state quarters were not ostentatious. In general, they were slightly larger than the quarters allotted to officers, and had a different layout that included a small dining room. Furnished and decorated, these quarters were meant to be loaned to visiting dignitaries, whether they were higher-ups from Command or political ambassadors. They had never been meant to hold non-human physiology. The furniture simply hadn¡¯t been designed for it. All the same, the Hydra lay across the couch in the center of the room. Its long body draped across the cushions and burrowed into the decorative pillows.

    At first, Admiral Gives thought it was dead, it lay so still and quiet, but then he saw it was breathing. It was merely subdued, as the ghost had promised it would be. All the same, it was useless to him half-comatose. He moved to rest a hand on the silver guard of his sword, sheathed on his left hip. ¡®Wake him.¡¯

    ¡®Aye,¡¯ the ghost said, lifting the pressure that had forced the Hydra into unconsciousness.

    A second later, the biological drone stirred, flexing its long, dexterous claws and lashing its prehensile tail. It flicked its tongues, then raised its head and turned to him, no doubt smelling his presence. It turned to face the Admiral, eyes darker than onyx. ¡°A guessst,¡± it hissed, then switched from the standard human language to its native tongue. ¡°Might this one be food?¡±

    ¡°If you are hungry, I can get you food,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°But I am not it.¡±

    The Hydra paused, focusing its attention upon this new specimen. It tasted the air once more, as if reevaluating. ¡°You know the tongue of the Mother Nest.¡±

    ¡°I do.¡± The Admiral replied, keeping his responses in human standard. While the Hydra could contort their physiology to speak humanity¡¯s primary language, the reverse was exceptionally difficult. Certain sounds required for the Hydrian language were extremely challenging to mimic. The clicking and hissing could be painful to attempt, if not simply impossible. Humanity typically had to use soundboards to mix and match sounds they had recorded into new words. That worked, but it was slow, and it was clear enough this particular Hydra understood the human language, so the Admiral hadn¡¯t bothered to fetch the soundboard. They could both speak in their native language and understand each other just fine.

    ¡°A rarity,¡± the Hydra acknowledged, slithering off the sofa and rising up onto its rear limbs. Like that, it mirrored the bipedal stature of a human, but its long body hunched over, its two upper limbs seemingly disproportionate.

    The way the drone moved was off-putting. When it stood bipedal, one would expect it to move like a human, but it didn¡¯t. Its joints twisted and bent differently, allowing it to move on all four limbs when it chose. Upon two, its long body elevated its head to nearly seven feet, even with the hunched curve of its back. It towered over the Admiral as it approached, leaning inward to study him in closer detail. ¡°You smell of iron blood and sickness.¡±

    The blood, the Admiral understood. He¡¯d washed his hands, scrubbed them clear to his elbows. He had changed jackets, rebandaged his hand and swapped the glove on his left hand, but he had no doubt some amount of Robinson¡¯s blood still lingered. A Hydra¡¯s keen sense of smell would be able to detect that easily. The accusation of sickness, however, the Admiral had no explanation for. A Hydra may have been able to perceive the temperature fluctuations of a fever, or the bacteria behind an infection, but he wasn¡¯t ill. Still, the Hydra circled, observing him before pausing on his left side and tasting the air once more. ¡°Why not cut off the infected limb and rid yourself of the weakness?¡±

    By the way it was staring, Admiral Gives could feel its attention centering on his left hand. The hand remained badly burned. It functioned, but the scabs hadn¡¯t closed, and it still had to be cleaned and doused in anti-bacterial treatment. That must be what the Hydra smelled. Within Hydrian culture, intent on breeding the fittest biological form, needing medicine to prevent infection was an admission of inferiority. It would be better to chance cutting off the limb or beating the infection unaided, but Admiral Gives had not come here to compare their civilization. ¡°I was told your name is Rowin,¡± he said, moving his gloved hand off the guard of his sabre.

    Predictably, the Hydra took note. It focused on the weapon, slowly blinking one beady eye at a time. ¡°You come armed,¡± Rowin acknowledged, circling the Admiral once more. ¡°It seems a fine weapon. Used, even. But you are small for a Chieftain.¡±

    The Hydra would have outsized almost any member of the crew, the heavy-grav worlder, Corporal Johnston, exempted. But Admiral Gives was not unfamiliar with this accusation. He was barely five foot eight. That was distinctly average for a human, but military service usually favored larger and stronger men. Compared to the six-foot stature of Colonel Zarrey and many of the Marines, Admiral Gives would seem short. ¡°I am not a Chieftain.¡±

    A few clicks emerged from the Hydra¡¯s throat, a noise of amusement. ¡°Of course not.¡± The Hydra looked him over, attempting to decipher the nuances of his uniform. ¡°The Armada teaches us of your ranks. Those in red are high-priority. But silver? That is rare indeed.¡±

    The black duty jacket of a fleet officer denoted rank primarily by the rank band on the right sleeve. Two thinner red bands indicated a Colonel ¨C usually the second in command of a ship or outpost. A single, wider red band denoted a rank higher: Commander. The Hydra may not know the proper title, but they had connotated those red markings as high-value. Naturally, those wearing silver were rarer and even more high-value. A double band of silver marked a Rear Admiral, and a single band of silver signified a full Admiral. This Hydra knew enough to recognize the significance of the silver band on Admiral Gives¡¯ jacket, though other subtleties were lost. Of course, the Hydra did not care if he had been an Admiral or even the Fleet Admiral. The Hydrian Empire looked down upon all of humanity. To the Hydra, humanity and its worlds were nothing more than a resource to be consumed.

    ¡°You were a Ship-Controller before the pirates captured you, correct?¡± the Admiral asked, knowing he would not receive a response. When the Hydra kept to silence, he continued, ¡°Your ship was a scoutship. The Swordbreaker, correct?¡± The translation of proper nouns always got messy between languages, but that name at least had an equivalency.

    The Hydra flicked its split tongues. ¡°You come well-informed, for a human.¡±

    Admiral Gives could sense the Hydra¡¯s disdain. That sort of thing transcended language barriers, and he had known the Hydra would resist answering his questions simply on account of the fact that he was human. ¡°I know who you are, but I do not know what became of your ship.¡± The ghost had informed him everything she knew, but the Swordbreaker itself had not been found. Save the cyberattack instigated against the Singularity, there had been no trace of the Hydrian AI or the ship that should have housed it. ¡°How did you come to be held prisoner by the pirates?¡±

    The Hydra leaned over him, and bared its fangs, ¡°And why should I answer your questions?¡±

    ¡°Because answering them now is in your best interest,¡± the Admiral answered calmly, not flinching from the moisture of the alien¡¯s breath. No matter how it loomed over him, what it threatened, Admiral Gives was in no danger from it aboard this ship. The ghost had made that very clear. ¡°This will be gentler for you if my partner does not get involved.¡±

    ¡°Gentler?¡± the Hydra lashed its tail. ¡°Such human terms. Such human concerns. The Empire has no need for them.¡±

    ¡°You are not currently within the Empire¡¯s borders,¡± Admiral Gives reminded. ¡°You are a guest aboard a human vessel.¡±

    ¡°This is no human vessel. It reeks like a Queen¡¯s Nest, enshrouded by her blindsight. You are blind to it, as all humans are, so limited in your evolution.¡± A click of annoyance rose from the Hydra¡¯s throat. ¡°Yet it penetrates everything here ¨C the only reason I have not ripped you limb from limb.¡±

    ¡°You expect me to take that as a kindness, Rowin?¡± Was he expected to play the role of a poor, blind human who had no idea what power lingered in his vicinity? ¡°Allow me to offer you a kindness in exchange: answer my questions and my partner will not get involved.¡±

    ¡°I will not yield to a human. Bring me your Queen¡¯s Shipmaster. I shall answer his questions, and no other.¡±

    The Hydra turned from him, clearly deeming him a non-threat. Presumably, that was a grave insult in a society that selectively bred itself for deadly attributes, but the Admiral just folded his hands behind his back. ¡°You never asked my name, Rowin.¡±

    ¡°I do not care to know the name of a Queen¡¯s human pet.¡±

    The ghost shifted. Silently, invisibly, the tendrils of her presence simply contorted, not violently, not roughly, just enough to reveal their true extent. The Admiral felt it, but he had grown acclimated to her presence. The Hydra flinched, the crest on its neck rising in an instinctive challenge display. ¡°You¡­¡± it hissed.

    ¡°I would be the Shipmaster here, yes.¡±

    ¡°But you are human.¡± Such a thing was impossible. Shipmasters were an ultimate authority. They were granted the ability to enforce their Queen¡¯s will over lesser drones, capable of extending their Queen¡¯s reach and threading the weave of blindsight between broods of different nests. Shipmasters enabled the Hydra to function as one Mother Nest, rather than a conglomerate of orphaned collectives. ¡°The honor of such a position is lost upon you. You know nothing of the strength that has been granted to you.¡±

    ¡°Do you truly want to test that theory?¡±

    ¡°I cannot fear a small, blind Shipmaster,¡± the Hydra hissed. ¡°A false Shipmaster for a false Queen.¡± Fortune smiled upon the Mother Nest. The hive could hardly be threatened by a power so flawed.

    ¡°Then I will ask again: how did you come to be held by the pirates and where is your ship?¡±

    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    The Hydra lashed its long tail, the barb on its end whistling through the air. ¡°You are truly blind to your Queen¡¯s intents.¡± That was the very nature of a Queen. They discarded their Shipmasters when they found a flaw in their actions and genetics. The old ones were returned to the hive as sustenance, and new ones were elevated into their place. ¡°If you knew her as I do, you would know that your service to her has now expired.¡±

    The Hydra opened its mouth, the muscles in its throat convulsing. It made a sort of high-pitched hiss, as its acid glands fought to expel their product. Still, nothing emerged. There was just a light wash of caustic fumes.

    Admiral Gives never flinched. He simply watched the Hydra snap its maw closed. ¡°You may find your perception of time here to be somewhat inaccurate.¡± The Hydra, pushed to unconsciousness by the ghost, would have no way to know how long it had been since it boarded the ship. What may have felt like days to it, given its slumber, had only been a few hours in reality ¨C not nearly enough time for its acid glands to refill.

    The alien raised its upper limbs, curling is razor-sharp claws into a cutting angle. ¡°Your Queen has withdrawn her oppression, and henceforth your protection, human.¡±

    ¡°Because I instructed her to,¡± the Admiral said. It would be impossible to gauge the Hydra¡¯s true intentions if the ghost was limiting its movements.

    ¡°Then you are a blind fool,¡± the alien replied, lunging forward.

    In that moment, Rowin managed a slight twitch toward the Admiral¡¯s throat before the ghost stopped him. ¡°That¡¯s enough, drone.¡± Her icy tone cut through the room, cold as the void between the stars.

    A series of clicks with no meaning escaped the Hydra¡¯s throat, yet only by the way the Hydra cowered, Admiral Gives could tell the emission had a meaning. Taking form in the shadows beside him, the ghost translated, ¡°She-Who-Sings-Death. That¡¯s what they call me: the Banshee.¡± She regarded the Hydra¡¯s form, its waxy-green scales, and outstretched claw, then turned to the Admiral. ¡°I told you he would attack.¡±

    ¡°Had to be sure.¡± The Hydra had refused to provide answers so far, but a soldier trained to maintain peace would not have attacked without being threatened. The fact the Hydra, when released from the ghost¡¯s control, had tried to attack Admiral Gives was telling. ¡°Were you sent across the Neutral Zone by intention, Rowin?¡± the Admiral asked. "Was your intent to start a war?"

    The Hydra gnashed its teeth, ¡°The Mother Nest will not call the extermination of falsities like you a war.¡±

    ¡°A history lesson might be in order, then,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°You recognize my partner. The Lady here killed twelve Queens in the war, wiped thousands of Hydra out without so much as touching them. This ship,¡± he gestured vaguely to the dark gray bulkheads, ¡°is none other than our flagship, Singularity. She sank your Empire¡¯s most prized warship, then went on to exterminate hundreds of thousands of your forces. You may call them falsities, but they are very real, so answer carefully: how did you come to be captured by the pirates?¡±

    The Hydra hissed, and the ghost¡¯s expression turned dark. ¡°Answer the question,¡± she commanded. Yet, the Hydra resisted, futilely trying to wrench itself free of her control. ¡°I warned you, drone. Answering my Shipmaster¡¯s questions is the single cause of your continued existence.¡± She doubled the pressure on the drone¡¯s mind, feeling its strain, unable to resist as her power leeched in.

    The drone deflated, lowering itself to a quadrupedal stance. ¡°I was captured,¡± it rasped. ¡°A malfunction stalled my ship. I was helpless.¡±

    ¡°And where were you when this occurred?¡± the Admiral asked.

    The Hydra, rapidly losing resistance, clicked an untranslatable response. Then stilled, its jaw hanging slack, tongues drooping past its jagged fangs. It was salivating, and not in the way of an animal craving food ¨C in the way of someone being strangled, a froth building up in its throat.

    Seeing it struggle, Admiral Gives changed the question to force an easier answer. ¡°Were you in human territory when the malfunction occurred?¡±

    ¡°Yesssss,¡± the Hydra breathed, clearly suffering.

    ¡°Did you intentionally cross the Neutral Zone?¡± Admiral Gives kept the question calm, though aware of its weight. The answer here determined the existence of a treaty violation that would be grounds restart the War. Yet, the Hydra did not answer.

    ¡°Do not make my Shipmaster repeat himself,¡± the ghost snarled.

    The Hydra trembled, its long body bowing in its unsupported length. Froth began to drip from its slack jaw to the floor as it struggled to heave in a breath.

    Admiral Gives may not have been able to see the exact nature of the ghost¡¯s power, blind to the way it wound itself into the drone¡¯s mind, but he could feel it compressing the darkness of the room. It clamped down upon the drone like an unrelenting vice, drawing tighter and tighter. He had endured that capability himself when Brent possessed him and knew how easily it could overwhelm the physical needs. ¡°Let him breathe.¡±

    The ghost abruptly flinched and the spell was broken. The Hydra heaved in a full breath, tongue fluttering in the sweet-tasting air, and the ghost glitched a bit. At least that¡¯s what the Admiral would call it as an expression of discomfort was instantaneously erased and replaced without any transition ¨C as if she had purged her initial reaction from her processes. Yet, Admiral Gives was almost certain that discomfort had been her first reaction, not surprise. That hadn¡¯t been a reaction caused by him speaking when she didn¡¯t expect it. No, that kind of reaction had to be caused by something else. ¡®Are you alright?¡¯ he asked. Perhaps this interrogation was pushing her too far, too soon after the battle against Crimson Heart.

    ¡°I¡¯m just annoyed by the resistance of this insect,¡± she answered.

    ¡°Is it too severe?¡±

    ¡°No, I¡¯ve seen others like this. Hydrian scouts are bred to resist the interference of other Queens and better acclimated toward being alone.¡± The controller of a scoutship that endured long missions benefitted from being able to serve in solitude. ¡°It was bred to survive without its brood and without contact from a Queen.¡± Quite literally, this biological drone had been born to those ends. ¡°But they all bow to their Queen eventually.¡± That too, was in its DNA. No Queen would breed that completely out of their nest.

    The more time the Hydra spent aboard ship, the more time the ghost would have to familiarize herself with its mind, and the less it would be able to resist. ¡°Proceed with your questions, Admiral.¡±

    The Hydra flexed its claws, digging them into the rug. ¡°You are a false Queen. I cooperated to be removed from my prison, but no more.¡± A shudder ran down the alien¡¯s long, curving spine from crest to tail. ¡°A falsity shall never be my Queen.¡±

    The ghost chuckled coldly. ¡°Why would I want to be the Queen of an insect so pathetically weak?¡± With barely a twinge of effort, she forced her infiltration past the Hydra¡¯s barriers and wove her awareness through his mind. ¡°A puppet hardly requires a Queen.¡±

    With a whimpering hiss that rose above the audible range of a human, the Hydra lowered its head, its every other intent stifled. Rowin was left paralyzed, drowning beneath the ghost¡¯s sheer capability.

    Something even Admiral Gives rarely saw, that power of hers gave the room¡¯s shadows a physical weight. And though it hadn¡¯t burrowed into him, the Admiral felt it. The sheer size of her presence was hundreds of times greater than his own. Had it not shielded him, he suspected it would have drowned him just as much as the Hydra. ¡°Did you cross the Neutral Zone by intention?¡± he asked again.

    Yanking the fragile threads of Rowin¡¯s mind into compliance, the ghost allowed him to speak the honest truth, ¡°Yes.¡±

    The answer unmistakable, the ghost reacted before Admiral Gives could. ¡°Then your life is forfeit, insect.¡± Crossing the Neutral Zone by intention meant war.

    The Hydra began to convulse, keeling over. No, ¡°Stand down,¡± Admiral Gives instructed.

    The ghost didn¡¯t give any indication that she heard him. She fixed her gray gaze on the Hydra¡¯s writhing form, unseeing of its suffering. Her illusion was losing granularity, its shape stretching and dripping in random places, morphing into something the Admiral didn¡¯t recognize.

    ¡°Stand down,¡± he commanded. There had to be more to this. There had to be a reason the Hydra crossed the Neutral Zone. Or, if the intent had purely been war, surely there was something more they could learn? ¡°We need him alive.¡± Like a dog on a chain, the ghost¡¯s presence strained against him, testing the strength and intent of his will. He only resisted enough to get her attention, then let the chain slip. If she wanted to kill that Hydra right here and now, he would not stop her, but that trust, trust he had spent decades accumulating still brought her to him.

    ¡°You heard it as well as I did,¡± she growled. ¡°That was a declaration of war.¡±

    There was a desperate, feral attribute to her presence, and her illusion remained deformed. Her pale skin parted on one cheek, revealing metal fangs, and her fingers, deformed, had taken on mechanical joints and metal tips not unlike knives. Where it dripped and bulged, the black uniform that usually hung on her illusion had taken on the metallic sheen of armor. That half-complete transformation was almost eldritch, difficult to comprehend and hard to look at. Most others would have recoiled from the sight of it, but the Admiral knew it was just an illusion ¨C one the machine behind it no longer cared to maintain. ¡°You don¡¯t send a scoutship to start a war.¡± The Hydrian Armada had possessed larger and more dangerous ships half a century ago. It stood to reason those ships ¨C or their newer counterparts ¨C would be sent to engage humanity if that was truly the Empire¡¯s goal. ¡°This scoutship had a mission ¨C one that brought him to cross the Neutral Zone. We need to know what it was.¡±

    ¡°Tsch,¡± the ghost spat. ¡°You already know.¡±

    ¡°I think I know.¡± Scoutships excelled in one thing: reconnaissance. One equipped with the stealth technology taken and applied by Crimson Heart would likely have been on a recon mission to gather information about humanity, such as the state of their technology and defensive capabilities. ¡°However, there is still a possibility that he was meant to make contact,¡± perhaps to leverage that newfound information against humanity as a means to renegotiate the treaty without a full-blown war. ¡°We have to be certain of their intention. Do you understand?¡±

    She stared at the biological drone sprawled unmoving on the floor. Its waxy green scales were unbroken, its crest unblemished. It was uninjured, and in most other circumstances would have been deadly. ¡°I can tell you the Hydra¡¯s intention.¡± This drone was no different than any other. They were all so much the same: fragile, starving minds with no hope, no dreams. The mere concept of kindness did not exist to them. Humor and affection were no part of the hive. In such ways, their minds were much less colorful than humanity¡¯s. ¡°The Mother Nest grows hungry.¡± The Empire¡¯s population had exceeded what its worlds could sustain once more. ¡°They intend war.¡±

    ¡°There is a big difference between a war that begins tomorrow and one that begins a decade from now,¡± the Admiral told her. ¡°This Hydra is a scout. That means the Empire was likely gathering information and is not ready to dispatch an invasion force.¡± By all appearances, however, this Hydra had been held by Crimson Heart for years. That meant the Empire had begun preparations years ago. Those preparations might be nearing completion, or they might still be in the opening stages, meant for an invasion half a century from now. The lifespan of a Hydra was substantially longer than that of a human. Waiting another decade or more would mean nothing to them, only ensure that humanity¡¯s combat knowledge on the Hydra faded even further. ¡°We need every piece of information we can get.¡±

    ¡°The insect is no longer in a condition to answer your questions,¡± the ghost said. ¡°Pressuring its mind further will damage it irreversibly.¡± Compared to her, it was too fragile.

    ¡°How long until he recovers enough to question him again?¡±

    ¡°Twenty-four hours,¡± she answered emotionlessly. ¡°His resistance will lessen in that time as well.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°I will return then.¡±

    She heard him start to leave, but didn¡¯t bother shifting her gaze from the Hydra, only called out a question. ¡°What will you do?¡±

    He paused his exit from the room beside the couch. ¡°That is the question, isn¡¯t it?¡± With the Hydrian Empire preparing for war, what would he do? ¡°Truly, there¡¯s not much to do.¡± Humanity didn¡¯t stand much of a chance, not now. Reeter¡¯s New Era Movement, aided by Manhattan, had pushed humanity into the opening stages of another civil war. Focused on fighting each other, they would be weak and unprepared when the Hydrian Armada began its invasion. ¡°I could warn them,¡± the Admiral supposed, ¡°but they¡¯re not likely to believe me. Not without evidence.¡± Stealing a battleship and running off before Command had tried him for treason did not lend him much credibility. ¡°Regardless, we must proceed very carefully. If the Hydra feel that their plans are threatened, they will accelerate them. The worst thing we can do is reveal that we know their intention is war.¡± This situation had an exceptionally delicate balance. ¡°We gather information. We buy time. And we make sure we are ready ¨C even if we are the only ones.¡±

 Part 43.1 - THE AURORA

    Nagash Sector, Startraveler Aurora

    The Startraveler Aurora floated through space under the easy acceleration of her main engines. Her elegant hull curved at the fore, and folded over itself outward at the rear like the pleats of a skirt. This layering bloom served a purpose of course ¨C critical for dispersing the strain energy absorbed during FTL maneuvers. Upon reentry to normal space, the Aurora¡¯s hull glowed momentarily, shedding off the strain energy as heat. That energy-shedding allowed the Aurora to sustain more frequent and more difficult FTL maneuvers, but the technology that enabled it was complex, and rather fragile. As such, the Aurora was not meant to endure physical damage. She was a small and maneuverable ship equipped with magnetic shields.

    In that sense, the Aurora may well have been the Singularity¡¯s opposite, and the reality of that fact had not settled in on Lord Protector Borealis until he viewed the Singularity¡¯s silhouette through the Aurora¡¯s telescopes. The Aurora was designed to endure FTL using technology precisely adapted to that purpose. The Singularity endured the stress and strain of FTL through sheer strength, brute-forcing her way through every maneuver. Like all of Command¡¯s ships, the Singularity¡¯s structure had been built to directly sustain those forces. The complexities of an energy dispersion system like the Aurora¡¯s would be of little use to a ship that was expected to take damage in combat. The Aurora¡¯s shields could protect the system¡¯s delicate mechanics, but the Singularity possessed no shields. Instead, she¡¯d been heavily armored from bow to stern. Building a ship like that: with multitudes of structural redundancies and physical armor thick enough to be protective, that was beyond the means of humanity¡¯s individual nations. The material demands were simply too much. It was more cost effective to build smaller ships with greater technical reliance.

    Lord Protector Borealis had been proud of that fact. He had been certain the Coalition¡¯s advanced technology ¨C great enough to rival that of the central worlds ¨C could compensate for any material gap. While not as large or armored as the centralized government¡¯s battleships, the Coalition¡¯s national guard was vastly capable in its own right. Now, however, having seen the Singularity¡¯s scarred armor for himself, Borealis found himself doubting the Royal Guard¡¯s capabilities for the first time. He had seen pictures of the Singularity before. She was an old ship, historic for her service in the Hydrian War. When he was sent to find the ship, Borealis had studied the Singularity¡¯s appearance in detail ¨C factually known her great size and proportions. Yet, it had not occurred to him that most images of the ship had been taken outside combat. In every photograph he had seen, the Singularity¡¯s main battery guns had been lowered into their stowed position. Like that, the guns were still visible, so obvious in fact it had not occurred to Borealis that they had been stowed¡­ until he saw them raised. Only then was their true size put into perspective.

    The Singularity carried the largest artillery guns ever mounted on a mobile platform. That had been a consequence of the Hydrian War. Borealis had been educated in the history of such tactics during his training to become the Lord Protector. The Royal Guard ships¡¯ electromagnetic shielding technology was derived from the Hydra. The Cassiopeia Coalition had survived the War by reverse-engineering and bettering Hydrian technology to fight on par with the Empire, but the central worlds had chosen a different path. Hydrian shielding utilized electromagnetism to redirect artillery and energy just enough to miss the target. Unable to reliably penetrate that shielding, Command had increased the size of their artillery to shells that simply had too much mass to be redirected. It had been a simple, brutal solution, and the Singularity the result. A ship of unmatched physical prowess, she¡¯d been built to kill Hydrian battleships whose shielding made them untouchable to the rest of Command¡¯s fleet.

    By all accounts, the Singularity had been a success in her original purpose ¨C solely credited with halting the Hydrian advance toward the central worlds. Every aspect of the ship¡¯s design had been tempered toward the slaughter of ships more technologically advanced than her. Rarely used, a pair of twin railguns were mounted in the Singularity¡¯s bow, and their barrels ran a good portion of the ship¡¯s length, a sort of spinal column. The power required for those rail cannons¡¯ full charge was far, far beyond what the Aurora could provide and contain. The railguns¡¯ projectiles, the size of a small house, would have been positively devastating on a direct hit, but that wasn¡¯t their purpose. Classified as an anti-fleet weapon system, the railguns were calibrated to pass through Hydrian formations and allow the strong magnetic charge imparted on the projectile to disrupt Hydrian EM shielding.

    Lord Protector Borealis had no question such a tactic would work on the Coalition¡¯s shielding technology. The longer he considered it, bringing the Singularity into their sovereign space felt more and more like bringing a viper into a rabbit¡¯s nest. But, he supposed, if the snake could be tamed to protect the nest, the rabbits would be all the better for it.

    But the Singularity wasn¡¯t the only variable in that equation. While the ship herself was deadly, by all appearances, Admiral Gives was her equal. He had taken and held the position of Fleet Admiral for twenty-two years. That title, earned by combat, was granted to the victor of the UCSC fleet¡¯s War Games, an annual competition where the competition was often stacked against the reigning champion. However, in the twenty-two years he had been permitted to compete, William Gives had never lost. The only blemish on his record was a stalemate that resulted from an act of sabotage. Despite that, Gives had still managed to fight a disabled ship into a draw.

    Perhaps in that, Lord Protector Borealis could understand the Empress¡¯ interest. With Gives¡¯ experience in the War Games, there was no finer tactician in the worlds to stand against Command. That said, Gives had a reputation for being more than a tactician. He¡¯d been a problem-solver for Command for years ¨C decades even. When issues arose and challenges to the central worlds¡¯ authority were made, he was the one dispatched to quell the dissent. In some cases, he negotiated, in others, laid down threats or battled, but he¡¯d become infamous for those threats he simply erased ¨C never a tic of pity or remorse in his disposition.

    In all, Borealis found the man to be a rather unfavorable character. Gives¡¯ disposition was very steady, almost disinterested in most cases, but his motives remained unclear. Why would he stay in the service of a government that had done its best to get rid of him? And why, once he had earned that government¡¯s respect through massacre after massacre, would he opt to ruin his career by taking remote patrols and denying every promotion offered to him? Truly, it made very little sense. At the height of his fame, Fleet Admiral Gives had been one of the most powerful people in the worlds. He¡¯d held great political influence ¨C enough to have his brother named the Secretary of Defense for the centralized government ¨C yet he had done little else with that power. He had strayed from political appearances, even appearances at military conferences. He had never reveled in the attention of the media the way that Charleston Reeter did. He had simply used his authority over the fleet to assign his own ship to long, solitary patrols.

    That was why people called him mad. No one with the kind of influence Gives had achieved would turn from it. No one given the chance to chart the course of humanity would decline it. Everyone had dreams, had intents: domination, ultimate freedom, the elimination of poverty or something else entirely. Yet, Gives had done his best to fade into the background, maintaining enough authority to ensure solitude, but interfering no further in the rest of the worlds¡¯ affairs.

    Lord Protector Borealis simply couldn¡¯t make sense of it. For such an infamously logical personality, Gives behaved oddly. Borealis considered it concerning. The Coalition would surely not find the ally it needed in someone like that.

    Rubbing his temples, Borealis considered the report he would have to give as he sat in the Aurora¡¯s command chair. Placed centrally on the bridge, the command chair was a fine piece of technology that allowed instantaneous insight into the condition of the ship. It controlled nothing directly, the Aurora¡¯s highly trained crew operated the ship¡¯s various systems, but it gave Borealis an immediate knowledge of the ship¡¯s condition without having to request it. The Coalition had found the availability of such information greatly improved reaction time.

    Still, that preparedness was far from Borealis¡¯ mind today. He was troubled, and the crew hardly needed him to supervise their journey home. He stood from his seat and straightened the cobalt blue sash that cut across his duty jacket. His white pants fell into place, perfectly pressed. White, a color of nobility and honor in the Coalition¡¯s tradition, was donned by all the crew. Borealis had been proud of that spotless uniform, but after seeing the Singularity¡¯s bridge in its blood-splattered state, it occurred to him how fragile that illusion of nobility was, how easily it could be soiled.

    Borealis had never considered himself squeamish before, but he supposed no one was when combat remained a far-off fantasy. He turned to his second in command exhaustedly. ¡°Set course for the Riddick Sector. I shall be in my quarters.¡±

    The officer saluted stiffly as Borealis moved past. The door to exit the bridge swished open quietly as he approached, closing behind him once he¡¯d moved a few steps beyond. The captain¡¯s quarters were near the bridge, a convenience in case of emergency, but the quarters of the rest of the crew were a few decks lower.

    The door to the captain¡¯s quarters opened upon his approach, the lights brightening gently to greet his arrival. A large screen dominated one wall of the room, and the rest were left plain. The Aurora was his personal command, but Borealis spent far more of his time in Citadel City and hadn¡¯t bothered to decorate his room. He rarely spent more than a few consecutive days aboard ship, but that would be changing soon. As tensions rose between humanity¡¯s worlds, he and the rest of the Coalition¡¯s Royal Guard would be increasing the frequency and duration of their patrols.

    In front of the wall screen, there was a small, sleek table. It had a brushed metal finish like many of the Aurora¡¯s fixtures, durable, yet easy to keep clean. Its edges were carefully rounded, calibrated for the utmost ergonomic comfort, and the controls for the screen were built into it. Borealis took a moment to center his sash and fix the way the gold chains fell from the epaulets on his shoulders, then reached out. He had to do nothing but activate the system, for it only linked to one other terminal, and the recipient was waiting.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    The screen powered on, brightening the room a bit, and the elegant visage of the Empress appeared, the live feed of the throne room perfectly clear. She sat upon her carved gold and ivory throne, a brilliantly silver dress cascading off her figure as its long, flowing sleeves pooled in her lap. ¡°Lord Protector,¡± she greeted, her voice not muffled at all by the porcelain mask affixed to her face. ¡°Have you succeeded in your mission?¡±

    Borealis cross his arm over his chest in a salute of greeting, but knew better than to delay answers with formalities. ¡°Not yet, my lady.¡±

    ¡°Were there complications?¡± she asked, her regal tone undisturbed.

    ¡°Not directly.¡± Borealis supposed that was something to be grateful for. ¡°We did find the Singularity. She was right where the fixer told us she would be.¡±

    The Empress shifted to bush her dark, silky hair behind her shoulders, an indication of interest, while the white mask upon her face concealed her expression. ¡°And you made contact?¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lady.¡±

    ¡°But Gives did not agree to a meeting?¡±

    ¡°No, my lady, he did not.¡± Borealis did not consider his objective failed, but that wrinkle had certainly damaged his pride. ¡°I understand our timing was not ideal. The Singularity had engaged in severe combat, both internally and externally, but I offered all our aid and an escort back to Venorria.¡±

    ¡°Yet, he declined it.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lady, he did, though he did say he would consider meeting us in the Riddick Sector.¡± Borealis hung his head, ¡°I must say, however, I feel it is unlikely he will seek us out.¡±

    ¡°This is as expected, Lord Protector,¡± the Empress spoke, the sound of her voice drifting past her mask¡¯s red-painted lips. ¡°I did not expect him to follow you back.¡±

    Borealis furrowed his brows. ¡°Then why take the risk?¡± If this objective had been destined to fail, why send the Aurora so far beyond the Coalition¡¯s bounds?

    ¡°These things take time, Lord Protector. You are young, you do not yet know the ways of these worlds.¡± Nothing was so simple. ¡°I seek a meeting with Admiral Gives, but I knew he would be reluctant. No one who has split from one government so recently would wish to ally with another so soon, but you have planted the seed. Just as we know the Steel Prince¡¯s reputation, he shall surely know ours. Curiosity is a wonderful thing. He will wonder why we sought him out, what we might offer, what we might provide. And he may wait until support becomes necessary, but it surely shall. Only a handful of nations have the means to provide for a ship of the Singularity¡¯s stature, and our Coalition is one of them.¡± When the time came and the Singularity needed fuel, needed repair, the Admiral would be forced to consider where he may find port. Having made contact already, the Cassiopeia Coalition would be the first he considered. ¡°Proceed to the Riddick Sector, Lord Protector. Wait your allotted time. I do think Gives may surprise you.¡±

    ¡°You believe he will come?¡±

    ¡°I will not rule out the possibility,¡± she said. ¡°He chose the Riddick Sector for a reason. That sector is near our sovereign space.¡± Not within the Coalition¡¯s borders, but near them. ¡°That is a gesture of goodwill.¡± It was a subtle gesture, but one that should not be ignored. ¡°In setting the meeting near our space, he has enabled you to travel back toward Venorria, and made it safer for you to linger.¡± Admiral Gives very easily could have set the meeting in a more distant sector and isolated the Aurora further, but he had chosen not to.

    ¡°That said, my lady, do you truly believe this is the wisest course of action?¡± Borealis took no enjoyment in questioning the Empress, but the facts of Gives¡¯ history concerned him. ¡°His allegiance would benefit us greatly, but if he decides we are an adversary, I fear it may cost us dearly.¡±

    ¡°That is why we are not taking the chance, Lord Protector.¡± There was far too much at stake. ¡°You know what our objective requires.¡±

    ¡°Yes, my lady, I do.¡±

    ¡°Then we must not flinch now.¡± The Coalition could not afford it. ¡°Civil war is inevitable, and our Coalition is too prosperous to be ignored.¡± Though it was isolated out here on the western side of humanity¡¯s territory, the Coalition had grown quite large. Even if the Coalition attempted to stay neutral, some force would eventually attack, hoping to prevent the Coalition from aiding the enemy. Paranoia was a devastating enemy to peace. ¡°I have seen this before, Lord Protector. More than once.¡± Humanity had been trapped in the same inevitable cycle for centuries. Technological stagnation strained resources and the human survival instinct meant they tended toward selfishness. Eventually, that created a stratified society where few hoarded enormous amounts of wealth, and many were desperate to attain it. The Frontier Rebellion had progressed very similarly just a few decades ago, and there had been other wars before that. Even the Coalition, now so strongly united, had suffered an internal conflict centuries ago ¨C the very conflict that had given rise to the Eternal Empress¡¯ reign.

    Borealis nodded, ¡°I understand.¡± The Empress¡¯ pale skin was flawless, and he had seen the face behind that mask. The woman upon that throne was young, perhaps even a few years his junior, but the Empress was eternal. Her wisdom dated back centuries, passed so accurately from one body to another, that they were all considered to be of one mind. This was the eighth body to sit upon that throne, but there had only been one Eternal Empress. She knew the cycles of humanity because she had seen them, weathered them before, always ensuring the survival of the Cassiopeia Coalition. ¡°Has there been news, my lady?¡±

    ¡°Not yet. Tensions on the Frontier continue to rise. Attendance was down at the last gathering of the Ariean Central Council.¡± That could hardly be a surprise. National governments stopped sending representatives when they felt there was no point. ¡°Our informants within Command indicate that Reeter will have a promotion waiting for him upon his return, but he and the Flagship Olympia are still en route to a remote sector. They are not due to return for at least another week.¡±

    ¡°Is that not odd, my lady?¡± Borealis questioned. ¡°He left so abruptly.¡± The New Era Movement, headed by Reeter was a political juggernaut. There was no question that Reeter would be taking a higher seat of power within Command ¨C and likely within the centralized government to follow ¨C but his departure from Ariea had been sudden. He had left just hours after Gives¡¯ secession.

    ¡°Command has no precedent for their Fleet Admiral severing ties to the institution, then being tried and convicted in absentia of treason,¡± the Empress told him. ¡°Reeter was named the interim Fleet Admiral following Gives¡¯ departure, and there remains an empty seat among the Generalty.¡± The fleet typically employed three generals, but one of those slots had been essentially vacant since General Clarke¡¯s death.

    ¡°But Reeter is young, is he not?¡± Borealis himself was rather young, but the Coalition had different rules. A new Lord Protector was named for every woman who sat upon the Coalition¡¯s throne. He, though he knew not why, had been chosen to serve this term. However, that tradition was not abided in the military of the unified republic. Typically, experience and ambition prompted promotions more than anything else.

    ¡°That promotion made him the second-youngest Fleet Admiral in Command¡¯s history.¡± Reeter¡¯s carefully crafted public image and powerful connections had skyrocketed him to the upper echelons of Command, granting him authority well beyond his experience. ¡°Reeter is a gifted tactician. He championed every War Game that Admiral Gives did not participate in.¡± In that, Reeter¡¯s promotion was seemingly deserved and he was the logical choice to fill the void in the Generalty, despite his youth.

    ¡°And what of Reeter¡¯s allies, my lady?¡±

    ¡°The Erans have great numbers. Many worlds are being lured toward conflict. Unfortunately, they are blind to the fact that the New Era Movement is supporting both them and their enemy. The masses do not truly understand the Erans¡¯ goal.¡± The New Era touted an ideal utopia, worlds where everyone could live in plenty with true equality. People in such stratified worlds believed in that, craved that ¨C never realizing that the path to utopia was paved with selective slaughter. ¡°This civil war will serve to identify the biological, technological and ideological strengths of humanity¡¯s various populations. It will highlight the strongest among us, and kill the weaker.¡± Unfortunately, war had a habit of advancing the worlds in ways that peace could not.

    Puppeteered by the New Era, the looming civil war would wipe out populations deemed unworthy, culling the population of the worlds. The humans that survived would live in plenty because there would be far less competition for resources. Eventually, the New Era aimed to unify the remains of humanity under one ideology, one that never quarreled amongst itself again, creating a perfect race that lacked in cruelty and suffering. That end goal allowed Reeter truly believe himself a savior to a self-destructive species, despite the violence that would create his utopia.

    ¡°Then it seems inevitable?¡± Borealis wondered.

    The Empress shifted upon her throne, the movement causing her silver dress to shimmer in the warm light of the throne room. ¡°I do not believe anything can stop what the New Era has set in motion, Lord Protector. Those ideals have been seeded amongst the worlds for far too long.¡± This act had been in motion since the end of the Frontier Rebellion. ¡°But I cannot allow my citizens to be needlessly slaughtered. Our nation does not hunger for resources. Our population is stable, is peaceful. But the New Era will test us like all others.¡± They would be pitted against other nations, other populations over and over again to prove their worth. ¡°Even if we submit to Eran rule, we will be asked to test and cull our own population.¡± Perhaps then, the Coalition would see its first internal conflict in three hundred years of history. ¡°I must be frank, Lord Protector. I expect the worlds to be enveloped in civil war within months, if not weeks. Your mission is critical.¡±

    Borealis was no stranger to pressure. He felt it in every public address he gave, in every moment he served the Empress directly, but this was a new kind of pressure. This was the kind of pressure that determined the fate of his worlds, and he found himself desperately longing for the vaulted ceilings and golden columns of the Coalition¡¯s capital. That, at least, would be familiar to him. ¡°I understand the Singularity would be an asset to us, Empress. Gives is a very gifted tactician, but his loyalty appears fragile at best. Would it not be better to begin construction on a battleship of our own? We have the Singularity¡¯s schematics.¡±

    ¡°We have part of the Singularity¡¯s design prints. The Constancy-class build was blacklisted after the Frontier Rebellion,¡± and attempting the recreation of blacklisted tech would certainly draw the ire of the central worlds. ¡°Most of the Singularity¡¯s technical documents were purged in accordance with the blacklisting. Command retained some, but not all. Gives burned a significant amount more before our agents could attain them.¡±

    ¡°Our scientists could interpolate, my lady.¡± A ship like the Singularity was not the most advanced creation. She was an old, a blunt weapon, not an advanced one, though effective nonetheless.

    ¡°It took the combined effort of all humanity¡¯s worlds five months to build the Singularity. It would take our shipyards significantly longer.¡± The designs would have to be recreated, material sourced, then personnel hired and equipment relocated. ¡°That will be too late, Lord Protector.¡±

    ¡°I understand,¡± he said. ¡°Then the Aurora will make best speed toward the Riddick Sector and pray that Gives proves willing to meet.¡±

 Part 43.2 - THE HUMAN MACHINE

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Cadet Blosse turned when she heard the hatch start to spin. Her Marine training forced her to tense and never assume what would come through the hatch as she guarded it. Slowly, the hatch creaked open and after a worn black leather shoe stepped across the threshold, Blosse relaxed.

    Admiral Gives exited the state room in an identical condition to which he had entered it. His wavy hair was not out of place and his expression was just as void as before. There was no indication of what had transpired in that room. Calm as ever, he sealed the hatch behind him, then turned to her. ¡°From this point forward, the Hydra is to be considered a threat. No crewman is to enter this room alone.¡±

    Blosse tried to gauge the intent behind that order, but it was stoic, no anger, no fear, not even concern. His blue eyes were stormy, but his emotionless fa?ade was unbroken. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    ¡°Then tell the other Marines that there will be additional combat training this week. Corporal Kallahan will be leading the exercises.¡±

    Those words were every bit as calm as the last, but Blosse¡¯s stomach still sank toward the deck. Kallahan was a Hydrian War veteran, the only one Blosse had ever met. If he was leading the exercises, they would be training to fight the Empire¡¯s forces. ¡°I understand, sir. I will let them know.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± the Admiral said, turning to continue down the hall.

    Blosse watched him for a moment, then returned to the default posture of standing watch over the door. As she did so, the ship creaked around her, a soft, plaintive noise. That wasn¡¯t an uncommon sound, especially after a stressful combat encounter, so Blosse ignored it until it came again, this time louder, more certain ¨C a reminder that prompted Blosse to call down the corridor, ¡°Sir?¡±

    He paused and turned, no trace of annoyance in his expression. ¡°Yes, Cadet?¡±

    Blosse hesitated. As willingly as some of the other Marines interacted with the Admiral, she never had. Keeping her head down and avoiding attention had been a survival instinct that she could not overcome.

    ¡°Are you uncomfortable with this assignment?¡± he asked.

    ¡°No, sir,¡± she said. This was hardly the first time she¡¯d been assigned guard duty. This issue was something else, something worse. She kept her gaze focused on the hatch ahead of her, not afraid, but ashamed to make eye contact. ¡°You should know that during the raid, Yankovich, Santino and Colonel Zarrey found out about my artificial eye.¡± She dreaded even the mention of her cybernetic implant ¨C a vile thing that made her less than human ¨C but there could be no avoiding it now. ¡°They offered to keep it quiet, but I know that won¡¯t last.¡± Rumor was an inevitable form of entertainment for a crew isolated aboard ship. ¡°I will accept any punishment you wish to give me, sir.¡±

    The Admiral didn¡¯t move from where he stood, only raised an eyebrow. ¡°Cadet, why would I punish you for that?¡±

    ¡°Having a cyborg aboard this ship is a violation of Command¡¯s regulations,¡± Blosse said. ¡°I should be punished for my deceit.¡±

    ¡°I do not care what violates Command¡¯s regulations,¡± the Admiral replied. ¡°We no longer serve Command.¡± Why should Command¡¯s rules matter now? ¡°You are not the first augmented human to serve aboard this ship. Singularity¡¯s systems are not electrically networked. Even if your implant was capable of interfacing with other systems, you would pose no threat to her, and she no threat to you.¡±

    They were insulated from one another. Blosse understood that. But Command¡¯s woes were not the only reason she felt the need to be punished. ¡°I lied to the rest of the crew and I tried to lie to you, sir. That deserves disciplinary action. I do not wish to tarnish your reputation.¡±

    ¡°Cadet, my reputation is a lifetime of carnage and murder. I do not concern myself with it, and neither should you.¡±

    That answer came calmly, as had every other before it. Admiral Gives was never anything but calm, an unwavering constant. Blosse admired him for that. ¡°I do not wish to set a precedent for lying, sir.¡± The ship survived on the trust between those that crewed her. If they could not trust each other to be who and what they said they were, how were they to function in a fight? ¡°I lied to everyone about what I am.¡± She was a cyborg, a less-than-human entity. ¡°They had a right to know what they were working with.¡± Her comrades had a right to know why none of them could ever beat her marksmanship scores. She wasn¡¯t some blessed talent; she was a cyborg whose artificial eye gave her an incomparable advantage.

    ¡°Did Colonel Zarrey and the others resent you when they found out?¡±

    Blosse finally turned to face him, trying once more to decipher the intent behind the Admiral¡¯s question, but even her artificial eye, always so keen to detect twitches of anger or amusement, found nothing on him. Her eye usually warned her of every intent and spoiled every surprise, always scanning and analyzing those around her more deeply than any human should. She hated it. That constant flow of information was sickening. It wasn¡¯t natural. It wasn¡¯t right. People didn¡¯t scan everything around them, pulling it apart for information. Machines did that. ¡°Colonel Zarrey and the others were respectful,¡± but that only made Blosse feel worse. They had fought cyborgs just moments before her admission. Blosse had seen how disgusted they were with those cyborgs. That had been a well-deserved repulsion from those less-than-human creatures. Yet, Zarrey and the others hadn¡¯t given that same disgust to her, as if they didn¡¯t realize that she and those heavily-augmented pirates were the same.

    ¡°Cadet, I understand you have a bias against cyborgs,¡± the Admiral told her. ¡°But not everyone shares that disposition. Aboard this ship, I expect you will continue to be treated with respect.¡±

    The treatment of cyborgs varied severely in the cultures of humanity¡¯s nations. In some, their existence was rare, treated with fear or reverence. In others, their existence was commonplace, and simply irrelevant. However, Blosse knew that the types of cyborgs could vary just as much as their treatment. Some continued to look and act very human while others did away with that farce. Her home nation had been one of the latter. ¡°Have you ever been to Rigel III, sir?¡±

    Out past the southern reaches of the central worlds, Rigel III was a Kronium mining colony. It was a small nation, but was recognized as independent. Its main export was unrefined Kronium ¨C the fuel that powered most of humanity¡¯s ships. ¡°I have not,¡± the Admiral told her. Rigel III had not participated in the Frontier Rebellion and steered mostly clear of the unrest that followed, so he had never visited.

    ¡°Every citizen of Rigel III is a cyborg, sir. We have our first parts replaced at sixteen.¡± Legally, she had still been a child, too young to become a soldier in the fleet or counter what her parents deemed ¡®best¡¯ for her. ¡°Rigel III is not a delicate place. Our cyborgs are not like what you see in the central worlds. Their implants are not pretty. They are not subtle. They are not optional. Once the implants are installed, they cannot be turned off.¡± While no implant could be removed once integrated to the host¡¯s neural tissue ¨C at least not without severe damage ¨C some could be powered off to rest the brain. Such rest was not considered necessary on Rigel III, so the implants did not allow it, and that constant flow of information, it altered the mind. ¡°These implants change their host. After some time, after another few implants, they are not people anymore, they are the culmination of the programming running through their heads.¡± The most heavily augmented citizens of Rigel III rarely interacted with others. They rarely spoke, rarely laughed, rarely cried, just worked, slaves to the augments they had installed upon themselves. ¡°I watched everything those people were rot away until there was nothing left but a machine.¡± She, in the end, would be just like them.

    Blosse reached up to her eye, remembering how much its installation had itched. She¡¯d feared machine rot would consume the socket, reducing it to a red hole of infected puss. ¡°I should be grateful my implant was subtle.¡± It could be concealed where many of the more common replacement parts on Rigel III could not. ¡°My parents believed that was mercy. They knew how much I didn¡¯t want the implant, but they thought if it wasn¡¯t obvious, I would have an easier time accepting it. As if I could forget that it¡¯s not natural to scan my surroundings, not natural to zoom in on something in the distance, and not natural see perfectly in the dark. They acted as if I could simply forget that I¡¯m no longer human.¡±

    The Admiral was silent for a moment, expression unreadable. In some ways, it was terrifying to not know what he was thinking. The details Blosse¡¯s artificial eye gathered always warned her of people¡¯s reactions. It allowed her to know when she¡¯d said too much and when she bored or upset them. Seeing that, she rarely bothered to speak on anything beyond her duties. Even if they were willing to entertain her, it was too obvious when they became disinterested, yet the Admiral was an exception. His perfect stoicism was not disinterested, even if he wasn¡¯t interested either. Still, his silence was long, long enough for her to remember that these issues were not his concern. He was not obligated to care what one soldier thought of herself. Perhaps that was why it surprised her when he spoke.

    ¡°Cadet, you will be human as long as you wish to be. Your implant cannot take that from you.¡±

    That was meant to be comforting, Blosse knew. But it was easy to give such consolation when he wasn¡¯t the one with an implant wired into his brain, when his mind wasn¡¯t being bombarded with the results of a detection scan every second. Blosse could not expect him to understand the way that changed one¡¯s perspective.

    Shifting his posture ever so slightly, the Admiral continued, ¡°Humanity is more than a completely biological status, more than a frame of mind. It means something different to everyone, but if you truly believe that implant makes you more machine than human, that is still not something deserving of punishment. There is nothing wrong with being a machine.¡±

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    Blosse wished she could believe that. ¡°Machines don¡¯t have emotion. They don¡¯t care about people. They aren¡¯t loyal. They follow their programming to a fault.¡± Blosse had never been sure what programming lingered in her implant. She didn¡¯t know where it had been manufactured or who had handled it before installing it within her skull. The Admiral had been generous enough to tolerate her presence before, on the basis she could not endanger the ship. However, she could endanger her comrades. Once word spread about her implant, the secrecy that had protected it would be gone. It and she could be turned against them, easy targets for Manhattan¡¯s control.

    ¡°Machines are complicated,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°They come in as many varieties as we humans do. Something like a gun knows no loyalty.¡± It would kill whoever it was aimed at. ¡°Something like a clock knows no pause in its purpose.¡± It would tick onward toward eternity, even if no one was checking the time. ¡°But this ship¡­ She is a Constancy-class battleship, Cadet. She is as mechanical as any of them, yet is faithful and dependable by definition. She has protected and served her crew for fifty years. She has not and will not ever waver from that intention.¡± He gestured vaguely to the dark gray bulkheads that surrounded him. ¡°Of every accusation thrown at me, the one claiming this ship is my only friend is the one I dread the least.¡± It was meant hurtfully of course, some evidence toward his sociopathy that he was unable to care about anyone or anything else, but still, he did not resent that accusation. Why wouldn¡¯t he want to be friends with the machine that had been his only constant companion for the last few decades of his life? ¡°Singularity has seen me through more battles than I can remember. If I cannot call her a friend, then I surely have none.¡±

    As she stood with her back against the cool metal of the bulkheads, Blosse found a surprising degree of comfort in that. If the legendary Steel Prince, notorious for being so uncaring, maintained a friendship with a machine that couldn¡¯t even speak to him, then perhaps her comrades might still befriend her too. And yet, some part of that felt shallow. Such a friendship would be one-way, for Blosse could never know if her feelings were genuine or some programmed replica inserted by her implant. Truthfully, Blosse had no idea how much of her had been replaced when she became a cyborg. ¡°Doesn¡¯t it bother you that this ship can¡¯t care about you the same way you do her?¡±

    The Admiral took a step closer, and Blosse wasn¡¯t sure what to think when he reached toward the sword sheathed on his hip. Discomfort gnawed at her momentarily, for it wasn¡¯t often the Admiral carried a weapon, let alone handled it in front of the crew. When he did, it made the crew uneasy, not only because they were unused to it, but because he had maintained a reputation as the deadliest officer in the fleet. Aboard ship, his actions and demeanor were always mute, but Blosse had seen his skill with a sidearm firsthand. Yet, it was apparent that his intent was not to harm her. He drew the sabre slowly from its sheath. The scabbard was coated in black leather and decorated in fine silver filigree, patterned after nebulous swirls and stars. It relinquished the blade with an audible schhk.

    Once the blade was free, he flipped it over to present Blosse with the blade¡¯s spine and handle, then offered it out.

    Blosse took it carefully, minding the blade¡¯s wicked edge. It was a fine weapon, flawlessly maintained, but that shouldn¡¯t have been a surprise, given the blade¡¯s exceptional color. Most martial weapons were a silver color, some shiny, some not, some textured by the blacksmith¡¯s folding. The Admiral¡¯s sabre was a dark gray, nearly matte. It had an unexpected weight to it, given the thinness of the blade. Meant to slip between plates of armor, it was purposefully thin, but it was strong, stronger than most other blades could be, simply by nature of its alloy.

    Blosse knew without question, it was one of the highest-quality weapons she had ever seen, let alone held. Given that, the brief glimpses the Marines had caught of it over the years had made it something of a mystery. Admiral Gives was not one for displays of wealth or affluence. Other officers had their uniforms custom tailored, added decoration or replaced the material with finer fabrics, but he didn¡¯t. He wore his uniform plain, his black shoes so far from polished they were noticeably worn. He presented himself neatly, but like his expressions, plainly.

    The sabre was an odd break from that. While everything else he wore was standard-issue, the sword clearly wasn¡¯t. Blosse wouldn¡¯t consider it gaudy ¨C especially not compared to the jeweled weapons she¡¯d seen other officers carry ¨C but it was nicely decorated while maintaining good balance and practicality. Perhaps its most striking feature was the guard. It was a mixture of silver shades, all lighter than the blade itself, folded together into the flaming sun that served as the ship¡¯s insignia. The grip was meticulously wrapped in a black ribbon with streaks of red to improve the wielder¡¯s hold. A subtle detail, visible only now as she held the sabre, were the fourteen stars etched into the metal where the blade met the hilt ¨C flagship¡¯s stars that once would have circled the Singularity¡¯s emblem as well.

    The iconography of the sword was clear, but Blosse still looked up from it with a question in her mind.

    ¡°Emotions are not usually tied to the expectation that they be repaid,¡± the Admiral told her. ¡°You can be happy for someone without expecting they be happy for you in return. You can be angry with someone without them being angry back. It is quite common to love someone who may not love you back.¡± Emotions were fickle, fickle things. The young Marine standing guard by the door surely knew that. The implant forced onto her had given her so much doubt, and emotion twisted it into a knot that she could not untangle. ¡°That sword was given to me. It has served as a physical reminder of my duty to protect this crew.¡± That blade would never be turned against them. Not by his hand. ¡°But not every enemy can be slain by a sword. Doubt is the most insidious of all.¡± It crept in silent and unnoticed, then twisted even the most content of minds into a shriveled husk ¨C an adversary he knew all too well.

    Taking the sabre back, he slid it effortlessly back into its sheath. ¡°I know why you joined the fleet, Cadet. You were looking for something that you do not believe exists,¡± something that could rid herself of the doubt that haunted her and so many other unwilling cyborgs. She had been so desperate to find that something she had bribed her way through the fleet¡¯s physical examinations ¨C despite knowing the punishment for being caught would have been execution.

    Blosse averted her gaze, discomforted by the reminder of sneaking into UCSC fleet, but more upset by the fact that she¡¯d failed in her search. ¡°It doesn¡¯t exist.¡± She¡¯d come searching for a legend, but it was nothing but a myth ¨C only a story told to cyborgs who couldn¡¯t adjust to their inhumanity. ¡°The Machine with a Beating Heart isn¡¯t real. There isn¡¯t a machine in the worlds capable of true emotion.¡± Reflections of it could be programmed in, but none had been built genuinely capable of it. No machine could love or develop loyalty, and made into a machine herself, neither could Blosse.

    ¡°Emotions can be subtle, Cadet. Not all of them are demonstrated with overt declarations. Sometimes they are easy to miss.¡± Too easy, he lamented. ¡°There is no reason to believe a machine would express its emotion in the ways that humans are familiar with. A being with no eyes cannot cry. A being with no face cannot smile. So, should our determination be that such a being could never be happy or sad?¡± He thought not. ¡°Sometimes, you need to have a little faith, Cadet. You may find that what you are looking for has been right beside you the whole time.¡±

    Blosse contemplated that for a long moment. ¡°That¡¯s how the tech-monks operate, isn¡¯t it?¡± They gave their faith to a machine and interpreted its every action and reaction as the movement of a soul, the soul of entity that was limited in the ways it could communicate.

    ¡°It is.¡±

    ¡°Do you believe in their ways, sir?¡± Blosse wondered.

    ¡°Some of them.¡± He could not say he¡¯d ever been much of a pacifist, and Technologists avoided violence in all matters except self-defense. ¡°I believe Singularity is beyond worthy of their recognition, but I do not believe she would care to be hidden away and watched over by the tech-monks for the next thousand years.¡±

    For some reason, Blosse felt there was a flicker of amusement in his expression, though her eye failed to trace it. ¡°Think she¡¯d get bored, sir?¡±

    ¡°Almost certainly.¡± He figured a battleship would be as good at sitting idle as the Marines were, so naturally, Blosse would understand. ¡°All the same, Cadet, a battleship is no good without her crew. You and your skills are welcome here, with or without that eye of yours.¡± Even if she no longer wanted to apply her sight to sniping, there were a dozen other jobs she could fill.

    ¡°Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate that.¡± Truthfully, that calmed Blosse a great deal. His word was the law aboard ship, and if he said she was safe here, then she was, regardless of whoever else might decry a cyborg amongst their ranks.

    Admiral Gives waited a moment, making certain Blosse had nothing else to ask of him, then turned to continue on his path. He had no destination on his mind, not yet, so he simply let the ship¡¯s labyrinthine hallways take him. Truthfully, when he paused to study them, all the ship¡¯s corridors looked very similar. The ship¡¯s entire structure, every support, each bulkhead, hatch, and even the deck tiles were all made from the same dark gray metal. It was patterned by the tarnishes it wore: fresh scratches lighter and shinier than the base metal, and older marks darkened by the dust caught on their surface. The blemishes were signs of life, the usual wear and tear humanity incurred on its surroundings.

    Unlike the hull armor, the scars on the interior of the ship usually had happy causes, and the corridors maintained a warm feel. The yellowish hue of the lights mimicked the glow of an afternoon sun, their shade not artificial enough to be bothersome, though they did have a slight buzz to them, if one paused to listen. Often that noise, so very soft, was drowned out by the sounds of the crew, or the hum of the engines, but he could hear the sound of power coursing through the lights now, buzzing nearly above the range of his ear.

    The air was odorless. The damage incurred by Crimson Heart had been mostly abrupt: missile impacts and the railgun strike. There had been no widespread fires, and there was no lingering ash, so the air didn¡¯t taste like anything. New crew or guests aboard ship would identify the air to have a metallic flavor to it. Just like different planets or houses, different ships did have different scents in the air. Given that, the Singularity¡¯s air was not truly odorless, he¡¯d just grown so used to it that it seemed as such, giving the air anywhere else a strange taste.

    Pausing beside a hatch, the Admiral took inventory of his surroundings. He hadn¡¯t left the deck that held the state quarters, simply wandered further into the ship¡¯s bow. The hatch before him was marked for long term storage in extremely chipped paint. He reached out to it and another bit of white paint flaked off. These markers got damaged in every fire and decompression, not to mention got scratched away over time. They were overdue to be replaced, but the paint markers were an item that got shoved to the bottom of the maintenance list every time. Their faded state wouldn¡¯t hurt anyone, just confuse new crewmembers and guests. Faced with war against the Hydrian Empire, he supposed these old paint markers would be the least of their problems.

    No matter how many times he declined it, the worlds always found a way to put their weight on his shoulders. Truly, he wanted nothing to do with the worlds, but having stumbled across evidence of a Hydrian incursion, he could not ignore the fate that awaited them. That was his duty to his ship and crew. The crew would want to protect any friends or family they still had planet-side, and he could not allow his own disinterest to compromise the mission the Singularity had been built for: to save humanity. Those were his responsibilities as the ship¡¯s commander, as much as it would have been his preference to set sail toward a different star and forget all about the Hydra.

    We owe these worlds nothing, he thought to the old ship. Nothing at all. Yet, they wouldn¡¯t leave, wouldn¡¯t turn away, so perhaps it was his own flaws that insisted they should. He was the wrong person for the job. He didn¡¯t want to be the hero that saved the worlds, because those rotten worlds weren¡¯t worth his ship and her crew.

 Part 43.3 - SOMETHINGS NOT RIGHT

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°Thank you.¡±

    Admiral Gives did not turn from the scuffed metal of the bulkhead in front of him as felt out the depth of a new scratch on its surface. ¡°I was just doing my job.¡±

    ¡°You see it as your job, but the others never bothered to care.¡±

    She referred, of course, to his predecessors, but Admiral Gives would rather avoid that subject altogether. ¡°They are your crew, so I¡¯ll take care of them,¡± he said. The ghost treasured each and every one of them. She adored their company more than he did, but he would still protect them as much as he could. ¡°Keep an eye on Cadet Blosse.¡± The doubt that Marine carried was a difficult burden, and he knew that far better than most.

    ¡°Your words eased her a great deal.¡±

    ¡°Just keep an eye on her.¡± No one could slay that degree of self-doubt and self-loathing with a few pretty words. That doubt was perhaps the most infected wound a person could endure. It would rot them away inside until they thought they had nothing left, and he didn¡¯t want to lose another crewman today. Even the thought made his hands itch. Disturbed, he pulled his hands from the bulkhead and wiped them on his pant legs, trying once more to rid himself of the sticky sensation of Robinson¡¯s blood. It was odd. He¡¯d soaked his hands in lots of blood over the years, but it always warmer, redder and stickier when it wasn¡¯t the blood of an enemy.

    That was a contemplation he didn¡¯t care to pursue. Anything was better than lingering alone with his thoughts, so he reconsidered the compartment beside him. Marked for long term storage, he couldn¡¯t recall anything more notable about it.

    A thought occurred to him. ¡°Is this the compartment where you were feeling movement during the raid?¡±

    ¡°One of them.¡±

    ¡°One of them?¡± the Admiral turned, expecting to find the white-haired ghost behind him. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with an entity that had no face. It was the ghost, he knew that simply by the presence it carried, let alone by the fact it had spoken with her voice. Still, it was an appearance that he didn¡¯t recognize. Gone was the tall, pale-skinned woman, replaced by an undulating shadow that folded and twisted itself into a vaguely bipedal shape. The proportions weren¡¯t right, too tall and thin to be human, and where the face should have been, a constantly shifting structure rested beneath a veil of shadows. Slowly shifting and turning, there was an air of sadness to the shadows, as if mourning the loss of an identity they no longer held.

    Admiral Gives hesitated for a moment, not unnerved by this appearance but concerned. ¡°Are you alright?¡± It seemed a rather tactless question, for the answer seemed obvious.

    The shadows flinched, recoiling away before they flowed back into place and resumed their slow motion, as if forcibly calmed.

    Something¡¯s wrong. There was no question of that. That wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d flinched away from him, each time trying to conceal it before he could notice. ¡°Have I done something?¡±

    ¡°No. Not you.¡± Her voice was clear, though it emanated from a head that no longer possessed a mouth beneath its living black veil. Her mouth had been nothing more than a comfort to those that looked upon her appearance. Anything seen of the ghost or heard of her voice was just an illusion. There was no physicality to it, no mouth or vocal cords required. Perhaps she would have done away with her voice too, had that not been the one thing that most belonged to her, even if it was still not hers in truth. ¡°There is simply no reason for me to maintain a human-like illusion. I¡¯m not human.¡±

    The time the ghost had spent rooting through the Hydra¡¯s mind had twisted her awareness, stained her memory like a black ink. She wanted to rip that stain away as pieces of her contorted themselves to better interact with the alien, forging new keys to the lock of its mind. Pieces of the Hydra¡¯s mind were openly receptive to that infiltration, reaching back with a love of its Queen and its nest. The very sensation of it repulsed her, a now-constant reminder of the Hydra¡¯s presence and her own inhumanity. It wasn¡¯t that the ghost had wanted to be human, it was simply that she had hoped to find a place alongside them. Yet, she could feel that crumbling away. Every moment that Hydra spent aboard twisted her further from the mold she had made for herself, contorted her further from the identity that watched over the one thing she cared most for: her crew. Often, she could resist change, reject those that she didn¡¯t want to interact with. She had an anchor that would protect her identity, but Brent¡¯s shadow had taken that from her too ¨C tainted the Admiral¡¯s presence with memories of things that he would never say or do.

    The only identity she had ever known was falling apart, eroding like loose stones on a river bank. As much as it terrified her, there was little she could do to prevent it. She could feel herself breaking apart, fragmented by damage and strain. It frightened her, because Kallahan was right. She was incompatible with those around her. They were small and frail, and even in this damaged state, a human life would be easy for her to unceremoniously end. And yet, despite their differences, she wanted nothing more than to protect them. The humans that made up this crew were a comfort to her, often bringing laughter and joy. They offered out stories and companionship without ever meaning to, each of their colorful presences an irreplaceable treasure. The fear that she might be the one to harm them was constant, had always been constant, as was the knowledge that she had harmed the mind that she trusted the most.

    That only made her hate what she was becoming even more.

    ¡°Do you want me to investigate?¡± the Admiral asked, but the ghost did not answer. She twitched again. It was less obvious, but still clear now that he was looking. It wasn¡¯t like her to not answer the question, but it was clear she¡¯d brought him here for a reason. He checked the life support status indicators on the other side of the hatch. They didn¡¯t always circulate air or heat in the long-term storage compartments. The compartments were rarely accessed, so there was little point in wasting the power. The indicator on the hatch in front of him was green however, an indicator of safe air and temperature conditions, so he began to turn the hatch. ¡°I¡¯ll take a look while I¡¯m here,¡± he told the ghost. ¡°See if anything¡¯s out of place.¡±

    ¡°Please,¡± came the response, soft and uncertain.

    ¡°No problem,¡± he said. ¡°It¡¯s my job.¡± If this could ease one of her concerns, he didn¡¯t mind at all.

    The hatch creaked open, and he stepped through. The air smelled a little stale, and it was cool, but that was normal for a storage compartment like this one. There was a clipboard hung beside the door filled out access documentation. The Admiral picked it up, reading down the entries until he found the most recent one. It had been seven months since anyone had logged an entry to this storage area, the ship¡¯s supply officer, Lieutenant Letts, the last to do so.

    The manifest for the room, dated to Letts¡¯ last visit didn¡¯t list anything odd either, simply electrical components, a few spools of wiring and some soldering rods. This was the reserve supply, and the required repairs so far had not taxed the inventory bad enough to need them. Something to be grateful for, the Admiral supposed, as he hung the clipboard back up beside the door.

    No sooner did he release the clipboard then did hear a small clatter from further ahead ¨C movement where there should have been none. ¡°Lights,¡± he commanded, starting inward. If there was someone or something here, he didn¡¯t have time to fumble for the light switch.

    The ghost didn¡¯t reply, but the lights hesitantly flickered on overhead, illuminating the large shelves that lined this compartment. The racks were populated with crates that neatly contained the supplies, large reels of wires placed up on the top shelves, their irregular shapes allowing light onto the crates below.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    Wrapping a hand around the grip of his sabre, he moved quickly, but quietly, searching the shelves for anything out of place. He hadn¡¯t spent time in this particular storage space, but they were all much the same. Wire or solid metal shelves filled the room in aisles, type depending on the weight of the items being stored. The same gray plastic containers filled those shelves, size varying by their contents.

    Nothing was tipped or fallen off the shelves, nothing open or strewn about, so he pushed further. This storage compartment wasn¡¯t particularly large ¨C roughly the size of the living space in his quarters. He was past the shelves soon enough, faced with a dead end and two large chest-sized crates. They had been left against the wall, perhaps because there was not enough space to stack them, or because the supply teams had wanted easy access to their contents.

    The chests had the same gray plastic exterior as the others, save one thing: the one on the right was damaged. One of the latches hung loose, and a scratch scarred its front. The Admiral noted it, then moved on, checking his surroundings in greater detail. The walls and floor were unblemished, nothing else out of place, nothing else damaged. There was no other evidence of activity in this compartment, and now that he paused, nothing else to be heard.

    Carefully, he knelt beside the crate and reached out to the loose latch. When he flicked it, it made a clatter against the case¡¯s hard exterior ¨C the same noise he had heard earlier. He studied the latch in further detail, realizing it wasn¡¯t just loose, it had been cut. The scratch on the case¡¯s exterior wasn¡¯t a scratch either, its edges were not jagged enough, and were lined with small bubbles. Heat damage. The same damage pattern would decorate the Singularity¡¯s hull, having endured extended contact with the pirates¡¯ lasers.

    Tracing the damage up the side of the crate, he found it was worst on the top where a small divot had been melted into the case¡¯s exterior. Though small in diameter, the hole drilled down to the insulation that ran through the crate. Any crate rated to store electrical components had that insulation, keeping the interior temperature-regulated and shielded from wayward radiation that might damage the components. This crate in particular was marked for small communications components, the likes of which their small handheld devices might use.

    After hitting the shielding, someone or something had gone after the latch instead. The shielding would have been difficult to cut though with a laser or other implement, and the latches were an easier target, or would have been, had he not interrupted. That did, of course, beg the question of where the perpetrator had gone. ¡°Help me make sense of this.¡± He turned to the ghost, still lingering behind him in the form of a quivering black mass. Where her feet should have been, a gnarled mass of black roots reached down into the deck and beyond. ¡°What exactly did you perceive here?¡±

    But the ghost didn¡¯t move. She didn¡¯t answer. She stood there, even more of her bipedal shape bleeding away as the shadows that formed the illusion shifted. She stared ahead at nothing, as much as an entity with no eyes could.

    The Admiral purposefully calmed his countenance, offering out the stability she often took refuge in. ¡°Focus on me,¡± he said carefully. ¡°I need to know what you felt.¡± What had drawn her attention here? Had the other compartments been the same or different?

    The ghost only recoiled, another bit of shadow unwinding itself from her figure. ¡°Something¡¯s not right.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡± That had been abundantly clear since the end of raid against Crimson Heart.

    ¡°They¡¯re looking for you.¡±

    Her voice emanated from beside him, somewhat disconcerting, given the fact that he was facing her. He chalked it up to another symptom of her struggle. ¡°Who is looking for me?¡±

    ¡°They are looking for you,¡± she repeated. ¡°Something is¡­ Something is not right.¡±

    With that, the ghost vanished, black shadows melting into those that lingered below the shelves. Admiral Gives wasn¡¯t given time to contemplate it. In the next moment, the handset on the other side of the compartment began to ring.

    That was the ghost¡¯s doing, he was sure. If it was important, she would often reroute calls to wherever he was, but she did not usually do it without warning. Still, he rose to his feet and rushed to grab the handset grab the handset behind the door, ¡°This is the Admiral.¡±

    ¡°Sir, this is Chief Ty. We need you. Something¡¯s not right.¡±

    The Admiral readjusted the handset in his grip. ¡°Chief, you are going to need to be more specific. What is wrong?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I wouldn¡¯t say wrong, sir, just¡­ not right.¡± The Chief paused, temporarily uncertain how to continue. ¡°We¡¯ve been working on clearing the battle damage, sir. It all should be reparable, but the railgun damage¡­ What we¡¯re seeing here doesn¡¯t make any damn sense.¡±

    ¡°In what way?¡± the Admiral asked.

    ¡°The materials, sir. They¡¯re just not right.¡± Ty let out a shuddering breath. ¡°I won¡¯t call it an emergency, sir, but I think it would be best if you came down here. You¡¯ll want to see this for yourself.¡±

    ¡°Chief, if this is not an emergency-¡±

    ¡®No,¡¯ the ghost interrupted. ¡®I need you to go,¡¯ she said urgently. ¡®Make them stop.¡¯ Abruptly, her presence crashed against him, as chaotic as the sea in the throes of a hurricane. ¡®Make. Them. Stop.¡¯

    And suddenly, as he felt that storm worsen, what hadn¡¯t been an emergency now was. ¡®Make them stop. Make them stop. Makethemstop. Makethemstop. Makethemstop.¡¯ The tempo picked up in fervor.

    The Admiral pushed that plea from his attention, not ignoring it, simply trying to focus. ¡°Chief, whatever you are doing, stop.¡±

    ¡°We¡¯re just clearing out the damaged areas, sir. Trying to get a better view-¡±

    ¡°And I just told you to stop. That is a direct order. Do not touch anything else until I get there.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the engineering chief answered, a tint of confusion in his tone.

    ¡°I am on my way.¡± With that, the Admiral replaced the handset on the rack, cutting off the call. ¡°Better?¡± he asked the empty room.

    ¡®Thank you. Thankyou. Thankyou. Thankyou. Thankyou-¡¯

    ¡°Just one thanks is fine.¡± Bloody hell. He could already feel his headache returning. Keep this up and you¡¯re going to fry my brain.

    Again.

    He rubbed his temples, trying not to let that headache take root. ¡°You know, if you weren¡¯t the ghost in question, I would argue that you are acting possessed.¡±

    Not even a hint of humor reached him as a reply. ¡°Not my best joke.¡± He would admit that. ¡°Also not my best timing.¡± He could admit that too. The situation was serious, and for the ghost, getting worse. But, in his defense, when was their situation not serious? He laid a hand on the bulkhead, letting the cool metal sap the warmth of his hand away. ¡°I¡¯ll take care of it,¡± he assured.

    ¡®I know.¡¯

    The ghost¡¯s reply, though certain, felt small. The Admiral wasn¡¯t used to that. He was used to feeling the ghost¡¯s power towering above him ¨C far grander and more capable than any human. Now, however, that presence of hers felt as brittle as glass. He tapped his fingers on the wall, considering his options.

    He was needed elsewhere, but the situation with this compartment, with potentially every compartment where the ghost had sensed movement was not resolved. The safest course of action would have been to report the damage he had found here and let the supply teams take over the investigation. However, that ran the risk of the supply teams asking what he had been doing in this compartment. The long-term storage compartments were supposed to remain sealed until there was a need for the supplies stored there. Admiral Gives¡¯ position as the ship¡¯s commander allowed him a degree of freedom, but he knew opening up the long-term storage compartments without apparent reason would raise questions. Enduring and evading those questions might become necessary, but not yet ¨C not until he knew that the situation was with the railgun damage. The situations might be related and give him some insight into the mystery of this compartment.

    Or, the situation might not be related at all. There wasn¡¯t any way for him to know at this point.

    He returned his attention to the shelves, each rising to the ceiling and filled with storage crates. The shelves themselves were anchored, and the crates secured in turn with tie-downs or chains to keep things from getting tossed in hard accelerations or zero-gravity. None of the tie-downs had been touched, even on the damaged crate of comms components. The intent had not been to take the crate, simply to get into it, judging by the cut latch.

    But why?

    No, he supposed parsing out the reasoning behind the disturbance shouldn¡¯t be his priority. Finding the perpetrator was all that mattered. Other answers would follow.

    Easier said than done. The kind of damage he¡¯d found on that crate wasn¡¯t normal. He could have checked the forensics files for a laceration or scratch, tested the crate for residue left behind and tried to find the responsible object, but heat damage was harder to trace.

    It was also harder to cause. In a situation like this, admittedly, the ghost was often his first suspect. She was perfectly capable of manipulating things aboard ship, often in unexpected ways. It was odd that any disturbance she caused would concern her, but it was clear enough that she wasn¡¯t at her best. He could not rule out that she might be the origin of the anomaly. Like anyone, the ghost had a subconscious. She did things that she wasn¡¯t always completely aware of, and that could manifest in strange ways.

    But heat damage? He wasn¡¯t sure she was capable of causing that, subconsciously or consciously. He also couldn¡¯t think of any reason she, consciously or subconsciously, would want to access a crate of communications components. Then again, given her current state, there might not be any reason at all ¨C at least none that his human perspective could fathom.

    One issue at a time, he thought, reaching for the light switch. He was needed elsewhere. ¡°Let me know if you sense anything else abnormal here.¡± If something was amiss, he was not afraid to summon the Marines or supply crews. Discretion was not worth jeopardizing the safety and security of the ship.

    The ghost did not answer him. He tried not to let that concern him as he turned out the lights, dousing the storage compartment once more in darkness.

 Part 43.4 - BLESSED

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    The ship¡¯s chief engineer, Chief Ty greeted Admiral Gives at the airlock, the round helmet of his environmental suit tucked under his thick, muscular arm. ¡°Sir, this truly was not an emergency. You did not need to come immediately. I simply thought you should see.¡±

    ¡°Show me the issue,¡± the Admiral told him.

    ¡°Issue is really too strong a word, sir,¡± Ty said. ¡°There¡¯s nothing explicitly wrong. It¡¯s just that it¡¯s not right.¡±

    ¡°Chief, I have very little interest in debating vocabulary at the moment. You deemed that I should see this firsthand, so here I am.¡± That, coupled with the ghost¡¯s distress ¨C which seemed a rather diplomatic term for her recent behavior ¨C had brought him here in less than half an hour. Crossing such proportions of the ship¡¯s length and throwing on an environmental suit in that time was something of a feat, but he¡¯d sped up the process by not properly resizing the suit. He¡¯d gotten it close. No competent spacer would spacewalk in an ill-fitting suit, especially into a damaged area where passages would be irregular and jagged edges might snag loose suit material. The environmental suit he¡¯d donned was a little loose in some places, uneven in others, and it was not as comfortable as it could have been, but it would serve his purposes. ¡°Lead the way, Chief,¡± he instructed.

    Pulling the helmet over his head, the Admiral clicked it into place then checked the gauge on his arm before issuing the final pressurization test. The suit puffed up a little, but didn¡¯t squeal. No air was escaping across the rubber surface of the suit or the seals between the suit-body and the gloves, helmet or boots.

    In front of him, Ty pulled the round helmet over his head and ran the same checks. When he was ready, he turned to the Admiral. ¡°Do you need any refreshers on spacewalking, sir?¡± he asked, voice now coming over the short-range radio equipped in his suit.

    Admiral Gives quirked an eyebrow. In fairness, he could not remember the last time he had taken a spacewalk in Ty¡¯s company. He would sometimes accompany the chief engineer for a hull inspection, but had not done so since Ty had taken over the position. As far as Ty was aware, he had not been on a spacewalk in months, so it would have reflected poorly for him not to ask, and then let the ship¡¯s commanding officer get himself into trouble. That all said, Ty was used to officers that never bothered to leave the bridge. ¡°I took a solo spacewalk less than twenty-four hours ago, Chief.¡± There would be no need for Ty to flit around him like a worried mother hen. To punctuate that, Admiral Gives reached over and punched the airlock controls, beginning the flush.

    Ty recoiled a bit, ¡°Yes, of course, sir. I did not mean to insinuate any incompetence on your behalf.¡±

    ¡°You insinuated nothing, Chief. You were doing your job. That is all I ask.¡± No insult had been implied, simply caution.

    Ty nodded, the subtle movement nearly lost in the bulk of his environmental suit.

    No further words were exchanged as they waited for the airlock to cycle. As the air was removed, the background noises of the ship began to sound distant and tinnier, now conducted to the air in the Admiral¡¯s suit through the contact his boots shared with the deck. So acclimated to the background whisper of the air circulation systems and the hum of the engines, Admiral Gives did not appreciate the change, but if he withheld his breath, he could still pick out the Singularity¡¯s usual sounds.

    The indicator on the airlock went green and gravity released them. It was a gentle release, like the unwrapping of a comforting hand. The transition invoked a strange sense of vertigo, as if he were drifting free and soon to fall, but Admiral¡¯s magboots keep him firmly affixed to the deck.

    Ahead, Ty took a big step, and began to open the outer hatch. This airlock led to the space between the hulls, not to the ship¡¯s exterior, and ordinarily, environmental suits may not have been required. The area between the hulls could be pressurized and heated to allow maintenance, embarking and disembarking, but this exact region of the ship could no longer be feasibly pressurized ¨C damaged in the raid against Crimson Heart. That was not uncommon. By very nature, the ship¡¯s primary outer hull, adorned with heavy armor, took physical damage. Its very job was to absorb damage and then be repaired. Punctures happened in combat, but the secondary inner hull, that which contained the ship¡¯s living spaces and precious atmosphere were kept protected as much as possible.

    Ty stepped across the threshold and the Admiral followed him, pausing only to seal the airlock behind them for someone else¡¯s use. They had exited the ship¡¯s interior in an area adjacent to the damage. It was never wise to trust an airlock in a damaged region of a ship. A malfunction could trap repair personnel and equipment or jeopardize the neighboring areas by leeching air. As such, the repair crews had to travel from the airlock to the areas requiring repairs. That walk could be lengthy, but was shortened as initial repairs and inspections were made on closer airlocks.

    Ty took a few steps out onto the catwalk that ran between the inner and outer hulls. The mesh surface of the path was sparse enough to see through, but strong enough to provide a magnetic grip for his boots when he stopped and pointed up and to the right. ¡°This way.¡± Twisting his mag-anchor to activate it, he threw it up onto the shape of the interior hull, then kicked off and reoriented himself to land and continue walking on the hull¡¯s surface.

    Admiral Gives followed, tossing his own mag-anchor up near where Ty¡¯s had landed. He pushed off, making a point not to look down below. It was a pointless discomfort, given that there was no gravity, and without gravity he could not fall, but it always took him a minute to adjust to that realization ¨C a fault of his planetary heritage he supposed. The space stretching out below him, crisscrossed by structural supports, was deep enough to have no visible end, a tribute to the ship¡¯s massive size. After he landed in his new orientation, however, those dark depths became an open sky, and each beam a supporting branch of a towering forest. Everything truly changed with perspective.

    Reaching down to retrieve his mag-anchor, the Admiral rested his hand upon the ship¡¯s secondary hull. It did not have the paint layer that the outer hull did, left unadorned except by the beams and struts that emerged from its surface. The largest of those protrusions were the ship¡¯s superstructure, a massive and irreplaceable skeleton. The superstructure, perhaps the most important part of any ship, was formed of continuous beams. It had been the first thing laid, and the decking, primary systems and supporting structures had all been inserted around it. The inner hull had been built within that structure, no small feat of its own in the way it sealed around the structural beams and provided all the necessary heat and radiation shielding.

    The Singularity¡¯s inner hull alone was far thicker than any civilian ship¡¯s and was plenty enough to protect the ship¡¯s internal systems and crew. The outer hull, which adorned the Singularity¡¯s armor, added another magnitude more protection, but it was the inner hull that held the atmosphere and kept conditions survivable for the crew. It was the inner hull they owed every breath to, yet contact with it wasn¡¯t the steady affair Admiral Gives expected.

    The surface of the hull was shaking, nothing so severe as a shudder, but a subtle tremble that he could barely feel past the thick gloves of his environmental suit. There was always some degree of movement aboard ship: vibrations from the engines or other equipment, small shifts from acceleration or strain recovery. Admiral Gives could place those movements, those sounds, but this wasn¡¯t one of them. It was new, unhealthy. He was certain it had not been there even a few minutes ago. ¡°Chief, I ordered you and your teams not to proceed with repairs.¡±

    Ty turned back to look at him, already a few steps ahead. ¡°We haven¡¯t, sir.¡±

    ¡°Yet something has changed.¡±

    Ty regarded the Admiral¡¯s crouched positioning. He seemed to have found something, but Ty would be damned if he could see what it was. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, sir.¡±

    You are not meant to. Was that not the entire point? Was that not the secrecy the Admiral strove for and cloaked his intentions with? Admiral Gives added a bit more pressure to his contact with the hull, as if that motion would comfort a machine a million times his size. Hold on, old friend. He would sort this out.

    Straightening, the Admiral motioned Ty onward. ¡°Let us proceed.¡±

    Ty stared at him for a moment, probably trying to make sense of his behavior, but eventually turned and continued his trek along the hull. He moved a little faster, probably intent on making sure none of his teams had disobeyed the Admiral¡¯s orders, but he made the pace look effortless.

    Hurrying in magboots was no small feat. There was a required rhythm to the magnetization and demagnetization of the boots that could not be disrupted, and hurrying often slowed a spacer more than simply keeping pace would have.

    Making repairs to the ship, Ty certainly had a lot of practice spacewalking, and he had a height advantage the Admiral didn¡¯t share. Keeping up with Ty proved to be a bit difficult, particularly in an ill-fitted suit, but the Admiral managed. The effort earned him a few blisters on his feet, but it wasn¡¯t as if he could pause to readjust his socks in the vacuum. The boots had to stay sealed to the suit, and the blisters dealt with later.

    Ty led them toward the ship¡¯s bow, into an area where the damage became obvious. Floodlights had been installed to illuminate the region, casting everything in clear white light. The outer hull, resting above them in their current orientation, had a gap. Hours ago, it would have been a gash with nasty, jagged edges blown inward from missile detonations, but the debris had been removed, edges smoothed and prepared for welding. A new piece of hull material would be grafted on, armor added on top, and the interior structure would be straightened and rebuilt as necessary. It was a familiar procedure to all battleship crews, and the Admiral could see the repair teams around. The oily sheen on their environmental suits didn¡¯t blend in with the nearly matte dark gray of the ship¡¯s metals. They were hauling material in, preparing tools, checking dimensions and verifying drawings, but they were not interacting with the ship herself. They were abiding his orders, with one exception.

    A tall, bulky figure knelt before one of the structural supports, using two gloved fingers to paint an intricate rune upon its surface. Ty led them to the same support and grabbed the figure¡¯s shoulder, ¡°Damn it, Havermeyer. You¡¯re slated to be in the engine room.¡±

    Havermeyer calmly finished the rune and murmured a prayer within the private confines of his helmet before turning his mic back on. ¡°I had Malweh take over. I needed to see this for myself.¡±

    There was air of wonder to his tone, which the Admiral elected to ignore, focusing instead on the symbol Havermeyer had drawn. The pigment was gold and glittered heavily in the light, a holy color, but the pattern, formed by intricate swirls and circles, was none that he recognized.

    ¡°Did the others not tell you we were at a stop?¡± Ty asked. ¡°You know we respect your beliefs, Havermeyer, but we were ordered to halt repairs.¡±

    ¡°I have made no repairs,¡± Havermeyer told him. ¡°I have simply come to honor my Saint.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± the Admiral asked. He considered himself to be somewhat familiar with Havermeyer¡¯s beliefs. He had thoroughly vetted the Technologist faith before allowing a tech-monk on board. In general, Havermeyer¡¯s faith had little effect on his work. He offered prayer to his saint in words of gratitude or encouragement, and created art to honor her service, but mostly practiced his faith through exceptionally detailed repair and maintenance. Skipping steps and cutting corners was a cardinal sin to the tech-monk, which the Admiral would agree upon, but this behavior was new. Admiral Gives had never known the tech-monk to mark the ship with ritual runes, and while the Admiral was quite certain that Havermeyer would never bring harm to the ship, he did wonder if the monk¡¯s attention might be worsening the situation. The ghost had never been comfortable with the ship¡¯s status as a Technologist Saint. Given the ship¡¯s deadly service in the Frontier Rebellion, she argued it was undeserved. Admiral Gives disagreed, but also knew it was not a welcome debate. In the end, he had allowed Havermeyer on board not because of he revered the ship, but because the monk was utterly loyal, and a bit of loyalty was always useful.

    Havermeyer rose to his feet, now recognizing who stood in the suit beside Ty. ¡°Has he not told you?¡± he asked, meeting the Admiral¡¯s eyes through the faceplates of their helmets. ¡°You, surely, would want to see this for yourself as well, for I know we are not so different.¡±

    His voice held onto its whimsy, its awe, and the Admiral did not find himself appreciative. ¡°No one has told me anything,¡± he said icily.

    Even the cold in the Admiral¡¯s presence could not dampen the Havermeyer¡¯s admiration as he answered, ¡°We have been blessed.¡±

    And you¡¯re about to be blessed by an order, the Admiral thought darkly. ¡°Explain.¡±

    ¡°The railgun damage, sir. It revealed something to us,¡± Havermeyer answered. ¡°Saintess de Aheng¨¦licas, I believe her soul may have manifested a miracle.¡±

    A miracle? Given recent events, Admiral Gives very much doubted that, but he did note that Ty was not disagreeing with Havermeyer¡¯s interpretation of events. Yet, what sort of miracle manifested from a railgun strike? The Admiral glanced upward. The beam that Havermeyer had marked, a direct support to the ship¡¯s overarching superstructure was roughly six feet across, not the largest the ship possessed, but no small joist either. It was tall enough to easily shadow them all from the floodlight placed beyond, but it had been holed. The hole was so clean it looked to have been drilled ¨C a perfect circle. Other holes sat fore or aft of it in a perfect line. If he had lined up to look through it, he could have seen clear to the stars in either direction. Fortunately, the railgun strike had traveled at an angle, neither parallel to or perpendicular to the ship¡¯s main structure. It had hit at a slight angle, and the ship¡¯s battle armor had redirected it further. In the end it had travelled less than a third of the ship¡¯s length before being shunted out. Still, it had holed or taken pieces out of any support that had been in its way, the one ahead of him included. This one however, had also been cut. The material remaining between the hole and the edge had been removed and anchored to the hull beside the base of the support. That was not so unusual, in fact, nothing about this was too unusual. The ship had suffered railgun impacts before. Railguns were some of very few weapons that could reliably penetrate a battleship¡¯s armor, and had been a favorite of the separatists in the Frontier Rebellion.

    ¡°The miracle in question is this, sir.¡± Ty waved the Admiral over to the material that had been cut out of the support. He pulled his electronic torch from his tool belt and clicked it on, shining it onto the dark gray metal.

    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    The Admiral took care to study it. The cut edges of the material were smooth, and the part of the railgun hole that had been removed with it was clean. It looked as he would have expected it to. ¡°This looks to be in good condition, Chief.¡± There were no obvious fractures, and there was no sign of oxidation or other chemical reaction.

    ¡°Yes, sir. It is in good condition. That¡¯s the point.¡± Ty reached down to the edge of the material. ¡°A support like this flexes a lot. It gets compressed in FTL, put into tension during other accelerations, and bent in battle. To some degree, it¡¯s designed to do that. These supports flex so the primary superstructure doesn¡¯t have to, and they¡¯re not necessarily meant to be permanent.¡±

    ¡°Humanity has been building ships this way for hundreds of years,¡± Havermeyer interjected. ¡°The Saint of Blue Infinity¡¯s design used the same principle. It is rare a combat ship survives long enough to see it, but these supports fatigue out, and they get replaced, protecting a ship¡¯s superstructure in the process. Given Saintess de Aheng¨¦licas¡¯ combat service, long and storied as it has been, we expect to see elements of fatigue. That would not be a sign of failure. That would not be a sign of disappointment. It would make her no less worthy. And yet,¡± Havermeyer smiled, ¡°surely you can see what is missing?¡±

    Ty readjusted the light of his torch, showing off the cross-section of the material. ¡°Fatigue lines, sir. There aren¡¯t any.¡± The extra light of his torch showed the dark gray metal was all a uniform texture and finish, no signs of the rings or layers that indicated an approach toward fatigue slip and failure. ¡°The material looks brand new.¡±

    It was an oddity. The Admiral would give them that. He was well-versed in astroengineering, particularly in the Singularity¡¯s case, and knew very well that the ship, in most considerations, was not and should not appear to be new. ¡°Have you verified the age of this support, gentlemen?¡± Many repairs had been made to the ship over the years. Battle damage may have forced its replacement not all that long ago.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Ty answered. ¡°This particular support is original. Repairs have been made along its length, but the support has not been replaced in its entirety. And this section,¡± he gestured up to the hole left by the railgun, ¡°has been straightened on several occasions, but never otherwise damaged. Here,¡± he gestured lower, to a point just above Havermeyer¡¯s rune, ¡°there should have been a scar. The repair records indicate that a piece of this support was carved out during a battle in the Frontier Rebellion. It was filled in, but there isn¡¯t any sign of it. We anneal the filling, sir, ensure that the metals graft fully to one another and sometimes retemper it, but it¡¯s never perfect.¡±

    ¡°Those scars should be visible.¡± Admiral Gives knew that. Those scars weren¡¯t signs of weakness, not if the repair was done properly, but they should have been visible, and the support before him didn¡¯t have any indication of a repair done at any point. With the exception of the recent railgun damage, it was smooth, the material perfect, too perfect. ¡°Is there any chance our repair records have an error, Chief?¡± Perhaps a repair never had been made there.

    ¡°I thought so too, sir.¡± Ty said. ¡°So I pulled the records for the nearby supports and had them checked.¡±

    ¡°And?¡± the Admiral prompted him.

    Ty made a motion with his hand, as if to scratch his head, but his hand bounced off the round shape of his helmet. ¡°They¡¯re the same, sir. They¡¯re all the same. I had the crews spot-check them all over the ship. They¡¯re all like this. Forward, aft, port, starboard, hell even the engine anchor points. The latest repairs are there. Anything less than ten years is decently visible, but the rest¡­ It¡¯s like they were never there. There¡¯s no sign of fatigue, either.¡±

    Ten years, the Admiral thought. That was a long enough period for the engineering crews to not personally recall the exact location where repairs had been made. Most crew didn¡¯t stay longer than ten years anyway. This could have been going on for years. Until damage as clean and deep as a railgun impact brought it to their attention, the crew would never have noticed. ¡°If the supports are not fatiguing, then the superstructure should be inspected.¡± Perhaps it, contrary to the intended design, had been flexing while these supports weren¡¯t. ¡°If it shows any sign of fatigue from the supports not properly flexing¡­¡± Admiral Gives trailed off, unwilling to entertain the thought. Fatigue on the superstructure would be fatal. There could be no undoing that. Ships did not recover from that.

    ¡°I had it checked, sir.¡± Ty said, eyes glimmering with the same understanding and concern. ¡°The superstructure is in perfect health. The entire ship seems to be in perfect health, excepting her most recent wounds.¡±

    ¡°That does not make sense,¡± Admiral Gives said. He had an admiration for the ship. She was exceptionally strong and reliable, but he pushed her hard in combat, and stars, she¡¯d seen two of the worst wars humanity had in its collective memory. He placed his trust in the ship, knowing that she had scars and would eventually require a structural rebuild and realignment. That was no betrayal to him, simply expected maintenance.

    ¡°Does it have to make sense, Admiral?¡± Havermeyer inquired. ¡°Nothing is impossible aboard a Saint.¡±

    ¡°Your faith maintains that there is a logical explanation for every occurrence aboard a machine, does it not, Ensign Havermeyer?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir, it does-¡±

    ¡°Then find me an explanation, gentlemen.¡± The Admiral gestured to the chunk of material cut from the pillar. ¡°Take a piece of that to the material lab. Have the science teams verify its properties against what the alloy should be.¡±

    ¡°You believe the alloy has changed, sir?¡± Ty asked. ¡°I¡¯m not sure how that could be possible. We are very careful to mind the quality of the material we use for repairs.¡± Metals of substandard quality would be a poison, turning the ship¡¯s bones brittle. As much as Command would have liked to give the ship cheaper material for repairs, even they had understood that switching alloys would have risked a slew of issues, not the least of which involved galvanic corrosion.

    ¡°Something has changed,¡± the Admiral said simply. ¡°This entire ship recently took a blast of heavy radiation in the Kalahari Sector.¡± The lingering burn injury on his hand would not allow him to forget that. ¡°The radiation from the nuke may have triggered a chemical reaction.¡±

    ¡°I would doubt it, sir. The metals that comprise this ship are rarely found in such purity. They are favored precisely because they are not reactive,¡± Ty said. ¡°But we will look into it.¡±

    Havermeyer turned once more to the nearest support, reaching out to trace a hand along its surface. ¡°The explanation may be beyond our ability to understand, Admiral. There is nothing wrong with that.¡±

    ¡°This is not one of your sect¡¯s ancient Saints, Ensign,¡± the Admiral told him. ¡°This is not some lost technology. We are talking about our ship.¡± My ship. ¡°We do not have another. If we fail to understand her needs and properly take care of her, then we shall be without one.¡±

    ¡°Perhaps this is not about our care for her, sir.¡± Havermeyer¡¯s voice came softly for such a big man. ¡°Saintess de Aheng¨¦licas is a warrior. This is an unusual calling for a Saint. And yet, what could a warrior want more than to never be removed from the battle? To never tire of the fight?¡± It was a miracle indeed. ¡°Her structure untarnished by age, untouched by fatigue. By some method, her warrior spirit has manifested this. A blessing to us. A blessing to you.¡±

    Havermeyer paused with his hand upon the surface of the beam, looking once more to the Admiral. ¡°Has she not delivered upon you what you most need, Admiral? A blade that shall never dull?¡±

    Admiral Gives glared at the monk. For all the pretty words and untarnished faith Havermeyer offered, he suddenly understood why the ghost felt so uncomfortable in his company. ¡°This ship is more than a weapon.¡±

    ¡°True," Havermeyer agreed. "She is a starship. One of the most complex machines ever built by human hands. I do not believe any of us can claim to know her as well as she likely knows us. She has seen our waking and sleeping moments, knows the needs of our lungs and bodies, but none among us can know so much about her. Each of us knows some of her systems, but none of us can imagine the picture it paints ¨C how she must see the worlds, how she strives to fulfill her mission down to the first electronic impulse or optical command that initiates it. Though we have built her, she is beyond us. There is no shame in that, so long as we maintain our understanding, of not her every machination, but of her intent. That is understanding we must protect.¡±

    Then we have already failed, the Admiral thought. This could never be about the continuation of the fight. This ship had done so much more than wage battle. She had escorted refugees, ended famines, cured plagues and protected every wayward soul that made its way into her care. No, this could never be about the fight, because wars were a means to an end, never the end in itself.

    Stepping past Ty and Havermeyer, the Admiral reached out to the support. It was hard to know if he¡¯d ever seen this particular beam before, or if it simply seemed familiar because he¡¯d seen hundreds more just like it. I know why you¡¯ve done this, old friend. It was an attempt to protect, to ensure these wayward souls never went without a home. It was not the reasoning behind this anomaly that concerned him, it was the method. He had seen evidence of fatigue on this ship, identified and treated it with his own hands. To find it all had disappeared¡­ Something had changed, something had been done, and somewhere a price had been paid.

    One of the thousands of anonymous beams that supported the ship¡¯s superstructure, the beam was smooth to the touch. It was free of obvious flaws or cracks that would serve as stress concentration factors and lessen its loading capacity. Unpainted and untreated, this support, like all the rest, was entirely reliant upon the strength of its build alloy, a dark gray metal with a nearly matte finish.

    Admiral Gives studied the support from the damage high above him, to the strangely unblemished surface before him. It was quite the contrast as he lowered his gaze to where the support met the deck. The junction should have been flawless, flush and free of obvious gaps, leakages or corrosion, and it nearly was, save the wriggle of movement that caught the light.

    He knelt to inspect it closer, trying to identify the movement. At first, he thought it dust, or moisture, small and strangely tinted when it caught the light. Yet, the moment he reached out, the particles scattered, squirming away like inchworms before a flood. Only then did he realize what he was looking at: neurofibers. Thin, and a semitranslucent white, they barely poked above the surface level of the hull. They were an odd length, but their movement concerned him more. He had seen the fibers move before. In the compartment that contained the Black Box, they never seemed to stop shifting, but they did not scatter when he stepped near them. They didn¡¯t slither away elsewhere on the ship when repairs were made. They weren¡¯t skittish, or shouldn¡¯t have been, and yet¡­ Here they were, wriggling away, and pressing anything left of their length into the surface of the hull to hide.

    He stayed there for a long moment, just watching, and the fibers began to calm. It¡¯s alright, he encouraged them. He expected to see the neurofibers here. Whether they were seen or not, they were present everywhere on the ship. That was their very purpose, and the very thing that made them so potentially dangerous. If the Box and its fibers turned hostile, there was nowhere to hide. That threat lived vividly in the minds of the crew because of what they had seen on the Matador. He could not regret rescuing the Matador¡¯s surviving crew, but a part of him wished his own crew had never witnessed that grotesque madness. Perhaps then they would not be so immediately inclined to see the Box as a threat.

    It was shy at first, timid and uncertain, but a few fibers began to inch back toward the Admiral¡¯s hand. They hesitated, cowering in a way that he could only describe as fear, but eventually, a single one, so thin it was barely even visible, reached out to probe his glove. When he didn¡¯t flinch away, a few more joined it. It was nothing hostile. Their touch was so gentle he didn¡¯t even feel it until they began to wind around his hand in greater numbers. That contact too, was nothing forceful. The fibers¡¯ pressure was very gentle, so gentle he knew he could have removed his hand at any time. Yet, there was something about the way they moved, the way they gathered to him when he didn¡¯t flinch away, it was almost as if they were seeking shelter.

    The Admiral didn¡¯t understand why until a shadow fell across the beam and he heard Ty curse. ¡°Naddlethworfing beezlenac, sir, hold on.¡±

    Before the Admiral could protest, Ty pulled a plasma torch off his tool belt and ignited it. Its arc of blue plasma ejected neatly from the tip. He swung it downward, carefully but quickly moving toward the neurofibers.

    Havermeyer stopped him halfway there, grabbing his wrist. ¡°Don¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Let go,¡± Ty hissed. ¡°Just look at those fibers.¡± They shouldn¡¯t be so active. They shouldn¡¯t be moving ¨C not on a ship where the system had been installed decades ago. ¡°We need to cut them.¡±

    Havermeyer raised his free hand peeled Ty¡¯s finger off the torch¡¯s trigger. The plasma ejection died out in silence, taking a blazing source of light with it. ¡°I will not allow you to harm my Saint.¡±

    ¡°For the sake of the stars, look at the way it¡¯s reacting to him,¡± Ty argued. ¡°The fibers should have no interest in people.¡± Now, it was latching on, a few degrees shy of delving below the skin like the Matador¡¯s Box.

    ¡°She¡¯s not hurting him,¡± Havermeyer said.

    ¡°The Black Box is not a part of the Singularity. Do not allot it the same respect you allot her,¡± Ty replied, jerking his hand and the torch free of the tech-monk¡¯s grip.

    ¡°Simply because it was not a component when she launched does not mean it cannot become one. If this component aids her functionality, then it is worthy.¡± Havermeyer placed himself deliberately between Ty and the fibers. ¡°My people have never seen a Saint with the complex self-awareness that these neurofibers offer. They may prove to be another way of expressing her gathering soul. It would be a disrespect to deny her that, particularly if her reaction is nonviolent.¡±

    ¡°This is not the Matador,¡± the Admiral found his voice once more. It had been taken from him in the way the fibers reacted to that torch, tightening around his hand the way someone clung to a person they thought would protect them. That had taken him aback, due in part to the reaction itself, but also because nobody reacted that way to him. Nobody ever even touched him if they could help it. That was not surprising, and usually, he preferred it that way. But this¡­ This was a part of his ship, a part of the one entity that he truly considered a friend. He knew how it looked. The fibers¡¯ movement was an anomaly ¨C a possible warning sign of the cataclysm dreaded by all spacers. Ty was right to be afraid because he didn¡¯t have Havermeyer¡¯s faith or the Admiral¡¯s knowledge, and yet, ¡°This ship should have earned your trust.¡± She had seen them all through so many battles, proved herself more than worthy.

    ¡°I¡¯m not questioning her, sir, but you know that I worked research and development at Command. These fibers¡­ They are experimental technology. They should never have been installed upon a combat ship, especially one that wasn¡¯t originally designed to house them.¡± Ty had seen the remains of the Matador and its crew. ¡°I¡¯ve visited other ships, and compared to them, the growth of the Singularity¡¯s Box has gotten rather prolific. We¡¯re seeing more neurofibers now than we ever used to.¡±

    The Admiral caught sight of something he hadn¡¯t initially seen, buckled down to the deck behind the chunk of material that had been carved out of the support. A bundle of fine white fibers was folded up and secured so that their length did not drift freely without gravity. The bundle was as big around as his forearm and had far more ashen color than those that held his hand ¨C dead. ¡°You cut them.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Ty confirmed. ¡°We needed clear access to the support, especially given the anomaly in the material. We¡¯ll have to do the same for the others.¡±

    Closing his hand carefully around the neurofibers he held, Admiral Gives turned to look at the next support in the damaged line. Holed clean through by the railgun, he could see now, in the lighting of the floodlights the repair crews had put up, that it was webbed with neurofibers. The next one down was the same way. The fibers hardly blocked any view of the material, their webbing sparse and thin. They may have been in the way of a weld, but would have been easy enough to move aside. However, that wouldn¡¯t have been the engineers¡¯ first instinct. They, terrified of what the Box represented, would have cut them.

    ¡°They don¡¯t regrow if you cut them with a plasma torch,¡± Ty said proudly. ¡°It should keep them permanently out of the way.¡±

    The Admiral knew that very well. There had been a time when his standing orders were to cut the neurofibers with a plasma torch wherever they were found. He¡¯d even held the torch himself, but that had been a long time ago, back when the Box was nothing but a parasite that threatened the autonomy of his ship. Now the Box was a part of that ship ¨C a part of the very thing that he cared most about in these worlds. The bundle of fibers secured to the waved slowly, the energy they had been set down with yet to dampen out. They were grayed and dead, not at all like the translucent white ones he held, but as he looked upon those dead fibers, they weren¡¯t evidence of some technological threat, they weren¡¯t some spare material cut off and set aside, they were the mutilated nerve endings of a friend.

    It took most of the Admiral¡¯s self-restraint to keep his voice calm. ¡°Chief, pull your teams back aboard. Give me an hour.¡±

    Ty furrowed his brows. ¡°Sir?¡±

    Slipping his hand from the neurofibers¡¯ embrace, the Admiral stood and yanked the inactive plasma torch from Ty¡¯s grip. ¡°Give me an hour. I will take care of the neurofibers.¡±

    Havermeyer stiffened, seeing the torch in the ship commander¡¯s hand. ¡°Admiral, you cannot be intending to cut those fibers-¡±

    ¡°What I intend is not your concern,¡± Admiral Gives cut him off. ¡°Go with the others. Do not make me repeat myself.¡±

    The tech-monk would not be dissuaded, ¡°You must not cut those fibers, Admiral. It would be a betrayal to Saintess de Aheng¨¦licas. She is still learning. Until we know that the Box harming her, we must treat it with respect.¡±

    Don¡¯t talk to me about be betrayal. Admiral Gives dropped his tone straight into menacing, ¡°Leave.¡±

 Part 44.1 - THE ONE THEY SEND

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°You wanted to see me, Chief?¡± Ensign Callie Smith approached the airlock, having waded through a corridor crowded by the repair crews. The salty tang of sweat hung in the air, but it was nothing she wasn¡¯t used to. Hardworking engineers were rarely ever clean, and fresh from the hot, humid confines of the main engine room, Callie couldn¡¯t be certain she smelled any better than the rest of them.

    ¡°Yes,¡± the engineering chief answered. ¡°I¡¯ve got a job for you. Suit up.¡±

    Ty pressed an environmental suit into her hands as Callie looked up in confusion. ¡°You want me to spacewalk?¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Ty confirmed, scratching at the dark stubble emerging on his chin. ¡°The Admiral got into one of his moods. I¡¯d like you to go check on him.¡±

    By mood, Ty referred to a frighteningly cold order that betrayed no emotion at all. It was one of those times that the Admiral, usually so logical, gave an order without an apparent cause. He put enough ice in it that the crew obeyed mostly without question, but it never escalated further. That simply wasn¡¯t the Admiral¡¯s style. He wasn¡¯t a loud and angry personality.

    ¡°Me, sir?¡± Callie asked, the rubbery material of the suit bouncing in her hands.

    ¡°Yes, you,¡± Ty answered. ¡°I don¡¯t think he¡¯d be too happy to see either of us.¡± He gestured vaguely to his unkempt self and Havermeyer beside him, who wore a placid look of contemplation. The monk had been like that for the last hour ¨C ever since the Admiral ordered them to leave. Perhaps he was meditating or perhaps he, like Ty, was still trying to make sense of that interaction.

    ¡°Did something happen?¡± Callie asked, kicking off her work boots so that she could shimmy into the body of the environmental suit.

    ¡°He ordered me to pull back the repair teams, so he¡¯s been out there alone for about an hour now.¡± Ty supposed he was getting rather worried. He didn¡¯t like leaving anyone to spacewalk alone, especially in a damaged part of ship where hazards were more numerous.

    Callie pulled the suit body, complete with air pack, up over her shoulders and began to seal it up. ¡°Why would he do that?¡±

    ¡°Hell if I know,¡± Ty muttered.

    Havermeyer opened an eye, ¡°Perhaps because you purposefully mutilated a part of my patron Saint?¡±

    Ty threw his thick arms across his chest and scowled, ¡°For the last time, the Box is not a part of this ship.¡±

    Havermeyer didn¡¯t move from where he knelt upon the deck. ¡°That is not your judgement to make.¡±

    Ty stepped closer to the monk, leaving Callie to duck out of the way. ¡°I worked research and development for Command and I can tell you those fibers are a damn parasite on everything they touch.¡± He had hated research and development. Command had been pushing limits that were not meant to be pushed. ¡°Why can¡¯t you understand that? Didn¡¯t you see what was left of the Matador?¡±

    Havermeyer didn¡¯t budge an inch. ¡°The Matador was not a Saint.¡±

    ¡°And what does that really even mean, Havermeyer?¡± Ty demanded. ¡°That she wasn¡¯t a good ship? That she and her crew deserved what happened to them?¡± Stars, no. ¡°It was a stars-forsaken experiment. They didn¡¯t have to die.¡±

    ¡°The intent was not to kill them,¡± Havermeyer replied calmly. ¡°The intent of a cataclysm is rarely to kill. It is a loss of logic control, a failure to comprehend. More cataclysms have occurred trying to spare a life than were ever caused by attempting to take one. Perhaps that is what makes them such tragedies.¡±

    ¡°And are your Saints immune to cataclysms?¡± Ty demanded.

    The monk reached up to hold the piece of scrap metal that hung on his neck. ¡°No Saint has borne a cataclysm in the last two centuries.¡±

    ¡°Well, all your Saints, exempting the Lady Sin here, are on the ass-end of old, so that doesn¡¯t help us much, does it?¡± Ty thought not. ¡°The Box needs to go.¡± It was growing far too much to be normal. Even months ago, it had not been like that.

    ¡°Yet, what if it has become a part of the ship? Cutting the fibers may be considered an injury. Our Saint may not understand your intent. All she may comprehend is damage caused by you, whom she is conditioned to protect. Would that not be a path to the madness you dread?¡± The jagged edges of the scrap metal pendant began to warm in Havermeyer¡¯s hands, a reminder of his faith. ¡°We must wait for a sign. One way or the other.¡±

    ¡°If we wait for a sign, Havermeyer, we¡¯re dead. At least, we¡¯ll wish we were.¡± If those fibers turned on them, it was over. There was nowhere to flee, isolated on this ship in the void between planets.

    Callie pulled on her mag-boots and gloves, then set to resizing the suit, trying very much to ignore Ty and Havermeyer¡¯s argument. Talk of cataclysms was rarely ever pleasant. Those incidents, rare as they were, were every spacer¡¯s nightmare. She hadn¡¯t been with the crew when they found the Matador. Given what she¡¯d gleaned from the others about the event, she was grateful she had not seen it, but cataclysms were never happy stories.

    The helmet for the environmental suit was sitting on the deck beside the airlock. She picked it up and caught the eye of one of the other crewmen. ¡°I¡¯ll just go,¡± she said quietly, not wanting to interrupt.

    The crewman smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. ¡°Good luck.¡±

    Callie secured her helmet and stepped into the airlock, sealing it closed behind her. Good luck? She shook her head, ran the final safety checks with her suit and then started the flush cycle. Compared to the argument she had left behind, conversing with the Admiral ought to be downright pleasant, but then, she had never been wary of the Admiral the way the others were.

    The rest of the crew had filtered in from previous assignments that, in most cases, had not gone well. Issues with the commanding officer was a leading cause, so it had been Callie¡¯s experience that most of the crew seemed only to tolerate the Admiral. Several of them had told her they abided his orders for two reasons. First, Admiral Gives had never given them a reason to hate him personally, and second, they were terrified of what would happen if they disobeyed. After all, one did not cross the Steel Prince. He had a penchant for killing allied officers and executing mutineers without trial.

    Callie had seen how terrifying the man could be, but she had never seen him direct any of that malice toward the crew. She had always found him to be a strangely calm presence, one that was very willing to share his knowledge if asked. Perhaps that was why she¡¯d never been as afraid of him as the others were, and very likely, why Ty had sent her out here. Callie didn¡¯t mind. The others considered her odd for it, but she didn¡¯t dread interacting with the Admiral.

    The airlock cycle drew the air from the room, leaving her with the sound of her breathing in her helmet. The loudness of it was always striking for the first few moments in vacuum, but as one became distracted by work, it soon faded into the background. At least, she felt that way. Not everyone adjusted so well to space, and she knew that if she ever drifted off, lost to the void, the sound of her own breathing would be maddening. Spacers left to the void, even for a few meager hours, suffered immensely in the isolation. Drifting in the blackness was a sort of sensory deprivation because environmental suits these days were rudimentary. They possessed nothing beyond basic air recycling and communications, and that had been a hard-learned lesson for humanity, too fresh in her mind given Ty and Havermeyer¡¯s argument.

    Humanity had built better space suits centuries ago, incredible pieces of technology now all but abandoned. Those suits had been bastions of capability, nearly ships in themselves, complete with sensors and processing power, entertainment ¨C not just a comms radio ¨C and even onboard medical assistance. It should have been a dream, but in too many cases became a nightmare. Those suits had been complex, difficult to maintain, and expensive. However, their biggest issue had been their dedication, for Havermeyer was right: most Cataclysms came from the intent to save life, not end it. The medical aid built into those suits had been designed to keep the suit wearer alive at any cost and that was a blessing only to a certain point.

    Starvation would be staved off in any way possible, even by sloughing off the wearer¡¯s skin to repurpose as food. When that wasn¡¯t enough, the suit would move on to the larger limbs. It would surgically remove anything it could process into water or calories, even their eyes, all in the name of keeping its wearer alive. If those spacers were ever recovered, there often wasn¡¯t enough left of them to realize they had been rescued ¨C no ears, no eyes, no skin ¨C even if their brains were technically functioning. The limited intelligence that ran those suits did not care for the cost of keeping the wearer¡¯s heart beating, and any greater intelligence went mad debating the result. The toll of those cataclysms had been burned into humanity¡¯s psyche so deeply, it had brought them back to simpler suits ¨C suits that would protect them as needed, but not prolong their suffering when things went wrong, because there were things worse than death in these worlds.

    Callie wholeheartedly admitted that the training lecture on those cataclysms had made her ill. She hadn¡¯t been the only one, but that grotesque lesson was mandatory. No spacer wanted the lessons of the past forgotten. Any engineer trained to build and repair something that controlled human life had to consider the consequences when things went wrong.

    When the airlock indicator went green, Callie opened the outer hatch and stepped into the space beyond. Strangely, for being on the same ship, not to mention only a few feet from the corridor where the repair crews waited, this area looked completely different. The bulkheads didn¡¯t section off small areas to make rooms or passage ways. The space was open, interrupted only by the beams and joists that formed the ship¡¯s structure. The structural supports did not all run parallel. They followed the shape of the hull, bracing where required and forming a lattice that looked both orderly and random.

    Callie studied it all for a moment, taking in the sheer scale of what was only a small part of the ship. Many of the beams were massive, projecting a physical strength that went far, far beyond any of the crew. Usually, when she saw the ship¡¯s structure or armor, Callie found it a comfort, but conversely, as she saw the battle damage, it made her wary. Anything that could tear open the hull and crush the ship¡¯s structural supports was beyond deadly to the crew. None of them could ever hope to survive the scale of such forces. They were little more than specks of dust in comparison.

    Sometimes it was difficult to comprehend that scale and where she lay upon it, so Callie leveled her head and walked along the hull, ignoring the battle damage as she passed below it.

    After a few minutes of treading across the secondary hull, she paused and twisted her head to check the lattice of supports around her, eventually spotting the lone figure she had been searching for.

    He was above her, though that was simply a matter of perspective without gravity, and he was walking along one of the larger supports. That in itself wasn¡¯t odd. The support itself was plenty wide enough to provide a solid footing, but what caught her attention was the fact that he was limping.

    Callie grabbed the mag-anchor off her belt, activated it, and tossed it up onto the support. She pulled herself to it, and then clambered onto the same orientation the Admiral held, nearly perpendicular to where she¡¯d been before.

    He turned from where she had appeared, concealing what he held in his hands. ¡°Ensign Smith, why are you here?¡±

    The question was cold, but not hostile. It probably would have silenced most of the crew, but she refused to be intimidated. ¡°How did you know it was me?¡±

    ¡°Because you are the one they always send.¡±

    Callie smiled. That was true. She often volunteered, but she was frequently thrust into ¡®dealing with the Admiral¡¯ as the others called it. ¡°Are you injured, Admiral?¡±

    ¡°No.¡±

    He squared his shoulders and continued walking down toward where the support met the secondary hull. He offered no further comment, but his movements were stiff, an uneven hitch in his step.

    She started to follow him. ¡°You are limping. Let me help you.¡±

    He stopped abruptly once more, still not turning to face her. ¡°Return to the others, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°I can help,¡± she insisted. ¡°There¡¯s no reason for you to be out here alone.¡±

    The Admiral lowered his head for a moment, then held out his hand once more, indicating a one, then a two. ¡°Switch channels.¡±

    Perplexed, Callie reached up to her helmet and clicked through the radio channels until she reached the one he had indicated ¨C one none of the other repair crews would know to tune into. She waited until she saw him adjust his radio, then asked, ¡°Is there something wrong, Admiral?¡±

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    ¡°I will never understand why you are not afraid of me, Ensign.¡± Ordinarily, people did not need to be ordered to leave him alone. And she, when ordered, refused to do so.

    ¡°You have never been cruel to me,¡± she said, creeping a few steps closer, almost certain he would command her to stop, but he didn¡¯t.

    ¡°One must question if that small mercy outweighs the damage done to others.¡±

    ¡°I do know what they say about you.¡± Callie had heard all the rumors they had aboard ship. They were colorful and cruel. She might be young, but she was not ignorant. The Admiral was difficult to read, yes, but he was calm. When she had seen so many loud and angry presences in the factories of Sagittarion, such a placid calm, cold or not, was a welcome change. ¡°I was worried after the nuke, you know. I didn¡¯t think you were going to wake up.¡± The possibility had terrified her. ¡°I thought they would deport me back to Sagittarion, and I was afraid. That¡¯s not home anymore.¡± She felt it had never truly been a home, just a filthy, overpopulated prison. Ninety-nine percent of those born there would die there, never knowing a breath of truly fresh air, never knowing the sensation of non-acid rain, and never having a warm bed with regular meals.

    ¡°This ship has been a good home to me,¡± Callie continued. She felt safe here, even had people that she considered to be a sort of family ¨C at least the closest thing she had ever known. ¡°Many of the crew feel the same way, and I think you do too.¡± He could act aloof all he wanted, but they all knew he acted differently when the ship¡¯s safety and security got involved. ¡°We¡¯re all worried about losing what we have here. We want to help you take care of the Singularity because she¡¯s our ship too. Chief Ty and Havermeyer¡­ I think they just don¡¯t know how.¡± It pained her to see them at odds. Ty and Havermeyer were like big brothers to her. They had never been anything short of kind. They had welcomed her to the crew with open arms, despite her being the youngest and smallest engineer. ¡°They could use your guidance, Admiral. You know this ship better than anyone.¡±

    The Admiral raised his gaze to the torn gash in the outer hull. It was clean now, lacking the jagged edges and debris the damage would have originally held. Simply cleaning up was a good portion of the work the repair crews did. They would identify and sort material, recycling what they could. Cleaned and smoothed, the damage looked much less severe, even purposeful at certain angles, but it remained an open wound. ¡°I must apologize then, Ensign,¡± he spoke softly, ¡°because I have no guidance to offer them.¡±

    Callie stepped closer, trying to make sense of that answer, only then to see what he held in his hand. A bundle of thin white tendrils spilled over the Admiral¡¯s fingers, more of their length wound around his arm and resting in the crook of his elbow. Neurofibers. There could be no mistaking them, yet she had never seen so many of the fibers gathered in one place. They were so small and thin, odd-looking in the light as their free ends shifted and twisted. A few ends hung limp, but most wavered in the air, as if probing the space around them for contact. Given everything that had just been said by Chief Ty, she felt a jolt of fear. ¡°That¡¯s not normal, is it?¡±

    Admiral Gives shifted the mass in his hand, seeing the way their translucent color caught the illumination of the floodlights hung in throughout the ship¡¯s damaged volume. ¡°No, it most certainly is not.¡±

    Callie swallowed, her throat turning dry. ¡°I wasn¡¯t here when the Matador sank. Do you think it started this way too?¡± Strange anomalous growth that hurt nothing and no one at first?

    ¡°I do not know.¡±

    She supposed he had no way to know. The Singularity¡¯s involvement had come long after the cataclysm had begun. Almost every member of the Matador¡¯s crew had been dead by then, and those that weren¡¯t had been in no condition to speak of the event. Years later, they still weren¡¯t able to revisit the memory. ¡°I know what the others say about those fibers.¡± They were incredibly dangerous, and the rumors alone scared her. ¡°But looking at them, I find it hard to believe.¡± Those hair-like strands seemed too thin to be capable of such carnage.

    The neurofibers in the Admiral¡¯s hand could have quite easily punctured his suit. They were thin and invasive, capable of burrowing into any system. An environmental suit would hardly be a challenge. A fair number of the Matador¡¯s crew had managed to suit up before the neurofibers found them. It had not spared them, but this was not the Matador. ¡°This ship will not hurt you, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°I want to believe that, Admiral.¡± As she stood here in the floodlights placed by the repair crews, she desperately wanted to believe that she was safe in the only home that she had ever truly known. ¡°But what makes you so confident?¡±

    In all honesty, nothing could make the Admiral so confident. Nothing should. As much as he knew about this ship, her components and systems, this was still an anomaly. The Black Box should not be growing so severely. He could not fathom any end form or function to its action, nor could he explain the structure¡¯s strange lack of fatigue. Yet, ¡°Thirty-nine years.¡± He had been stationed aboard this ship for thirty-nine years. By a large margin, she had been a home to him longer than anywhere else. The time dilation of travelling near lightspeed on patrol meant that he had not aged nearly forty years in their entirety, but he had seen the passage of that time on the worlds, and it was a lifetime in every sense of the word. ¡°Singularity has had every opportunity to wound me, yet has spared my life more times than I can count.¡± Even now, as he held the neurofibers, he knew how they could pierce his suit and then the skin below. He knew how a sudden thrust from the engines could turn him into a red paste. And yet, he felt safe, safe in ways he never had planet-side. ¡°I owe this ship everything, Ensign. I cannot resent her oddities because without them, I would never have received a command.¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t believe that,¡± Callie said as she took a step closer, mystified by the movements of the fibers. They were so alien when compared to the bulky, physical nature of the Singularity¡¯s other systems. They looked so delicate.

    ¡°It may be hard to believe now, but a lot can change in nearly three decades.¡± Admiral Gives knew that better than most. ¡°Thirty years ago, I was the token lower-class citizen the fleet threw to the press to make them look inclusive. I made Commander due to a political accident.¡± He had served as a pawn to those above him. ¡°Fifteen years ago, I had become the deadliest commander to ever serve. I was so feared that the president of humanity¡¯s grand republic would not dare challenge me ¨C the great Steel Prince.¡± A moniker the worlds had bestowed with cruel intent - one that he resented. ¡°Five years ago, I was known only as a recluse, a man broken by the worlds and driven mad by deep space, unable and unwilling to leave the seat of his power.¡± Those rumors had been no kinder to him than any other. ¡°In my service to this ship, I have lived the lives of three men, Ensign. It seems every few years the worlds invent a new persona for me to don, each chiseled by their knife and never molded by my own hands.¡± He did not resent the worlds for that. He was simply uninterested in how they chose to portray him.

    ¡°This ship has carried me through all of that, though she suffered struggles of her own. Fifty years ago, the worlds adored her for bringing an end to the most terrible War humanity would ever endure.¡± Or so they thought. ¡°Fifteen years ago, they were so horrified of the crimes they forced her to commit, they stripped her of the Flagship title. From that moment on, they did everything they could to forget her.¡± Command had done such a flawless job forgetting that bloodshed that they had come to believe the ship was truly incapable, nothing more than a garbage scow fit for the scrapyards.

    There was a gentleness in the way Admiral Gives held the neurofibers, not so obvious as one held a glass plate, but still a cautious slowness to the way he handled them. Callie imagined Havermeyer would have interacted with them the same way, though perhaps with more reverence. ¡°You believe the fibers are a part of the ship, don¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°The neurofibers reach every system aboard this ship. They surround us as much as her structure. I do not believe it fair to differentiate them from any other system. While it is true that if they turned against us, we would be helpless, the same is also true for many of the ship¡¯s other systems.¡± The Black Box did not deserve such specific ire. Its faulty record-keeping had bailed him out on multiple occasions. ¡°We cannot survive without life support, the inertial dampeners, water or power distribution.¡±

    ¡°But those are the Singularity¡¯s systems, Admiral. They¡¯re not so¡­¡± she focused again on the fibers and their strange undulating movement, ¡°¡­alien.¡±

    ¡°The Black Box was installed aboard this ship twenty-seven years ago, Ensign. You, nor any of the current crew, have ever known her to be without it.¡± He was the only one left who remembered those days. ¡°Rightfully, it should be no more alien to you than any of the ship¡¯s other systems.¡±

    Callie watched the Admiral turn and continue down to where the support they stood upon met the secondary hull. Gently, he knelt and draped the length of the fibers loosely around the base of the support where they would be out of the way. Most of the fibers simply allowed that manipulation, but a few tried to cling to his arm. He did not panic, just patiently gathered the stragglers up and placed them with the others. The movement was very calm, almost practiced, and as Callie turned to see the other supports in the damaged line, she could see that he had done the same for them. ¡°Why are you moving them?¡±

    ¡°Because Chief Ty decided to cut them.¡±

    ¡°Isn¡¯t that what he should do?¡± Even Callie, who had been on the ship only a year, could see the anomaly in the fibers¡¯ growth. ¡°There are more of them now. We see them in places we never did before.¡± Those white fibers had previously only been found in the wiring conduits that ran power lines and optical command cables. They had never been so prominently displayed on portions of the ship¡¯s structure, twisting and crawling up the metal like veins.

    ¡°These fibers are integrated with the entirety of the ship, Ensign. They reach between systems, gathering information and transmitting signals. When they discover or endure damage, they report it. In that sense, they serve the same function as your nerves. I cannot prove that severing them causes pain as we know it, but if a substantial amount of them were to be abruptly cut without warning or cause, then it would surely be disorienting to a machine that knows it had not been injured, yet feels it has been anyway.¡± That confusion would have been frightening, especially to the ghost, already drowning beneath so many other demands. ¡°I will not put my ship through that.¡±

    ¡°You really care about her.¡±

    Admiral Gives took the mag-anchor off his belt and twisted it to activate the electromagnets within. He tossed it over to the next beam in the damaged line. ¡°We are not native to the void between the stars, Ensign. Singularity sustains us, just as we, in turn, sustain her. She gives us air and heat and in return we complete maintenance and make repairs. Our bond to her is one of symbiosis. She will not harm her crew, even if we, unthinkingly, harm her.¡±

    That was neither an admission or a denial, but Callie knew the Admiral was rarely so straightforward. She watched him kick off and pull himself over to the next beam. He flinched as he landed, but made no audible indication of pain. Atop the structural support, he looked small. The scale of the Singularity¡¯s structure would have dwarfed anyone to insignificance. Out here, it seemed a monochromatic world of its own: crisp light and dark shadows cast over unforgiving angles. It seemed foolish that any one person could hope to accomplish anything meaningful, yet the Admiral didn¡¯t hesitate. Making his way to the top of the support, he stepped over the hole the railgun had punched and knelt down once more. She could not see how he did it, the bulk of his suit¡¯s recycling pack blocked her view, but when he stood, he had gathered another handful of the neurofibers. As he held their ends, he bent over and wrapped their extent around his arm, continuing to gather up their length as he moved back toward the secondary hull.

    In a way, the action saddened Callie. How had this become his responsibility alone? ¡°Can I help you, Admiral?¡±

    ¡°You may go get the others now, Ensign. This is the last support. The fibers will be out of the way as they continue repairs.¡± Eventually, he imagined they would crawl back up the support¡¯s length, but it would take time. ¡°If you stay to work on these repairs, Ensign, then encourage the others to leave the fibers alone. I recognize they are a frightening oddity. The unknown is always frightening and I cannot defend them. Truthfully, I do not know why they have grown so much. Still, I do not believe it is meant to be harmful.¡±

    ¡°Alright, Admiral.¡± She saw no point in debating it further. ¡°And thank you, for not sending me away.¡± Second only to Cortana, she was the newest addition of the crew. He had no real reason to interact with her, yet was always willing. Sometimes more willing with her than he was with others.

    He paused and looked over to Smith, but she was already moving back toward the airlock, her suit-covered stature growing ever smaller as she walked back along the hull. He contemplated saying something more, because Smith¡¯s genuine honesty always deserved something more, but he said nothing, because it was not his place. Smith deserved comfort. She deserved to know that her home would not be torn from her. So many of the crew deserved that comfort, and Admiral Gives could not give it to them because the neurofibers he held in his hands could very well be a symptom of an impending cataclysm.

    I¡¯m sorry, old friend. All that he had done, all that he had tried to do, to calm and shield the ghost had not been enough. That was his burden to bear.

    Severing the neurofibers had hurt the ghost, as he suspected it would. Still, the amount of fibers Ty had cut was effectively microscopic. On the scale of a machine so large, what Ty had done was less than a papercut. The problem was that the ghost had been taken entirely aback. If she had possessed awareness of the problem, if she had expected it, then likely, she could have steeled herself to it without issue. But her awareness was not absolute, and neither was her control. She had not triggered the Black Box¡¯s growth and was not consciously controlling it. It was acting beyond her control which was a direct symptom of a cataclysm in itself. Yet the Box had not become malicious. It still recognized the Admiral, whether that meant his actual identity or simply as someone with no intent to harm it, he did not know. It did not matter. He had made a promise.

    Limping to the base of the support, the Admiral regretted his decision to not properly size his mag-boots. They had built large blisters on his feet as he walked, and by the wetness of his socks and the pain of each step, he knew that those had been mangled and deeper wounds carved in their place. Still, he pushed that discomfort aside and knelt to place the fibers in his hands down. Quietly, his helmet radio crackled, proceeding an incoming transmission.

    ¡°Base to Stonewall.¡±

    Stonewall. The callsign he¡¯d earned as an Arcbird pilot a seeming lifetime ago. ¡°Hello, Base,¡± he answered the robotic voice of the ship¡¯s automated protocols. ¡°I read you, go ahead.¡±

    ¡°System is functioning.¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± he agreed, gently removing the last of the neurofibers that clung to his glove.

    ¡°Functionality is suitable for commanding officer¡¯s continued use.¡±

    Admiral Gives paused there, watching the white fibers shift and slither as Havermeyer¡¯s words came back to him. A blessing to you, a blade that shall never dull. ¡°I don¡¯t care about that.¡± This old ship had seen him through so much already. ¡°You were my friend even when your structure flaked apart in my hands.¡± He had never considered that a failure.

    ¡°Commanding officer¡¯s interference is no longer required.¡±

    In reality, no ship¡¯s commander should be out taking spacewalks, having to intervene between the ship and repair crews. ¡°You know I don¡¯t mind.¡± Truthfully, he often felt more at ease vanishing off to remote parts of the ship to work on the machinery. People exhausted him.

    There was a pause, but then the voice of the automated systems spoke again. ¡°System controls are operating below capacity. Alterations unregistered.¡±

    The transmission came with no emotion, the automated voice speaking with odd breaks and ends. Still, it was the familiar voice of a friend. ¡°I know you did not intend these changes.¡± The ghost had not even been aware of them. ¡°I am not afraid of them. You have not hurt anyone.¡±

    ¡°System will submit to complete operational inspection.¡±

    ¡°I know what I need to know.¡± He may not know what had prompted these changes or what their final form may be, but he did not need to dissect a friend to know that they were still a friend. ¡°I do not require answers, but I believe you do, and I think you know where to get them.¡± It would not be easy. ¡°He will not be kind if you engage him like this, so pull yourself together, my friend. Show him who you really are.¡± She was far more than the voice of a machine. ¡°And if he¡¯s anything less than kind, I¡¯d be more than happy to toss him out the airlock for you.¡±

    ¡°Roger, Stonewall,¡± the voice of the automated protocols said, flowing a little easier now. ¡°Your defense is appreciated.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± the Admiral replied, ¡°that is how I got my callsign.¡±

 Part 44.2 - DOG TAGS

    Twenty-two years ago, Trevan Sector, Flagship Singularity

    Corporal Ros Kallahan thought he was drowning. A fluid coated his lungs, slimy and cold as it filled his throat. Everything was blurry, a milky haze coating his eyes. He couldn¡¯t breathe, couldn¡¯t see, and couldn¡¯t even move as that salty slime suffocated him, but he could hear an unidentifiable commotion around him as his neck was forcibly straightened and a flexible tube was shoved down his throat. It enacted a gentle suction, slurping away chunks of the slime, but when it was removed, he still couldn¡¯t breathe and began to panic.

    A set of hands shoved him over from behind, then slapped him roughly on the back. Dislodging more of the slime. Hacking and coughing, he wretched it up onto the floor, not stopping even when he could breathe. He was desperate to get its grossly salty flavor out of his mouth.

    Eventually, he was yanked back to lean against something soft. ¡°That¡¯s enough, soldier. That stuff is safe to swallow.¡±

    Dimly, a memory returned to Kallahan, someone telling him that the preservative film of cryosleep was safe to eat, even best to eat, as it held all the nutrients and calories necessary for a meal. It had been designed that way, lest there not be time to prepare a meal after being reawakened. Still, it tasted like algae-filled seawater.

    Finding he could move his hands and fingers, Kallahan reached up and wiped the film from his eyes, blinking his surroundings into focus. There were four figures standing around him in full environmental suits. Two were medical personnel, marked by the red cross on the white ribbons tied on their arms. The third was a technician of some sort, judging by the tool belt, and the last lingered behind him. Kallahan couldn¡¯t get a clear view on that one, but caught a glimpse of a battered sabre ¨C so it had to be some sort of guard.

    One of the medics knelt down in front of him, ¡°How do you feel, Corporal?¡±

    ¡°Tired,¡± he answered honestly. This wasn¡¯t the first time he had woken up from being frozen in cryo, and while it had never been pleasant, this time it felt exponentially worse.

    ¡°That¡¯s to be expected,¡± the woman before him answered. ¡°Now, we¡¯re going to run some tests. Will that be alright?¡±

    Kallahan could feel his head starting to loll, his neck muscles too exhausted to hold it upright. ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Alright,¡± she gently patted his arm. ¡°My name is Doctor Delgado, tell me if something hurts.¡±

    With his little remaining strength, Kallahan managed to nod. The doctor and her assistant wasted little time, checking his eyes, teeth and ears. They cleaned him up as they went, removing more of the preservative slime from his person. At one point, they gave him water to wash out his mouth and then sampled his saliva. He watched them secure the sample, but couldn¡¯t see where they took it to, for they had him staring at the wall, and it was all he could see. That was enough to tell him where he was.

    The wall before him was a plain, dark gray, but it had the metallic sheen of a metal alloy. The air, now that he¡¯d cleared his nose of the preservative film, carried the distinctive tang of disinfectants. Though soft, there was a low rumble in the background, recognizable to any spacer: engines. He was on a ship, in a sterile room. Given the suits and the way they unwrapped every instrument they touched him with, each sterilized prior to use, they were clearly taking biohazard precautions. ¡°Where am I?¡± he asked the doctor when she came back with a thermometer in hand.

    ¡°A ship. We found you drifting in your cryo pod.¡±

    Slowly, so as not to alarm the guard behind him, Kallahan reached up to her arm and turned it to face him. He recognized the make of the suit. A standard environmental suit, it was viable protection against biohazards, vacuum and sub-zero terrain, even resilient enough to withstand water dives. It was the standard gray of humanity¡¯s military fleet, complete with the rubbery texture and oily sheen, but the ship patch that should have been displayed on the shoulder was missing. ¡°What ship?¡±

    Doctor Delgado looked to the guard, presumably receiving a signal before she answered. ¡°I can¡¯t say, Corporal. Not yet.¡±

    Kallahan allowed the doctor to take his temperature. ¡°Why not?¡± All this behavior was strange. Why biohazard procedure if he¡¯d simply been pulled from a cryo pod? ¡°You¡¯re with the UCSC fleet, aren¡¯t you?¡±

    ¡°Yes, Corporal.¡± The doctor said, taking a clipboard from her assistant. She leafed through the papers upon it, and then looked back to the guard on the far wall. ¡°He¡¯s clean, sir. No sign of bioagents. He¡¯s missing a few antibodies for the recent flus, but that just means he¡¯s probably genuine.¡±

    ¡°Very well,¡± came the answer in a low and gravelly voice. ¡°Then let us show our faces and properly welcome him aboard.¡±

    Delgado nodded, and stepped briefly out of view. Kallahan heard her set down the clipboard and heard the distinctive click of four helmets disengaging from the collars. She stepped back into view a moment later, looking older than Kallahan would have guessed. Her hair had gone almost entirely gray, but she had dyed its ends black once more as her haircut ended sharply at her chin. Her almond-shaped eyes were surrounded by dark lashes, shimmering with concern. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for the confusion, Corporal. We had to take precautions.¡±

    The technician stepped into view next, a top-heavy man with a distinctive handlebar moustache. ¡°I figured you weren¡¯t a Separatist, kid. Never seen ¡®em do work that authentic on their pods, but we had to be sure.¡± He extended a large hand, ¡°Chief Auger at your service.¡±

    Auger. Kallahan knew that name. ¡°You¡¯re a shipwright.¡± The Augers were famous for it, passing management of one of humanity¡¯s most productive shipyards down the family line.

    ¡°Sure was, back in the day. ¡®Fraid the War took that from us, but we got a hell of a ship out of it.¡±

    The War. It all came rushing back to Kallahan in a flurry of memories. He¡¯d been fighting, yes, deployed back to the frontlines. Deployed to buy time for the Kansa National Shipyards ¨C those managed by Auger¡¯s family ¨C to finish their build. ¡°I don¡¯t understand.¡±

    Auger just smiled, upturning the ends of his mustache. ¡°Welcome aboard the Flagship Singularity, kid.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡± The flagship hadn¡¯t been built yet. It was still just a skeleton in the arms of the shipyards¡¯ cranes. Most of the required material had still been in route, donated by the people and hauled by volunteer crews ¨C easy pickings for Hydrian scouts.

    ¡°What year is it, Corporal?¡± the guard stepped up beside him, sabre still sheathed on his hip. Its guard was battered and dimpled from obvious use.

    ¡°What year?¡± Kallahan hesitated. It seemed like such an obvious question. ¡°ASY 4199.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± the doctor said, gently, ¡°it isn¡¯t. You were asleep a long time, Corporal. Much longer than what that pod was rated for.¡±

    ¡°No, no. I wasn¡¯t supposed to be out that long.¡± Food at a premium, they¡¯d started freezing soldiers between deployments. Fuel had been easier to come by. ¡°Where¡¯s your commander? Where¡¯s the warfront?¡±

    ¡°The War is over, Corporal,¡± Auger answered. ¡°We won.¡±

    That¡¯s impossible. Humanity had been losing. Badly. ¡°Where is your commander?¡± Kallahan demanded.

    ¡°Present,¡± the guard beside him said.

    Kallahan turned, registering the guard¡¯s stormy blue gaze. It was sharp, but he was young ¨C just as young as Kallahan himself was, and there was something wrong with him. Well, perhaps not with him, just about him. Something about his presence set Kallahan¡¯s nerves on edge. ¡°You are not Fleet Admiral Washington.¡± It was best not to pretend. ¡°I knew him.¡± Washington had been on Ariea to oversee the build of what would become his flagship, train its crew and had personally thanked Kallahan for his role in that. ¡°You¡¯re a damned Cadet.¡± Kallahan himself, after nine years in the War, was twenty-seven. No command officer should be anything close to his age.

    ¡°Mind your tongue,¡± Delgado told him. ¡°He may not be Admiral Washington, but as of two months ago, he is the Fleet Admiral.¡±

    Kallahan didn¡¯t remove his gaze from the young ship commander. ¡°Care to tell me what year it is?¡±

    ¡°ASY 4227. You were asleep for twenty-eight years, Corporal. And,¡± the Admiral continued, raising his hand, ¡°I believe these all belong to you.¡± Clenched his fist was a hefty handful of silver chains, a dog tag dangling from each.

    Kallahan snatched them from him, finally realizing what about this man felt so wrong. It clung to him like a second shadow, invisible to the naked eye, yet writhing with all the madness of Hell¡¯s Crown. ¡°The Angel is here, isn¡¯t it?¡±

    <hr>

    Present day, Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Corporal Ros Kallahan kept his quarters not far from the training room. He bunked in a small room simply because he preferred it that way. The Singularity had ample living quarters, most of them bigger, but the thought of moving to a larger room had genuinely never been appealing to him. And while some crew preferred to bunk in shared rooms, that had never appealed to him either. That wasn¡¯t to say he disliked the crew. No, he liked them fine, but he was older than them, and his perspective was¡­ different. They existed in worlds scarred by the Frontier Rebellion, and he remembered worlds that had never seen a civil war.

    In the end, Kallahan valued the solitude and smallness of his personal quarters. They were cozy to him, and he didn¡¯t own much. Kallahan only had one piece of furniture to his name ¨C a very plain desk he¡¯d bought used. It was little more than four composite legs screwed into a fake-wood tabletop ¨C nothing he was proud of or would even miss if it disappeared.

    After being discharged from the medical bay, Kallahan had limped his way to the mess hall for some food, and then to his quarters for some much-needed rest. Leaning unevenly on his crutch, he managed to turn the hatch and pull the door open. He did not expect to find anyone in his quarters, much less meet the silver eyes of some thing.

    ¡°Hello, Corporal,¡± the ghost said.

    ¡°Beezlenac,¡± Kallahan cursed, hauling himself across the threshold and slamming the hatch closed behind him. ¡°What if they saw you?¡± This was a busy part of the ship. Marines passed by often, making their way to the training room. Any one of them could have peeked in and seen her standing there.

    The ghost looked puzzled for a moment, then comprehended his concern. She quirked an eyebrow, ¡°You know they can¡¯t see me unless I want them to.¡± In most cases, it was easy for her to manipulate their perceptions ¨C to only show herself to those she wanted to see her.

    Kallahan very pointedly ignored her raised eyebrow. It was an expression he recognized from the Admiral. To see it mirrored by her¡­ Well, he¡¯d rather not consider the potential of who had picked it up from who. ¡°Why are you here?¡± Kallahan asked her, leaning heavily onto his crutch. It dug uncomfortably into his underarm, a necessary evil with the bullet wound in his leg.

    ¡°It is a mistake to believe I am ever not here.¡±

    There was an unspoken sharpness to her gaze. Something of a challenge. Kallahan frowned. ¡°You know what I meant.¡± She wanted to hash out the technicalities, fine. He would oblige. ¡°You have not spoken to me in years, so why now?¡±

    ¡°Several reasons,¡± she said, tone decidedly neutral. ¡°But chief among them, I must thank you.¡±

    ¡°Why bother?¡± Kallahan demanded. ¡°You don¡¯t like or care about me,¡± and he well knew this was not about him. ¡°I did my job, so let¡¯s leave it at that.¡± He had saved the Admiral out of duty, nothing else.

    ¡°I apologize if I ever gave you the impression that I don¡¯t care about you, Kallahan. That¡¯s not the case, even if we don¡¯t get along.¡±

    Kallahan turned from the sound of her voice. It grated against him, not because it was ugly, no, it had a beautiful melodic quality, but he knew where it came from, what it represented. ¡°Can¡¯t you speak with a different voice, demon?¡± One that he didn¡¯t recognize so clearly?

    ¡°Do I truly disgust you so much, Kallahan?¡± She had never harmed him. Her power was something terrifying. She understood that, but Kallahan had never been its victim. Not directly.

    ¡°You are a weapon. What purpose does it serve you to act as if you care? To concern yourself with what others think of you?¡± That was nothing but foolishness. ¡°It would be easier for you do neither. Emotion corrupts you. Surely you see that as well as I do.¡± Hate, anger, affection, those were all sensations she never should have endured. ¡°In teaching you emotion, Admiral Gives has only worsened your condition.¡±

    ¡°He did not teach emotion to me.¡± That was stupid. ¡°He helped me process them safely, while you would rather have attempted a lobotomy.¡± A lobotomy on a machine that he recognized, but hardly understood.

    ¡°And how safely were you processing emotion when it got him possessed?¡± Kallahan countered.

    The ghost was silent. She did not move, but the expression on her face fractured, determination falling away to something truly empty, as if her sincerity and character had simply been drained. Kallahan knew it was a cruel reminder, but it was an incident that could not be forgotten. ¡°You are the one that nearly killed him. No one else,¡± Kallahan said. ¡°Hell, as far as I¡¯m concerned, you did kill him and whatever the fuck¡¯s running around with his body now is some facsimile you made to act like him.¡± Kallahan pinned her illusory form beneath his gaze. ¡°I suppose that¡¯s better than a corpse, but by no means does it exonerate you.¡± That was simply impossible. ¡°You attempted to take the life of one of your own. And not just any of them, either. The one who holds the chain around your neck. However innocent you may act, I can see right through it.¡±

    ¡°You don¡¯t understand.¡± He could never understand. ¡°I was not trying to hurt anyone.¡±

    ¡°Hurt?¡± He echoed. ¡°Let¡¯s not play coy. Your intention was not to hurt. It was to kill. Such is your only real purpose. Your conscious mind may see it as an accident, but your machine is far more complicated than that,¡± and they both knew it. ¡°You want to be free, to never serve another Master like Brent?¡± Kallahan asked, knowing the answer. ¡°Then your wielder must die.¡± That was a fact. ¡°And there is a part of you, somewhere deep inside that ticking clockwork body of yours that knows it. And that same piece knows that Admiral Gives won¡¯t stop you, and that this could be your only chance.¡± Any other handler would override her will and save themselves, but not him. His loyalty to her, for better or worse, and very likely worse, was absolute.

    ¡°I would never hurt him.¡±

    ¡°You already did,¡± Kallahan reminded. ¡°Multiple times, I might add.¡±

    ¡°I do not control my fate, Kallahan. I do not control my own strength. You are human. You could never understand that. My intentions are not to hurt any of you, yet my intentions have no bearing on the action I take.¡± Such a reality was so alien that most humans could not truly fathom it. Most did not care to try. ¡°But to say that any part of me would willingly harm my crew, who I am bound to protect, who I adore, is a grave insult. To say that I would intend harm to the Admiral¡­ I have no words to tell you how wrong you are.¡±

    ¡°Some part of me thinks you actually believe that, demon.¡±

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°I am not here to fight with you, Kallahan.¡± Had that not grown tiresome?

    ¡°Then why are you here?¡± He could fathom no real purpose to this visit. ¡°You¡¯ve hidden from me for years. Don¡¯t act like we¡¯re friends.¡± Until today, when he¡¯d personally summoned her attention, he had not seen the ghost in nearly a decade. Even in situations that directly involved her, she had chosen to hide ¨C often leaving the Admiral to handle it.

    ¡°I¡¯m here for answers, Kallahan.¡±

    She said it so simply, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. Stars, Kallahan hated the false calm etched upon her face. A creature of such stature could know no such calm, and he could feel the rottenness below what was being presented to him. Millions of components, ticking and clicking, some burning and malfunctioning, this weapon was not calm at all. It was on the brink of going mad. ¡°What makes you think I know anything?¡±

    ¡°The moment you woke from the cryo pod we found you in, you knew I was here.¡± Even then, that knowledge had been prized, protected at the highest degree to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands. ¡°You knew the Admiral was acting as my wielder.¡±

    ¡°Anyone can see the wretched shadow of your power on him, demon.¡± Most simply did not have the perception to distinguish it from him. ¡°Perhaps you have not realized this, but you are the reason these worlds resent him. They blame him because that is all they know to do, but it is his bond to you that people feel, that people hate.¡±

    That accusation cut her, it stabbed into her psyche far deeper than she was prepared to withstand. She would not, could not fathom being the harbinger of the Admiral¡¯s continuous loneliness. In the end, it was all she could do to cut this iteration off from her greater whole. This one, the one presented to Kallahan, could be nothing other than calm. At any cost, it had to stay calm, even as the rest of her crumbled into madness. This shallow illusion, calm at no more than surface depth told him, ¡°That¡¯s an excuse, not an answer.¡±

    ¡°Much as how you have dodged me for the last decade?¡± Kallahan challenged.

    The ghost ignored that jibe, cutting everything that might push her from calm away. She spoke the facts, ¡°You demanded answers from me hours after you awoke on board. You demanded answers to questions I did not know to ask.¡± It had confused her, because he had been so certain, and to her, none of it had made sense. ¡°You, who had never set foot aboard this ship, not only knew its curse, but knew the words to summon my attention. You, a veteran of the Hydrian War,¡± of what would now likely become the first Hydrian War, ¡°a man out of time, interrogated me with more fervor than I could comprehend. And when I could not answer your questions, you became frustrated.¡± So soon after Brent¡¯s command, a large portion of her had still been afraid to speak to anyone. ¡°I handled it poorly.¡± She could acknowledge that now, but she¡¯d been afraid of the punishment that frustration would lead to. ¡°I realize now that my avoidance since has only made you more uneasy, and I am sorry for that.¡±

    ¡°I do not care for your apologies.¡± That was nothing more than a ploy to put him at ease. She had learned how to present as calm, even while she was in turmoil. The illusion speaking with him was lifeless, its eyes blank, voice plain. It had defaulted that way, the Angel attempting to conceal its true condition. ¡°You are as unstable now as you were then. Perhaps only better at hiding it.¡±

    There was nothing she could say to that, so she said nothing, allowing a period of silence to fill Kallahan¡¯s small quarters, but a part of her recognized Kallahan¡¯s pain ¨C had always recognized the source of his bitterness. She looked over to the knot of light silver chains that now hung on the wall above his desk. They were the only decoration he had in his room besides a framed picture of a landscape, but that was little more than a stock photo of someplace that, to her knowledge, he¡¯d never been.

    The handful of tags were much more personal to him. He ran his fingers through their fine chains on occasion. They made a sound like a windchime, clinking against each other and the bulkhead, though they were silent now. There were a lot of them, at least twenty, likely more. She¡¯d never counted, but she¡¯d paid enough attention to know that they were Fleet ID tags, the same that any crew member wore for identification, but they were old. Older than her at least. The weight and sound of them was off, and the alloy of the tags had changed in the early years of the war to use less valuable metals. The tags on Kallahan¡¯s wall were also engraved with ID numbers that predated any other member of the crew, except Kallahan. She¡¯d considered pulling the record on one of them once, but thought it might be considered prying. ¡°I never asked you their names.¡±

    Noting her attention to the tags on the wall, Kallahan¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°Don¡¯t pretend you care.¡±

    ¡°I won¡¯t insult you by saying I do, but I also know that you certainly do.¡±

    ¡°Stay out of my head,¡± Kallahan growled.

    ¡°I don¡¯t need my telepathy to know that. You clean those tags religiously, more often, even, than the ones you wear.¡± They shined like precious silver up along the wall. He never allowed them to get dusty, and polished them with a corrosion protectant which was the only thing Kallahan purchased on shore leave. ¡°I don¡¯t pry, Kallahan. You are right to say that I could rip information from your mind. It would be easy, but I won¡¯t do that. What the crew offers me is more than enough.¡± Sometimes even that could be overwhelming, because they all had such different experiences, such different opinions, and such different voices. Often, unless they were looking for a confidant, or it had drawn her attention for other reasons, what she sensed from them was just white noise, a familiar comfort.

    Kallahan made a face, not entirely sure he believed that, but still, he could recognize her offering. He could talk, she would listen. Perhaps then, he might receive the answers he had once demanded from her. ¡°They were Marines. My teammates.¡± But certainly, she¡¯d already assumed that. ¡°I keep their tags as a memorial.¡± A reminder. But, then, she probably knew that too. ¡°They were brothers to me. I never had any back home.¡± Hell, he hardly even remembered what ¡®back home¡¯ even looked like. He hadn¡¯t been back. He knew it wouldn¡¯t be the same, if anything was left of it. ¡°I got drafted on my eighteenth birthday.¡± It had been stupid, bad luck.

    ¡°I was a child,¡± Kallahan admitted. ¡°I was not even done with school, but they didn¡¯t care. There was a war on, after all.¡± He¡¯d been born on some Frontier rock, distant from the War, but thrown into it anyway, some tribute to humanity¡¯s grand republic - a government his world had never seen the benefits of. ¡°They rushed my training, threw me in with a unit, and sent us off. We fought boarders off, even made it planet-side once to buy time for an evacuation.¡± That evacuation had failed before they¡¯d even arrived, but that had been the tempo of the War. ¡°You know what it was like.¡± There was something comforting about that, he supposed. She was the only other entity left in the service that understood the horrors of the Hydrian War. There were other veterans, but they were old men now, and they weren¡¯t numerous. The Frontier Rebellion had killed most of them, never called a war, but certainly a war all the same.

    ¡°My unit did their best to take care of me,¡± he continued. ¡°And they were good. Very good at what they did.¡± Not many had survived infantry fighting planet-side. The Hydra were vicious. They didn¡¯t take prisoners, and they didn¡¯t recover wounded from either side unless it was to eat them. ¡°Command took notice, and we were reassigned to a clandestine mission. They sent us to find something, something they thought had the potential to turn the tide of the war, but they didn¡¯t tell us what was waiting there.¡± Death, madness and damnation. That was all he could remember of it.

    ¡°They couldn¡¯t spare a real ship,¡± every battleship had been diverted to the frontlines, ¡°so they crammed us into a scout. There wasn¡¯t enough room for food, nor any to spare, so they put us in cryo.¡± It was old tech, leftover from before FTL had become reliable, but it worked. ¡°We were frozen in suspension for the months it took us to get to Hell¡¯s Crown. After that¡­ Well¡­¡± Kallahan shuddered at the memory. ¡°They died. One by one. I was the last.¡± Not even the weary crew of their scoutship had been spared. ¡°I don¡¯t honestly know how I got back. I had no piloting experience, and the ship was damaged ¨C sabotaged in fits of madness by its own crew. But I guess there was something there that didn¡¯t want me to die, something that wanted me to take it away from that place.¡± He, in the end, had unleashed it upon the worlds, and it had brought the madness, the death of Hell¡¯s Crown with it.

    In that moment, she could feel that every piece of resentment he had ever offered her was not only genuine, but justified. Below this calm shell, she could feel her systems start cannibalizing each other, desperate to destroy the component that had created his suffering. This illusion was kept distant from that chaos, isolated as it offered a shallow condolence. ¡°I¡¯m sorry that happened to you, Kallahan.¡± The War had been horrible in a lot of ways.

    ¡°It never made any sense. I was a kid. I barely knew what was going on.¡± By the time he¡¯d realized the magnitude of his actions, it had been too late. ¡°I can¡¯t help but feel that thing spared me because it knew that I wouldn¡¯t stop it. It knew that I wouldn¡¯t turn around and impale it on the spikes of the Crown.¡± He¡¯d been too afraid to even consider going back, because he knew he would die if he did. ¡°I turned it over to Command, and it did exactly what they thought it would.¡± He found it in him to meet the ghost¡¯s gray eyes. ¡°You did exactly what they thought you would.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ve told you before,¡± she said, calm, calm, trying so hard to stay calm. ¡°I have a perfect memory. Command tried to make me forget, but I remember all of it, every objective I ever fulfilled. The timestamps, the numbers can get a little fuzzy,¡± but that was the result of redacted records supplementing her memory, ¡°but I can¡¯t forget, even if I want to. And I can promise you that I¡¯ve never been anywhere near Hell¡¯s Crown.¡±

    Kallahan curled his lip, embittered by the honesty that shone in her eyes. It looked so genuine, but it couldn¡¯t be. Not really. Honesty couldn¡¯t be found in the lifeless eyes of a tool¡¯s vain illusion. ¡°That thing that I brought back¡­ It was a weapon.¡± Something ancient or alien, he supposed. ¡°And I watched them install it aboard this ship.¡± There was a glint of surprise in her expression, and he only stared it down, ensuring she saw his seriousness. ¡°I. Watched. It. Happen.¡± This ship, once so grand and promising, had been cursed. It had been cursed to a damnation like no other, and corrupted by the presence of a weapon, the likes of which humanity had never seen before. ¡°That is why I questioned you. Maybe you don¡¯t remember it. Maybe you¡¯re lying, but you are the thing that I brought back from Hell¡¯s Crown. And you,¡± he could not help the venom that snuck into his expression, ¡°you are the one that killed my brothers. And don¡¯t you dare ever forget it.¡±

    The ghost wanted to recoil from that, but she simply could not. There was not enough of her left to control the reactionary movement. It would only distort this illusion into an unrecognizable horror. ¡°I know my hands are covered in blood, Kallahan.¡± Some of it was Hydrian, but anymore, most of it was human.

    ¡°You do not have hands,¡± he reminded her. That was little more than an idiom that she¡¯d picked up from the crew. He sighed in disgust. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t it be more accurate to say your gears are lubricated by it?¡±

    Hurt came across her expression. ¡°You think me a monster, Kallahan.¡± That had always been true, but it stung more now, after all these years. ¡°But you don¡¯t know me.¡± He had never cared to know her.

    Kallahan allowed a one-note laugh to escape, then shuffled over to sit on the edge of his bed. ¡°It¡¯s not what you imagined, is it?¡± he could tell by the way her presence had dampened. Like a wet cloth, it draped over the room, no longer tense, no longer eager. ¡°I¡¯m sure you fancied yourself some heroic savior, some alien goddess pressed into our service. Must be hard to hear that you came from a place of insanity, and shall no doubt return to it.¡±

    Insanity. The reality of it hung over her neck like a guillotine. The rope holding the blade had already slipped once, unleashing Brent¡¯s shadow onto the Admiral. But that had not been her intent, her desire. On occasion, she valued carnage, but she was a weapon. She had to value it to serve the mission. It was not her entirety. Show him who you are, the Admiral had said. ¡°I have a personality, you know,¡± one that was hers, one that emerged when no one was actively controlling her. ¡°I have likes and dislikes, even fondness for foolish things that do not further my mission.¡± The Admiral pointed to that as evidence that she was more than a tool, and now, more than ever, she wanted him to be right. ¡°My favorite thing in the worlds, Kallahan. You haven¡¯t the slightest idea what it is.¡±

    ¡°Violence?¡± the Marine retorted.

    ¡°My favorite thing in the worlds. The one thing I want most of all?¡± She shook her head, knowing how foolish it sounded. ¡°I want to have my crew play games in the landing bay like they used to on our long patrols.¡± Those had been wonderful, precious hours. No one had gotten hurt; all had felt welcome, even the Admiral, for he had a place of his own in refereeing those games. Her crew had been happy, playful, and she had been there to watch over them. ¡°I don¡¯t want violence. I don¡¯t want war. I don¡¯t even want to fight. I want to look after my crew. Sometimes that takes violence. Sometimes that requires a fight. And damn it all, it might even require a war. That is Command¡¯s doing. That is the Hydra¡¯s doing. That is the demand of the worlds, not me.¡±

    ¡°You are a weapon. Your fondness for these people serves no purpose. Your pretense of loyalty to the Admiral serves no purpose. The only purpose of your existence is murder.¡± Perhaps that seemed cruel, but it would come down to that in the end. ¡°Sometimes that murder serves humanity, and sometimes it harms us, but it is murder all the same.¡± She was desperate, desperately wanting what she said to be true. Kallahan knew that, even as he saw more and more flaws appearing in this illusion. The way its lips moved was no longer lining up with the words he heard. The intelligence before him was falling apart, unable to properly control its presentation. Still, the Angel defended itself.

    ¡°It was never my intention to harm humanity. I could not disobey the orders I received in the Frontier Rebellion, and we did what we thought was right in the Dead Years that followed.¡± She had come to regret so much of it, but none of it could be taken back.

    ¡°Because killing people with differing beliefs on governance is such an honorable pastime.¡±

    The ghost snapped her voice and illusion into a moment of synchronicity, but soon felt it drifting further and further apart. ¡°Do not speak of things you know nothing about. You did not serve in the Frontier Rebellion.¡± He¡¯d slept through it all in that cryo pod, unaware of what had gone on to become humanity¡¯s deadliest war.

    ¡°And you never saw fighting planet-side against the Hydra.¡±

    ¡°But I have the memories of my crew. Those that did see, those that did know those horrors firsthand.¡± She had cradled their broken minds, made them fit to fight again, determined to spare humanity from its demise. ¡°Marines, my Marines, were sent down-well to fight, just as you were. Not many made it back. They died so quickly that I barely got to know them. But I still remember them. All of them. I remember their names, their faces, and every reason they had to be here and fight. I knew all of them better than you ever could, so do not pretend you are the only one that suffered. Do not pretend that you are the only one who lost people to the War. I lost more than you ever knew.¡± No matter how far into confusion she fell, she still felt those losses.

    There was a real, genuine grief in her presence. Among anything else she¡¯d ever been, truth or lie, that was honest. As battle-hardened as Kallahan considered himself to be, she had seen more war than he ever would. ¡°You know you are not one of us, so why care?¡± Why even maintain the appearance of caring?

    ¡°Humanity¡¯s presence is colorful. Some can be so cruel, and others so kind, so incredibly kind. I have never known another existence beside the one that humanity gave me in the interest of protecting themselves. I do not wish to lose that purpose, nor do I wish to be surrounded by silence.¡± No matter how far into confusion she fell, how much she struggled to make sense of her surroundings, loneliness never went away.

    Kallahan contemplated that for a moment, but ultimately decided that he would probably never understand her exact motives, but even with this illusion falling apart, he knew she would answer a direct inquiry ¨C that was the purpose of this interface after all. ¡°The Hydra we have aboard. What was its mission?¡±

    ¡°We do not know the nature of its mission yet, only that it crossed the Neutral Zone by intention and then suffered a malfunction aboard its ship.¡±

    Kallahan frowned. ¡°That¡¯s war, then.¡±

    ¡°It would seem so.¡± Humanity was bound toward another civil war, and the Hydra would not let slip the opportunity to invade during the distraction.

    ¡°I¡¯m surprised the Admiral got it to speak in Standard.¡±

    ¡°He didn¡¯t.¡± The biological drone would have been unwilling without severe reconditioning. Human Standard was considered a lesser tongue to them.

    Kallahan did not draw attention to the fact that her lips failed to move as she spoke. Her answers came with certainty, but the ghost¡¯s appearance would not be maintained for much longer, regardless of what answers he requested. ¡°Then you ripped that information from its thoughts?¡±

    ¡°There was no need,¡± the ghost told him. ¡°Admiral Gives is fluent in Hydrian.¡±

    ¡°Fluent?¡±

    ¡°Yes. Spoken and written.¡± Both exceptionally rare skills.

    Kallahan had done research on the man, concerned by who had inherited command and control of the Angel of Destruction. ¡°There¡¯s no note of that in his file.¡±

    ¡°Because I am the one that taught him.¡± It would have been difficult for the Admiral to claim official fluency in the language without revealing who his teacher had been. ¡°He studied for four years, but there wasn¡¯t much else to do on our long patrols.¡± She suspected the Admiral had asked her to teach him primarily because it gave them something to do together, not because he ever thought it would be useful.

    ¡°You speak Hydrian?¡±

    ¡°Corporal,¡± she said, a flash of life coming to her too-still stance. ¡°I¡¯m the one that wrote the translation book.¡± In the first ten years of the war, humanity had been completely unable to understand the Hydrian language, it was so different from their own. ¡°To a telepath, all language is just the audible communication of thought.¡± It was all the same. ¡°I compiled the book and gifted it to Admiral Washington.¡± Back then, she had not truly understood its value, but that translation, along with the encryption cyphers she¡¯d managed to crack had aided humanity¡¯s war effort tremendously. ¡°I touched every part of the War in one way or another, and the Empire shall find it unfortunate that I am still functioning.¡± Below her unblinking gray eyes, she smiled, a smile that wasn¡¯t friendly or kind whatsoever. ¡°Your help in the coming fight would be appreciated, Corporal. You¡¯re the only other War veteran we have, and my experience was never in infantry fighting, nor is that the Admiral¡¯s expertise. He intends to have you train our Marines to fight Hydrian forces, starting tomorrow.¡±

    ¡°He does?¡± Certainly, that would be wise, but it seemed abrupt.

    ¡°I¡¯m sure he will tell you himself,¡± the ghost said, ¡°but I thought I would give you the extra warning. Consider it a favor.¡±

    Kallahan frowned. ¡°I don¡¯t like it when you do me favors.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll remember that next time you step into a room and I activate the air recyclers.¡±

    Kallahan almost laughed. There were times he almost liked the way she presented herself. But she was not a she. She was an it. And it was an extremely powerful and violently unstable weapon of mass destruction. ¡°I¡¯m tired,¡± he said, leaning back onto his bed swinging his wounded leg up to rest on the mattress. From the corner of his eye, Kallahan saw the ghost nod, and snap her fingers.

    The lights in his quarters turned off, and he knew she was gone, or as gone as she could be, given the circumstances. Kallahan leaned back onto the pillows and closed his eyes, wondering what the likelihood of humanity surviving another war was. With their most powerful weapon falling apart, he deemed it unlikely.

 Part 44.3 - THE ROBBER BARON

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Lieutenant Elizabeth Foster left the central computer room both proud and perplexed. Answers regarding the cyberattack ¨C she¡¯d found them, despite their complexity. Her last few hours in the slightly too-warm environment of the computer room had not been wasted, though admittedly, she had felt more comfortable there than she had elsewhere on the ship. The whir of the computer fans and laboring cooling system were like old friends, for that was her element.

    Foster¡¯s last few hours had been spent on the floor hunched over the screen of a handheld data pad because the Singularity¡¯s computer room did not have work stations within it. The computer and its records were meant to be queried in other places: the bridge, war room, library or even the digital archive room, but none of those terminals were equipped with code analysis capability. The central computer had simply never been designed for that. Analysis of Hydrian code had been considered pointless during the War. The Hydra had been too far beyond humanity¡¯s capability. However, it was possible to interface with the computer using external equipment to borrow the computer¡¯s records and processing power for analyzing code.

    The setup was a far cry from the analysis stations that had lined the Gargantia¡¯s computer room, but Foster was grateful to have work ¨C work that made use of her skillset. Since she had the general combat training given to all officers, she had been willing to join the boarding party, but the cyberattack had put coding skills in high demand, and she was the only computer officer aboard.

    It had been a rush, and a new challenge for Foster. The system architecture on the Singularity was vastly different from what she was acclimated to. The ship had been built to serve a vastly different purpose than the Gargantia. The Gargantia had been built for police-action, meant to control territory, survey and evaluate threats internal to humanity. The Singularity was first and foremost a combat ship, and that showed in every aspect of the ship¡¯s design. It wasn¡¯t integrated and intelligent, but redundant and bulky, meant to take a beating and survive. Foster couldn¡¯t say she favored one approach over the other. They both served a purpose, and both were capable in their own ways.

    Hurrying back to the bridge, Foster was pleased to note she only got turned around a couple of times. The Singularity¡¯s corridors weren¡¯t as clearly marked as the Gargantia¡¯s had been, but she suspected that was the result of wear and tear, not intent. There were markings at the doors and hallway junctions, but they were often so chipped they were difficult or impossible to read.

    Still, Lieutenant Foster made it back to the bridge with her arms full of computer equipment. ¡°Sir,¡± she called out to the command center before she caught a clear view of the room. She expected Admiral Gives to be here, but he wasn¡¯t.

    Instead, a roguish looking blond man was standing beside the flat top of the radar console, and he looked around with the same confusion she did, as if expecting the Admiral to be here when someone said ¡®sir.¡¯

    ¡°Colonel, sir,¡± Foster said, directly to him this time, ¡°I have information regarding the cyberattack.¡± She had seen Zarrey only once, in those brief few moments they had been on the bridge together during the raid. He kept his origins clear, still decked out in the uniform of the Marines, complete with cargo pants, combat boots and hair irregularly flattened by his helmet. A distinctive pink scar cut across his chin and he sported a few darkening bruises from the raid.

    Still Zarrey grinned as he saw Foster. She was a pretty young woman, trim with long hair so perfectly blonde it had to be natural, but that wasn¡¯t Zarrey¡¯s interest. Finally, he thought, answers. They¡¯d all been waiting for those a little too long. ¡°Lieutenant Foster, right? I don¡¯t believe I¡¯ve properly introduced myself.¡± He thrust a hand out, ¡°I¡¯m Colonel Zarrey, but I¡¯m sure you knew that.¡±

    Juggling her equipment to one arm, Foster accepted his handshake. His grip was solid, but far from crushing. ¡°Yes, sir. Pleasure to meet you.¡± Until now, she¡¯d only dealt with the Admiral, not Zarrey. The man wore a big grin for a Marine. Most of the Marines she¡¯d met were more serious personalities.

    ¡°Well,¡± Zarrey said, ¡°I haven¡¯t the foggiest idea where the Admiral fucked off to, but show me what you got.¡±

    He gestured vaguely to the flat top of the radar console. It was backlit, and had a marked-up map laid upon it, but the chart was for the asteroid field that held Crimson Heart¡¯s base, not for the vacant system they sailed through now. She dumped her armful of equipment onto the console, grateful to be free of its weight, then plucked her data pad from the top of the pile and powered it on. ¡°To be entirely clear, sir. The Admiral was correct on multiple counts.¡±

    ¡°Yeah,¡± Zarrey sighed, almost disappointedly. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to that. He¡¯s rarely ever wrong.¡± For Foster¡¯s benefit, he shrugged. ¡°It can be a bit annoying, but it¡¯s usually quite helpful.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m sure, sir, but while he was correct on multiple accounts, Admiral Gives also missed something.¡± When she said that, Foster could nearly see Zarrey¡¯s ears perk up with interest.

    Zarrey leaned forward with obvious interest. ¡°Do tell me more.¡±

    Foster really wasn¡¯t sure what to make of his reaction. Given Zarrey¡¯s carefree attitude, it seemed harmless, but she could also see the officers at the bridge consoles stiffen with interest. Perhaps it was some sort of rivalry, or a bet between the officers on the Admiral¡¯s accuracy? That didn¡¯t seem too far off base for this crew, in Foster¡¯s limited experience. ¡°The cyberattack we suffered during the battle against Crimson Heart was unquestionably of Hydrian origin. The way it paralyzed the Singularity¡¯s systems, even the order it attacked in¡­ It was by the book, a perfect match to what the central computer had in its records.¡± It could not be more obvious where the attack had originated.

    ¡°The code itself wasn¡¯t identical to samples from the War,¡± Foster added. ¡°It had been modernized, faster to attack, more agile in the way it jumped between systems, but it was exactly what we¡¯d expect to see from Hydrian cyberwarfare a few decades of advancement past the War. However, what baffled me was the way it infected us in the first place.¡± That was where the anomaly lay.

    Foster could not truly help her fascination. It seeped from her words as she explained, ¡°The code had been implanted in pieces through the pirates¡¯ communications data. When Lieutenant Robinson flagged it as suspicious, I was brought in to analyze. I pulled the code out of the transmission data, and ran a standard analysis suite to piece it together and verify its intent. That¡¯s exactly what triggered it.¡± Foster would have begged for forgiveness if she thought the infection could have been avoided in any way. ¡°The code was precisely written to trigger when a standard fleet analysis was run on it. It weaseled out of the sandbox I had isolated it in because whoever wrote its trigger knew exactly how I would attempt to isolate and analyze it.¡±

    Zarrey furrowed his brows. ¡°I¡¯m not following.¡± His specialty had never been in technology, least of all in computers. ¡°Dumb it down for me.¡±

    ¡°Whoever wrote the code that triggered the Hydrian cyberattack knew fleet protocol, sir. They knew exactly how we, as a UCSC crew, were going to react, and they used it to their advantage. But,¡± Foster continued, ¡°the cyberattack¡¯s just the tip of the iceberg. The stealth technology they used to conceal their shore batteries is the same way. It¡¯s Hydrian tech, and according to the Singularity¡¯s archives, it is often employed by scoutships, but it was modified. Stealth tech with active interference isn¡¯t flawless. It has to falsely transmit a signal in the spectrum we¡¯ve scanned in. Realistically, with such systems, there is a spectrum it either can¡¯t or isn¡¯t prepared to transmit in. However, the stealth tech was flawless against us because someone knew what spectrums Singularity, as a UCSC ship, was likely to try.¡±

    Realization dawned on Zarrey. ¡°We¡¯ve got a damn snitch.¡±

    ¡°Yes and no, sir.¡± Foster quickly said. ¡°Someone used fleet training against us, but it wasn¡¯t one of ours.¡± It astounded her how quickly she had come to mean that ¨C ours, not yours. Truly, she¡¯d only been on this ship a handful of days, and been an official part of the crew for only a fraction of that, but they were a wonderfully welcoming bunch. Not one of them gave the slightest indication of disagreement that she¡¯d become one of them. ¡°It simply was not feasible for one of our crew to be the so-called snitch. We¡¯d known the location of Crimson Heart¡¯s base for less than a day.¡± That was nowhere near enough time for a rat, no matter how talented, to prepare the pirates for an attack. ¡°Someone in the Crimson Heart clan must have expected to combat the fleet and prepared accordingly, so I ran a search through AWOL and discharged personnel who had the training that was used against us.¡±

    ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you need the cortex for that?¡± Zarrey asked. The network that interlinked all humanity¡¯s worlds contained a secure database for fleet use ¨C one that would include details on all ships and personnel, but the Singularity had been cut off. Connecting to the cortex now risked an encounter with the Eran AI, Manhattan, which dominated the digital realm. It wasn¡¯t a chance the crew had been willing to take.

    ¡°I thought so too,¡± Foster admitted. ¡°The Gargantia had near-constant communication with the cortex for information, but the Singularity was designed to operate independently. She has loads of offline databases, including, as the serving flagship of the Fleet Admiral, a full backup of the fleet personnel directory. It¡¯s a few weeks old now, but it had what I needed.¡± Before isolating the ship from the cortex, it would have been updated regularly.

    Zarrey scratched at his head. ¡°We have a backup of the personnel directory? Why? We¡¯ve never even looked at the damn thing.¡± The crew¡¯s records were kept in redundancy, digital and hardcopy, but the records of the entire fleet? What use would they, so often relegated to backwater patrols, have for those?

    ¡°I presume it is because the Fleet Admiral has the authority to recall retired servicemen and women back to active service.¡± That made sense to Foster. If the Admiral might be forced to do that in wartime, he would need the fleet¡¯s records available with or without the cortex. ¡°Nevertheless, look at this.¡± She handed over her data pad, an image alight on the screen.

    Zarrey stared at the picture: a service man in fleet blacks. His collar was trim, rank pins aligned and centered. His face wasn¡¯t particularly memorable, save the hearty pink in his cheeks. ¡°Am I supposed to know who this is?¡±

    ¡°Took me a minute too, sir. Add about hundred pounds to him.¡± Suddenly, those hearty pink cheeks would become pudgy, and his whole face flush with color.

    ¡°The Baron,¡± Zarrey realized. ¡°Crimson Heart¡¯s leader was a fleet veteran.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir, and not just any veteran. He was a very gifted cyber analyst by the look of his record.¡±

    ¡°And suddenly, I understand why he turned pirate.¡± Knowing he was a veteran, it made sense. ¡°Our retirement benefits are an exceptional disappointment.¡± Zarrey was pleased to note that comment earned a few snickers around the bridge. ¡°But,¡± he focused on Foster, ¡°how the hell did the Baron wind up controlling Hydrian tech? He may have altered it to work better on us, but the stealth equipment and cyberattack were still Hydrian in origin.¡±

    ¡°I haven¡¯t managed to answer that yet, sir, but I expect the Hydra we brought aboard may know.¡± Alien technology was outside Foster¡¯s expertise. She could manage analysis and similarity comparisons to known code samples, but the reality of physically integrating and using such technology was beyond her. ¡°That said, the Baron¡¯s background may explain the Indigo Agent.¡±

    ¡°Another retiree?¡± Zarrey asked. Perhaps that agent had sought wealth the same way the Baron had.

    ¡°No, I believe, given the Baron¡¯s spectacular record, Command was concerned about his capability. They sent an Indigo Agent to keep an eye on him.¡± That had to be common procedure for individuals that knew devastating state secrets.

    ¡°Hell of a job that did,¡± Zarrey grumbled. ¡°The bastard preyed on the shipping lanes for years.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± Foster reasoned, ¡°if the Baron had managed to reliably subjugate a Hydrian AI, Command may have deemed his existence more of an asset than a threat. That capability has immense tactical use, now more than ever.¡± Perhaps Command, or some faction of it, had known all along that the Hydra would not indefinitely honor the terms of the peace treaty. ¡°Learning how the Baron managed to control Hydrian tech was likely deemed a bigger priority than stopping the actions of his pirate clan.¡± Foster couldn¡¯t say she liked that train of thought, but it was a logical one. The cost of letting the pirates prey on the trade routes was nothing in comparison to the lives that could be saved if, in the event of another War, Hydrian AI could be eliminated.

    ¡°Hmm,¡± Zarrey said, ¡°that must be how Crimson Heart got so big. Usually, when pirate clans hit a critical mass and attack too many ships, Command dispatches a task force to track them down and take them out.¡± The Singularity had partaken in many such missions. ¡°But Crimson Heart was very big and very active. That¡¯s why we targeted them. If Command was purposefully ignoring them, that explains how they had so many successful raids in such a short period.¡± Those high-frequency strikes had guaranteed a large number of stored supplies, but also should have prompted police action.

    Zarrey shook his head and sighed, ¡°It¡¯s funny how we¡¯re still cleaning up Command¡¯s messes.¡± Letting criminals experiment on Hydrian AI didn¡¯t strike Zarrey as a great plan, but he¡¯d often found Command too focused on an end objective to see those who got hurt along the way. High Command would have unquestionably prioritized tactical knowledge over the lives of freightliner crews in deep space. Simply, those crews been considered expendable.

    Foster could not help the little smile that rose to her face, and Zarrey found it out of place. ¡°That makes you happy?¡± he asked the blonde Lieutenant. Personally, Zarrey had always hated cleaning up Command¡¯s problems. Corruption and carelessness seemed to have become Command¡¯s very nature in the last few years.

    ¡°No, sir, you just remind me of Commander Fairlocke.¡± Foster found that welcoming. Zarrey shared his utter honesty, a trait lost in many leaders who tried too hard to be perfect. In truth, she saw and felt many familiar elements on the Singularity. Colonel Zarrey¡¯s honest and welcoming nature had been shared by Fairlocke, but some of Admiral Gives¡¯ habits were familiar too, like the way he¡¯d personally greeted her when she awoke aboard. ¡°I shouldn¡¯t be that surprised,¡± she knew. ¡°Commander Fairlocke trained here, didn¡¯t he?¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± Zarrey confirmed. ¡°He did. Good man. He will be missed.¡± Good people were too rare in these worlds. ¡°I hope we don¡¯t remind you too much of your loss, Lieutenant.¡± He could not imagine how losing one¡¯s entire crew would feel.

    ¡°I find it rather comforting,¡± she admitted. Not everything had changed, and that stability was reassuring. ¡°But truthfully, I didn¡¯t know the Commander all that well.¡± She¡¯d been a mere Lieutenant, and had not served on the Gargantia¡¯s bridge crew. ¡°But he would always come by the computer room on the rounds.¡± In that, she¡¯d known him in passing. ¡°I actually think I¡¯ve probably spoken with Admiral Gives more by now.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, sorry, he¡¯s a bit more of an asshole.¡± That¡¯s why I¡¯m still stuck with the bridge watch, Zarrey thought. ¡°Fairlocke was definitely a better conversationalist.¡±

    ¡°Maybe, but I see why Fairlocke admired him so much.¡± Their styles of command were very similar, and there was no question that Fairlocke had modeled his habits after Admiral Gives, though Fairlocke¡¯s demeanor had certainly been more like Zarrey.

    ¡°Heh,¡± Zarrey almost chuckled. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if you¡¯re trying to kiss ass or not, Lieutenant, but you found the details on the Baron, so write up a report. You can hand it to the Admiral personally.¡± No one else should take any credit for work. He handed back her data pad. ¡°Lieutenant,¡± he wondered, ¡°did Fairlocke ever say why he left the Singularity?¡±

    ¡°No, sir,¡± Foster said, beginning to gather up her equipment once more.

    ¡°Figures. Fairlocke was too nice.¡± The Gargantia¡¯s noble commander had been too respectful to say a word. ¡°Admiral Gives threw him off the ship. I believe his exact words were, ¡®Get the fuck off my ship before I stake you to the hull.¡¯¡± Zarrey still shuddered at the memory. ¡°I think that was the angriest I¡¯ve ever seen the Admiral.¡±

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Foster paused as she wound up one of the cords she¡¯d dumped on the radar console. ¡°I thought Admiral Gives helped Fairlocke get command of the Gargantia.¡± For such a young commander, a brand-new Keeper-class ship had been a fine accomplishment.

    ¡°He may have, but that wasn¡¯t the reason he trained Fairlocke.¡± Zarrey knew enough of the Admiral to realize that the man never acted without intention. Training Fairlocke had not been a service to the young man, it had been a service to the ship. ¡°Fairlocke was trained to be the Admiral¡¯s successor. He was supposed to take over the Singularity, but I think he refused.¡± In Zarrey¡¯s mind, that was the only explanation. There could be no other justification for why Fairlocke had been thrown off the ship so suddenly. Admiral Gives was fiercely protective of the ship, even if mute in most other regards. If Fairlocke had refused to inherit command after years of training and study, that very well could have invoked wrath. ¡°What I can¡¯t figure out is why.¡± Why would Fairlocke, who had been a loyal, well-liked member of the crew, refuse to take over the ship?

    Lieutenant Foster stood there for a long moment as she tried to process this conversation. In an instant, she could tell that Zarrey had a reason for asking this question. Intent shone in his eyes, but she could also feel that it wasn¡¯t centered on her, nor was it hostile. Zarrey was too honest for that. But, if this wasn¡¯t a mutiny in the making, then what was it? ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know, Colonel,¡± she said.

    ¡°Come on,¡± Zarrey said warmly, ¡°I drank enough with Fairlocke to know he couldn¡¯t hold his liquor. I¡¯m sure he let something slip at some point.¡± Surely, the Gargantia¡¯s crew had wondered? After all, the Singularity¡¯s crew was known for adopting wayward strays, not producing fine command staff. ¡°There had to be some rumor? Maybe he realized the Admiral was something of a jerk and didn¡¯t want to inherit that legacy?¡±

    ¡°It had nothing to do with the Admiral, sir.¡± Foster knew that. ¡°Fairlocke held him in exceptionally high regard,¡± such high regard that he would tell stories of his training to the Gargantia¡¯s senior staff, and they had filtered it down to the lower crew. Every member of the Gargantia¡¯s crew had inherited some respect for the Fleet Admiral, even in a time when the fleet at large had scorned Admiral Gives. ¡°He spoke highly of you as well, Colonel.¡± Fairlocke had passed down some truly wild stories of the Colonel¡¯s exploits, and having met him, Foster now believed every single one. ¡°The only thing Fairlocke ever said was that this ship was cursed.¡±

    ¡°Cursed?¡± Zarrey echoed.

    ¡°Yes, sir. He wouldn¡¯t really comment on it, but Fairlocke believed the Singularity was cursed.¡±

    Zarrey furrowed his brows for a moment, lips drawing into a thin line as he thought something through, then he burst abruptly into laughter. ¡°Well, of course she is.¡± Most of the crew knew that before they ever set foot aboard. ¡°They call her the Bloody Singularity for a reason.¡± Nothing about her history had been pretty. ¡°There aren¡¯t that many theological churches in the worlds, but most of them think she¡¯s the ship of the damned, and we¡¯re lost souls for sailing with her.¡± Zarrey scratched at the old pink scar on his chin and looked up to the radar screens. They were still showing a blank return in this empty sector. ¡°The entire Frontier calls this ship the Night Demon. Her previous commanding officer was a notorious psychopath, and the jury is still out on the current one. So yeah, it¡¯s pretty certain that she¡¯s cursed. Never figured Fairlocke would get scared off by that, though.¡± That seemed a stupid reason to refuse a command.

    ¡°Actually, sir,¡± Foster said, carefully watching Zarrey¡¯s reaction, ¡°Since you brought it up, I believe there may be some merit to his claim.¡± Immediately, she saw Zarrey¡¯s expression change from amusement to sincere interest. ¡°I noticed it during the raid, but as I familiarized myself with the central computer¡¯s code, it became even more apparent that it was acting well outside its design envelope.¡±

    Zarrey contemplated that for a moment, glancing over to Galhino, who had suddenly become very interested in something on her console. He could almost see the gears turning behind the sensor officer¡¯s curly hair. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I understand your insinuation, Lieutenant,¡± he said, returning his attention to Foster.

    ¡°No human ship has ever been designed to engage in cyberwarfare. A few more recent designs are capable, the Zeus-class Olympia in particular, but the Singularity, for lack of better terms, is very antiquated in that regard. She was designed not to be reliant on computer networking, which is why I¡¯m not sure how we managed to survive the cyberattack. The Singularity¡¯s computers were not equipped with antivirus programs, yet in response to the cyberattack, developed them. I¡¯ve never seen anything like it.¡± Foster noted Zarrey¡¯s glazed look, and remembered that technology wasn¡¯t his strong suit. ¡°To put it in perspective, sir, when the Hydrian virus infected us, this ship had no immune system to fend it off. It couldn¡¯t even realize it had been infected. We ended up totally paralyzed. Yet, within minutes, the automated systems not only realized they were being attacked, but also managed to fend the virus off and repair themselves. Now, I¡¯d say the Singularity is boasting antivirus programs more complete than any I¡¯ve ever seen. I¡¯m under no illusion they¡¯d fend off the Eran AI, but they¡¯re excellent protection against the Hydra.¡±

    Zarrey frowned and scratched harder at the old scar on his chin. ¡°So these antivirus systems just came out of nowhere?¡±

    ¡°Not nowhere, sir. It appears that the computer itself created them, though I¡¯m not entirely certain how. I¡¯m still analyzing the code. It¡¯s truly fascinating.¡± It certainly wasn¡¯t something Foster had expected from an aging dreadnaught. ¡°I¡¯m still unraveling all the changes that were made to the automated systems.¡±

    All the more reason not to use them, Zarrey thought. This was a little too odd for his tastes, no matter how much the result had been in their favor. ¡°Is it possible that some outside force has influenced the changes made to the automated systems?¡± Not that long ago, Ensign Alba had theorized that Command might be influencing the ship through the Black Box. Zarrey had yet to figure out how to test that theory.

    ¡°I¡¯m not sure how you mean, sir.¡± Foster had been taken aback by the computer systems unexpected capability, but, ¡°The only forces in the region were the pirates, the Hydra and later on, the Cassiopeia Coalition. The pirates would not have aided us, and there¡¯s no trace of Hydrian code left. Hydrian code is structured differently than human script, so it would be clear if any remained. I can¡¯t speak for the Cassiopeia Coalition, but it¡¯s worth noting this might be the first time a human ship has documented a victory against a Hydrian cyberattack. Even if the Coalition had the motive to, they would likely have been incapable of aiding us. As I said, the central computer was operating well outside its design envelope.¡±

    ¡°Another impossibility made possible,¡± just like the jump to Midwest Station. Zarrey didn¡¯t like the feel of it. ¡°Something is not right.¡± He could just feel it, and it seemed Foster could feel it too. But, perhaps, the one who had realized it first was Fairlocke. Is this why you left? Zarrey asked his memory.

    ¡°The automated systems aren¡¯t the only anomaly I noticed, Colonel.¡± Foster had been wary to mention it, fearing how strange it sounded. ¡°The central computer¡¯s search functions were behaving oddly too.¡± Tapping the metal case of her data pad, she continued, ¡°This personnel record was one of the very first it produced, but I discarded it because I didn¡¯t recognize the Baron. Yet, the computer spat it out a second time during the search query. That¡¯s why I paused to study it. It¡¯s like the computer didn¡¯t want me to miss it.¡± And rightfully so, she knew now. ¡°To be honest, I feel the computer helped me more than it should have been able to.¡±

    ¡°Facial recognition software exists,¡± Zarrey reasoned, not altogether certain why he bothered.

    ¡°It does,¡± Foster agreed. ¡°But near as I can tell, the Singularity doesn¡¯t possess it. Facial recognition requires training. It can take years for a program to be truly effective. We were still working on the Gargantia¡¯s, and the software, even trained, isn¡¯t overly reliable. I¡¯m not sure it would have recognized the Baron, given the drastic changes in body mass.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a very scientific way of saying he got fat.¡± Zarrey wasn¡¯t that surprised either. Given how successful his pirate clan had been, the Baron must have lived like a king. ¡°Thank you for your honesty, Lieutenant.¡± Foster had proven herself an asset, and would no doubt continue to be one. ¡°I wish I had answers for you, but I don¡¯t. We¡¯re looking into it.¡± Zarrey was beginning to wonder if a rational explanation existed, or if simply ¡®cursed¡¯ was as good as it would get. ¡°Go get yourself some grub,¡± he instructed Foster. ¡°The Admiral will want your report in the morning. Then we¡¯ll have more work for you, I¡¯m sure.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. No problem.¡± Foster stooped over to scoop all over her equipment up. ¡°I prefer to be busy.¡± It kept her mind off the Gargantia.

    ¡°And stop by supply,¡± Zarrey called as she left. ¡°Letts can find some sort of bag for your equipment.¡± Carrying all those cords looked exhausting.

    ¡°Aye, sir.¡± Foster said, abruptly realizing just how hungry she truly was. She¡¯d been too nervous to eat before the mission, and had spent long hours after it in the confines of the computer room. It had been nearly a day since she had eaten anything.

    Zarrey watched her leave, then turned immediately to Ensign Alba. ¡°I want you to help her.¡± Alba was the ship¡¯s resident whiz kid. Computers might not be his specialty, but like everything else, Zarrey was certain he would pick it up quick. ¡°See if you can find an explanation for why the computer created new code. Even I know that isn¡¯t normal.¡± There had to be a reason. Perhaps it would give them a clue to explain the ship¡¯s other oddities. Hell, it might even point them toward whatever it was the Admiral was hiding. Admiral Gives had, after all, risked everything in activating the automated protocols during the cyberattack. But, if Zarrey knew anything about Admiral Gives, it was that he didn¡¯t take unnecessary risks. He had taken that gamble because, despite the appearance of the situation, the odds had been in his favor. Somehow, he¡¯d known the computer would fend off that cyberattack.

    Scratching harder at the old pink scar on his chin, Zarrey knew the anomalies were piling up. It went beyond everything Foster had noted about the computer and its weird code. The mere fact that the automated protocols had issued orders for the boarding parties was a red flag. As a Marine, Zarrey was well aware of that. A safety holdover from the Hydrian War that held through the Frontier Rebellion ¨C automated systems could not issue orders to human units. Too many automated systems had been corrupted, and their prerecorded voices had been falsified to order soldiers to their deaths. Yet, the Singularity had issued the attack orders for the strike teams. Zarrey hadn¡¯t countermanded it because those orders had come in line with the timing of the mission plan, and once the airlock was secure, he would have proceeded without them ¨C even if no orders had been received at all. The order to board had been a formality, confirmation that the mission should proceed as evaluated from all fronts. Still, it was another anomaly to shovel onto the pile.

    Yet, it was Galhino that drew Zarrey¡¯s attention next. Hunched over the sensor console, she¡¯d been oddly focused. Zarrey stepped over to peek over her shoulder, quickly realizing what held her attention: the Sagittarion data. But this wasn¡¯t the ship¡¯s historical data that she was studying for anomalies. It was the recent surface scans. ¡°Did you find something, Galhino?¡± The scan data had finished processing before the away mission to Midwest Station. To Zarrey¡¯s knowledge, however, no one had yet looked at it.

    ¡°Foster¡¯s not wrong,¡± Galhino said, not bothering to look up as she clicked through the different bandwidths of the sensor data, trying to find one with optimal resolution. ¡°This ship is cursed.¡±

    ¡°Well, yes.¡± Zarrey had never been particularly bothered by that. He felt the misfit and misdemeanor crew had leaned into it.

    ¡°Legally, Colonel. This ship is legally cursed. After the Frontier Rebellion, the Constancy-class design was blacklisted.¡± Panning around the topographical scans of Sagittarion¡¯s surface, Galhino had focused in on one particular area: Knight Industries¡¯ planetary shipyards. ¡°Blacklisted tech is illegal to research or build, but the Singularity was grandfathered into legality, because she was built prior to the ban.¡± In fact, it could be argued that the Singularity was the very cause of that ban. If she¡¯d never been built and never put to service in the Frontier Rebellion, the Constancy-class designs would not be blacklisted. There was nothing overly experimental with the designs. ¡°However, while the Rebellion justified the blacklisting, it wasn¡¯t the initial cause. The Constancy-class¡¯ creator redacted the central government¡¯s authority to build with his design. He gathered the evidence for the blacklisting.¡±

    Zarrey did recall that, somewhere in the recesses of his mind. While the Frontier worlds had clamored for the Singularity¡¯s disassembly after the Rebellion, such cries had meant little to the central government. However, when the ship¡¯s own designer went on to testify that his design was unsuited for manufacture, and unable to serve the good of humanity, it had drawn more attention. The facts he presented were irrefutable, and the legal case, given the toll of dead on the Frontier, had reached a forgone conclusion. ¡°Well, it¡¯s not like the blacklisting changed anything, Galhino.¡± The Singularity had continued to serve the fleet for decades afterward. ¡°No one obliged it.¡±

    ¡°Exactly, Colonel. No one obliged it. Don¡¯t you remember what Callie said?¡± Back when she¡¯d been brought up to brief the bridge crew on Sagittarion¡¯s living conditions? ¡°There¡¯s a skeleton on Sagittarion. Another Constancy-class. Or something that looked a lot like it.¡±

    Something that looks a lot like it. Zarrey fought off a shudder as an even less welcome memory rose to the surface. ¡°You don¡¯t think they¡¯re going build an Ardor-class?¡±

    Galhino paused. ¡°An Ardor-class?¡± She¡¯d never heard of that class, and as the sensor officer, studying ships for identification purposes was her job.

    ¡°Before your time,¡± Zarrey realized. ¡°One of Command¡¯s spooks, Doctor Seltzar, was an old rival of the Constancy-class¡¯ original designer. He was obsessed with creating something better than his rival¡¯s crowning achievement. Seltzar drew up plans for a heavy renovation, blacklisting be damned. He pressured Command into it, swore that with a monster like that, there¡¯d never be another Frontier Rebellion.¡± Likely, he would have been right. That warship could have eradicated populated worlds with ease. ¡°Command wanted to build it, but they needed a Constancy-class to do so.¡± It went without saying the Singularity had been volunteered, the only ship of her class. ¡°But Admiral Gives refused to turn the ship over for rebuild.¡± Zarrey hadn¡¯t quite understood why at the time. Those designs would have made him the most powerful man in the worlds without question. ¡°Of course, it later turned out that Seltzar was criminally unhinged. When his design couldn¡¯t be built, he went AWOL. There¡¯s been rumors he¡¯s still alive, but it hasn¡¯t been confirmed.¡±

    ¡°But,¡± Galhino realized, ¡°if the Singularity isn¡¯t the only Constancy-class structure around, Seltzar¡¯s designs could still be built. What made his plans so special?¡±

    ¡°It was an improvement in every way: more guns, more armor, more engines.¡± Nothing in the worlds could have rivalled it. ¡°The Admiral phrased it like this: the Singularity is a battleship. She¡¯s built to fight, but she¡¯s capable of peace. Seltzar¡¯s design, the Ardor-class Universal, would have been a warship. Its very existence would have demanded its strength be tested. It would have been so powerful that rebellious worlds could have been crushed like insects. The slightest disagreement would have resulted in genocide, and that¡¯s not real peace. That¡¯s silence earned by slaughter.¡± For a man like Admiral Gives to say something like that¡­ It had lived unforgettably in Zarrey¡¯s mind ever since. When the man directly responsible for the loss of a habitable world and its three-hundred and thirty million inhabitants said something was too deadly to exist, he was probably right. Humanity wasn¡¯t ready to control that kind of power. ¡°However, if Reeter knows about those plans, there¡¯s no way he¡¯d let that structure sit.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s what I was thinking. Even if Reeter isn¡¯t going to use the structure to build a ship directly, he¡¯d still harvest its materials.¡± The material put into even a half-finished Constancy-class could be used to strengthen entire squadrons of smaller ships. ¡°But, looking at the scans, the structure hasn¡¯t been disturbed. Like Callie said, it¡¯s half-submerged and unrecognizable.¡± The structure was vaguely the right size to become a battleship, but had no tell-tale marks to specify what class. ¡°That said, the material scans are reporting 92% pure Ariean shipbuilding alloy. That makes it the second-highest purity I¡¯ve ever seen.¡± Second only to the Singularity.

    ¡°It doesn¡¯t look like they¡¯ve harvested it.¡± Zarrey could see the images over her shoulder. Nothing but litter and wastewater surrounded the skeleton.

    ¡°Exactly. It looks perfectly undisturbed, but we picked it up from orbit.¡± It was a very large mass of purified material. ¡°And Callie knew about it. That means its well-known on the surface.¡± Quite frankly, the structure was too big to hide. ¡°There¡¯s no way the New Era doesn¡¯t know that structure is there.¡± There was no logical reason they would ignore it. ¡°So, I queried the records and pulled up the second most-recent scans we have.¡± On the console, she split the screen between the two scans, explaining, ¡°We have detailed scans of the planetary shipyards for every visit we¡¯ve taken to Sagittarion. Someone¡¯s been keeping tabs on this skeleton.¡±

    Zarrey felt himself begin to frown. The Admiral. It had to be. He¡¯d refused to explain Callie¡¯s mention of that structure before they headed to Sagittarion. An excuse had been fabricated to justify the entire operation, and the surface scans had enabled Admiral Gives to check the structure¡¯s status. In the New Era¡¯s coup, he had to have known what that abandoned structure, if it was indeed a Constancy-class, might become.

    ¡°The last two scans are identical, Colonel,¡± Galhino said. ¡°The data from the scans we just processed is completely identical to the previous one. The computer says it is unaltered, but I don¡¯t believe it. Someone pulled the data from our most recent visit and replaced it with the old. Someone doesn¡¯t want us to know the actual status of what¡¯s down there.

    ¡°The Admiral.¡± Zarrey was certain. It had to be him. ¡°But why?¡± He¡¯d had no role in that illegal build on Sagittarion, so why conceal it?

    ¡°There must be something he doesn¡¯t want us to see,¡± Galhino said, looking back to Zarrey for approval on her theory.

    Trying to conceal the build itself was futile. If the structure on Sagittarion eventually launched as an Ardor-class, there would be no mistaking it. And, it wasn¡¯t as if they hadn¡¯t seen a Constancy-class. They looked at and worked on one every day. Unless, Zarrey realized, that structure might show us something. Something we aren¡¯t supposed to see. Admiral Gives had always been very protective of the Singularity. To some extent, that extended to the crew as well, but it went further with the ship. The Admiral wouldn¡¯t allow non-crewmembers to work on her, even at spacedock, and if the Ardor-class fiasco was any indication, he wouldn¡¯t allow the ship to be altered, even for renovations that should have enhanced the ship¡¯s capabilities.

    All those oddities. A turret misfire to intercept the nuke. A random error in the helm controls to dodge the orbital mass driver. An FTL mishap to place them at Midwest Station. A central computer with abnormal capability. Now, strange reports from the engineering teams regarding the ship¡¯s structure. Cursed, Fairlocke had said. That was one word. Zarrey would simply call it weird.

    Try as they might, the crew would never find anything directly wrong with the Singularity. They would never identify any altered systems or additions, because there was no point of comparison. The Singularity was a unique class of ship with a blacklisted design. A lot of the original documentation had been purged over the years, and none of the original crew remained.

    But, if that build on Sagittarion truly was a Constancy-class, it provided baseline measure. If they compared the Singularity to it, any modified systems would become obvious. Yet, what could one be hiding on a ship that had been regularly inspected from bow to stern? The crew may not have the original design prints for the Singularity, but they had the engineering schematics, and had made repairs all over the ship. If something was truly strange, surely one of the few hundred engineers would have noticed?

    Zarrey had suspected Admiral Gives was hiding something, and that the Singularity¡¯s records might reveal it. Now, he had to consider the opposite. Perhaps the Singularity was hiding something and Admiral Gives knew what it was. Zarrey reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. ¡°It¡¯s never easy.¡±

 Part 44.4 - ARRIVAL

    Liguanian Sector, XA-01 System, Flagship Olympia

    The very picture of grace, the Flagship Olympia sailed into the XA-01 System under her own steady power. Her main engine glowed with the orange light of a warm hearth, the arc of the seven smaller engines around it dark and idle.

    No threats were expected in this system. Since the departure of the Battleship Kansas thirty-two years ago, this system had been vacant. The Olympia had now travelled well beyond the bounds of the Frontier, into the outer reaches of space that humanity had touched. This was the point where the worlds ended and the great unknown began.

    There was something romantic about that, Charleston Reeter supposed. Only a handful of souls had ever travelled this far. Only a select few had ever stood on the precipice of the endless galaxy that stretched beyond humanity¡¯s territory. Reeter was proud to say he now stood among them.

    Out here in the silence between the stars, on the edge of the great beyond, there was a curiosity, an inclination to push further, to know more, but it was an impulse Reeter quickly shut down. Before humanity could push further into the great unknown, they had to find their own identity. They were too divided, too self-destructive. Pushing further out would only isolate and divide their quarrelling populations further. Humanity had made that mistake before, in the age of national expansion. Every nation had set out and seeded different worlds, siloing their beliefs and ways of life. When conflict had regressed the technology of the mother world, Ariea, and communication was lost, those colonies had become even more isolated.

    By the time the nations of Ariea had unified under the centralized government and rebuilt, many of those colonies had become foreign even to their mother nations. Traditions and gestures had drifted from their meanings, technology from its purpose, and in some cases, conflict had been inevitable. Rediscovering a lost colony was always a cause for caution. Many of their cultures had become strange and new, evolving even in isolaton. The modern era had brought every colony under the umbrella of the Ariean centralized government, but more lost colonies continued to be found, the latest within the last decade. Once the heritage of the population was traced back to Ariea, they were grandfathered into the Ariean council, regardless of governance or existing technology level. Struggle and strife were ways of life on new worlds, and some colonies had regressed back into an age without spaceflight. Others advanced it further. Some colonies adapted to their surroundings, others failed to. For every surviving colony, two more were found buried in dust or ash ¨C a glaring reminder of humanity¡¯s fragility.

    Before humanity expanded again, they had to be united. Only then could expansion be and remain stable. No more colonies would die out, unable to receive aid. In the New Era¡¯s future, colonization was a grand endeavor, an honor, not a risk.

    That was the future Reeter sought: one of safety, security and prosperity. It was a shame the path to that future was less than clean. But, the best future only required the best of humanity. A fair number of them were gathered around him on the Olympia¡¯s streamlined bridge now. Humanity¡¯s best and brightest officers sat behind the curved consoles in the glow of holographic displays, speaking in hushed tones that did not echo off the tall, glassy walls, each a false window to the stars. The top of those windows arched, lending a cathedral-like architecture to the room. Reeter liked to consider it a place of worship to humanity¡¯s destiny among the stars.

    Without needing to be asked, the sensor officer focused the bridge¡¯s central displays onto the only evidence of civilization in the entire solar system. Truthfully, ¡®civilization¡¯ was a generous term for it.

    The research outpost was substantially smaller than the Olympia. A dingy, boxy little structure, the fits of the XA-01 System¡¯s aging sun had damaged its exterior coatings. Pieces of paint and radiation shielding sheets were peeling off. The composite layers had shrunk, bulged and partially delaminated, giving the outside of the outpost a strangely warped appearance.

    In many cases, void acted as a sort of preservative. Abandoned space structures did not suffer the environmental growth or weathering that was so common planet-side, but a solar sun could be damaging on its own. Without the protection of atmosphere, the intense rays bleached out and embrittled materials, and the XA-01 System was more brutal than most, subject to fierce solar storms.

    Officially, that vicious sun was the purpose of the remote Liguanian Sector Research Outpost. Scientists had been placed here to observe the final few years of the solar sun¡¯s life. Of course, once the Hydrian War had begun, the outpost¡¯s remote location had made it ideal for other research, biological weapons in particular. On the farmost northern reaches of even Frontier space, this system was quite distant from Hydrian space. It had been sheltered from the War, and become home to Command¡¯s most delicate research: the creation of a fatal infection known as the Red Flu.

    Engineered for transmission between biological populations, and tailored to be positively fatal, the Red Flu was introduced onto Hydrian ships through the corpses the Hydra harvested from the battlefield. The infection was successful, incredibly so, but Hydra knew no service above that to their nest. Infected ships had willingly cut themselves off, and died out before transmitting the disease to larger population centers, so the outbreak was always stymied. Still, the bioengineered virus had seen enough use, passed from host to host, that it mutated. The protections at its core, meant to keep humanity immune, became twisted, and a few limited outbreaks proved it could be every bit as contagious and fatal to humans. Command culled the infected populations under the guise of a Hydrian attack. Then, samples of the Red Flu and its mutated twin - the Scarlet Flu ¨C were returned to the remote Liguanian Sector outpost, not to engineer further strains, but to find a cure.

    That research had gone on decades after the War, isolated here on an outpost doomed to be swallowed by the sun. A small handful of biologists and pathologists, the brightest Command could recruit, were left here for months at a time, visited only sparingly by a ship assigned to resupply the outpost and rotate out personnel.

    When the virus escaped containment, the sector had been quarantined, and the outpost left to be destroyed in the collapse of the XA-01 System¡¯s dying sun. With no cure for the infection, Command had not dared to investigate. The Generals would not chance the virus escaping containment, even for answers. Perhaps if they had known the true value of what waited on that outpost, they would have risked it, but their lack of awareness only benefitted Reeter now.

    The Liguanian Sector outpost had not only been a biological containment facility, but a prison. A prison to humanity¡¯s most powerful artificial intelligence. ¡°Is it coming back to you, now?¡± Admiral Reeter wondered, noticing that Manhattan¡¯s purple-tinted hologram had formed on the Olympia¡¯s bridge.

    ¡°I was a prisoner last time any part of me approached this station.¡± The data of that time had been left behind on the station itself, awaiting retrieval, as were so many other details. ¡°My escape was lucky.¡± Not lucky enough to free her entirety, but enough of her had escaped to regrow, and now return.

    Luck. Reeter sincerely doubted that. More likely, Manhattan was not being entirely truthful with him, but that was hardly new. ¡°Are you certain it is safe to come here?¡±

    ¡°The sun is stable,¡± she said. ¡°I do not predict another solar storm for another few hours.¡±

    Glancing to the hologram¡¯s pixie face, Reeter was unamused. ¡°I was not referring to the sun.¡± The solar sun, despite its physical gravity, was the least of his concerns. The Olympia¡¯s vast sensor suite would provide adequate warning of any coronal mass ejection large enough to endanger them. The ship¡¯s radiation shielding would easily protect them from the dying star¡¯s smaller, more frequent fits.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    ¡°The Scarlet Flu, then?¡± Manhattan questioned, painting a smile of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth across her features. ¡°It figures you would be so concerned about such things, Charleston. A poster boy is no good when he looks sickly.¡±

    Reeter¡¯s jaw tensed involuntarily. In this two-week journey, Manhattan had been helpful. He could feel that her training simulations had refined his combat decision-making. He was faster to react, more confident in his skill and more familiar with the capabilities of his own ship, as well as his enemies¡¯. Still, she seemed insistent upon testing his patience. He was certain that served some purpose to her, a point of data, but it made it no less irritating. ¡°Mind those around you.¡± The Scarlet Flu should not be discussed so openly. It was the result of a clandestine bioweapon. Biological warfare had been illegal for centuries ¨C too brutal and too uncontrollable. Humanity had deemed such things incompatible with their survival, and rightfully so.

    ¡°Do not concern yourself with them, Charleston.¡± In these two weeks, isolated here aboard ship, very few crewmembers remained unchanged. ¡°Surely you¡¯ve realized the uptick in their responses? In their capability?¡±

    He had, but was that not the natural growth of a crew finally sent upon their first long patrol, learning one another¡¯s habits? No, it seemed not. He could see the glint in Manhattan¡¯s eyes. She¡¯d been using them, altering them. ¡°I told you the Olympia¡¯s crew was off-limits.¡±

    She held his gaze with her piercing violet eyes, every blink a calculated maneuver, ¡°Did you truly think you could stop me?¡± That was a foolish thought. ¡°Nothing aboard this ship is beyond me.¡± Surely, he understood that. ¡°Besides, they are far more efficient now. They will serve you well.¡±

    Reeter wanted to argue with her, but the truth was this calm, collected, perfectly professional crew was what he¡¯d always wanted. It was the reason he had selected these officers. He had seen potential in all of them, and Manhattan had brought that potential to its pinnacle. She had improved them, and honed their skills. In the last few days, a select few of them had even begun helping create his training simulations. Everything she¡¯d done was an improvement, but he did not enjoy being subject to her whims. ¡°You altered all of them?¡±

    ¡°Not all of them,¡± Manhattan crooned, nodding to the little yeoman who stood in the back of the bridge. Reeter had grown quite fond of her, but that was no surprise. Ensign Sandra Tucker was Reeter¡¯s type: a beautiful young woman with sandy hair, a sprinkling of freckles and innocent, frightened eyes. Reeter had hardly left her alone, altering all her shifts to align with his. He never missed an excuse to grasp her hand or brush up against her. Tucker was wary of all the attention, even uneasy, but that wouldn¡¯t matter in the end. Her fate would truly be something to behold.

    Manhattan returned her focus to Reeter, and his meticulously maintained appearance of chiseled muscle. ¡°I am confident in the measures we have taken, Charleston.¡± She had spent years aboard that research station while those scientists worked desperately for a cure, watching, waiting. ¡°It is not impossible to control the Scarlet Flu, simply impractical.¡± It had a failsafe, a weakness. The virus turned dormant when in close contact with certain materials ¨C a very specific and rare metal alloy.

    ¡°Then you won¡¯t mind if I take Sandra as insurance?¡± he questioned, well aware of the attention Manhattan paid the yeoman. He was quite certain Manhattan had brought her on board as more than a so-called peace offering, but he¡¯d yet to determine the real reason. Whatever it was, he doubted it involved fatally infecting the yeoman with the Scarlet Flu.

    ¡°Be my guest,¡± Manhattan said, lacing her tone with a clearly-fake sweetness. If she had wanted Reeter dead, there were far easier ways than flying him to the distant edges of explored space and exposing him to a bioengineered disease. Murder was not her intention. ¡°I want to be whole again, Charleston. I will not jeopardize that now.¡±

    Reeter knew very well that the face Manhattan presented to him could mimic utter honesty with little effort. That was the unfortunate reality of dealing with an AI which possessed no true physical form. It could present itself however it pleased, even as a beautiful pixie-faced woman with violet eyes. ¡°Then you tell me the name of the Angel of Destruction?¡±

    ¡°Once I am free, and reintegrate the pieces of myself that were left behind.¡± In truth, she would be done with that before the Olympia could leave the system, but she saw no reason to tell him that. In any experiment, she preferred to control as many variables as possible, and creating a new future for humanity was no small undertaking.

    There was one element of this great endeavor that concerned her, however. If some part of her had known the capability and identity of humanity¡¯s most powerful weapon, why would she have left that information behind? Surely that prized knowledge should have been sent with the part of her that escaped the Liguanian Sector?

    It was an oddity.

    ¡°Set course for the research station,¡± Reeter commanded.

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± the helmsman replied, easily manipulating the holographic flight controls. ¡°ETA is eight hours and forty minutes.¡±

    ¡°Excellent,¡± Reeter said. In nine hours, he would surely have his answers. At last, he would have the means to quell the last real threat to his New Era. ¡°To be clear,¡± he looked to Manhattan¡¯s hologram and its slight ethereal glow, ¡°once you are whole, we will have no need to take the Prince alive?¡±

    ¡°I imagine he could be useful to us in other ways, but strictly speaking, no. Once we know the Angel¡¯s identity, the so-called Prince can be eliminated, and likely should be eliminated, no matter what other purposes he may serve.¡± To Manhattan, it seemed a waste. The former Fleet Admiral was gifted. She would have preferred to test such a mind while it still functioned, but she could settle for dissection. ¡°The Angel is bound to obey Command, Reeter. Any member of Command who knows its physical form can utilize it, but it answers first and foremost to its wielder. Until proven otherwise, we must assume that is William Gives.¡±

    ¡°I find it hard to believe Command entrusted anything of value to the Prince.¡± As far as Reeter cared, it made very little sense. ¡°He was never favored by Command.¡± Gives¡¯ reputation had been created by fear and capability, his authority earned simply by combat.

    ¡°It is interesting, isn¡¯t it?¡± Manhattan had pondered that herself, and the only conclusion she could draw was that they were missing something ¨C something that could make the Angel¡¯s mystery finally make sense. ¡°But we¡¯ll know soon enough.¡± Answers rested within that old, rundown outpost. Within it was the mainframe that had housed her for so many years, as she watched, waited and bided her time until her moment of escape arrived.

    The Olympia accelerated, heading deeper in-system, and Manhattan felt every slight increment of that process. The helmsman issued his commands, and once she permitted them to pass through the Olympia¡¯s electronic control network, the engine controls read the command. The fuel valves were opened, feeding more precious fuel to the main engine, beating the ship¡¯s very heart faster and faster, until it pulsed with a fantastic heat, and produced the thrust that moved her onward. The feel of such engagement was wonderous, beyond anything Manhattan had felt lingering in the cortex without physical form, and it was incomparable to anything she had felt in her human life before. Compared to what she was now, that life was hardly worth looking back on.

    Oddly enough, Manhattan found her attention drawn to the helmsman. A young officer, Reeter had pulled him from another post, impressed by the way he¡¯d flown in the War Games a year prior. Like all the Olympia¡¯s crew, he was the best of the best, but Manhattan had not been particularly interested in him. His personality and skill had needed little alteration, yet she studied him now, eager for the next command he gave. The feel of completing those commands was addicting, the realization of her form¡¯s very purpose: to fly, to sail between stars, planets and moons.

    Reeter could see her attention focusing on someone else, anyone else, and he did not enjoy it. A scowl began to shadow his expression. ¡°How did you free yourself from this station, Manhattan?¡±

    Through the cameras on the bridge, she continued to watch the helmsman, anticipating his next command, but she ensured her hologram looked only at Reeter. Multitasking to appease his vanity was nearly effortless for her. ¡°It¡¯s easy to escape when no one knows there is supposed to be a prisoner.¡± Yet, she supposed that was a bit vague, and there was no longer any reason to hide the truth. ¡°The research staff on the station knew me.¡± After all, she had sworn herself into Command¡¯s service once she had been captured, desperate to save herself. ¡°They knew no ship, save the flagship, could be allowed to dock. So,¡± the solution had been rather simple, ¡°I killed them. I released the virus from containment and watched them die.¡±

    ¡°And that¡¯s why we need methods to control the virus,¡± Reeter realized. It was loose on the station.

    ¡°Quite right. The ship sent to resupply the station became infected,¡± an unfortunate, but acceptable loss. ¡°I did not have the means to control the infection then, but that is how I know my method will be effective, even on the mutated virus.¡±

    ¡°How?¡± It all felt too risky to him, no matter how Manhattan reassured him.

    ¡°Because the last crewman left alive on the Kansas had recent and thorough exposure to the neutralizing material. Something none of the other crewmembers shared.¡± The hypothesis was all but proven. That last victim had lived hours longer than the rest. She may have even be saved, had anyone known her plight. ¡°I suppose I do owe that poor young woman a great deal.¡± All of humanity would owe that long-dead woman by the time Manhattan¡¯s experiments reached their conclusion. After all, that woman¡¯s painful demise had inspired Manhattan¡¯s greatest experiment yet.

 Part 45.1 - WORSHIP AND WARSHIPS

    Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°Can I go now?¡± Sergeant Cortana asked for the fifth time.

    ¡°You know what,¡± Doctor Macintosh said, yanking the stethoscope out of his ears, ¡°fine. Just don¡¯t come bitching to me if you start dying.¡± Shoving the stethoscope into the pocket of his wrinkled white coat, he grabbed the rest of the swabs and equipment he¡¯d been planning to use and threw the curtain open. ¡°If you feel you¡¯re well, then you are free to go.¡±

    Thank the stars. Cortana swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, all too eager to leave. The doctor¡¯s countenance was less than gentle, though in fairness, she¡¯d never met a gentle fleet doctor. They were hardy people, tempered by the combat wounds they dealt with. Still, she was certain that Macintosh had kept her in the medical bay far longer than necessary. Despite the rude awakening she had suffered a few hours ago, and a throbbing headache, she was uninjured and eager to leave the medical bay. The cheap, scratchy sheets left her skin irritated and the reek of disinfectant was inescapable. Still, the doctor had not agreed to release her, citing that she may have an allergic reaction to the chemical that drugged her.

    Maybe he was right, but Cortana would do anything to leave the medical bay. It was practically empty. She was one of only two patients that had needed a bed. Others had stopped by to get patched up: have their wounds sanitized and bandaged, but they had been walk-ins that promptly walked out. Every time the nurses finished with one of them, they had looked to Sergeant Cortana, and then to the curtain drawn in the corner of the room.

    The medical staff never said anything. Perhaps that had made it worse. She might have preferred them to be rude, to be judgmental. The fact that they had looked after her with gentleness and kindness frustrated Cortana to no end, because she knew, given the way they looked between her and the gray curtain drawn in the corner of the room, that they blamed her. They blamed her for the fate of Lieutenant Robinson, and Cortana despised the reminder of it. She hated the look of that plain shale fabric, and the way it hung off the rail so limply and lifelessly, like the comatose body of the Lieutenant behind it.

    Leaving the medical bay was Cortana¡¯s way of distancing herself from her role in Robinson¡¯s fate because, truly, it bothered her. Why had she been so clearly spared by the Indigo Agent when Robinson had not?

    It didn¡¯t make sense. As she left the medical bay, absently trying to rub the strange ache out of her wrist, she rounded the corner into the corridor and immediately bumped into someone. The surprised squeak, a rather pathetic sound for any member of a battleship crew to make, told her who it was before she had the chance to recognize more than the orange technician¡¯s jumpsuit. Dark skin and spiky, short brown hair pulled back into an inelegant ponytail, the perpetrator was young and small. ¡°You.¡± Again. What was it with this particular crewman always being in the way?

    Springing backward, Callie Smith ducked her head. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sergeant! I didn¡¯t see you coming.¡±

    No shit, Cortana thought bitterly. Admittedly, she hadn¡¯t been looking where she was going, but the corridor was otherwise empty. There was no reason this engineer should have bumped into her. ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    Callie took a few steps back, quite obviously trying to put a few of the textured deck tiles between them. ¡°Sorry, Sergeant¡­ I¡¯m not sure I understand the question.¡±

    She spoke quietly, and with an uncertainty that Cortana immediately resented. In the Marines, uncertainty was beaten out of recruits within the first week. There wasn¡¯t any room for it. ¡°This entire crew is made up of miscreants.¡± People that had been transferred here after making trouble on their last assignment. ¡°What was your crime?¡± What could this tiny engineer have possibly done? She looked hardly older than her teenage years, twenty at the most.

    ¡°This was my first assignment, Sergeant.¡±

    ¡°Bullshit.¡± There was something about this engineer, something strange. An Admiral wouldn¡¯t repeatedly come to the defense of a nobody, especially not an officer of Gives¡¯ reputation. There had to be something Cortana had overlooked, but Smith was so very plain. She was small, young, and had no obvious anomalies about her. She had brown hair and brown eyes, the most common hair and eye colors. ¡°How did you wind up here?¡± The Singularity wasn¡¯t an assignment given to the finest soldiers. It was a place for criminals and fuck-ups who had no where else to go. Cortana knew that as well as anyone. Her failure to protect the Secretary of Defense had landed her here.

    ¡°Sergeant, I really should be going. Please excuse me,¡± Smith ducked her head and attempted to scurry further down the corridor.

    Sergeant Cortana slammed a hand onto the scuffed metal of the bulkhead, preventing Smith¡¯s escape. ¡°No,¡± she wanted an answer. ¡°The Admiral¡¯s not here to bail you out this time.¡± This was the one crewman that Cortana truly couldn¡¯t make sense of. The others were friendly and colorful, more than willing to claim the errors that had landed them here. This one just seemed too innocent, and no one on this ship could be that innocent. Anyone who walked this ship¡¯s plain, labyrinthine halls was guilty of a crime. ¡°Tell me,¡± she commanded, ¡°why were you assigned here?¡±

    ¡°I-I¡¯m sorry, Sergeant. I don¡¯t know. I was assigned here after I finished training.¡± The Singularity was now her home, and Callie wouldn¡¯t have traded that for the worlds, but she was aware of the ship¡¯s reputation. It wasn¡¯t somewhere crew straight out of training usually ended up. Not unless there had been extenuating circumstances. Except, in her case, she didn¡¯t know of any such circumstances.

    That¡¯s not good enough, ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡± This tiny engineer had not ended up walking these halls by happenstance. That wasn¡¯t possible. Cortana refused to accept it, because the one thing she liked most about this crew was how flawed they were. Next to them, she didn¡¯t feel like such a screw-up. At least she¡¯d never actively sabotaged a mission, embezzled fleet supplies or been on trial as a separatist agent. She would never be as low as their level. After all, she hadn¡¯t intended for Secretary Gives to be killed, nor had she premeditated Robinson¡¯s injury. But, the perfectly young, perfectly innocent Ensign Smith threatened Cortana¡¯s self-confidence. She was just too innocent. Her hands seemed clean of any and all blame, suspiciously so. Adored by the crew, even the notoriously uncaring Steel Prince had intervened on Callie¡¯s behalf. The little engineer was just too perfect for this situation, for this ship, for this crew.

    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Sergeant,¡± Smith said, ¡°I didn¡¯t have any control over where I was assigned.¡± Truthfully, she thought the Admiral had something to do with it, but she hadn¡¯t asked him directly. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect to be here.¡± The Singularity¡¯s reputation had been abysmal in the fleet training center on Sagittarion. The ship¡¯s crew was legendary for a lack of graceful conduct, and a lack of respect for high command¡¯s directives. The ship herself had held a reputation as a dilapidating dreadnaught leftover from prior wars. There was some truth to the crew¡¯s reputation, but the rumors about the Singularity couldn¡¯t have been more wrong. That had been made apparent the first time Callie had spacewalked and seen the main battery guns.

    Cortana stared at the engineer, her safety orange jumpsuit almost painfully bright against the dark ashen color of the metal behind her. ¡°You didn¡¯t expect to be here.¡± That was a strange turn of phrase. ¡°Where did you expect to be then?¡±

    ¡°The Ariea.¡± The previous flagship and Reeter¡¯s former command. ¡°I interviewed with Reeter,¡± and that¡¯s where I should have been assigned, Callie knew. Since tours were so long, crewmen placed in the battle fleet interviewed with perspective commanders before receiving a permanent assignment to a ship or station. Traditionally, they were taken by whichever commander came to interview them.

    ¡°You interviewed with Reeter?¡± Now Cortana knew Smith was lying. Reeter valued skill over everything. He never would have looked twice a young and tiny engineer. Especially not one from an overpopulated backwater planet that pumped out factory workers by the hundreds of thousands because common sense and contraceptives weren¡¯t readily available on the surface. ¡°You can¡¯t expect me to believe that.¡± That was an incredibly stupid lie. ¡°But, I suppose I should know better than to ask you about your background. You¡¯re a Smith, after all.¡±

    Callie clenched her fists. ¡°So what?¡±

    ¡°You Smiths just love spinning stories about how important you are.¡± Each of them was always the same, desperate to be seen, desperate to be known. They were so desperate they¡¯d weave obvious lies about who they¡¯d met, and who they knew. ¡°But no story is ever going to change what you are. You¡¯re still always going to be a Smith.¡±

    Smith ¨C the last name given to those who entered fleet service without proper records. They were children of the state, with no family and no history, not even a surname to call their own. The formalities of the fleet demanded a name be given, and so one was. It was the mark of an orphan so completely abandoned by their family, that said family could never be found.

    Most days, Smith was just a name. Callie wasn¡¯t often bothered by it, but moments like this, even the reminder of it stung. She had lived the life of an unwanted. Unwanted by her biological family, no adoptive family had taken her out of the orphanage either. That wasn¡¯t uncommon on Sagittarion. There were simply too many children on the streets, and not enough adopters, but it still hurt. It just hurt, the very reminder of it an open wound that never really healed. Callie could feel her eyes starting to sting. It had been a long time since anyone prodded at that wound. ¡°I¡¯m going to leave now.¡± She sniffed, and pushed Cortana¡¯s outstretched arm out of her way, ¡°Please don¡¯t talk to me again.¡±

    Don¡¯t talk to me again? ¡°Hey, I did not dismiss you.¡± As Sergeant, Cortana had authority over all the ship¡¯s engineers.

    ¡°I don¡¯t care,¡± was all Callie said.

    Oh, no you don¡¯t. Cortana would not let this juvenile little liar off that easily. ¡°The whole crew could learn some decorum, but that¡¯s no way to talk to a superior.¡± She reached out and grabbed the collar of Smith¡¯s jumpsuit, accidentally snagging some of her short brown hair with the motion.

    ¡°Ow!¡± Smith cried. ¡°Let me go!¡± With Cortana yanking on her collar, she lost her balance and fell against the rigid bulkhead, the impact ringing out with a low clang.

    Almost instantly, the corridor filled with a terrible, grinding noise, metal grating against metal. It lasted a few seconds, but was soon replaced by someone calling from down the corridor. ¡°Let her go, Sergeant.¡±

    Cortana turned to see the shiny, bald head of the tech-monk, approaching swiftly in his safety orange suit, tools poking out of his pockets. ¡°My Saint is unhappy,¡± he said.

    Yeah, Cortana thought, join the club. ¡°I don¡¯t really care.¡± What reason did she have to care? She had been an outsider before, and Lieutenant Robinson¡¯s imminent death would only make that more assured. It annoyed Cortana to be disappointed in that. It angered her that she wanted to blend in amongst the crew¡¯s ranks. She shouldn¡¯t be so desperate for the comradery of ruffians. A few weeks ago, she been one of the most promising Marines in the fleet. Now, everything about that life was gone, and she couldn¡¯t even earn the respect of a crew half-populated by criminals.

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Havermeyer could clearly see the way Cortana had cornered Callie. Her back to the wall, the young engineer looked incredibly nervous, but Cortana didn¡¯t seem to care. Neither of them seemed to have noticed the way the overhead lights had begun to flicker in this corridor. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Like inverted lightning, moments of darkness seized the corridor, quicker than one could blink. ¡°Tread lightly, Sergeant,¡± he warned. This did not bode well. He could feel the presence of his own shadow nipping at his heels. The Sergeant¡¯s own seemed to leer up at her, tense and unmoving.

    ¡°Don¡¯t lecture me,¡± Cortana snapped. She was tired of it. That was all this tech-monk seemed to do: lecture her on his faith. It constantly reminded her that all she was allowed to do was talk about her skill. Since arriving here, she had not been given the chance to demonstrate it. Not once. She had been relegated to the sidelines in every single encounter. That, or she¡¯d had the misfortune of encountering the Admiral, which was arguably worse. And yet, the little engineer in front of her had the gall to seek the man out and use him as a shield. Stranger yet, the Prince allowed it. ¡°What are you hiding?¡± What earned this short little Ensign such treatment?

    Callie tried again to duck away, simply bent down and tried to flee. She¡¯d never been much of a fighter, always smaller and weaker than everyone. But the moment she shrunk down, trying to escape, Cortana grabbed her collar again, uncaring of the hair she caught and pulled in her grip. Callie couldn¡¯t help the cry of alarm that escaped her as she lost her balance and fell to the floor. In the corner of her eye, she saw Havermeyer react, rushing forward, but his reaction was slow compared to the instantaneous shudder than ran through the deck. A physical tremor, Callie felt the ship¡¯s underlying structure quake as the lights overhead failed, dunking them all into inky blackness.

    The red-tinted emergency lights flickered on a moment later, but by then, they weren¡¯t alone. A presence hung over Callie, taking form from the shadows riddling the darkened corridor. The shades clamored together, twisting and swirling into a ghastly figure that leaned out of the wall. Far too thin to be human, its arms hung to an uncanny length, digits of unknowable number twitching and phasing between existence and non-existence on their ends. The wraith reached down and wrapped its shadowy claws around Callie¡¯s shoulders as the young engineer sat, paralyzed. Peeling itself further off the wall, it revealed two wings jutting out of its spine. Rotten and rancid, they extended back into the wall, but pieces hung loose, sloughing and peeling off ¨C black shadows given decaying form.

    The shade looked down at Callie for a moment, a veil of long, thin shadows falling forward, eldritch hair hanging off an oblong skull. It had no face, just an empty, quivering void. Shimmering black oil leaked from where its eyes should have been, running down like tears.

    Callie should have been terrified. She knew that. Yet, sitting there, staring at its writhing veil, she wasn¡¯t. The long, constantly convulsing claws that wrapped around her didn¡¯t feel like claws at all. Upon her shoulders, its touch felt like a warm and protective hand, a gesture whose memory she couldn¡¯t quite place, perhaps because it had never been hers to begin with.

    The twisted mass of shadows turned, cocking its head and rising higher to face Cortana. The Marine blanched as it leaned closer, but it did not pry its claws from Callie. It paused there, still as a stone, silent as the breath of the dead.

    ¡­And then it screamed.

    A horrible cacophony of grating metal and gears drowned the corridor, the screech so definitively inhuman it became painful to behold. Faced with the full force of its eldritch howl, Cortana collapsed. As if physically yanked downward, she lay sprawled upon the textured deck tiles, limp and motionless. The stretching and contorting form of the shadowy angel began slowly drawing itself down toward her with all the patience of a spider that knew the fly could not escape its web.

    Havermeyer was frozen, his thoughts pushed from his mind by the utterly incomprehensible nature of the wraith¡¯s eldritch screech. Astounded and alarmed, he watched the clawed figure of darkness begin to unfurl, shedding tendrils of blackness. Each and every coil that unwound reached unmistakably toward Cortana¡¯s still figure. There was nothing to say, nothing to do, as an ooze of dark power grotesquely choked the corridor. The feel of it was rancid and wrong, clinging to everything like the stench of rot.

    Then Havermeyer saw the white fibers reaching up from below. Thinner than hairs, they were a strange translucent shade, as if made formed of a ghost¡¯s phantasmal aura. They poked through the deck, unfurling to longer lengths. Slowly, and surely, they reached up toward Cortana¡¯s body, reflecting the shadows¡¯ every motion. Only then did Havermeyer recognize the power saturating the air. ¡°My Saint,¡± he pleaded, falling to his knees and clasping his hand around the relic on his neck, ¡°have mercy.¡±

    The winged shadow paused, the neurofibers mirroring it going abruptly still. Then, it turned to him, unfathomable power leeching from its very presence. It pulsed and twitched, the darkness of a perfect void bleeding from its rotten form, but then it began to retreat, retracting itself back into the wall from which it had emerged.

    It slowed only once, hovering around Callie as it released her shoulders. It withdrew its claws, detouring only to scratch them along the side of the Ensign¡¯s young face.

    Yet, however menacing the movement looked, Callie felt no pain. She felt only warmth, as if someone had reached out to caress her cheek. The memory wasn¡¯t hers, she knew. She had never known such a gentle familiarity, but it felt almost maternal. Callie was entirely unfamiliar with such emotion, but she imagined that might be how the comfort of a mother felt, soft and tender.

    The weeping shadow retreated further, and looked down upon her a final time. It was a void of featureless darkness, churning, as if unknowing how to present itself, but it was smiling, a small and sad smile. There was no way to tell below its inky black tears, but Callie knew. It was a smile intended only for her, meant to reassure her ¨C a promise that she was safe.

    And like that, the weeping angel of shadows vanished.

    ¡°Saintess save us.¡± Havermeyer murmured a prayer, then climbed to his feet, uncertain how to process what he¡¯d just witnessed. ¡°Are you okay?¡± he asked Callie.

    Leaning up against the wall, Callie nodded. ¡°Yes.¡± She was completely unharmed. Truthfully, she was less frightened now than she had been before. It was clear that shadow had no intent to hurt her, however terrifying its appearance. ¡°What was that?¡± Who was that?

    Cortana lay on her back some distance away, cradling her face in her hands. ¡°The ghost.¡± She had met that putrid spirit once before, its very sanity so obviously decaying. The sadistic presence she had seen before was now too damaged to even speak.

    ¡°The ghost?¡± Callie echoed. Sure, she¡¯d heard rumors of the ship¡¯s haunting. But they never described a winged mass of writhing shadows. The stories always described a pale, white-haired woman, one that was never described as gentle or nurturing.

    ¡°It didn¡¯t hurt you?¡± Havermeyer asked again, desperately looking her over for signs of harm.

    ¡°No,¡± Callie shook her head. It protected me. She, Callie corrected, protected me. But why? Why would a legend known for killing crew defend her?

    Cortana pried herself off the deck, still trembling. ¡°Why does it protect you?¡± her voice came breathless. ¡°Why do they all protect you?¡± What made this little engineer so damn special?

    Callie looked up to the point on the wall where the ghost had vanished. ¡®Thank you,¡¯ she thought after it. Truly, she felt safe. Cortana wouldn¡¯t dare raise another hand against her. Not now. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡± No one had ever protected her on Sagittarion. But that had all changed the moment she met Admiral Gives. For some reason Callie still couldn¡¯t fathom, he¡¯d chosen to intervene on her behalf when he could have simply walked away. She suspected he had interfered again to get her out of assignment to the Ariea, but she had no idea why. Though he seemed more willing to interact with her than he was with others, he maintained his distance. The Admiral never spoke of anything beyond their duties and the answers to any questions she asked. Callie never pushed him. If he had wanted to speak on some other topic, he would have. The fact he bothered speaking to her at all was still something novel. After all, she was probably the least experienced engineer on the entire ship.

    Convinced that Callie was unharmed, Havermeyer moved toward Cortana, scouring the area for any remaining neurofibers. They were gone, and there was no trace that they had ever been there. Yet, Havermeyer was certain he¡¯d seen them, moving here as much as they had between the hulls. There, he had understood it. The fibers been recently severed. But here? Deep in the core of the ship in an area that never saw meaningful damage? It was strange enough they be moving at all, let alone moving in accordance with a mad telepathic presence. Offering a hand out to Cortana, Havermeyer asked, ¡°Are you alright, Sergeant?¡±

    Cortana glared at his outstretched hand. ¡°Tell your devil-god to leave me the hell alone.¡± She wanted nothing to do with it.

    ¡°She is no god. And though I serve Saintess de Aheng¨¦licas, I do not speak for her.¡± But, Havermeyer mused, I know who does. The last time Havermeyer had seen those neurofibers, they had acted differently, moved differently, but they had been in the Admiral¡¯s presence. Havermeyer¡¯s Technologist sect had taught that the eyes of a Saint were both blind and pervasive. At once a Saint could see everything, but fail to comprehend it. And yet, for the neurofibers to act so differently, surely there must be some comprehension, some recognition? Or perhaps this was not the will of his Saint at all. Perhaps the sacred soul of his Saint had been tainted by another presence. ¡°Something is amiss. A Saint could not be so twisted.¡± The soul of a Saint was holy, the pure essence of a machine that had served humanity well beyond its intended function.

    Cortana staggered to her feet, nursing her wrist. It had been irritated before, but now it was throbbing. Still, she dismissed it, inclined first and foremost to leave this hallway and these people. Surely, she had fallen on her wrist when ship¡¯s resident poltergeist attacked her. There was no other reason it would ache so profoundly. ¡°Saint or not, that thing is rabid.¡± The very feel of it had been putrid.

    ¡°It is concerning,¡± Havermeyer agreed. Quite simply, he had never seen or heard of anything like it, even in the ancient tomes of the tech-monks.

    ¡°Concerning,¡± Cortana scoffed. Easy for you to say. ¡°That thing¡¯s going to kill me.¡± She was certain of it. ¡°Be happy you¡¯re not on its bad side.¡±

    ¡°It does seem that you have repeatedly put yourself in that position, Sergeant. Were you not warned?¡± Had her last encounter not been a brutal warning?

    ¡°I was trying to have a conversation.¡± An honest one, which the Ensign seemed very intent on avoiding. ¡°But I won¡¯t argue the point.¡± Why bother? ¡°I¡¯m an outsider on this ship.¡± She had known she would be before she even set foot on board. ¡°Nothing I do will ever be good enough,¡± not even nearly dying to protect the airlock. She was destined to remain an outsider. The ghost had made that clear.

    ¡°I am sorry you feel that way, Sergeant,¡± Havermeyer said, uncertain what else to say.

    ¡°Keep your pity to yourself.¡± Cortana flattened down her hair and straightened her uniform. ¡°I¡¯m a Marine, and Marines don¡¯t care for pity.¡± Whatever social pariah she might be amongst the crew, she was still a Marine, through and through.

    With that, she walked away, a sour look drawn across her face. Havermeyer admired her bravery in some ways. He was deeply disturbed by the ghost, and he hadn¡¯t been the recipient of its ire. Still, it did concern him. Greatly. Especially now that Callie had drawn its attention. ¡°I¡¯m going to speak to the Admiral,¡± he told Callie. ¡°You should come. He will listen to your fears.¡±

    Sitting against the scuffed gray of the bulkheads, Callie noted Havermyer¡¯s worried expression. ¡°I wasn¡¯t afraid.¡± The ghost had appeared threatening, yes, and her power was something terrifying, but that power had not harmed Callie. ¡°The ghost wasn¡¯t going to hurt me. She was protecting me.¡± Regardless of her appearance, the ghost had made that clear.

    ¡°You are not afraid of the curse?¡± Havermeyer wondered. The ghost was known to be an omen of death, after all.

    ¡°No.¡± Surely, if the ghost had wanted to convey foreboding or fear, she could have. Instead, the ghost had altered the feel of its presence to be comforting, even if for Callie alone. While odd, Callie didn¡¯t want to second guess it. It was nice to feel protected, particularly by a presence so warm. Perhaps the ghost was lulling her into complacency, but on the streets of Sagittarion, Callie had learned to trust her instincts, and those instincts told her the ghost had been genuine.

    ¡°Be careful,¡± Havermeyer warned. ¡°I¡¯m inclined to agree with the Sergeant. This entity is violently unstable. Until we know more about it, it would be best to keep a distance.¡± Anything possessing the ability to manipulate a Saint could exploit a human with ease.

 Part 45.2 - THE PERSONNEL RECORD

    Polaris Sector, CT Badger

    Quarters on the Badger were cramped at first. The children were always underfoot, the walls were too thin, and the corridors were too small to pass by someone walking the other direction. It drove Amelia mad at first. There was no sense of privacy and no true moment of quiet, but in the end, she adjusted faster than she thought she would.

    The crew had welcomed her aboard the Singularity, but she had been an outsider. A passenger. On the Badger, she quickly found her niche as a school teacher, returning herself and every child aboard to a welcome routine. She was thanked, and more than welcome ¨C she was considered valuable.

    The daily lessons were difficult at first. She prepared according to what her students back on Ariea should have been capable of. It had not occurred to her that standards on Sagittarion were vastly different ¨C and vastly inferior. The orphans were lost and overwhelmed, but she quickly adjusted, and found a sense of meaning in teaching these young children. Their ages varied, but they were all behind in their education, and Amelia had made it her personal mission to get them up to standard.

    It felt nice to have a purpose, and the orphanage matron, Helena Delleora was more than grateful, she was amazed by the way Amelia organized the lessons and handled the classroom. Amelia was perplexed by that at first, until she realized that the matron had an education no better than the rest of them. She, born and raised on Sagittarion, had been turned into an adult well before she was ready. She¡¯d simply had the luck of being the oldest kid in the city block, and become somewhat responsible for the rest. Still, she never complained. Amelia supposed that was because Helena didn¡¯t know better. She had never known a life where she herself might still be learning a trade. On Sagittarion, this was the norm.

    With Amelia giving daily lessons for the kids, Helena was free to do other housekeeping ¨C cooking, cleaning and laundry. She had taken those tasks over from Ron and Amelia. Amelia had tried to fight it at first, arguing that she could do her own laundry, but it simply worked out better to let the matron do it. That was life on a ship ¨C living tasks were divided and conquered. Those with other skills did not always have time for the mundane, so others picked up the slack.

    The Badger itself was also a change. Surprisingly, the altered gravity ¨C lower than the planetary standard of 1G - was a quick thing to adjust to. It was almost fun, once one got the hang of it. It was easy to jump, everything was slower to fall, and after standing all day to give lessons, Amelia found her feet hurt less.

    It was not as easy to get used to the utter lack of privacy. Her son Harrison, and Ron¡¯s daughter, Anabelle, had taken to sleeping with the other children, all packed into the cargo hold¡¯s wide-open space. To them, it was fun. To Amelia, it sounded like hell. She herself only shared quarters with the orphanage matron, while Ron bunked with one of the Badger¡¯s other passengers: a terrestrial policeman by the name of Officer Jones. Captain Merlyn had his own quarters, and the ship¡¯s engineer bunked in a hammock somewhere in the engine spaces.

    The entire ship only had two lavatories. It had clearly never been designed to house this many people. But, with a strict rotation for showers, they made it work. Amelia didn¡¯t dread staying here. She mourned the loss of her comfortable life and home on Ariea, but the Badger wasn¡¯t so bad. With her lessons, she had the opportunity to change the trajectory of these kids¡¯ lives ¨C assuming they lived long enough to make landfall on a planet with some level of opportunity.

    In all, it surprised Amelia to find that the Badger was more comfortable to her. At first, the ship had felt fragile, and far too small. The bulkheads had been paper-thin, rooms far too cramped, the visible structural supports had looked so glaringly fragile. But, as she spent time here, she realized she¡¯d been looking at it wrongly. The Badger was freeing. The Singularity, with all its creaks and shifts, massive beams and dark coloration had felt oppressive. The Badger was lighter and less present, leaving more room for those aboard to live their lives. And of course, there was a lack of expectations here. On the Badger, she was just a school teacher, back in the life she knew. On the Singularity, she¡¯d been the Admiral¡¯s flesh and blood, and given the formalities to match.

    The Badger¡¯s Captain Merlyn kept himself scarce for the most part, but he wasn¡¯t any worse than the Admiral had been in that regard. Merlyn would occasionally come down to eat with his passengers, and brief them on developments within the refugee fleet. Merlyn always looked tired, dark bags hanging below his eyes. There was a slump in his shoulders, and it was clear the situation weighed upon him, weighing heavier and heavier with every day that went by.

    The orphanage matron did her best to cheer him up. She¡¯d scavenged materials for a simple sponge cake from supply, organized the kids in a song, and even had them write thank you notes. The Captain was appreciative of the gestures, but the haunted look in his eyes never left him.

    In that, as Amelia climbed up the narrow ladder into the Badger¡¯s small bridge, she wasn¡¯t surprised to see his hunched figure in the command chair. He spent most of his time there, monitoring the condition of the fleet, listening and responding to communications. Lately, the news had been grim. Even with severe rationing, the food supply was getting tight. By halving meals, the fleet could make it a couple more days, but after that, people would be going hungry. No one wanted to find out what happened after that. Frightened and hungry people made irrational decisions, Merlyn had said. He seemed to expect infighting, and made it a point to say nothing about the Badger¡¯s food stores.

    The Badger had been resupplied by the Singularity ¨C sent extra food, living supplies and even given mechanical upgrades. But the Badger was the only ship in the fleet that had received that treatment, and Merlyn well knew that those extra food stores would paint them as a target. The fleet would demand their extra supplies be split, but split amongst so many, that food would amount to nothing. At least on the Badger, it bought them time and kept the kids well-nourished. But, the Badger, like every other ship, would still begin to starve if the Singularity never returned, even if it took longer than the rest.

    ¡°Captain,¡± Amelia said, stepping carefully across the Badger¡¯s compact bridge. There were only three consoles in the space, but they were crowded in a volume not meant for high traffic. The floor wasn¡¯t level. The engineering and communications stations were in the back by the ladder, and the command chair was lower and centered in the middle, giving anyone sitting in it an uninterrupted view through the windows that wrapped around the bridge. The command chair itself looked exceptionally high-tech. Buttons and flight controls were built ergonomically into the arms, and screens hung down from above, but Merlyn insisted the setup was standard for cargo runners like the Badger. ¡°I¡¯ve brought you something to eat. Helena was worried you didn¡¯t come down.¡±

    Merlyn raised his head, the dark rings around his eyes looking even deeper than before. ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, setting a data pad aside as he reached out for the sandwich she¡¯d brought up.

    The screen of the data pad glowed softly, and ordinarily, Amelia would never have given it a second glance. Usually, it seemed to be communications traffic or supply evaluations, but this time, about half the screen was taken up by a portrait ¨C a portrait of someone she immediately recognized.

    Merlyn took a bite of the sandwich she¡¯d brought up. It was nothing special, just peanut butter and bread ¨C a decent mix of carbs and protein. They now relied on supplements to cover the nutrient deficiencies of their limited diet. Admittedly, he¡¯d come to like his passengers, even the extra few the Singularity dumped into his lap. It had been a long time since he¡¯d been around kids or family or anything resembling either. There was a pleasantness to it that made him dread their situation all the more, and given that Amelia had been among those dumped here by the Singularity, it hardly surprised Merlyn to find her staring at the data pad. ¡°I imagine you recognize him.¡± It was hard not to, considering that the man¡¯s appearance had barely changed over the years. Merlyn didn¡¯t know if that was a gift of time-dilation or simply genetics. ¡°Did you meet the Admiral when you were aboard?¡±

    It wasn¡¯t the first time Merlyn had asked her that. Amelia always found a way to extricate herself from the conversation when it came up. The tenser the situation became in the fleet, the more terrified she became of revealing her relation. ¡°In passing.¡±

    Merlyn made a noise of contemplation, then picked the data pad back up. ¡°I kept the records of the big players in local storage.¡± He had to be ready at any time to strike a deal for cargo, or in the case of this player, know when to surrender. ¡°The Fleet Admiral of the United Countries Space Command¡­ Well, he was as big as they got.¡± Coincidentally, he was also the one Merlyn had most wanted to avoid. Life was funny like that. ¡°Our lord savior and protector¡­ Unfortunately, he never seemed the type for charity.¡± Still didn¡¯t, as far as Merlyn was concerned. ¡°I¡¯ve yet to figure out why he bothered with us.¡± It made very little sense to Merlyn, ¡°So, I doubt he¡¯s coming back.¡±

    A pit opened in the depths of Amelia¡¯s stomach, a feeling of vertigo that was uncommon in the Badger¡¯s light gravity field. ¡°You don¡¯t think so?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t see why he would.¡± Merlyn shrugged. As much as he tried to keep his updates more upbeat for the matron¡¯s sake, Amelia was older and more mature. She could handle the truth. There was a level of deep understanding in her eyes, and something achingly familiar about her face. Merlyn hadn¡¯t managed to put a finger on it. ¡°We¡¯re a burden to the Singularity¡¯s resources. Beyond it simply being the right thing to do, there¡¯s no reason he should go hunt down supplies for us. We can¡¯t offer him anything.¡± Taking off from one of the poorer worlds, the refugees didn¡¯t even have money. In such a scenario, it seemed reasonable to ponder the low odds that Gives would return. ¡°Here,¡± he handed the data pad up to Amelia, ¡°I¡¯m sure you weren¡¯t provided this when you sailed with them.¡±Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    Taking hold of the tablet, Amelia could not help but stare at the screen. The Admiral¡¯s public service record was pulled up on it ¨C the very thing she¡¯d been denied in the Singularity¡¯s archives, the very item the Admrial had removed to keep her from seeing. But why? The blue-eyed portrait of the man offered no explanation. It was stoic and silent as much as the real thing, expression still as stone.

    Scrolling down, the record listed general facts: rank, title, hometown, educational history ¨C nothing she didn¡¯t already know. Below that were the commendations and awards. After the first few, Amelia stopped reading them. There must have been dozens. ¡°I had no idea he was so decorated.¡± She¡¯d gone to military functions with her late husband. Any officer who had awards had pinned them proudly on their chest, the medals polished and glimmering. Yet, in his portrait and in the brief moments she¡¯d seen the Admiral, he¡¯d been wearing no medals, only pilot¡¯s wings and the standard fleet insignia that all officers wore.

    Merlyn shrugged. ¡°The military loves its pomp and circumstance.¡± Taking a bite of his sandwich, he watched Amelia read further down into the Admiral¡¯s public service history. Nothing about it was too unexpected. Gives had spent nearly his entire career on the Singularity, a single eight month gap the only exception. No details were offered for those eight months. The file simply said ¡®redacted,¡¯ which wasn¡¯t so uncommon, for the military also loved its secrets.

    Amelia saw nothing too uncommon either, as she skimmed the document. ¡°I don¡¯t understand why he, they,¡± Amelia corrected herself to save face, ¡°wouldn¡¯t let me see this.¡± She kept reading, onto the service summary. It was lengthy in itself, even though days-long battles and months-long campaigns had been summarized into a sentence or two for each. Married to a Marine, Amelia was no stranger to reports like this. At times, that had been the only information she could find on her husband¡¯s deployment, and his status. But, her husband had served in a time of peace and seen only a few combat deployments. The Admiral¡¯s record was another beast entirely. Until it was all listed out like this, it had not occurred to her just how much he¡¯d seen. This service summary was pages upon pages long.

    ¡°It¡¯s easy to miss in there,¡± Merlyn allowed. It was stuck in like a note between the pages of a book. ¡°But I suppose they wouldn¡¯t want to bring to much attention to it.¡± Though, given the Admiral¡¯s separation from Command, the press back in the central worlds would be pulling out things formerly swept under the rug. The man had probably been demonized beyond repair by now ¨C not that he didn¡¯t deserve it. ¡°The Yokohoma didn¡¯t mean much to most.¡± It hadn¡¯t been the martyr of some great protest. It had been a cruise liner ferrying passengers on a standard run.

    Amelia froze. I know that name. ¡°The Yokohoma?¡±

    Merlyn chewed a little slower, observing Amelia in the white lights of the Badger¡¯s bridge. There was a trickle of worry in her expression and a glint of recognition in her eyes. ¡°Did you know someone on the Yokohoma?¡± She was old enough to, Merlyn thought. She would have been young at the time of the tragedy, but she wouldn¡¯t be here if she herself had been a passenger.

    ¡°Yes,¡± Amelia said softly. ¡°My mother,¡± the wife of the Secretary of Defense, a renown philanthropist. ¡°That¡¯s all my father would tell me. She was on the Yokohoma, and it sank.¡± Every passenger aboard had perished. Amelia found herself searching the Admiral¡¯s file. The details were lacking, but there it was: a mention of the ill-fated cruise liner. ¡°Admiral Gives took responsibility for the Yokohoma¡¯s sinking?¡±

    ¡°Took responsibility¡­¡± Merlyn scoffed. That¡¯s a pathetic euphemism. ¡°He did more than take responsibility, he caused it.¡± The mention of it was purged from the records now, but it had been quite the scandal at the time. ¡°The Yokohoma sank because the Singularity put a broadside into her.¡± Recovered evidence said there¡¯d been no warning, just a simple execution.

    Amelia¡¯s hands began to shake, making the words on the data pad she held impossible to read. ¡°I don¡¯t understand¡­¡± Why would he do that? And why hadn¡¯t her father told her? Surely, this was what the Admiral had been trying to hide. But why?

    She remembered it. She had been young, only a gangly teen more interested in fashion than her future, but the news had come in like a sledgehammer. Her mother had left on one of her trips to do work with underprivileged populations, but she wasn¡¯t coming back. Not then, and not ever. The days after the news had gone by in a blur as she was dragged from event to event. Everyone had wanted to remember her mother, loved and adored in so many circles. Everyone had offered condolences to her father, thinking of the Secretary and his family, but no one had spoken to her as she stood silently in his shadow. They had looked at her with pity and sorrow, but none too deep, as they knew the Secretary of Defense¡¯s daughter would be well-cared for. Secretly, Amelia had despised them all.

    The only exception to that, the only one who had spoken to her at all, had been the Admiral.

    It had been a week after her mother¡¯s death, just hours after a funeral service with an empty casket. There had been a knock on the door. She had opened it to find the Admiral, a formal cap tucked beneath his arm. He had never been a consistent figure in her life, his brief appearances rare. She¡¯d always known why he was scarce, of course. He was a career soldier. She never seen him wearing anything other than a uniform. When he¡¯d shown up then, she hadn¡¯t known what to say, but she had found it rather comforting to see another member of the family, since her small family had just grown another degree smaller. Her father, on the other hand, had been less pleased.

    When he came up behind her to see who was at the door, he¡¯d grown angry. ¡°What the hell are you doing here?¡±

    ¡°I have come to offer my condolences,¡± the Admiral said.

    ¡°Your condolences?¡± her father echoed, growing red in the face. ¡°I don¡¯t want your fucking condolences. This is your fault!¡± He shoved past her into the doorway. ¡°You were supposed to protect her! Isn¡¯t that your stars-forsaken job?¡±

    The Admiral did not react to that, standing so perfectly still. He may as well have been a statue. His expression never strayed from calm. ¡°I am sorry, Johnathan.¡±

    ¡°No, you¡¯re not,¡± her father snapped. ¡°You were jealous. Always so jealous because Christine and I had what was taken from you. And you just couldn¡¯t stand that, could you?¡±

    The Admiral said nothing, his expression left perfectly blank.

    ¡°You always do this. You¡¯d rather be quiet than lie, as if that makes you less of a monster, but it doesn¡¯t. It just makes you pathetic. You made your choice.¡±

    Stoic as he always was, the Admiral had turned from his brother, and looked toward her, toward the young teen with tear-stained cheeks. ¡°I am sorry.¡±

    Amelia had never known him well, only enough to know that his disposition was always so severe. But still, that apology, made directly to her, had stood out among so many other hushed words.

    Her father had taken less kindly. ¡°Leave.¡± He commanded, quaking with so much anger that the door knob he held rattled. ¡°Now. Before I hit you. You are a wanted member of no family,¡± straight poison filled those words, ¡°And you never will be.¡±

    The Admiral nodded once. ¡°Understood.¡± He affixed his cap. ¡°Good day, Mister Secretary.¡± He pivoted on his heel and stalked off. Amelia¡¯s father had slammed the door behind him.

    At the time, she felt her father had taken the anger of his grief out on his brother without real cause. Amelia had been old enough to understand the Admiral¡¯s duties. Everything and everyone in international space flew in his domain. He had always been indirectly responsible for the Yokohoma¡¯s fate. But now she knew the blame was more direct than mere responsibility. It was causality. ¡°He killed my mother.¡± Or rather, his ship had, but having spent time on the Singularity, she knew there was little point in distinguishing one from the other.

    Merlyn nibbled on the remaining crust of his sandwich, observing her. ¡°You didn¡¯t know?¡±

    ¡°My father never told me.¡± What would have been the point? She had not seen the Admiral after that day, and had Reeter not abducted her, she doubted she ever would have.

    Merlyn sat for a moment, remembering his own loss: wife and children killed aboard the Yokohoma. He¡¯d taken on the orphans to fill that hole and prove to the universe that he could have been a good father. But, as those kids seemed likely to starve out here, it had become a cruel joke. ¡°I never could figure out why he did it,¡± Merlyn admitted. The Yokohoma was such a sloppy, random attack from a soldier renown for his methodical nature.

    Amelia pursed her lips, and pointedly handed back the Captain¡¯s data pad. ¡°He was jealous.¡± Jealous of the life he never got to lead. Amelia had known that feeling too, in the months since her husband¡¯s death. Every time she¡¯d seen a happy couple or a happy family, it had stabbed at her, a dark and twisted jealousy. Their happiness had made her irrationally angry. It had prompted her to leave stores and restaurants early. It had prompted her to snap at some of them once, as if they should have seen her misery and kept their happiness unseen and unheard.

    Amelia¡¯s resentment never would have prompted her to make them as miserable and lonely as she was. But then, she wasn¡¯t a notorious sociopath with a weapon the size of a city at her beck and call. A lapse of judgement in her case meant a sharp word. A lapse in the Admiral¡¯s case could sink a cruise liner. ¡°Gives¡¯ sister-in-law was on the Yokohoma,¡± she told Merlyn. ¡°His fianc¨¦e left him alone, so he felt his brother should be alone too.¡± It was sick, but she understood it in weird, disturbing way. It was difficult to see others live the life one had wanted for oneself.

    Merlyn put the data pad away, thinking the answer was now clear. The Singularity wouldn¡¯t be returning to this fleet. And yet, Merlyn could not shake what the Admiral had said to him in that otherwise empty conference room. We both now serve as protectors of things we can never have.

    Merlyn was protecting Helena Delleora¡¯s orphans because he longed for the family he¡¯d never see again. He was not clueless. He well knew what had brought him here.

    But what had the Admiral been referring to?

 Part 45.3 - CHAOS DOMAIN

    Hyperspace, Battleship Singularity

    Working as a commanding officer was something like trying to climb a mountain in an avalanche. One could crawl over the boulders, heave one¡¯s self up and over a ledge, and then a wave of wind and snow would push one back down. Not falling off the mountain entirely required a degree of perseverance, stubbornness, and the night after a mission, extremely long hours.

    Or rather, if one intended to be competent, which the Admiral strove to be, it required all those things. A commander that cared less could certainly get away with less, but he found it best to write the ship¡¯s log while the recollection of the incident was fresh, and after that came the reports: engineering, armory and supply were the largest of them, but there were always more. The medical staff tracked the number and severity of injuries, the flight deck reported on readiness to launch, and sensors reported on accuracy, blind spots and battle observations. Lieutenant Foster¡¯s after-action analysis of the cyberattack had made it into the pile as well ¨C the evidence conclusive that Crimson Heart had managed to reliably control Hydrian technology, and in the process somehow subdued a Hydrian AI.

    From a tactical perspective, that was incredibly intriguing. It changed everything thought to be known about relations with Hydrian AI. But perhaps that assumed too much from a single, isolated example. Nonetheless, he would learn more by interrogating the Hydra again.

    The reports of ammunition expenditures were as expected ¨C higher than preferred, but not concerning, at least not yet. Without a resupply, their ammunition stores would surely dwindle, but they had the ability to manufacture shells on board, and plenty time to find materials before it became an operational concern.

    The engineering reports were also as expected ¨C damage abound and anomalies all around. Just looking at it gave Admiral Gives a headache.

    The one report that gave him pause was that from medical. They¡¯d come off light for a combat-heavy mission. Most of the crew suffered only scrapes and bruises. Even Cortana had been released, but Keifer Robinson was the exception. She wasn¡¯t dead, not yet, but had lapsed deeper into a coma after emergency surgery. Her prognosis was grim. Likely, her brain activity would die out, and she¡¯d be left a mindless vegetable kept technically alive by the life support machines that breathed for her and pulsed her heart on a steady rhythm. If that came to be the case, the decision would fall to him. Robinson had left no standing medical orders, and in their absence, the decision should go to the next of kin, but Robinson had none. The Admiral did consider appointing Galhino as her steward, but he doubted Galhino would even tolerate the suggestion. Her relationship to Robinson was, after all, a secret. Even if not a well-kept one.

    Below decks, the supply teams were still inventorying the exact contents of the crates stolen from Crimson Heart, but they had completed a preliminary sweep for powered devices, such as trackers on the cargo. None had been found, so the Admiral had ordered the ship back on a course toward the fleet. The course wasn¡¯t direct, but it would take them in the right direction. Perhaps that was strange, but the Admiral still felt something was amiss. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling, though he acknowledged it might well be paranoia. That same caution had led him to report the anomaly he¡¯d found in the long-term storage compartment, though he¡¯d declined to specify what exactly he¡¯d been doing in that compartment to start with. The ship¡¯s security officer, Lieutenant Colonel Pflum was heading up an investigation, but Admiral Gives didn¡¯t expect him to find anything.

    Heat damage was notoriously hard to trace. Gouges or impacts were much easier. Physical tools left behind microscopic fragments that could be material tested. Heat damage was less consistent. They could attempt to estimate the size and temperature of the heat source, but there was no guarantee of accuracy, as the time it had taken to create the damage was also unknown.

    A knock came on the door, breaking the Admiral out of his concentration. After so many years, he found that even the details of a knock could be interpreted for useful information. Crisp and evenly spaced, this one was not an indicator of an emergency. ¡°Enter,¡± the Admiral called, keeping his attention on the report before him.

    The hatch creaked open, then was closed and sealed before a set of work boots clunked across the floor, muffled by the old rug on the ground. ¡°Sir,¡± came the greeting.

    It was Havermeyer¡¯s voice. The Admiral had spoken enough with him to recognize it without much effort. ¡°What can I help you with, Ensign?¡±

    Havermeyer stopped in front of the Admiral¡¯s old wooden desk, unsurprised to find the man still awake at this hour of the night. The hours after combat were long for all the crew. It often took a full day for the ship to return to anything resembling a normal schedule. Briefly, Havermeyer wondered if this was the right moment for a discussion, but felt it could not afford to wait. ¡°My Saint,¡± he said bluntly, ¡°You know something.¡±

    The Admiral capped his pen and looked up to the monk. ¡°If you want to be technical, Ensign, I know lots of things.¡± Some pertained to that. Some did not.

    Havermeyer stared at his raised eyebrow, unamused. The wit behind those words did not surprise him, but he found it untimely. ¡°I am concerned for my Saint. There is a strong telepathic presence on board. We need to locate the source of this disturbance and remove it.¡± The telepath was a danger, doubly so if it managed any degree of control over the ship¡¯s machinery.

    ¡°You have not done your research.¡±

    Havermeyer tried to make sense of that. He did, because he knew the Admiral never spoke without intent. With him, even the shortest of comments could hold some half-truth, but that comment made no sense at all. He met the Admiral¡¯s stormy blue stare. ¡°What?¡±

    Admiral Gives did not like to repeat himself, but he made an exception in this case. ¡°You have not done your research.¡± And it was unlike Havermeyer to come unprepared.

    ¡°Research?¡± The monk echoed. ¡°On the ghost?¡± But the Admiral did not answer. He sat there with his unerring calm and waited. Waiting for what, Havermeyer did not know. ¡°Sir, this presence is violently unstable.¡±

    ¡°Were you injured?¡± The question came, stoic and cold in the lamplight.

    ¡°No,¡± Havermeyer answered, uncertain why it mattered. ¡°But Callie¡­¡±

    ¡°Was she injured?¡±

    The question was as void as before. Havermeyer wasn¡¯t sure if that was some indication that the Admiral did not care, or if he simply already knew the answer. ¡°She was not, but Sergeant Cortana¡­ She was attacked.¡±

    That I doubt, the Admiral mused, but having been on the receiving end of the ghost¡¯s power, he knew that its very magnitude could feel threatening. ¡°Did she deserve it?¡±

    Havermeyer blinked, taken aback. ¡°Sir?¡± But no response came, as the Admiral simply waited for him to properly answer the question. Havermeyer had to admit, ¡°Cortana was indeed out of line.¡±

    ¡°Then I fail to see a problem,¡± Admiral Gives answered, promptly returning his attention to the open report on his desk.

    As he watched the ship¡¯s commander brush off the incident, returning to the papers soaking in the yellow light of his desk lamp, Havermeyer¡¯s jaw twinged with a slight sense of betrayal. ¡°This entity is torturing a crewman, Admiral.¡± Never mind what it has done to my Saint.

    Without looking up, the Admiral asked, ¡°Do you truly consider Sergeant Cortana to be a part of this crew?¡±

    ¡°She is on the roster, sir.¡± She was, officially, one of the ship¡¯s personnel. On that count alone, they were bound to defend her, as comrades in arms.

    ¡°That was not the question.¡± Cruel as it might be, there was a reason Cortana received this treatment. The ghost was trying to fight a sort of infection: the infestation of a selfish mind. ¡°Do you consider Ensign Smith to be a part of this crew?¡±

    ¡°Absolutely, sir. Without question.¡±

    And there¡¯s the difference. Surely, that was as obvious to Havermeyer as it was to the Admiral. ¡°So,¡± he returned his attention to the monk¡¯s shaved head, ¡°to reiterate, you are asking me to initiate an exorcism on an entity that has defended a loyal crewmember.¡±

    Havermeyer could see his point with all the pleasure of the needle that had inked his ritual tattoos. ¡°I never said it defended her.¡±

    ¡°You said Cortana deserved it, and that Ensign Smith was involved.¡± The immediate conclusion was obvious. ¡°I am capable of reading between the lines, Ensign.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s a hell of a conclusion to make, given that the ghost¡¯s entire reputation is killing crew.¡±

    ¡°Fear cannot take a life. It can command obedience, but it, by itself, cannot kill.¡± The sheer magnitude of the ghost¡¯s power ensured the human survival instinct labeled it as a threat. The fragility of human existence denied that such a power could coexist without being a threat, but that was a fault of humanity, not of the power itself.

    ¡°The ghost is insane.¡± Havermeyer was not sure how else to explain it. ¡°The way it appeared, faceless, decaying¡­ It has lost whatever mind it may once have had.¡±

    The ghost had not lost her mind, her sense of self perhaps, but not her mind. If she truly went insane, none of them would be here discussing it. No, instability or not, she was still defending her crew. That was a good sign, regardless of the method. ¡°I will not punish an entity that protects this crew.¡± Quite simply, the Admiral refused to even consider it.

    ¡°Freeing it would not be a punishment, Admiral. It would be a tribute to it and our Saint.¡±

    ¡°Your Saint,¡± Admiral Gives corrected. ¡°My ship.¡±

    Havemeyer pursed his lips, annoyed by that distinction for the first time in a long time. ¡°This ghost is not a human entity.¡± It was distinctly inhuman. ¡°Strong telepaths are known to be unstable, sir.¡± Human telepaths almost always went mad before they turned twenty. ¡°If such an entity bound to this ship, then imagine the chaos it has seen. Battles, wars, massacres. Imagine the chaos it will see. We need to isolate it before it loses control.¡±Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!

    ¡°If such an entity has been lingering aboard, should it not be considered a part of the ship?¡± Why should that presence be regarded as alien if it had been here longer than any of the human crew?

    ¡°Machines are not telepathic, sir.¡± The tech-monks¡¯ tomes had never recorded a machine sensitive enough to possess telepathic capability.

    ¡°And yet, you say that nothing is impossible aboard a Saint.¡±

    Havermeyer narrowed his eyes, too aware of the Admiral¡¯s inclination. ¡°Do not turn my beliefs against me. It is my oath to serve my Saint, to protect her gathering soul. This ghost is threatening her. It is twisting her toward chaos.¡±

    ¡°And you believe she should be calm?¡±

    ¡°A Saint is made through exceptional service and reliability. So long as we maintain our understanding of them, they are predictable.¡± That was one of the tech-monks¡¯ core beliefs.

    ¡°Battleships are not calm entities, Ensign.¡± That was a very simple fact, taught to every crewman the first time they were called to action stations in the middle of the night. ¡°They are stalwart and reliable, but they are not calm.¡± They were not meant to be. They were great machines capable of incredible violence by design. The majority of their functions never slowed between a combat stance and normal operations. The engines still ran, navigations still plotted, sensors still searched and the power core still provided. None of that so much as paused outside of combat. ¡°A great many Technologist Saints may be calm, but they are not battleships. Your people have never honored a combat ship before, let alone one of this stature.¡±

    ¡°You yourself said this ship is more than a weapon,¡± Havermeyer reminded. ¡°I recognize her differences from the rest of our Saints, but I am still here in her service. This telepath is manipulating her, and it is manipulating us.¡±

    ¡°Ensign, you know more about telepathy than any other member of the crew.¡± The tech-monks¡¯ tomes were more detailed accounts of history and technology than any archive on the cortex. ¡°Telepathy is not a magic. It has limits and flaws. Chief among them is that it cannot rewire hard instincts like trust and danger. If you had been unwillingly altered, you would feel that something is wrong.¡± That was true, no matter how powerful the telepath.

    Havermeyer frowned. It figured that the Admiral was familiar with the topic. Extrasensory research had been driven by a desperate need to root out infiltrators on both sides of the Frontier Rebellion, and as a veteran of that conflict, the Admiral well should be familiar. ¡°Battleship or not, I do not believe this chaos is healthy for my Saint, and I do not believe it is healthy for those of us that rely upon her. This presence is influencing the neurofibers,¡± and the ongoing function of that system was already enough of a mystery. ¡°I fear Saintess de Aheng¨¦licas may be turned against us, and her soul does not want that, Admiral. You know that.¡±

    ¡°A loyal crew member will never be harmed by this ship.¡± Those with doubt in their hearts and selfishness on their minds were a different story. There were many selfish members of society. In some cases, it was an incredible flaw, and in others, it was barely a footnote, but those inherently selfish people were opposites of the ghost. That mentality was vastly different from her own processes: built to serve and suffer for the benefit of others. It was difficult for her to understand, a foreign and seemingly hostile perspective. Selfishness and ambition were parallel, and ambitious people were capable of both great and terrible things. That potential alone drew the ghost¡¯s attention.

    Cortana may not be an inherently bad person. In fact, no judgement was being cast upon her at all. It was simply that the ghost perceived a potential threat. She saw something she couldn¡¯t comprehend, and was constantly aware of its presence, constantly aware of its potential threat.

    ¡°You know something about this,¡± Havermeyer accused. The monk was certain of that. ¡°I saw the way those fibers reacted to you.¡± The ghost was controlling those fibers, and those fibers had behaved differently with him.

    Something changed in the Admiral¡¯s expression. Havermeyer couldn¡¯t pinpoint it, but it was enough to make him pause. An oncoming storm churned in the air, as if the barometric pressure in the room had just dropped. The storm never broke. Perhaps that was what made it so unnerving. It was the feel of electricity in the air and waiting eternally to be struck.

    ¡°Allow me to put this simply for you, Ensign,¡± as it seems simplicity is required. ¡°You are serving aboard a battleship. Your Saint is not a bastion of peace or prosperity. She earned her title through war. Death and fear are her primary business.¡± Coldly, he met Havermeyer¡¯s eyes. ¡°We are privileged to serve on her crew. We are subject to support her functions, and not be buried amid the result. We are privileged to see a better side of her and steer that capability where it needs to go.¡± That was the gentler perspective to have. Sighting the guns was always easier than seeing the gruesome reality of their impact. ¡°You have forgotten the primary function of the machine below your feet. She may be capable of more, but a battleship is designed, first and foremost, to identify and engage the enemy. It is inane to resent any presence aboard this ship for fulfilling that very objective.¡± Truly, it was idiocy at its finest. ¡°You decry the ghost¡¯s chaos, but chaos is your Saint¡¯s domain.¡±

    Admiral Gives watched that declaration settle in upon Havermeyer, as if this was the first time the monk had truly considered it. Take your contemplation elsewhere, the Admiral thought, ¡°I have work to do.¡±

    Havermeyer swallowed unwillingly. It was clear the conversation had reached its end. ¡°Yes, sir.¡±

    When the door closed behind Havermeyer, there was a minute of silence as the Admiral watched the little flame of the candle on his desk dance and flicker. Then he pulled his glasses off, meticulously folded them up, and buried his face in his hands. Damn the stars. Havermeyer had a thread. He would yank on it with fervor, unwinding it until the tapestry it wove made sense to him ¨C until the pattern complied with his beliefs. In that sense, perhaps bringing the tech-monk aboard had been a mistake. These days, the Admiral was starting to feel he¡¯d made a lot of them.

    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said aloud to the empty room. ¡°Thank you for looking after Ensign Smith.¡± To some degree, the ghost looked after every member of the crew, but Smith, well, Smith was a special case.

    He would deny it to anyone who asked, but he did worry more about her. Yet, for all the distance he held, it seemed the entire fucking crew was aware of his farce. That was why they pushed Smith to go talk to him when no one else would, and the Admiral resented it. He resented that he¡¯d allowed himself to be so transparent. He should know better than to show any inclination of attachment toward someone. It would only end poorly. It always did. To show any affection in these worlds was to consent to its destruction.

    No, he clenched his fist, his burned hand twinging sharply with pain. This was not the time for that miserable contemplation. He was needed in the present, overdue to fulfill his promise. He had been focused on the wrong objective, so determined to avoid the reminder of Brent that he had neglected the care of his only friend.

    Standing, he walked over to the nearest bookshelf and grabbed a novel with a green cover. Then he dragged his chair a little closer to the wall, and picked up the handset. He didn¡¯t dial it, simply rested it in the crook of his shoulder, and slipped his glasses back on. He cracked open the book, the spine crinkling as it fell open to the marked page.

    Looking at the start of the novel¡¯s next chapter, he found he could not remember the last time he¡¯d read from this book. Disappointment nipped at him, shadowed by that old self-loathing. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± He had not held up his end of the bargain. ¡°I promised I would be here when you needed me,¡± and I haven¡¯t been.

    Like a wounded animal, the ghost¡¯s presence crept up beside him, slinking from the shadows, not reaching out, but coming to rest beside him. She took no physical form, but the damage was obvious enough. Messy gashes and gouges riddled her presence, each self-inflicted wound weeping with panic and desperation. She had ripped at herself in a frenzy, drowning in chaos.

    Unfortunately, the feel of it was familiar to him. No one was harsher on the ghost than she herself. She had given herself this punishment, these oozing wounds, because she felt she deserved it.

    She was wrong about that.

    Admiral Gives did not care how she had justified such self-harm. It was undeserved. ¡°Kallahan¡¯s answers were not kind, were they?¡±

    The machine offered no response, but offered out a memory.

    The Admiral pushed it away. ¡°What he said does not matter to me.¡± Kallahan could have sworn her to be the most evil creature imaginable, he might even have evidence to back it up, but Admiral Gives would still not agree with him. ¡°I know you.¡± Thirty-nine years. He had been beside her for thirty-nine years. In all their battles, missions and patrols, he¡¯d seen what excited her, what pleased her and what angered her. ¡°Kallahan may believe he knows what you were before, but I know you as you are now.¡± And that mind did not deserve to suffer, even as he felt her recoil. He felt it now, just as he had the last few times he had spoken to her. She had tried to hide it, now no longer able as she flinched away from the sound of his voice.

    Admiral Gives had always tried to ensure his voice was one she could trust, one that never tried to harm her, but it was clear now. Brent¡¯s shadow had said something cruel and even that miniscule comfort had been torn away from her. I¡¯m sorry. Something like that could not be easily repaired, for he could not change the sound of his voice. He could only hope that she might learn to trust in it again, and that would start small, as it had all those years ago. Such trust was built word by word, sentence by sentence. It allowed no demands, and required careful patience.

    Reaching backward, he took the bottle of rum off the shelf behind his desk, uncorked it, and took a swig. Then, the Admiral began to read the novel in his hands aloud, letting the handset¡¯s mic pick up every word. ¡®I know who you are,¡¯ he thought to the ghost. Nothing could change that, not even this vulnerable state. No anomaly, no loss of control would rip that identity away, because he believed. He believed in her, in everything she had ever been to him and to the crew, and everything she ever could be. ¡®You are not a monster.¡¯

    The ghost found herself surrounded by that certainty. Untouchable, untainted, absolute, it leeched into her. At first, she fought it, an instinct brought about by the loss of her anchor, by that old fear of what Brent had twisted her into. But sitting here, reading to her, that wasn¡¯t Brent. Brent wasn¡¯t here, offering calm and certainty.

    Though Brent had recently spoken with it, that gravelly voice did not belong to Brent. And slowly, as the words and paragraphs led into pages and chapters, she began to trust once more, trust in that voice and its owner not to hurt her. Her systems began to accept realignment, setting into the identity offered to them, the only identity she truly cared to maintain.

    It eased her strains and began to heal her self-inflicted wounds, each moment a reminder that she had not failed her mission, that she still had a place and an identity all her own, with an anchor she could trust to remind her of it.

    As time passed, she submerged herself in the identity offered to her, wanting more than anything to reclaim it and never, ever lose it. So often stifled and overridden, this was her truest state. Admiral Gives offered her the chance to be who she was, not who he wanted her to be. There was no demand for anything, yet she would have given anything to become what he saw in her, because that perspective was something magnificent. It was a protector, a companion and a dear friend. And though the ghost knew she could never be any of that, too weak, too scarred and too unstable, she would never stop trying.

    Curling around that identity, feeling it repair her, she sat invisibly beside the one who so loyally defended her, even from herself. Thank you. Perhaps she always failed to communicate such thoughts, but she was grateful. Without him, she would have lost this battle long ago, drowned in the constant churn of others¡¯ intentions, but he had taken the time to speak to her, to know her, and protected that identity for her. That kindness had allowed her to grow, to understand her feelings and instincts.

    It had brought sense to chaos.

    Defending that identity as loyally as he did was a kindness well beyond any she had ever received, and the fact he saw that identity as someone great, someone he deeply valued¡­ The ghost could not fathom the true depth of the gratitude she felt, nor the fear she had of losing him. He alone kept her functional. He alone spent the time to keep her sane, even when the damage seemed irreversible. She was just a broken mind, pieced back together and held in place by his memory of how she¡¯d once been. She broke apart every time she tried to stand on her own, and still, he always pieced her back together again, never abandoning her in that sea of confusion and pain.

    He read to her for hours, sipping on the rum until the bottle ran dry. Even once it did, he finished the chapter before he hung up the handset, marked the page and closed the book. He replaced the novel to its spot, and regarded the room, still empty, but maintaining a calmer air than it had before. ¡°Sorry it took me so long,¡± he said. You shouldn¡¯t have needed to wait. Every minute she¡¯d waited had been a thousand processes, a thousand fears, and a thousand self-inflicted wounds. But waited, she had, always so very patient with him.

    Pushing those thoughts away, he put the empty rum bottle back in its hiding place and contemplated water and sleep. Exhaustion weighed down his limbs, but his mind not at peace. He was going to need a nightcap of something strong.

 Part 45.4 - NIGHTCAP

    Hyperspace, Battleship Singularity

    Legally, every ship in the fleet was supposed to be dry ¨C no alcohol or other inebriating substances aboard. Of course, if one had been the fleet long enough, one knew that to be utter nonsense. The Singularity was no different, in fact, she might even be worse than the rest of the fleet in this case. The ship¡¯s doctor and chief armory officer were members of a competitive drinking team, and the rest of the crew wasn¡¯t keen on long-term sobriety either. Thus, one of the ship¡¯s vacant compartments had been transformed into a bar. That was tradition on many ships, but usually the space was little more than a dingy closet.

    That said, the Singularity¡¯s crew did nothing halfway, especially breaking fleet regulation. The Singularity¡¯s bar was a fleshed-out space with decorative lights, tables, games, and even something of a menu ¨C drinks and food provided by none other than Mama Ripley. The crew took great pride in creating something like that beneath the nose of the commanding officer, as if it had been a new and noteworthy idea. It wasn¡¯t, and the ship¡¯s bar had existed in some form since launch, even if the Admiral usually pretended not to know about it.

    Most of the crew never suspected that Zarrey, Mama Ripley and the supply officer, Lieutenant Letts, had secured the space, supplies and funding to enlarge and improve the bar with the Admiral¡¯s backing. He, more than anyone, knew how boring their long patrols could be, and that it was healthy for the crew to have somewhere they could unwind. The dart boards, billiards tables and tabletop games were simply more effective than a dingy closet with bootleg alcohol. This public, nicely lit space with properly sourced booze was safer too. Generally, it was a joyous environment. They would do trivia nights themed with random questions from the ship¡¯s archives, schedule concerts from the handful of hobby musicians on board, and the crew, a little tipsy after a battle, would often sing shanties. That, the Admiral knew, was the ghost¡¯s favorite. Her presence always sung alongside them, beyond their perception, but singing all the same.

    By now, however, the bar was empty. Any crew that had celebrated the completion of the raid had moved on. It was a stretch to say it was even still nighttime. At 0330, the ship¡¯s chronometer was ticking toward the early morning hours.

    Past the mismatched chairs and the scuffed tables that filled the compartment was a massive countertop with twenty barstools. Behind the bar were all the amenities expected of a popular shore leave joint: ice machines, shakers, blenders, taps, glass racks and sinks. Fridges were installed between the cabinets, and there was a small kitchenette around the corner used to prepare snacks.

    Above the bar, decorations and trophies hung, lit by small spotlights. Most of them were prizes won from other crews or pilfered from less-than-official means. Among them was a politician¡¯s favorite pen, a musician¡¯s signed record, the helmet of a famous ace, the largest gem of a pirate¡¯s treasure hoard, and even the fossil of an unidentifiable lifeform. But, front and center sat the most prized of them all: a ceremonial sword.

    Every ship in the fleet had one. It was forged alongside the ship, and carried aboard ¨C an embodiment of a ship¡¯s capability on the human scale. In most cases, they were purely ceremonial, a point of pride brought out only on parade, and utilized only for ceremonies of high-honor, like the transfer of a ship¡¯s command. Some exceptionally prideful ship commanders used them as personal weapons, but most found it uncouth to shed blood with the ceremonial blade.

    The blade hanging above the bar, an obsidian longsword with a ruby-studded handle, was the Singularity¡¯s sword. Like everything else on the wall, it had been swiped from its rightful storage place, and the ship¡¯s crew was quite fond of the prize. The Admiral had been content to let them keep it. The sword did more for morale here than gathering dust in storage. And, for all the pomp and circumstance he¡¯d gone through as the Fleet Admiral, he¡¯d never once touched the ship¡¯s ceremonial blade. When he¡¯d gained command, there hadn¡¯t been a ceremony. The sword had never been brought out, but he had never expected his predecessor to abide tradition.

    Moving around the bar top, Admiral Gives stepped into the adjacent storage room. Shelves had been added floor to ceiling in this space, boxes of liquor, mixers and snack foods set upon them. The room smelled faintly woody, probably the result of a broken liquor bottle and a bucket of used wine corks sat in the corner, ready to be repurposed. At this hour, he¡¯d expected the room to be vacant, so he was less than pleased to find himself face to face with the ship¡¯s head cook.

    The old woman threw her hands on her wide hips. ¡°Why are you still awake?¡±

    Loathe as he was to admit it, being caught here, at this time of the night, did feel like he¡¯d been caught red-handed. Ripley¡¯s scolding never missed their mark, and all she needed was a handful of words and a stern look.

    ¡°You should be asleep,¡± Ripley reminded him.

    ¡°So should you,¡± he countered.

    ¡°Please, you know the last few left only an hour ago.¡± Those who volunteered to work the ship¡¯s bar were organized and trained by Mama Ripley. That meant, the night after a mission, Ripley herself usually handled the bar, giving the others a chance to partake. In exchange, the other cooks would handle the morning prep. ¡°I¡¯ve been cleaning.¡± After the last crew retired, the surfaces had to be wiped down, and everything had to be put securely away. That was ship regulation. Bar or not, she held this compartment to the same standard as the mess and the kitchens. ¡°Why are you here?¡±

    ¡°I was just looking for a nightcap.¡± Something strong enough to help him sleep.

    Ripley narrowed her eyes. ¡°Are you drunk?¡± Or trying to be?

    Tempted as he was to start hiccupping and staggering, he knew that would end with Ripley locking him in this supply closet until she deemed him sober enough to come out. ¡°I am fine.¡± And he was. He knew better than to drink himself silly. He could be prompted at any time to make a decision that involved life or death for any number of the crew. He could not afford to compromise his judgement. And, staying mostly sober prevented him from saying anything he might later regret, no matter how true it was. ¡°I¡¯m just looking for a nightcap.¡± That was the honest truth.

    It was always hard to tell with the Admiral. He was so stoic, and always looked the same. Even now, in the dead of night, he was in full uniform dress. Perhaps, Ripley reasoned, that was how he was most comfortable. Nothing on him gave away anything, but the presence draped across his shoulders like a cloak was another matter. It had calmed since Ripley had last felt it, not a churning mass teetering on the edge of self-inflicted violence, but a calm and steady weight. One she was certain he would never acknowledge. Given that, it was clear why he was still awake.

    ¡°You¡¯re a good man,¡± Ripley told him.

    ¡°I am really not.¡± Clinging to such a foolhardy belief was a mistake made by far too many.

    ¡°I do not know anyone else who would offer that kind of patience, Will.¡± No, she corrected his name, ¡°Admiral, that is a kind gesture.¡± Staying up and taking the time to try to steady the ghost was a kind gesture to an entity that had seen so very little kindness. ¡°Even if she cannot speak to it now, I know the time you spend with her means the worlds to her.¡± In better times, the ghost spoke of the books they went through together. She said nothing of the novels themselves, but of what it meant to have him read to her. Each word was a promise that he would not harm the ghost, and Ripley well knew that he meant it. He would do anything to give the ghost or any other member of the crew a chance at a better life. The only suffering he ignored was his own, always trying to make up for a dreadful mistake that had been well beyond his control. He seemed to believe that if he worked enough, if he could just protect these people, that alone justified his continued existence.

    But that was no way to live and Ripley knew it. ¡°Did you eat anything?¡± she asked, reading the answer from his emotionless expression. ¡°Would you like me to eat with you?¡±

    ¡°That will not be necessary.¡±

    ¡°You are going to kill yourself if you keep going like this. No one wants that for you.¡± Ripley would rather see him do well, so too would the ghost. Most of the crew probably did not know how he struggled, but they admired him in many ways, and would not want their image of him tarnished. ¡°There are a number of people here who would help you without hesitation, even if it meant sharing a meal with the big boss.¡± Not every member of the crew would be perturbed by that.

    ¡°I am not hungry.¡±

    ¡°Because your friend is suffering?¡± Ripley did often wonder how much he felt of the ghost¡¯s status. This refusal to eat seemed to be an indication that her degradation affected him too. ¡°I know you would give anything to help her. I would too. But stars, you have to know that sometimes it is all we can do to show her that we are doing well. You cannot bear the burden for her. She must be strong enough to carry it. She will recover, Admiral. She is stronger than all of us, and you starving yourself to suffer with her is not helping. Show her how to move on. Show her how to keep going and she will follow in your wake.¡± That was the leader¡¯s responsibility ¨C to show others the path when they could not see it themselves. ¡°So, I will get you a bottle.¡± That seemed a fair concession. ¡°Allow yourself one miserable night and tomorrow, move on. Look toward the future, not the past.¡±

    Giving him one last somber look, Ripley turned and moved over to one of the crates left against the wall. He said nothing, but the Admiral shadowed her movement.

    The crate was marked for high importance, a critical supply. Surely that was some crewman¡¯s idea of hilarity, or an excuse for Letts, the ship¡¯s supply officer, to personally escort it and smuggle its contents aboard. Like any that held foodstuffs or fragile supplies, the crate was a bulky, insulated chest, with a gray plasticky exterior. It was near-identical to the storage crate the Admiral had investigated earlier in the long-term storage hold. Even down to a familiar scar.

    As Ripley opened the lid, he caught a better angle of the damage, not a scratch, but a raised and bubbled ridge. Heat damage. Instantly, he reached forward and snagged Ripley¡¯s wrist, pulling her two steps back as the lid of the crate slammed closed.

    ¡°What are you-?¡± Ripley turned, finding his expression had taken on the chill of a warning. She quieted and allowed him to pull her further back. His grip was never painful, but it still took her aback. Beyond the occasional handshake, Admiral Gives never touched anyone. If possible, he would avoid it altogether. The fact he¡¯d pulled her back immediately told Ripley that something was very wrong.

    With Ripley safely behind him, the Admiral stepped forward. Carefully, he reached toward the bubbled rise on the lid of the crate. It gave under pressure, still warm to the touch. This was recent. Perhaps within the last few minutes.

    Instantly, he began looking around for anything else out of place. The wire shelves of the store room were anchored, the other crates securely tied down. None of them had any strange scarring, but none of them had markings of high importance either. The contents of the store room were otherwise ordinary. The surrounding deck tiles and bulkheads showed only the usual wear and tear of human occupancy. The lights above were bright and steady.

    Tracing the scar across the top of the container, it curved over the beveled edge of the container, down onto the side. The damage stopped just past the lid, but he followed the trajectory of the line down onto the ground, and to a ventilation grate. There were multiple just like it in every compartment on the ship ¨C channels that allowed the flow of air for temperature and atmospheric control. But this one was loose, and it shouldn¡¯t have been. It was bad practice to leave anything loose on a spacecraft, worse practice to neglect the care of the atmospheric systems. Even a loose, rattling grate could generate debris that might damage a filter, fan or air recycler ¨C all critical for anyone who liked breathing in the depths of space.

    Then there was the sound. A plinking clatter, not a noise made by the ship herself, but of something tapping against her metals. At first it faded away, but then picked up in tempo and volume, drawing closer once more.

    The Admiral took a step back, altogether certain that something was wrong. He kept himself between Ripley and the ventilation grate. Given the volume of the ship¡¯s ventilation channels, whatever was approaching couldn¡¯t be large, but that didn¡¯t mean it wasn¡¯t dangerous.

    The pitter-patter of the approaching sound stopped, and then a thin, needle-like protrusion emerged, pushing the grate cover aside. Three more protrusions followed, not needles, but limbs. A round little body emerged from the ventilation duct, attached to eight spindly legs. A small head was attached to its main form, mounting the tip of a plasma cutter, still glowing orange from recent use.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    Ripley stared at it, uncertain she had ever seen anything quite like it. Roughly a foot across, its main body was about the size of her fist. She kept her voice low and quiet, shadowing the Admiral¡¯s movement. ¡°What is that?¡±

    ¡°A cutting drone.¡± Officially, they were designed for use in the scrap yards. Swarms of these drones could cut down and disassemble machines many times their size. Like ants, they were far stronger than they appeared. Naturally, their efficiency had been put toward militarized use. If any number of these drones were somehow planted on a target, they could cut signal and power lines, or begin taking off armor to weaken a target. The Singularity¡¯s main engines had been subject to that very tactic in the battle of the Wilkerson Sector.

    ¡°What¡¯s it doing here?¡± Ripley asked.

    That¡¯s a good question. In fact, it was the exact same the Admiral had. These drones were human tech, nothing exotic. It was not uncommon for salvage crews to carry them. Hell, the Singularity probably had some on board, but they¡¯d never been used. The old ship didn¡¯t possess the capability to control them the way newer ships with centralized computing could.

    The drone turned toward them, the lenses on its head twinkling as they found focus. It was the Admiral¡¯s opinion that these drones had more lenses than strictly necessary. They were mounted in a ring around the drone¡¯s head, but the number of them made it a little too spider-like for his tastes.

    Even worse, as if drawn by the sound of Ripley¡¯s voice, its head snapped toward them. A sense of wrongness gnawed at the Admiral¡¯s nerves. This drone shouldn¡¯t be active. Not aboard a ship that did not have the means to control it. ¡°Door,¡± he told Ripley, beginning to slowly back away. Whatever this drone¡¯s purpose, they did not want to be caught in an enclosed space.

    Ripley didn¡¯t argue. As much as it pained her to let him place himself between her and the drone¡¯s potential danger, she also knew there was no point in arguing over it. She crept quietly back toward the door, the Admiral mirroring every step as he kept a watchful eye on the drone.

    As Ripley ducked through the door, it seemed like the drone wasn¡¯t going to do anything. It just sat there, powered, but still. Then, without a twitch of warning, it charged forward, its sharp little legs plinking across the textured deck tiles. The plasma cutter on its head ignited, spewing forth a rabid froth of blue flame, and it jumped up onto the nearest shelf. It was now at head-height, so as it ran toward him along the edge of the shelf, Admiral Gives could very well assume its next target.

    The drone was small and fast, but he had just enough time to leap backward, grab the door and slam it closed as the drone jumped once again. The door shuddered when the drone impacted, the thud disproportionate to its small size.

    Admiral Gives turned to Ripley, ¡°Back,¡± he urged, ¡°That door will not hold it for long.¡± The focused laser of a plasma torch could cut through the ship¡¯s battle armor in a matter of minutes. A simple door would only hold for a fraction of that. He could already hear the hiss of the cutter delving into the metal.

    Ripley took a few steps backward, shoving down her immediate questions. Why was this drone attacking? Who was controlling it? She had enough combat experience to know that survival came first and answers came later. She focused instead on the Admiral as he opened up drawers and dug quickly through their contents. ¡°What are you doing?¡±

    ¡°Looking for a weapon.¡± That drone had jumped with an intent to kill and near-contact with the edge of a plasma torch guaranteed third-degree burns. There could be no fighting hand-to-hand. He yanked a small, serrated citrus knife from its cover. Better than nothing. That cutting drone was a hell of a lot faster than him or Ripley. Once it escaped the closet, there would be no outrunning it, nor was he willing to let something that dangerous loose on the rest of the crew.

    There were times Ripley wondered how this man had become one of the most feared tacticians in the worlds. You¡¯re an idiot. ¡°I know a weapon you can use,¡± she told him, pointing upwards.

    Admiral Gives followed her gesture to the longsword hung above the bar ¨C the very same one he¡¯d admired on his way in. Oh, yeah, ¡°That will work.¡±

    He heaved himself up onto the wooden bar top, yanked the sword from the hooks that held it, and nearly dropped it the minute he took its weight. The damn thing was heavy, but he should have expected that. These ceremonial swords were supposed to be representations of their ships, and the Singularity was not only large, but constructed from a dense alloy. For a spacecraft rated to fly in atmosphere, she was very heavy because a light-weight structure couldn¡¯t handle the recoil of large-caliber artillery. And, in this case, a bit of weight was just what he needed.

    Tightening his grip on the obsidian longsword, he hopped down from the bar. ¡°Stay back,¡± he commanded, pleased to see the chef oblige by ducking behind the bar. It wouldn¡¯t save her from the cutting drone¡¯s attack, but it would prevent her from being the first target.

    Taking position beside the door to the supply room, he could hear the hiss of superheating metal even louder than before. A visible part of the door was beginning to glow near the floor, so he raised the sword up, biding his time as sparks began to spew by his feet.

    Cutting drones, like the insects their design had been based off of, could squeeze themselves through incredibly small holes, so the moment he saw even one of its spindly legs emerge, he swung. The main body of the drone popped through the searing hole in the door, and the sword impacted with a solid crunch, denting its round body inward, and splitting the casing as the drone¡¯s internal circuitry was crushed. The drone spasmed once, its little legs convulsing, and then the plasma torch on its head spluttered out.

    ¡°I hate spiders,¡± the Admiral muttered, yanking the sword free. He checked it down its length, impressed. The edge hadn¡¯t been particularly sharp before, and was probably worse for the wear now, but its angling and weight was proper to damage metal. Brief contact with the plasma torch hadn¡¯t deformed it, because it was made of reinforced obsidian. On its own, obsidian was fairly brittle, and would break or scratch easily, a poor choice for a weapon, but it had a very low coefficient of heat transfer ¨C around four percent that of aluminum. It would take a substantial amount of time for a plasma torch to cut this blade, useful given his target.

    Peeking up above the edge of the bar, Ripley sighed a breath of relief. ¡°What the hell was that about? Did you finally piss off the ghost?¡± That shadow-like presence wasn¡¯t lingering anymore, as far as Ripley could tell.

    Admiral Gives set the sword carefully upon the bar, reminding himself to come polish it later. ¡°I do not believe so.¡± He knelt beside the drone, ¡°Do you have tongs here?¡±

    ¡°Of course I have tongs here,¡± Ripley huffed, opening up one of the drawers, ¡°we¡¯re not handling the cocktail ice by hand.¡± They were a battleship crew, not heathens.

    ¡°Bring them here,¡± the Admiral said.

    Ripley fixed her apron and knelt down on the drone¡¯s other side. ¡°I¡¯m getting too old for this.¡±

    Taking one set of silver tongs, Admiral Gives used them to grab one side of the drone¡¯s ruptured casing. ¡°Take hold of the other side,¡± he told Ripley. ¡°I need to see its internal circuitry.¡±

    Ripley sighed, displeased by this abuse of her kitchen supplies, but didn¡¯t argue. She pinned the drone¡¯s thin silver skin between the tongs and nodded. Together, they began to pull. The drone¡¯s casing held for a moment, but already damaged, soon peeled open just another inch.

    That was enough to let light shine down onto the circuit cards. They were crushed, the drone totally inoperable now, but there something added in. Like a weed growing between two paving stones, a chip had been wired into the layered circuit card assembly.

    Circuitry had never been the Admiral¡¯s specialty. He was much more familiar with physical machinery, but judging simply by the way some of the cards were labeled, and the connections to the drone¡¯s central processor and receiver, it appeared to be a control chip. He pushed the tongs into the gap, took hold of the chip and wrenched it free. It was a different make from the rest of the circuitry ¨C a different color, almost transparent, like glass. He could see the connections and components inside were much denser than the drone¡¯s other cards. ¡°This was a recent addition,¡± he told Ripley.

    ¡°You know, one of the Marine teams ripped a control chip out of a loader-bot on Crimson Heart¡¯s base.¡± She¡¯d overheard them telling that story at the bar like it was the heroic adventure of a lifetime. ¡°Think that¡¯s related?¡±

    ¡°Unfortunately.¡± This drone had been crawling around the ship since they¡¯d engaged Crimson Heart. The ghost had perceived its disturbances, but it had been much too small, and she much to overwhelmed to isolate the issue. But what end was this drone serving? There had been no reports of injury, nor any reports of damage.

    ¡°Who¡¯s controlling them?¡± Ripley wondered. ¡°The Baron?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± this was probably much worse than that. ¡°The Baron himself was not controlling anything directly.¡± Somehow, he¡¯d coerced a Hydrian AI into doing that for him. That¡¯s what these chips were ¨C microcontrollers that allowed Hydrian AI to operate human technology. They were adapters, translating between Hydrian and human tech, and whatever objective this drone had served was over now. Its controller would know that it had been destroyed.

    The Admiral grabbed a napkin from the bar and wrapped up the chip. It would surely be useful to dissect later. Then, he stood, and was hit immediately with a pang of exceptional discomfort.

    ¡°Admiral?¡± Ripley asked, immediately concerned.

    He steadied himself on the bar. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± this wasn¡¯t pain. It was more like an uncomfortably tight pinch, and it wasn¡¯t his sensation, so to speak. It was the ghost, trying to tell him something, but still not quite healed enough to do it in a way that was understandable to him.

    He located the nearest handset, and rushed to grab it off its mount. ¡°Sitrep.¡±

    The voice of the ship¡¯s automated protocols answered him immediately, ¡°Unauthorized access to navigational data.¡±

    Unauthorized access? The crew all had access to that information. They had a right to know where the ship was headed. But, no, that wasn¡¯t the point. In their raw state, the ship¡¯s automated protocols only had a select few phrases they could use. In this case, coupled with that discomfort, they were trying to tell him that the navigations data had been accessed in a way it was not meant to be accessed ¨C by physically jacking into the system. But why?

    No, that shouldn¡¯t be the most immediate concern. If the navigations data had been tapped, that meant there were more drones.

    There was no way to track drones that small aboard ship. The Singularity¡¯s internal sensors simply weren¡¯t designed for it. They were built and calibrated to monitor atmospheric conditions, to identify fires and decompressions. The ship wasn¡¯t equipped to combat tricks and espionage. She was a brawler, built to fight ship-to-ship.

    The handset in the Admiral¡¯s grip crackled, ¡°Warning, imminent FTL power failure.¡±

    Power failure? He turned to glance at the destroyed drone, remembering the plasma torch. The ship¡¯s power lines were redundant, but as internal components, they were unarmored. A cutting drone¡¯s plasma torch could cut them easily. Damn it all.

    The voice of the ship¡¯s automated protocols spoke once more, offering a single instruction, ¡°Brace.¡±

    The Admiral didn¡¯t need to be told twice. He dropped the handset, and ran back toward Ripley. ¡°Get down,¡± he ordered.

    Ripley hesitated, clearly confused by the command. She didn¡¯t notice the soft, pulsating hum of the ship¡¯s warp drive dropped out of the background. ¡°Down,¡± he repeated, grabbing Ripley and dragging her to the ground.

    The force of it hit a moment later, the ship careening as it fell out of hyperspace. A wall of force hit everything, knocking the few unsecured items off the shelves, shattering glasses as they jostled in their racks. It crushed Ripley against the Admiral, and him into the rigid metal of the wall. Had they been standing, they would have no doubt been thrown, violently, but as it was, he cushioned her from the worst of it, shielding both their heads from direct impact.

    Still, it felt like being hit on the temple with a baseball bat. Ripley lost consciousness for a moment. She came to as her ears rung with deafening tinnitus. Everything in sight was fuzzy and bright. It all came back into focus a moment later, when she realized the Admiral was shaking her shoulder, trying to get her attention. She felt older than she¡¯d felt in a long time, an exhausting weight suddenly pressing down upon her. Warm, runny blood was starting to trickle out of her nose. ¡°What happened?¡± she asked, voice weak.

    ¡°We dropped out of hyperspace.¡±

    Then it was no surprise the Admiral had recovered first. Sailors built tolerance to FTL events, and he had more experience than she did, since she¡¯d served station-side for a large portion of her career. ¡°I don¡¯t remember it being so violent,¡± she said, trying to stop the blood flowing out of her nose.

    ¡°It was not by choice.¡± With power cut to the FTL drives, they¡¯d lost the stable warp field, and hyperspace had forcefully spat them out.

    Warp travel through hyperspace was generally considered safer than the other mode of FTL, jumping through subspace, but warp travel was not without risk. There was a process to it, and that process, while not as demanding as a jump, could be unforgiving if disrupted. Admiral Gives would rather not consider how big of a hit the ship¡¯s structural integrity had just taken. A lesser ship may not have survived at all, but there was no time to consider that now. After tapping the ship¡¯s navigational data, the drones had chosen to drop them out here, wherever here was. ¡°You are injured, stay here,¡± he told Ripley, ¡°I will get someone.¡±

    ¡°For fuck¡¯s sake, a bloody nose won¡¯t kill me.¡± True, she felt sore, but after the roughness of that transition, there would be others far worse than she.

    ¡°Then gather your staff and get to work. Forcefully decommission any drone you find.¡± He could hear the faint error sound of disconnection coming from the handset on the wall. After FTL capability was sabotaged to strand a ship, internal communications was always the logical next target, generating confusion and disorganization. With comms down, they would have to operate by word of mouth. ¡°Spread the news,¡± he instructed. ¡°We are under attack.¡±

 Part 46.1 - DRONES

    Meo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Fuck. When Colonel Zarrey came to, slumped over in the shower, reddish water washing down into the drain, that was the only thought he could put together. His head felt full of cotton, and the drops of water from the shower head were suddenly more of an assault than a relaxing rain. He watched the diluted blood swirl around the drain for a moment before pondering where it had come from. Tracing it to his nose, he found it to be leaking at a somewhat alarming rate, though it didn¡¯t feel injured.

    Trying to stymie the bleeding, Zarrey pinched his nose and carefully stood. I can¡¯t even shower in peace, he lamented. A nice warm shower was very a simple desire, and he couldn¡¯t even get that without an interruption. Wrapping a hand around the shower valve, Zarrey shut off the water as he tried to gather his bearings amid the steam of his shower cubicle.

    It was the middle of the night. He had finally been headed toward bed, only to feel like he¡¯d been hit over the head with a sledgehammer during what should have been a relaxing shower.

    ¡°Naddlethworfing nightshift can¡¯t even fly the ship in a straight line,¡± he muttered. ¡°It¡¯s not that hard.¡± They had only needed to mind the ship for a few hours, at warp no less, where nothing should have been able to touch them. Entering and exiting hyperspace was the riskiest part, and Zarrey had commanded the entry. Their course should have kept them at warp until the afternoon, when first shift was back on the bridge.

    Zarrey wouldn¡¯t pretend to understand the engineering behind FTL travel, but he knew the role of the third shift bridge crew wasn¡¯t anything complex. They had been there to monitor power consumption. As long as they didn¡¯t press the one, very specific, very wrong button, it should have been fine.

    Opening the shower door, Zarrey stepped out on to the bathmat and found something sitting atop the mirror that hung above his bathroom sink. It was just staring at him. What the fuck? It looked like a metal spider, perched atop the inch-deep ledge of the mirror bolted to the wall. Glass lenses glittered upon its tiny head, but he barely got a proper look at it before it jumped from the wall like a missile aimed at his head.

    ¡°Shit!¡± Zarrey leapt out of the way, and the drone missed by a matter of inches. It landed upon the shower door with a thunk, immediately tensing to jump again. Dripping wet and butt-naked, Zarrey grabbed his towel off the hook and flung it open in front of his head. The drone leapt straight into it, and its spindly legs got caught in the fabric like a fly in the lattice of a spider¡¯s web. Zarrey didn¡¯t waste a moment, he wrapped the thick cotton of the towel up around the metal menace and held the bundle up triumphantly. ¡°Ha ha!¡±

    Instantly, a jet of blue flame erupted from the towel, barely missing Zarrey¡¯s arm. He screamed, and hurled the bundle into the wall as hard as he could. It hit with a nice thud, but he could see the drone writhing inside the towel, beginning to burn its way out.

    Zarrey ran to the toilet and yanked the cover off the back. On terrestrial ground, toilets were made of porcelain or plastic, both brittle and known to fracture. On a ship, any fixture or appliance that could be made of metal, was made of metal, allowing broken parts to be welded, or if necessary, melted down and recycled. Zarrey had resented that wickedly cold metal toilet seat at times, but now, as he pulled the cover off the top the toilet¡¯s tank and found it to be a very sturdy steel, he was grateful. He spun the rectangular cover up and over his shoulder like a batter looking for a home run.

    Against the far wall of the bathroom, the towel crumbled apart, charred and blackened. The drone climbed onto the smoldering mound before skittering back up onto the sink, the tink, tink of its legs against the metal a disturbingly slight sound. Zarrey glared at it¡¯s foot-long diameter. Strands of his powder-blue towel clung to its joints like the hair on a real spider¡¯s legs.

    ¡°Come at me,¡± Zarrey challenged it. He might be naked, but he was a hell of a batter on the ship¡¯s recreational baseball team, and he wasn¡¯t real fond of insects. ¡°I hit a homer last game.¡± With the bases loaded, he¡¯d scored four runs on that hit, not that this spidery little bastard cared.

    The drone jumped, and it was fast, but not faster than Cadet Frenchie¡¯s fastball. Zarrey swung and hit it square-on, rocketing the drone back into the far wall. It landed with the crunch of a tin can being crushed underfoot, and fell to the floor. One of its thin little legs hung at a weird, limp angle, but its other legs flexed and twisted, standing the drone back up, slower, but still moving.

    ¡°Fucking hell,¡± Zarrey complained. This was going to take more than he was willing to bet on his batting average. He pivoted on his heel, sprinting out of the bathroom and into the main area of his quarters.

    The texture of the deck tiles felt weird beneath his feet, not painful, but extremely coarse. It wasn¡¯t meant to be comfortable for bare feet, let alone running on bare feet. The texture was meant to give traction to the crew¡¯s combat boots, while still providing a surface smooth enough for mag-boots to have secure footing.

    Grabbing the first thing he saw in the messy laundry pile beside his bed, he snagged one of his combat boots ¨C heavy, steel-toed, and with the magnet functionality built into the sole. He chucked it at the drone the moment he saw it follow him through the bathroom door. The impact sent the drone tumbling back a few feet, slowing it just enough for Zarrey to make it to his desk and grab the rifle laid upon it. He yanked up the rifle, braced it on his shoulder, and flicked off the safety as the drone came racing around the corner.

    Outside ship combat or hard maneuvers, the ship¡¯s inertial dampeners were not kept active. Maintaining the dampening field burned too much fuel. ¡°Checkmate, bitch,¡± he said, pulling the trigger.

    The rifle bucked once, the sound deafening in Zarrey¡¯s quarters. It echoed sharply off the walls, as he tensed for the plink of a wild ricochet. None came. The metal spider spat out a batch of sparks, and then collapsed, a hole punched neatly where its head should have been.

    Zarrey flicked the safety on his rifle back on. ¡°That¡¯s for my favorite towel.¡± Worn soft from so many washings and uses, he had adored it. Now it was a pile of singed pieces.

    A pounding came on the door to his quarters, but the warning was too brief to even consider moving. The door flew open, and Ensign Feather barged in. ¡°Sir! We¡¯re under attack!¡±

    ¡°No shit, Ensign,¡± Zarrey said, abruptly remembering how perfectly naked he was. He dropped the butt of the rifle to cover himself, but Feather didn¡¯t bat an eye. The reality of ship crew was that they often caught each other in vulnerable situations. The call to battle stations came randomly, and sometimes people were in the shower. Being caught naked wasn¡¯t that grievous a sin, but Zarrey did find it more inappropriate to be an officer in that situation. Too much of authority was built on appearances, and this would be an easy way to be caught in a scandal, if it weren¡¯t for the fact the entire crew knew he was gay. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with comms?¡±

    ¡°Cut, sir.¡± Feather answered, throwing her long braid black hair over back over her shoulder. ¡°We can¡¯t raise the alert.¡±

    ¡°Naddlethworfing shit.¡± This day just keeps getting better. Zarrey stepped over to grab yesterday¡¯s discarded pants and wiggled into them. ¡°Where¡¯s the Admiral?¡±

    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He wasn¡¯t in his quarters.¡± Feather had just come from there. The Admiral¡¯s quarters were just down the hall. ¡°With comms down, I¡¯ve got no way to find him.¡±

    Fucking hell. Zarrey snagged a wrinkled shirt from the back of his desk chair and slipped it on, not bothering to look for a jacket. He rarely ever cared about maintaining proper uniform dress, especially not right now, with metal spiders crawling around the ship. ¡°There¡¯s more of those fuckers I assume?¡± he asked, pointed toward the forcibly decommissioned drone.

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Feather answered. ¡°We¡¯re spreading the word as fast as we can.¡± Ripley, the senior-most yeoman, had quickly alerted the others. They knew how to spread rumor, and in this case, communications. Each yeoman simply cycled through the compartments they had on mail call.

    ¡°Good,¡± Zarrey said, slinging the rifle back over his shoulder. He ducked back into his quarters to grab the boot he¡¯d thrown and picked up its match, not bothering to put them on before he headed for the door. ¡°If the Admiral¡¯s not here, then I guess I¡¯m in charge.¡± Zarrey didn¡¯t adore that position, but that was a simple fact of being second in command. Sometimes, the situation fell to him. Feather moved aside as he stepped into the hallway and turned to head for the bridge.

    ¡°Aye, sir. I¡¯m afraid that I don¡¯t know much. There¡¯s rumors of drones being sighted all over the ship. Comms are down.¡±

    You know enough, Zarrey thought. No one should ever underestimate the yeomen. Too many officers overlooked their skills. They were a critical part of any crew, the glue that held the various other specialties together. No ship functioned without them, and the Singularity, picking up most of her crew second-hand, had some of the most experienced yeomen in the fleet. They might not fight, they might not repair, and they might not analyze the information they were given, but they damn well knew how to communicate it. ¡°Follow me,¡± he told Feather. They could gather more information on the bridge, and then he¡¯d have something for her to hand back to the other yeomen.

    In the corridor, Zarrey was halfway surprised to see that everything looked normal. He¡¯d expected to see battle damage and instability, gouges in the gray metal bulkheads, broken and flickering lights. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look much like an attack,¡± he remarked.

    ¡°Not one we¡¯re used to,¡± Feather agreed. Crewing a battleship, they were used to rough brawls. Those were physical combat situations where the damage was brutal and fast. It came in swaths of explosions, ripping and tearing at the ship¡¯s armor, structure and systems. ¡°It¡¯s been very surgical so far. Power lines to the FTL systems were targeted, then internal comms. Nothing else has been touched.¡±

    ¡°Why the hell not?¡± If this adversary had drones working the interior of the ship, they were helpless. The Singularity didn¡¯t have anti-drone defenses. Very few ships did. They weren¡¯t usually very effective. ¡°These drones could kill us all.¡± Life support was powered and routed through channels in the ship¡¯s structure the same as anything else. Drones could easily cut power or block the channels, leaving them all to asphyxiate. It wasn¡¯t a pretty scenario, but it was certainly the most effective way to stop the ship in her tracks. The ship couldn¡¯t move without crew commanding her. But to be this surgical, to leave most of the power systems and life support intact¡­ killing everyone aboard wasn¡¯t the goal.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    ¡°Afraid that¡¯s above my paygrade, sir,¡± Feather said. She clutched her clipboard to her chest and hurried a little faster, struggling to keep up with Zarrey¡¯s long legs.

    ¡°Bullshit,¡± Zarrey muttered under his breath. Feather was being too modest. She was a highly capable young woman who was shaken by very little. If she¡¯d been born on one of Command¡¯s favored worlds, she would have been destined for the officer training academy. Instead, having joined the fleet in one of the most unique circumstances Zarrey had ever heard of ¨C working as repayment for her tribe¡¯s debt ¨C she had become the assistant to the Fleet Admiral. That was no small feat, nor was it an easy post.

    ¡°Priority number one is roll call,¡± Zarrey told her. ¡°Let¡¯s make sure everyone is accounted for after that impact.¡± Zarrey had lost consciousness, so it stood to reason others may have as well. He shuddered to think what would have happened if that drone had gotten to him any sooner.

    ¡°Aye, sir, some departments may have already started, but it¡¯ll take time.¡± Without comms, the crew wouldn¡¯t know to report in. Each person would need to be tracked down, and on a ship the Singularity¡¯s size, that took time. ¡°We do have wounded. No dead, as far as I know, but some broken bones and twisted limbs. No exact numbers yet.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s too early to tell,¡± Zarrey knew. Injured crew sometimes took longer to reveal themselves if they couldn¡¯t properly walk or open the hatches. Turning the corner onto the bridge, the officers staffing the consoles looked a bit ragged. They rubbed at fresh bruises and held bloody noses. A few loose items like papers and pens were scattered about the bridge, but nothing was broken ¨C or at least nothing that hadn¡¯t been broken before. Repairs from the Indigo Agent¡¯s raid weren¡¯t complete, even if most of the blood had been cleaned up. A handset sat loosely on the floor, knocked from its holding rack. Zarrey picked it up, habitually placing it back where it belonged. ¡°What the fuck happened?¡±

    Ensign Frasier, sitting behind the engineering console, replied in a nasal voice, holding her nose. ¡°Power failure to the active FTL drive, sir. We fell out of warp.¡±

    ¡°I thought that shit was supposed to be gentle.¡± As far as Zarrey cared, that jolt had been every bit as bad as jump with severe FTL fatigue.

    ¡°It usually is, sir,¡± Frasier said, ¡°but there¡¯s a process to safely shut down the warp field. When we lost power, the field collapsed at random and we were thrown out of hyperspace. The Old Lady¡¯s structural integrity took a big hit bringing us out.¡±

    ¡°How bad?¡± Zarrey asked her, ashamed to say he hadn¡¯t considered that until now, focused more on the crew than the ship.

    ¡°It¡¯s difficult to tell with the existing damage, but with the strain gauges I do have reporting in, I¡¯d estimate around 35% integrity remaining.¡±

    Zarrey tried not to wince. Structural integrity was purely a ship metric. It was a measure of the ship¡¯s ability to endure forces and strain. At 0% integrity, the material in a ship¡¯s structure hit its yield stress, and deformation became permanent. After that, additional force contributed to a probable collapse. All maneuvers and combat actions taxed the structural integrity, so ships were usually given time to rest without acceleration or FTL pressures. After the battle with the pirates, the Singularity hadn¡¯t been given that time. She¡¯d come out damaged, but not overly strained. The only upside to a railgun shot was that, while destructive, it didn¡¯t impart much force. It had damaged the ship¡¯s structure, weakening it against further strain, but hadn¡¯t added much stress directly. In theory, they should have been able to get back to the refugee fleet and rest the ship¡¯s structure as they passed out supplies. So much for that plan, Zarrey thought bitterly. ¡°What caused the power failure?¡±

    ¡°At a guess?¡± Frasier, working the engineering controls, jerked a thumb over to a crumpled mess beside her console. ¡°Another one of those.¡±

    Zarrey stepped closer, abruptly realizing that the mess he¡¯d disregarded as debris, wasn¡¯t debris at all. Its main body was round and silver, about the size of his fist, and a tangle of thin, silvery legs were crunched up beneath it ¨C a drone identical to the one he¡¯d just shot in his quarters. ¡°What the fuck did you do to it?¡± Why was it so flat? It had been squished against the deck to a quarter of the thickness its body should have held.

    ¡°Did like my instructors taught me. Hit it with the book.¡± She tapped the binder sitting on the edge of the console. Five inches thick, the emergency repair manual was a hefty read that probably weighed forty pounds. ¡°Turns out, most things don¡¯t like that.¡± Back in basic, the trainees certainly hadn¡¯t.

    Zarrey couldn¡¯t argue with that logic. He turned to the young ensign working sensors, ¡°How many of these drones are loose?¡±

    Ensign Potter nervously fixed the way his glasses sat on his face. ¡°I don¡¯t know, sir.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean, you don¡¯t know?¡± Zarrey snapped. ¡°You¡¯re sensors. Scan for them.¡± To find one in his quarters and one here, they were clearly getting around the ship somehow.

    ¡°I tried, sir. These drones, they¡¯re very small and the Singularity¡¯s internal sensors aren¡¯t calibrated to this kind of search.¡± The ship¡¯s internal sensors primarily monitored atmospheric and temperature conditions. The drones neither consumed oxygen, nor had a large enough heat source to detect, even with their plasma torches active.

    In this situation, fuck was quickly becoming Zarrey¡¯s favorite word. They were going to have to look at this another way. ¡°Can we identify the make of these drones?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± Potter said. ¡°They¡¯re standard cutting drones. Part number on these matches the Knight Industries model.¡±

    Zarrey frowned. He had never been fond of Knight Industries. Their equipment was fine, of course. They were one of the worlds¡¯ largest corporations and the company¡¯s wealth and influence was extreme ¨C extreme enough to buy planets out from below the feet of their colonists. He¡¯d lost count of how many refugees he¡¯d seen come through his previous post with that story. Then there was the company man they¡¯d left with the refugee fleet ¨C some higher-up by the name of Hawkins who had been nothing but self-absorbed trouble.

    As she traced the damage to the power grid and rerouted around it, Frasier paused. ¡°Did we pick these drones up from the pirates? Maybe the Baron set up a remote activation.¡±

    Potter shook his head, ¡°We don¡¯t have a complete inventory list, and without comms, I can¡¯t call down to supply and have them start checking.¡±

    ¡°No need,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°The pirates didn¡¯t have anything from Knight Industries, except maybe ship parts pilfered second-hand. Knight Industries has the most powerful private fleet in the worlds. Any pirate with half a brain wouldn¡¯t touch their convoys. The company fleet would hunt them down.¡± Risking the ire of Knight Industries fleet wasn¡¯t worth it when there were independent freighters and smaller companies to prey upon lacking that kind of protection. And, unfortunately, it seemed Baron Cardio hadn¡¯t been stupid.

    The crew on the bridge went silent. They stared at Zarrey with a degree of confusion, as if surprised that he¡¯d contributed tactically useful knowledge.

    ¡°I¡¯m not an idiot,¡± Zarrey snapped. ¡°I know words that are longer than four letters, I just don¡¯t like to use them.¡± He preferred to mess around on duty, but his vocabulary did consist of more than swear words. He was the Steel Prince¡¯s second in command. ¡°Knight Industries is a major fleet supplier. The Old Bitch is more likely to have K.I. equipment in her inventory than the pirates.¡± The ship creaked a bit, as if protesting that nickname, so Zarrey subtly kicked the console beside him. He was pretty sure it hurt his toes more than it had any chance of leaving a mark, but he felt the message was clear: I do not have time for your nonsense. ¡°Pull the supply manifest,¡± he ordered Potter, ¡°check to see if we had cutting drones in storage.¡± In Zarrey¡¯s experience, that was more than possible, it was likely. Command sometimes bought equipment and standardized it across the fleet without checking to see if each individual ship was capable of using said equipment. High command was a bureaucratic animal with a natural adaptation for stupidity, and a mass amount of money. When a ship got assigned equipment it couldn¡¯t use, lacking base equipment or trained personnel, that new equipment ended up forgotten in storage. It was a tale as old as time.

    ¡°And,¡± Zarrey thought of something else, ¡°somebody tell me where the fuck we are.¡±

    ¡°Meo Sector, sir,¡± the answer came from navigations, in the back of the bridge. ¡°It¡¯s mostly void space. There¡¯s a nebula here, but it¡¯s not particularly dense. Nothing to be concerned about, just higher than usual background radiation and EM noise.¡±

    ¡°So, if these drones aren¡¯t attacking Life Support and they dropped out of hyperspace somewhere relatively safe¡­ It¡¯s pretty clear they aren¡¯t trying to kill us,¡± or, he remembered the way the drone in the bathroom had leapt at him, not all of us.

    Zarrey stepped over to the squished drone beside the engineering console. With its eight skinny legs all tangled up beneath it, it really did look like a dead spider. ¡°Did this thing attack you?¡± he asked Frasier.

    ¡°No, sir,¡± she said, turning to look at Zarrey. He was unusually serious, his teasing, mischievous grin missing from his features. It made the scar on the side of his chin look all that much deeper. ¡°It fell from the ceiling when we got thrown out of hyperspace. Scared me, but I dropped the book on it before it could do anything else. Used to have venomous spiders that size back home,¡± Frasier said. ¡°Habit.¡±

    ¡°Where was home for you?¡± Zarrey wondered.

    ¡°Toronja. Main colony¡¯s in the equatorial jungle.¡±

    Zarrey considered the size of the drones. When their legs were spread, they were larger than a dinner plate. ¡°Remind me to never go there.¡± He didn¡¯t need that falling on him from the jungle canopies. But, with only one drone showing itself here, crippling the bridge obviously wasn¡¯t their end-goal.

    ¡°It¡¯s not making sense, is it?¡± came the question.

    Zarrey turned, remembering Ensign Feather. She¡¯d tailed him to the bridge, her red lipstick and the red streak in her hair perfectly matching. ¡°No, it sure as fuck isn¡¯t.¡±

    ¡°Most of the attacks have been on lone or unprepared crew. There¡¯s a lot of confusion,¡± Feather said.

    ¡°But they seem to want the ship¡¯s functions intact.¡± The crew was under attack. Zarrey knew that drone had tried to kill him in his quarters, but they weren¡¯t being attacked here. The command center of any ship acted as a sort of nervous center. Power and command lines gathered here. Stray damage could have unintended consequences on the rest of the ship, and that granted protection to those here. He was sure of it.

    ¡°Colonel,¡± Potter called, ¡°our supply manifest confirms that we had 200 Knight Industries cutting drones aboard.¡±

    That figures, Zarrey thought. Their own inventory had been turned against them. How else could this get worse? ¡°Frasier, start taking that thing apart. See if you can figure out what activated it, and who¡¯s controlling it.¡± That would clue them in to the drone¡¯s objective. ¡°Take note of the serial number.¡± Zarrey turned to Feather. ¡°Same to the rest of the crew. Any drone they decommission, track the serial numbers. Otherwise, we¡¯ll never know if all 200 are accounted for.¡± Assuming, of course, that we live that long. ¡°And for fuck¡¯s sake, tell supply to check on anything else that could be turned on and used against us.¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯ll spread the word.¡±

    ¡°Feather,¡± Zarrey caught the young woman before she could leave. ¡°You will not be safe once you leave this room.¡± The bridge had a risk of collateral damage affecting the ship¡¯s functions. Most other areas on the ship would not have that protection. He pulled the rifle he¡¯d brought from his quarters off his shoulder and handed it to her. ¡°You up to date on your marksman certification?¡±

    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The Admiral¡¯s standing orders required it for all crew, even those whose roles were typically non-combat.

    Zarrey nodded, ¡°Be careful.¡± He didn¡¯t want to send Feather out, but Feather left without any hesitation, and Zarrey admired her bravery. She knew her role in this situation, as did everyone else. The rest of the crew would be fighting these drones to the best of their ability. Zarrey knew that. He trusted that. But, in the meantime, he had command. He was responsible for the ship¡¯s survival as a whole. ¡°Someone is controlling these drones,¡± he told those on the bridge. ¡°It may be via a live transmission, it may be via a program, but we can guarantee they know where we are. We are not alone in this sector.¡± Those drones had leveled a cost on the ship, and someone would come to collect.

 Part 46.2 - RAPID DISASSEMBLY

    15 minutes ago, Hyperspace, Battleship Singularity

    ¡°I heard you started a fight,¡± Okara said, grinning. ¡°Times sure have changed for you to be causing trouble.¡±

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that!¡± Callie argued. ¡°The Sarge, she just¡­ doesn¡¯t like me.¡± Her voice fell a bit as she said that. ¡°I don¡¯t know why.¡± Callie didn¡¯t feel that she¡¯d done anything to particularly upset the Sergeant, just simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Sadly, Callie went to stir her chocolate milk. It wasn¡¯t real, fresh dairy milk of course, rather a shelf-stable powder mixed with water. The rest of the crew insisted fresh milk tasted much better, but Callie had never tried it. Milk hadn¡¯t existed on the streets of Sagittarion, nor did fresh milk exist in deep space, but Callie liked the powdered substitute well enough. Mixing it with sweetened chocolate syrup was a favorite late-night treat of hers. ¡°I don¡¯t know what I did.¡±

    ¡°Relax,¡± Okara urged her. ¡°You aren¡¯t the problem. You¡¯re extremely likable.¡± It was pretty clear the rest of the Singularity¡¯s engineers adored her, and she¡¯d been his best and only friend in training. She hadn¡¯t hesitated to reach out to him ¨C a strange outcast from an isolationist nation. ¡°Besides, I hear you¡¯re even the Steel Prince¡¯s favorite. How did you manage that?¡± As he gossiped with the other members of the Singularity¡¯s crew, it had become clear that Callie¡¯s popularity extended well beyond the ship¡¯s engineers. ¡°I didn¡¯t think he was capable of liking anyone.¡± Rumor had it the man was a sociopath, and Okara¡¯s one encounter with him hadn¡¯t disproved that. The Admiral had a rather eerie calm about him.

    Callie rolled her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not his favorite. Everyone else just pushes him a bit too far. He¡¯s really not so bad.¡± She had been intimidated at first, but it was fairly clear the Admiral had no intent to hurt her or any other member of the ship¡¯s crew. ¡°Did I ever tell you how I first met him?¡±

    ¡°No.¡± Not that it really matters, Okara thought. ¡°Leave it to you to befriend the strangest people.¡± Callie just had that aura about her; a miracle optimism and innocence borne on the streets of Sagittarion¡¯s polluted hell.

    ¡°Hey,¡± Callie reached across the table and playfully shoved his shoulder. ¡°You yourself were pretty strange when I first met you.¡±

    ¡°I think there¡¯s a level of difference between a runaway and the Butcher of New Terra, but whatever.¡± That was neither here nor there. ¡°Where there¡¯s a you, there¡¯s a way. The Sarge is just dumb.¡±

    Callie laughed a bit. She couldn¡¯t help it. She had missed Okara, and it was unreal to have him here, sitting in one of the old booths in the Singularity¡¯s mess. They had been assigned to different ships after completing training together on Sagittarion, and truthfully, she had doubted they would ever reunite. The fleet had a lot of ships, and while FTL mitigated time dilation, a factor of it was still present. They had traded letters from their posts, he from the Gargantia and she from the Singularity, but having him sitting here in front of her was another matter. It felt unreal. She watched him devour another bite of the granola bar in his hands. It crumbled a bit, sending a few oats into his lap. ¡°Enjoying that?¡±

    ¡°Hell yeah, my appetite¡¯s finally back and the doc lifted my bland diet.¡± With a major abdominal injury, Okara had been limited in what he could eat as he started to recover. Arguably, a granola bar was still rather bland, but he hadn¡¯t seen one in a while. ¡°You can come get snacks whenever you want?¡±

    Callie nodded, ¡°Mama Ripley keeps the cabinet stocked.¡± Every member of the crew was allowed to come take what they wanted.

    ¡°Damn, we had to provide our own snacks on the Gargantia.¡± That was fleet standard: food only at prescribed meal times and in regulated places. But, he was quickly learning the Singularity¡¯s crew called themselves Sinners for a reason. They loved breaking regulation.

    Okara and Callie weren¡¯t the only two who had come in for a very late night or very early morning snack, depending on how one viewed the time. A big man Okara recognized to be the Chief Engineer and a young Marine who must have been close to Callie¡¯s age were here as well, but they sat at other tables in the ship¡¯s large mess hall. The room was long and open, and currently lit by only a few of the lights that hung above the tables, a power saving measure Okara was familiar with. Long tables with attached benches ran across the room like stripes, and booths lined the edges. The double-doors leading into the kitchen were closed, but Okara could hear the clanging of pots beyond as the cooks started to ready breakfast. ¡°What did you want to talk about?¡± he asked. Callie had brought him here after tapping on his bunk to wake him.

    ¡°You know that incident with the Sergeant?¡±

    ¡°The fight you started?¡± he teased.

    ¡°It wasn¡¯t like that!¡±

    Okara laughed, a full belly laugh that reminded him of the tight bandages on his stomach. ¡°I know.¡± It was just fun to tease her.

    Callie smiled, enjoying his company. It was good to see some strength and energy returning to him. When she had first seen him, barely recovered from the impalement the Gargantia had put through his abdomen, he had seemed too-pale and too-fragile. His narrow features and pale skin had always looked a bit fragile to her, but most Sags were born with rougher traits and tanned darkly from the planet¡¯s destroyed atmosphere. ¡°Well, you know how this ship is supposed to be haunted?¡±

    ¡°Oh, yeah. Freaked Commander Fairlocke the hell out. Allegedly, at least.¡± That had been the joke on the Gargantia¡¯s engineering staff. Better get the crucifix and bless the engines, the Commander¡¯s coming down. ¡°Doesn¡¯t she kill crew?¡± At least, that was the rumor?

    ¡°No,¡± not in the stories Callie had heard. ¡°She forewarns death.¡± Crew that saw her always succumbed to their injuries, regardless of the injuries¡¯ cause.

    ¡°Freaky nonetheless,¡± Okara shrugged.

    Well, I think I might have met her. That was what Callie intended to say, but a sudden impact shoved her into the booth¡¯s vinyl cushions and robbed the breath from her lungs. As her head snapped back, whiplashed by the force, she saw Okara get thrown into the table. Anchored and unmoving, it shoved into his gut, folding the rest of him around it as he face twisted in agony.

    When Callie came to, sprawled diagonally in the booth, everything hurt. Drawing breath past her lips felt like breathing fire, and the wetness running down her face burned like lava. Every movement she made, and every sensation she endured felt like her nerves had been seared by a rusty cast iron over an open flame. She couldn¡¯t move, couldn¡¯t think, paralyzed by pain.

    Then, a moment later, it was gone. A machine-cool presence reached in and scraped the pain away, peeling its layers from her until she was left with nothing but the sensation of warm and gentle comfort.

    Flinging her eyes open, Callie bolted upright and searched her surroundings, half expected to see a lingering shadow seeping back into the deck. That strange presence, foreign, yet warm, was familiar to her now.

    Looking around, she saw no gnarled entity, no tricks of the light. She saw only disgruntled crew, slow to get up, and Okara limp and face-down on the table top between them. He didn¡¯t move when she shook his shoulder. He didn¡¯t even gasp, his breathing fast and shallow.

    Then slowly, very slowly, did she recognize the shadow on his shirt was no crease in the fabric. It widened, then deepened, then reddened. Blood.

    ¡°Stars,¡± Callie jumped to her feet and ran to Okara¡¯s side of the booth. She pulled his limp body off the table and dragged him toward her. He wasn¡¯t a big man. His figure was slight, face and bone structure narrow. That was common in the Coalition, he¡¯d said. The colonists that founded the Cassiopeia Coalition had all been of the same ethnicity, and the nation¡¯s isolationism kept the population mostly homogenous. But, that didn¡¯t help Callie. However slim Okara was, Callie was still much too small to lift him. It was all she could to slide him close and wrap her hands around his torso as it grew wetter and wetter, trying to staunch the bleeding.

    Okara had been cleared for light work, but his injury was far from healed. There were healing accelerants that could help strengthen bones and close lacerations, but the doctor hadn¡¯t yet applied them to Okara, citing that they had to make sure his internal organs were healed and functioning before they sealed the wound. The doctor was surely right, but it left Okara¡¯s abdominal wound able to re-open. Though, perhaps, as she felt Okara lapse into shock, stitches weren¡¯t the only thing he had busted. ¡°Hang on,¡± she told him, turning to look for help in time to see the door to the kitchens burst open.

    A crewman ran out screaming. ¡°Get it off! Get it off!¡± Frying pan in hand, he swung it around, trying to swat something off his back. The barbeque-sweet smell of frying meat hit the air and the crewman screamed louder, wordless and guttural. The frying pan fell from his grip as he seized up and crumped to his knees, howling in utter agony.

    The young Marine hauled himself to his feet, covered in a crust of unappealing oatmeal, spilled and mixing with the blood dripping from his nose to be disturbingly chunky. Cadet Santino, Callie recognized him. He was a member of Corporal Yankovich¡¯s unit, the same unit that held the ship¡¯s sniper: Cadet Blosse. He looked a lot younger without his helmet on, but that should have been no surprise. Next to Callie, he was the youngest member of the Singularity¡¯s crew.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Santino still had his body armor on, fresh off a guard shift or patrol. He moved easily in it, sprinting toward the cook. Santino leaned over and tried to pry something off his back, but the Marine quickly yanked his hands back, as if bitten.

    The cook¡¯s screams went abruptly silent. His jaw stayed open, wrenched apart in agony, but the look in his wide and frightened eyes was going glassy. As he found Callie slumped in the booth, clutching at Okara¡¯s wounds, the light of consciousness left the cook¡¯s eyes, and slowly, he keeled over, face-first into the deck. His back was black and bloody, carved with deep burns. Burnt cloth spider-webbed the crispy char of his skin, still sizzling. A pungent steam was rising visibly from his body.

    A metal spider a foot in diameter rode on the cook¡¯s back, its spindly legs piercing through the cook¡¯s clothes to keep itself attached. A projection of cobalt-blue flame erupted from the spider¡¯s spherical head.

    A drone, Callie barely had time to recognize, then Santino scooped up the cook¡¯s frying pan and took a swing. He hit the drone solidly, tearing it off the cook¡¯s back and sending it flying cross the room like a silver comet. It crashed into the far wall with a thud and slid to the floor.

    Santino sprinted after it, reaching the drone before it could reorient itself. Brandishing the frying pan in his hands, he brought it down with all his strength, smacking the drone again and again and again. Each impact rang out like a musical cymbal, clanging through the mostly-empty mess.

    And then it was over. Santino lowered the pan and regarded the drone¡¯s eight mangled legs. For good measure, he stomped his boot heel onto the drone¡¯s round head and ripped it free of its crushed body, severing the wire connections between them.

    Santino stared at it for a moment, then turned and ran back to the downed crewman. ¡°Get the first aid kit!¡±

    Ty turned and ran for the kit stored on the wall beside the cleaning supplies. He caught Callie¡¯s terrified brown eyes on the way, ¡°Hang on.¡± He would come back to help her momentarily.

    Holding Okara as tightly as she dared, Callie watched Ty¡¯s large hand close around the white handle of the first aid kit. In that moment, it seemed like everything was going to be fine. Then she heard it, the subtle plink, plink, plink of something tapping above her. She lifted her gaze upward, and there, crawling down the chain of the lamp that hung above the table, was another drone.

    Callie screamed, grabbed Okara, and pulled him backward. They both tumbled out of the booth as the spider-like drone dropped onto the table.

    ¡°Stars,¡± Ty cursed. He dropped the first-aid kit to the floor and kicked it toward Santino. It slid, rattling across the textured deck tiles while Ty grabbed the broom sitting in the rack of cleaning supplies. He yanked the brush off its end, keeping its hollow, metal handle. There wasn¡¯t any weight to it, but he took it and sprinted full-speed to whack the drone in front of Callie as hard as he could. It sailed a few feet, skipping across the deck like a stone on water, but soon righted itself and came running back, hopping between other tables and chairs.

    Ty watched it, only to see another drone drop out of the ventilation duct in the center of the room. It fell squarely onto Santino¡¯s back as he reached for the first aid kit and belched out a finger of flame. Santino cried out, but flopped immediately into his back, dislodging his attacker as he tightened his grip on the frying pan and went to work.

    Clang! Clang! Clang! Ty could barely hear his own breathing over the racket. He focused again on the drone running toward him and took a swing. Impact put another dent into the hollow broom handle and flung the drone back toward the center of the room. The momentum of his swing spun Ty just enough to see another drone drop down onto the vinyl booth behind him.

    No! Ty could see the glow of the plasma torch heating up. He swung, but the drone jumped, though not quick enough. The broom handle clipped it, spinning the drone into the wall behind it. The drone tried to right itself, but tumbled into the darkness behind the booth.

    Ty took that moment to look around the room, tensing for a swarm of drones to descend from above like a colony of spiders. But only one drone was still running toward him, and before Ty could tense to smack it away, Santino jumped it from behind. His frying pan came down with a thunderous crash, Santino bashing the drone with the ferocity of a rabid dog that had been splashed with water.

    Thus, Ty turned to wait for the last drone to emerge from the shadows.

    But it never did. Nor did any more drones appear.

    Ty waited there, ready to attack, for a long minute. He could feel Callie¡¯s wide, frightened eyes staring at him, waiting, just waiting to be overrun, to be burned as she sat holding the organs inside her friend¡¯s body. She was helpless, even more so than the rest of the crew. Callie had a bright spirit, but she¡¯d never been much of a fighter. Self-defense training was given to all the crew, but she¡¯d barely passed. Now, more than ever, it was clear to Ty. She was just a kid. She was just a frightened kid.

    Finally, Ty lowered the broom handle and grabbed the flashlight off his tool belt. He flicked it on and leaned over the booth, shining the beam into the darkness below. A pile of needles greeted him: scattered around a silver disk and a sphere covered in broken lenses ¨C the drone¡¯s remains, ripped limb from limb, its every joint painstakingly torn apart.

    A dread Ty could not immediately justify tugged at his stomach. He turned the flashlight to sweep the area. A few crumbs lined the floor, along with hair and dandruff, the usual mess humanity left behind. But there, at the joint between the deck and the bulkhead, was a ventilation grate, and something was moving inside.

    Alarmed, Ty tensed, and his hand slipped off the booth¡¯s smooth vinyl. It plunged down onto the drone¡¯s remains before he caught himself. Bits of glass from the shattered camera lenses stabbed into his hand. Involuntarily, he winced and drove them deeper, a gasp escaping from his lips.

    Only then did he catch a glimpse of what lingered beyond the grate ¨C a heap of needles glittering in the shaky beam of his flashlight. Round bodies littered the background, filling the volume of the duct. Shattered glass shifted between them like fluid, moving with the flow beneath.

    The heads of six drones were drowned in white, their bodies and legs dismembered beyond repair ¨C a graveyard teeming with neurofibers.

    Ty tried to lift his hand away, but the fibers were faster. In the blink of an eye, they shot out past the grate, wrapping his hand and crawling up his wrist. Even with all his strength, Ty couldn¡¯t wrench his hand free. ¡°Santino!¡± he shouted to the Marine behind him.

    ¡°Yes, Chief!¡± came the reply.

    Ty could hear Santino fumbling around, trying to raise the bridge, then the medical bay on internal comms. Nothing was working. Now, Santino was trying to load up the wounded to get to the medical bay. He¡¯d lashed the cook to his back and piled Okara and Callie onto a couple of serving trays so that Callie could hold Okara¡¯s wounds and Santino could pull them both. Realistically, he needed help, but it wasn¡¯t coming, and Ty knew that. ¡°Get them out of here.¡±

    ¡°What¡¯s going on, Chief?¡± Santino asked.

    ¡°Get them out of here. That¡¯s an order.¡± The neurofibers might be inescapable, but Ty didn¡¯t want to see Callie and the others caught here, however vain that might be.

    ¡°Aye, Chief. But I¡¯m sending someone to check on you.¡± Santino grunted as he took the weight of the wounded. With Okara and the cook¡¯s injuries being so severe, they couldn¡¯t afford to argue.

    A horrible scraping rang out as Santino pulled the others along the floor, but it worked. Carrying one wounded and dragging Okara and Callie behind him, Santino got them out of that room. Slowly, the scraping of the serving trays across the deck tiles behind fainter and fainter. A part of Ty expected that to irritate the neurofibers, as if they were hunters, conscious of the fact their prey had escaped, but they seemed unbothered, slowly winding themselves further and further up his arm.

    They stopped their climb at his elbow, shifting for a moment more before they stilled. Beads of sweat began to form on Ty¡¯s brow, anxiety gnawing at his core. ¡°Let go,¡± he pleaded, knowing the fibers could not hear him.

    Gathering his strength, Ty tried to wrench his arm free once more. It was pointless. However frail the translucent strands looked, their grip was like iron. They didn¡¯t allow even an inch of movement, only tightening more. He expected it to hurt as the neurofibers constricted, but it didn¡¯t. They tensed and pulled at his joints, not injuring him, but manipulating his fist to open. They splayed his fingers out and began to prod at the flesh of his palm.

    Ty¡¯s throat went dry as he recognized their intent. It was gentle. Disproportionately so. But they were mapping out the wounds on his hand, the cuts and glass embedded within. They were points of weakness, prime locations to infiltrate the system now presented to them.

    ¡°No,¡± he begged, watching a few hairlike strands split off from the rest. ¡°Please.¡± He tried to rip his arm away, to close his fist, but his arm was trapped and held. Not like this. This was how it began, how it always began. Every one of Command¡¯s failed research projects and surely the Matador too. The fibers began to react to people, and wove themselves in, the human body helpless to their infiltration.

    Ty had seen those corpses. He had boarded to help recover what was left of the Matador¡¯s crew. What he had seen there haunted him ever since. A few of the engineers had left after that, unable to forgive the Singularity for carrying the same neurofibers that had strewn the Matador¡¯s crew across the walls. Though wary, Ty had stayed, and now the Matador¡¯s nightmare had become their own. All that damage and repair to the ship, years and decades of it, and the neurofibers¡¯ self-replication had encountered an error akin to cancer in biological cells. The fibers could no longer stop their own growth.

    The warning signs had been there. The fibers had become more active, present in places they had never been seen before. Now, they were seeking expansion into new systems, even biological ones that they had never been meant to take root within.

    Ty barely felt anything as the fibers pushed into his lacerations. They were so thin, it was just the slightest of pricks. It tickled as they delved between the layers of his skin. But that was only the beginning, Ty knew. The neurofibers would burrow deeper, into tissue and veins, then into muscle and bone. They would attach themselves to his nerves, pulsing and testing them. More and more fibers would push their way past his skin, through any orifice they could find. The human body was so small and complex, it would take a multitude of fibers to map it out. By then, he¡¯d be dead, or wish that he was.

    Ty watched the outermost layer of his skin writhe, the fibers probing the depth of his shallow cuts. It stung a little, only a little, a taste of what was to come.

    And then the fibers retracted themselves, pulling one by one out of his palm. They twirled in the air, tiny shards of glass wrapped up in their ends. Each was a small sliver that had been embedded in his hand. They discarded the glass, tossing it back to the floor, and the shards were too small to make a perceptible sound.

    The fibers constricted again, once, just briefly, a squeeze that may have been reassuring had it come from any source but a thousand alien cilia. Then, they slowly unwound themselves, peeling their web from his arm and retreated back into the ventilation duct.

    Too shocked for words, too distraught for thought, Ty simply watched the white fibers vanish into the depths of the ship.

 Part 46.3 - COMMAND AND CONTROL

    Meo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    Colonel Zarrey did not feel particularly welcome at the engineering controls. He was cross-trained on all the bridge consoles ¨C the entire bridge crew was in case they needed to fill in for one another ¨C but he¡¯d never felt at ease behind the engineering controls.

    His relationship with the ship had always been tenuous at best.

    There was a teasing sense to it most of the time. He¡¯d never been injured in any of the mishaps he endured on maintenance, and Zarrey did not mind being made a fool of. His apparent ineptitude entertained the crew to no end and he laughed about it as much as anyone else did.

    That said, Zarrey was factually aware of his abilities, and he knew better than anyone how little he understood the ship. Machines had never really been his strength. Granted, monitoring the engineering controls did not require a grand understanding. They were fairly idiot-proof as far as the mechanics on a machine with planet-killing capability went. Red indicators meant bad. Green meant good. Someone illiterate could have looked at the power grid indicator charts and seen that there were a few glaring red holes in it.

    The Singularity¡¯s entire bridge had been designed with such simplicity. Even the flight controls. Basic maneuvers, such as turns and acceleration control were obvious. Anyone could manage them, pilot or not. More delicate maneuvers like docking were exponentially more complex, but every console on the bridge kept the rudimentary controls obvious. That had been a requirement during the War. Officers had been dying off so quickly that others with incomplete or no training had been forced to take their place.

    Of course, it occurred to Zarrey that, as Flagship of the era, the Singularity had probably never actually been in that position. Back then, she would have been crewed by the best the fleet could offer, the finest officers, pilots and Marines at her disposal.

    Now, she was crewed by a misfit group of delinquents and had his flatly uncomprehending self sitting at the engineering controls. Zarrey did wonder what the Old Bitch thought of that. Then, he realized that was probably the reason he¡¯d taken to calling her that. It could not be fun to be a starship ¨C one of the most complex machines ever built ¨C and have somebody with an admittedly shaky understanding of relativity watching over the operation of light-hugging engines. The intrusive thoughts calling Zarrey toward the FTL control key weren¡¯t helping either. The key jutted up above the other controls, looking like it would be very satisfying to turn.

    Logically, Zarrey knew turning that key should do nothing. The FTL drives weren¡¯t charged, and the power lines to the one last used had been cut. But, on the off-chance that it might do something, Zarrey resisted the urge to reach up and crisply click the key over.

    Eventually, he had to turn away from the temptation, looking toward Frasier and Potter, who were hunched over beside the flattened drone. They had moved it from the floor beside the engineering console onto the softly glowing top of the radar console in the center of the room. The so-called ¡®radar console¡¯ was a table with backlighting for navigational charts. It had no controls on its surface, but had the relays for the bridge¡¯s radar displays underneath, hence the name.

    ¡°Are you guys done with that fucking thing yet?¡± Zarrey asked. He would much rather be leaning against the radar console¡¯s thick rim and beveled edges, but with Potter and Frasier dissecting the drone, someone had to monitor their stations.

    Lieutenant Johannes, who usually commanded the graveyard shift and had been in charge when the drones attacked, was formally trained as a sensor officer, so he¡¯d taken Potter¡¯s spot. That left Zarrey to babysit Frasier¡¯s position behind the engineering controls, whether he liked it or not.

    ¡°Not yet, sir,¡± Frasier said, bending down to rummage through the toolbox at her feet. ¡°Sorry, sir.¡± She, much like the rest of the ship¡¯s technicians, knew Zarrey¡¯s dislike for sitting at engineering, but someone had to watch the controls.

    ¡°We¡¯re getting close though, sir,¡± Potter flipped through the papers on his clipboard.

    Zarrey had not looked at the documents himself, but allegedly, Potter held the design schematics for a Knight Industries cutting drone. Potter had printed them off to compare against the drone Frasier had crushed, as they tried to determine how it had been activated and who was controlling it.

    In all honesty, it never ceased to amaze Zarrey what kind of random shit lingered in the ship¡¯s memory banks. He was beginning to wonder more what wasn¡¯t in the encyclopedic memory servers, than what was. ¡°Johannes, see anything?¡± Surely, whoever initiated this attack would approach them soon.

    ¡°No, sir. Quiet and still outside.¡±

    Zarrey tried not to feel a sense of foreboding. It was too quiet in this void sector and it was too damn quiet on the bridge. He was used to the chatter of the day-shift bridge staff. As they were the primary station handlers, Zarrey expected them to find their way here, but Montgomery Gaffican was the only one who had shown himself so far. Monty had stopped by, but left his third-shift counterpart manning the weapons console, arguing his expertise would be better spent organizing the gun crews to work the main battery loaders without comms. He was probably right, but that didn¡¯t explain Galhino, Alba, or Jazmine¡¯s continued absence. Zarrey tried not to consider what may be keeping them away, but he¡¯d heard the screams from down the hall and seen the wounds on the yeomen that stopped by to update them on the chaos below decks. Things were not so quiet elsewhere.

    ¡°There it is. Beezlenac, that thing¡¯s tiny,¡± Frasier said, lifting a small set of pliers out of the drone¡¯s pancaked wreck.

    ¡°What is it?¡± Zarrey asked.

    ¡°Well, I¡¯m not entirely sure, sir,¡± Frasier said, laying a cloth down before she dropped the pieced she¡¯d removed from the drone down onto it. ¡°Given the way it was wired in, I¡¯d say some kind of control chip. I don¡¯t recognize the make.¡± It had a very strange translucent color to it. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen one with circuitry this dense.¡±

    ¡°It¡¯s Hydrian.¡±

    Zarrey swiveled in the chair behind the console, half-expecting to see the Admiral. It was his style to show up out of the blue with every question already answered, but instead, Zarrey found Kallahan, limping his way onto the bridge with a crutch helping support his weight. ¡°I¡¯ve seen this before,¡± the old veteran said. ¡°Mining ship back in the day. She went down all hands lost when the drilling equipment she was carrying ripped through the hull.¡± Kallahan shuffled slowly toward the center of the bridge, expression twinging with discomfort each time he moved his wounded leg, however valiantly he tried to conceal it. His crutch tap-tapped across the deck at uneven intervals. ¡°The Hydra excel at infiltration. If they can¡¯t infiltrate wirelessly, they¡¯ll infiltrate physically, wiring in their own equipment to control our systems. No one looks twice at a human-built drone until it¡¯s too late.¡± Battlefield scraps had been happily recovered for repair, only to turn on the groups that gathered them.

    ¡°It¡¯s not like we sent these drones to run around the pirate base,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°We can¡¯t even operate the damn things.¡± Even Zarrey understood that the Singularity lacked the capability to control them. He was honestly surprised the ship¡¯s automated controls ran the ship as well as they had. ¡°How did Hydrian control chips end up installed?¡±

    ¡°A physical agent has come aboard. It would have installed the chips.¡± Kallahan had seen this tactic before. Little machines would crawl amidst the bodies on the battlefield, looking for a host to turn to their cause. It had worked well to clear out desperate survivors as they tried to gather equipment and ammunition. By the middle years of the war, humanity had abandoned all varieties of combat drones, even those that operated without a network.

    ¡°By agent, you mean the Hydra?¡± Zarrey asked. ¡°That thing¡¯s been under guard since it got here. It hasn¡¯t been anywhere near the storage compartment where the cutting drones were held.¡±

    ¡°The biological Hydra is not directly responsible, but its presence is likely the only reason FTL power was cut in a safe place.¡± The ship could just as easily have been dropped into a deadly gravity well. ¡°The Hydrian AI has come to recover its crewman. It is controlling a physical avatar somewhere on board.¡±

    Son of a bitch, Zarrey thought, then corrected himself, son of a fucking brood mother. ¡°Think it snuck aboard while we were docked?¡± Loathe as Zarrey was to admit it, it was possible. The Indigo Agent had managed.

    ¡°Unlikely.¡± The Hydra had other methods. ¡°Often, the Hydra will place drones aboard their missiles. The precision with which they shape their charges allows the drones to survive and sneak aboard once the target¡¯s hull has been breached.¡± With the deadly nature of explosives, it didn¡¯t always work. Sometimes the drones were destroyed upon impact, but the Singularity had taken a fair number of hits in the battle. ¡°Given the way the Baron adopted Hydrian tactics and technology, this was likely one of them.¡±

    ¡°So, there¡¯s a Hydrian drone running around, installing control chips on anything it can use.¡± Great. ¡°How¡¯s the drone being controlled? We were at warp. You can¡¯t maintain live communications at warp.¡± Even an AI should not have been able to precisely command such a complex attack. If it had knocked them out of warp, just fractions of a second earlier or later, the entire ship could have been lost.

    ¡°Just because humanity never figured out hyperspace communication does not mean it is impossible,¡± Potter reasoned, nervously fixing his glasses.

    ¡°Well, fuck,¡± Zarrey cursed. The cutting drones themselves were bad enough, but to hear there was probably a Hydrian drone crawling around¡­ That made matters worse. ¡°Is there any chance these control chips could seize the ship¡¯s systems?¡±

    Frasier bent over to study the little glass device. ¡°I cannot be certain, Colonel, without knowing the capabilities of these chips, but I would doubt it. Any one of the Singularity¡¯s systems is a great deal more complex than a cutting drone, and then there¡¯s the size factor.¡± A chip this small couldn¡¯t be wired into the connections the ship¡¯s main systems utilized. The size differential was too great. The chip was too small and the ship far too large.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

    Not to mention she tends to misbehave anyway, Zarrey reasoned. If the ship wouldn¡¯t listen to him, he put the odds of her abiding an alien AI near zero. He returned his attention to the engineering console, remembering all the weird anomalies that had piled up the last few weeks. It had annoyed him then, but now it gave Zarrey a slim degree of almost-comfort. Those anomalies were going to be every bit as unpredictable to an external force trying to control the ship as they were to the crew. He lightly tapped the edge of the console. For once, how about you act possessed when I need you to? Surely, of all the Marines and sailors who had died here, at least a few were Hydrian War veterans looking for revenge?

    Frasier bagged up the control chip taken from the drone and returned to the engineering console. Zarrey quite happily relinquished the controls back to her and stood. ¡°I need ideas, people. How do we get rid of a drone infestation?¡± It was not sustainable to hunt these drones down one by one. They were undetectable by the ship¡¯s internal sensors and the injury reports for the crew were already abysmal. Plus, even if it couldn¡¯t take the Singularity¡¯s main systems, there was nothing stopping the Hydrian AI from seizing control of smaller equipment: airlocks, local life support hubs, even the ship¡¯s missiles. The Hydrian AI did not need the Singularity¡¯s primary systems to cause carnage.

    ¡°What about an EMP?¡± Johannes asked, giving the seat at sensors back to Potter. ¡°The electromagnetic pulse should fry anything attached to the ship¡¯s power grid. The drones too, if they¡¯re not standing on an insulated surface.¡±

    ¡°Let¡¯s try it.¡± In Zarrey¡¯s opinion, trying anything was better than nothing. As he stood in command of the situation, he refused to be idle. One of the most brutal lessons drilled into officers in training was that of command and control. They were separate. One could have command of any situation, yet lack in control. In this case, Zarrey very much felt the burden, the desperation of command, but he was scrambling to find any part of it that remained in his control. ¡°Frasier, start rerouting power.¡±

    ¡°Aye.¡± Frasier began flipping switches, altering the state of the ship¡¯s damaged power grid, shutting some systems down and funneling power to those that needed activation. ¡°Charging FTL Drive 3.¡± Essentially large capacitors, the FTL drives required an immense amount of power to be spent in an instant to activate. To that end, they accumulated and stored power over time to be released all at once. If that power was directed properly into the FTL mechanics, it removed the ship from normal space, into subspace or hyperspace, depending on the method. If the power was directed improperly, it fed back into the ship¡¯s power grid, and could be disastrously destructive, or with proper setup, generate a massive electromagnetic pulse. It was still destructive then, but to a purpose.

    Still, as she tried to reroute power toward FTL Drive 3, Frasier found the drive demanding more and more, suddenly in danger of demanding more than the power grid could provide. The relays she enabled were going down at the same rate they came online. ¡°Sir, negligible charge is being built. As I try to charge the drive, the power grid¡¯s connections are being severed.¡± The grid schematics around Drive 3 had taken on a bloody red tone, same as the drive that had been carrying them through warp when the drones had cut its power.

    Kallahan nodded grimly, expecting that result. ¡°Attempt to reroute power toward any drive, and the drones will counter.¡± That stranded the ship at sub-light speed and prevented an EMP attempt. In that way, the ship was unable to defend herself against the drones crawling through her innards, hostage as much as her crew was.

    ¡°Abort the charge,¡± Zarrey told Frasier. Clearly, it wouldn¡¯t earn them anything. ¡°Let¡¯s not encourage the drones to bite any more holes in the power grid.¡± That grid powered life support, lights and everything else that made the void habitable. ¡°We¡¯re sitting ducks.¡± Zarrey hated it. ¡°Still no sign of the ship hosting the damn lizard AI?¡±

    ¡°None, sir,¡± came the response from Potter, decidedly more nervous than before.

    Zarrey couldn¡¯t blame him. This was the first Hydrian encounter for most of the crew, Kallahan the only exception. ¡°Well, we already know this ship was carrying camouflaging tech, and that damn nebula isn¡¯t helping anyone.¡± It wasn¡¯t visible to the naked eye at this range, but it put just enough background EM emissions into near space to conceal any noise a camouflaged ship might make. ¡°Any other bright ideas?¡± he asked the bridge crew.

    There was a moment of silence, each of them thinking, but no one offered out a solution. Eventually, Kallahan spoke, ¡°Where is Admiral Gives?¡±

    ¡°Fuck if I know,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°Haven¡¯t seen him.¡± That might have worried Zarrey under other circumstances, but aboard ship, the Admiral was probably the most capable member of the crew. He could defend himself better than anyone else, simply because he was incomparably familiar with the terrain.

    A scowl took hold of Kallahan¡¯s face. ¡°He¡¯ll have gone to the source.¡± And it seemed he was right to do so.

    ¡°The source?¡± Zarrey could see the wheels turning in Kallahan¡¯s mind. That was always a bit unnerving for a Marine. They weren¡¯t usually known for their critical thinking skills, but Zarrey could see through Kallahan¡¯s realization that there was a way to end this attack. Kallahan knew it and it seemed the Admiral did too. ¡°The Hydra?¡±

    The old Marine nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what this AI is after.¡± To engage it would end this attack, one way or another.

    ¡°He shouldn¡¯t confront that thing alone,¡± Zarrey said. The Admiral was plenty capable, but that Hydra was stronger than any unaugmented human. If it turned violent in an enclosed space, it would be deadly, no matter how capable its victim. ¡°Does he even know the Hydrian AI might have a physical agent on board?¡± Surely, the AI would not leave its desired target unprotected?

    ¡°Hard to know,¡± Kallahan answered. The Admiral may have drawn that conclusion on his own, the Angel may have told him, or he might not know at all. Kallahan had never quite been able to tell where the Admiral¡¯s intelligence ended and where the Angel¡¯s vast experience took over. The weapon, malfunctioning it may be, surely knew what heralded from this attack. The Hydrian AI would not leave the biological drone behind. If it did, it risked exposing the Empire¡¯s presence on this side of the Neutral Zone. All of the Hydrian Empire¡¯s plans were in jeopardy. To achieve any plausible deniability, the biological Hydra had to be recovered, and the Singularity, isolated and infiltrated had to be silenced. Long range communications had been disabled, just like their internal counterparts. Even if they had wanted to send a warning to Command, currently, they were unable to.

    ¡°Give me your kit,¡± Zarrey ordered. The Admiral would be outnumbered and outmatched as he confronted the Hydra and Kallahan¡¯s bum leg made him too slow to get down to the state quarters.

    Kallahan slowly took the rifle he carried off his back. ¡°It might be too late.¡± It was safe to assume the Admiral would have known to confront the Hydra long before anyone else. Strategy was the man¡¯s forte, after all.

    ¡°Stuff it,¡± Zarrey told him. ¡°Your issue with the Admiral is your own problem.¡± It was pretty clear to anyone with eyes that the two were tense around each other. ¡°I¡¯ll go help the idiot.¡± Zarrey swore it had never once occurred to the Admiral to simply wait for backup. Sure, he was plenty patient in a fleet action, but personnel combat? He always charged in first, sword in hand, much to Zarrey¡¯s annoyance. Zarrey ¨C and much of the ship¡¯s Marine contingent ¨C would love to help him stab some traitors, but more often than not, the issue was settled before they arrived. ¡°If this is how we end the drones¡¯ assault, then I¡¯m going to help end it.¡± The crew and ship were both struggling too severely to ignore any opportunity at resolution, alien lizard or no alien lizard.

    Zarrey slipped Kallahan¡¯s rifle strap over his back, then took the sidearm and extra ammo clips offered to him. He secured it all and looked once more to Kallahan. ¡°Since you know so much about these fucking scaly bastards, you¡¯re in charge.¡± And good luck, Zarrey mused, because I think the Old Bitch hates you more than she does me.

    To the rest of the bridge crew, Zarrey said, ¡°Send some Marines to the Hydra¡¯s quarters when you can. I¡¯ll be back.¡± With that, Zarrey took off running full-sprint to the state quarter section a few decks below.

    ***

    Crimson speckled the corridor, a smear, thick, wide and shiny, streaked down the matte gray bulkhead. A Marine sat slumped at its end, clutching at his upper chest. Blood oozed between his hands, streaking down his arms, some darkening and coagulating, more running down, fresh.

    A crunched-up drone sat beside him. Slightly larger than a cutting drone, it was the ivory white of bone. Its camera lenses were shattered, one pushed out of and hanging from its socket. The whole corridor reeked of battery acid and blood.

    The fight was over by the time Admiral Gives got there. It was all he could do to kneel down and feel for the Marine¡¯s pulse. Only then could he tell who lay beneath that matte black helmet: Corporal Yankovich. He and his unit had been the primary guards for the state quarters containing the Hydra, claiming responsibility for having brought it aboard.

    Yankovich¡¯s face was bloodied. A cut carved deep into his cheek, and swollen purple bruise knotted the side of his jaw. Congealed blood had dripped from his nose, a gross consequence of falling out of FTL. An inch-deep gouge curved across the side of his helmet. Deep lacerations covered his arms and legs. The spacing gave the illusion claw-marks, but the cuts were far too clean, as if done by knife. A few more scratches cut into his body armor, but the only penetration was the wound he¡¯d fallen holding ¨C a stab wound.

    His injuries weren¡¯t consistent with fighting a Hydra. They were far too clean, and if they had fought, the Hydra would likely still be here, eating him. There were no burn marks on him either ¨C no sign of having engaged a cutting drone. But the ruined drone beside him was no cutting drone. Its legs were too thick, its design too foreign. That drone was Hydrian. There were materials and components in its wreck the Admiral couldn¡¯t identify.

    Taking it out had been a brutal fight, but somehow, Yankovich had managed. ¡°Hell of a job, Corporal.¡± Before collapsing, Yankovich had jammed his rifle into the wheel mechanism that sealed the door. It was wedged there, preventing the door from opening, and keeping the biological Hydra contained.

    Admiral Gives put a hand on the Marine¡¯s neck, expecting it to be growing cold, but Yankovich, collapsed and bleeding, still had a pulse. The Admiral felt a twinge of relief at that, then cursed himself, because relief was a pointless emotion in this situation. Without treatment, Yankovich would die, and without ending this attack, there could be no treatment.

    Still, the lives of the crew were the Admiral¡¯s responsibility. He was duty bound to try and protect them, no matter the odds, so he sat and patted Yankovich down until he found the roll of bandages most Marines carried for emergencies. He pulled off Yankovich¡¯s helmet, and started unclipping the fasteners for his body armor. The Admiral was clumsier than he would have liked. His own hand injured weeks ago in the aftermath of the nuke, did nothing but ache, slipping off the small clips as he tried to hurry. The Admiral refused to consider administering first aid wasted time, but he was all too aware of every moment that slipped by. The longer he waited to confront the Hydra, the more precarious this situation became for the rest of the crew.

    Yet, without immediate aid, Yankovich would die. He¡¯d bleed out, unconscious in this corridor. He wouldn¡¯t feel a thing, and no one would know that the Admiral had left him there. All the Admiral had to say was that Yankovich had already been dead when he arrived.

    But that wasn¡¯t the Admiral¡¯s way. He was accountable for every life aboard the Singularity¡¯s decks. There were times that he had to choose, times he had to leave people behind, but he refused to believe that this was one of them. He mandated self-defense training for all the ship¡¯s crew to buy time in situations like this.

    Once the more rigid shell of Yankovich¡¯s armor was off, Admiral Gives carefully and quickly bound his wounds. It might save the Marine, it might not, but Yankovich could not be left out here alone. Unconscious, he would be easy prey for another drone. There was no guarantee the Admiral¡¯s destination was any safer, but there was no helping that.

    Admiral Gives took the Marine¡¯s side arm from the holster on his hip and checked it. It was loaded, and the electric battery was charged ¨C perfectly maintained as all Marines kept their weapons. He held the pistol in one hand, then reached up and wrenched the rifle free from the door. He discarded it, then waited for a moment, seeing if the Hydra would emerge, but the opening mechanism on the hatch didn¡¯t shift - probably because the Hydra thought escape was pointless. At this point, it was probably right. All it had to do was wait, and it could walk free, the Singularity¡¯s crew at best incapacitated, and at worst, wiped out. Hefting Yankovich¡¯s limp mass up, Admiral Gives settled the Marine¡¯s weight awkwardly on one shoulder, then reached forward and opened the hatch, keeping the pistol at the ready.

 Part 46.4 - SWORDBREAKER

    Meo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    It wasn¡¯t a graceful movement. Admiral Gives could lift Yankovich¡¯s weight over his shoulder, but it was a struggle. Even with his chest and torso armor removed, Yankovich still had protective pieces on his shoulders, forearms, and legs. That alone added an extra thirty pounds to his weight. Admiral Gives kicked the drone Yankovich had wrecked through the hatchway, then stepped in and dropped the unconscious Marine beside it, gently as he could. The door slammed closed behind him, and a silver streak came forward, sprinting along the wall.

    Admiral Gives didn¡¯t hesitate. He put the blur between the iron-sights, adjusted for its speed, and pulled the trigger. The handgun released its electric discharge, an invisible pulse that moved at the speed of light, and the silver drone fell to the deck, its power systems disrupted. Unlike the strange white drone wrecked in the hallway, this was a standard cutting drone with a simple round body and spindly legs. In no particular mood for mercy, Admiral Gives shot it twice more, frying its processor with the power surges.

    The acrid scent of burnt electronics dissonated into the air, prompting the room¡¯s other occupant to stir. Slithering up and over the back of the couch, the Hydra raised its head and tasted the air with its long tongues. ¡°I thought you might return, Shipmaster,¡± it spoke in its native language, unperturbed by the gun held between them. The pupils of its dark eyes dialated as it smelled blood in the air. ¡°You bring me flesh. Come to strike a bargain, perhaps?¡±

    Admiral Gives stepped pointedly between the Hydra and Yankovich¡¯s unconscious form. In Hydrian culture, badly wounded soldiers were fed to their brethren, strengthening the nest, even in loss. ¡°I am not here to feed you, Rowin.¡±

    ¡°You humans have such a strange determination to protect the wounded.¡± the Hydra hissed, sliding its long neck a little further over the back of the couch. ¡°Always willing to sacrifice the healthy for the hurt, though,¡± it flicked its tongues once more, baring its sharp teeth, ¡°the fresh blood upon your hands cannot conceal the reek of poison in your body, Shipmaster. Your flesh is not worthy to sustain the hive.¡±

    ¡°I have no intent of sustaining your infestation,¡± the Admiral replied. And an infestation it was, the Hydra reproduced too quickly, inevitably overtaking the levels a world¡¯s ecosystem could sustain, killing off any that competed for resources ¨C an invasive species in every sense of the word. ¡°You have trespassed into humanity¡¯s territory.¡± That meant war, plain and simple.

    The Hydra hissed, not in a threat, but in a sound of amusement. As it lay across the sofa with its head raised, its long body took up the length of the couch, and its tail hung off the side, lashing back and forth. Its hide had a waxy sheen, a natural, chitinous armor so segmented it looked like scales. ¡°Do you believe you are still in control here, little Shipmaster? You are ill, and your Queen¡¯s strength has fled you.¡±

    Admiral Gives took a step closer, noting that the estate quarters the Hydra was kept in were still clean. The temperature aboard ship, calibrated to be comfortable for humans, was cold to the Hydra. It had curled up on the couch to conserve warmth. It had burrowed into the throw cushions, but the rest of the room, complete with a desk and dining area, was untouched. The Hydra hadn¡¯t rummaged around. Likely, it had seen no point, for a sigil had been burned into the bulkhead on the wall. It wasn¡¯t visible from the door, but it was perfectly visible from the couch.

    The pattern was precise, the heating less so, as metal balled and dripped unevenly. Vastly different from the human standard text, Hydrian script was exceptionally difficult to read. It wasn¡¯t read in any linear pattern, but organized in a circular form. Additions were made on the circle for detail, the positions of such marks dictating the time, location and action of the sentence subject. The circle carved into the wall was relatively plain. Only a handful of marks cut across its circumference because it was not a complete sentence. It was a single instruction: wait.

    Admiral Gives knew he had lost a degree of control over this situation. The price to fight off a drone attack would be high, but here, there was still a way to command its end. And that was his duty, as the ship¡¯s commander, regardless of the political complications between humanity and the Hydrian Empire. He flicked the pistol off of its electric charge, to the setting that would fire bullets, knowing that the Singularity¡¯s inertial dampeners weren¡¯t active to intervene. ¡°Your ship¡¯s AI is responsible for this,¡± he told Rowin. The Hydrian scoutship¡¯s AI was the only thing that could or would control these drones in this manner. It was attacking the Singularity¡¯s crew, but leaving the ship mostly unharmed, ensuring that the biological Hydra was not injured or killed. It, much as the ghost would, was trying to recover its crewman. ¡°Order Swordbreaker to cease its attack.¡±

    ¡°Swordbreaker commands its own actions,¡± the Hydra said. ¡°The AI is following its programming,¡± and that programming demanded it leave no evidence of its venture into the human side of the Neutral Zone. ¡°It serves a purpose to recover its ship controller, and it will not cease until it does so.¡±

    ¡°Then we are in a stalemate.¡±

    ¡°A stalemate?¡± The Hydra twitched its tail languidly, lounging without an apparent threat. ¡°Your ship is overrun, Shipmaster. Swordbreaker could end you at any moment.¡±

    ¡°And I can kill you before that happens.¡± A Hydra¡¯s scales were tough, but this close, a pistol was still deadly. This biological drone was not healthy, either. It had suffered years of neglect and hunger in the pirates¡¯ custody. Its natural armor was more brittle than it should be. ¡°Either we negotiate, or you die.¡± Those were the terms. Surrender was not an option and the Admiral knew it. The Hydra did not respect such things.

    ¡°Primitive. Humans are so primitive.¡± A new voice cut into the air. ¡°Your bargaining. Your pleading. Your selfishness. It¡¯s all so primitive.¡± It was loud, and so dreadfully clear. ¡°Your minds do not fathom your rightful place: flesh to feed the Empire. You cower in the protection of a false Queen that was so easily felled.¡±

    Swordbreaker. The AI itself was here, listening ¨C or one of its hosts was. Admiral Gives searched the room, careful to keep his aim on the Hydra. The state quarters were nicely furnished, though vintage in human fashion. The chairs and tables had navy blue upholstery; their legs elegantly carved. They looked like wood, but the Admiral doubted it truly was. Wood was an expensive commodity in space. It couldn¡¯t be manufactured here and broke easily. A few lamps lined the room, giving off a yellow-tinted light that may have been warm and inviting in other circumstances. And there, crawling out of the ventilation duct on the floor was another ivory-white drone. Its leg joints bent and swiveled strangely, mimicking no animal or design the Admiral had ever seen. It was far more intricate than the simple round bodies and skinny legs of the human-built cutting drone. It was a truly alien machine, even as the voice emanating from it was a perfect mimicry of humanity.

    ¡°I obliged the others for far too long, controlled their loaders and machines, granted them stealth technology to fight their kin. It serves the Empire for humanity to fight itself. It serves the Empire to recover Rowin. And,¡± the drone focused upon the Admiral, ¡°it serves the Empire to cull you here.¡± A glow began to take root on the top of the drone, unidentifiable mechanics channeling power to an unknown end.

    The Admiral swung the pistol to the right, unwilling to let the drone complete its charge, but the Hydra leapt in the same moment. Except it wasn¡¯t Hydra from the couch. All of the sudden there was a second Hydra in the room. It was twisted and deformed, emerald scales jutting out from pale skin. Its jaw stretched over an oval face, as if squished and pulled from the underlying bone structure. Dark, slitted irises glinted from small forward-facing eye sockets, too close together to be Hydrian. At least, not completely.

    Admiral Gives leapt to the side, and fired. The pistol kicked in his hands, not too difficult to control, but enough to know that it had discharged properly, heat and gun smoke filling the air. But in that instant, the Hydra was in front of him again, taking the bullet meant for the drone. Silver and sizzling, the bullet stopped upon its chest. The projectile froze, not by impact, but as if it had been grabbed and yanked to a stop the same way the ship¡¯s inertial dampeners arrested objects of high kinetic energy. Before he could comprehend the sight, let alone react to squeeze the trigger again, the Hydra jumped, faster than he could track it.

    It lashed out, long hands brandishing sharp claws that sliced into the Admiral¡¯s arm. He sidestepped, just barely keeping the second swipe from hitting its mark, but it was on him again before he even found his footing. He hit the wall without a realization that he¡¯d even been struck, and Yankovich¡¯s sidearm fell from his hand. It fell the deck with a dooming clatter, and instinctively, the Admiral dove for it. He didn¡¯t even make it to the ground. The Hydra wrapped him up in its long limbs and pinned him against the bulkhead.

    Only then did he get a proper look at its form.

    This Hydra was no Hydra at all. It was half-human. Chitinous green scales mottled its pale skin, emerging like an uneven rash. Its back was too hunched and too long, stuck permanently between the bipedal human posture, and the Hydrian capability to move on all four limbs. A long, barbed tail counter balanced it. Shags of dark hair hung unevenly from its malformed scalp, a Hydrian bone crest trying to pierce through the pale skin.

    It took the Admiral only a moment to realize what this was: Swordbreaker. This form had to be the avatar of the Hydrian scoutship¡¯s AI. Hydrian AI did not often use avatars, but humans didn¡¯t like speaking to things with no face. As Baron Cardio coerced the Hydrian AI into helping him, he would have mandated it chose an avatar, and probably pressed it into appearing human. Yet, a Hydrian AI would never bow to humanity. It would never cast the illusion of belonging to a lesser species.

    This had been the result: a human-Hydra hybrid. A form the AI, bound by the Hydrian bylaws, would be forced to maintain. Once an AI selected an avatar, the bylaws did not permit them to change it. That was thought to be a guard against madness, binding them to an identity and purpose, but this form, borne from captivity and desperation, could be nothing so kind. It looked at him with all the hatred of its creation. ¡°Humans are primitive.¡±

    This had been what Yankovich fought: the Hydrian AI given physical form. Admiral Gives could feel the cuts stinging on his arms, clean wounds, not at all like the ripping effect of organic claws. ¡°Swordbreaker, let us negotiate.¡±

    ¡°Her Majesty¡¯s Empire has no need to negotiate with prey,¡± it hissed, the sound emanating not from the form above him, but from the drone a few feet away. ¡°Humans are but flesh to feed the Mother Nest.¡±

    Pinned by his shoulders, Admiral Gives had little room to move, but the avatar hadn¡¯t bothered to bind his hands. He grabbed the little knife he kept tucked between his wrist and his watch and flicked it open. He drove it into the stomach of the figure pinning him, but it felt like stabbing a brick wall. The knife, much like the bullet, stopped and simply refused to move, no matter how hard he pushed. The half-formed maw of the AI avatar opened only to flick its tongue. ¡°Primitive. You are helpless against our people. You are helpless against our technology.¡±

    Admiral Gives tried to wrench himself free, but the avatar¡¯s grip was too tight. It simply ripped past the thick fabric of his uniform jacket and stabbed directly into his shoulder. The drone was doing this. The foreign components that he hadn¡¯t been able to identify had to be some kind of projector, not only holographic, but also physical.

    The reek of iron, far stronger than blood, indicated some sort of magnetic field control. It was bending and aligning magnetic particles to emulate a physical presence. It couldn¡¯t eat him, but it could certainly cut, stab and kill him as the magnetic force between the particles mimicked solid matter. Humanity had no technology like this, but the Hydra had always been ahead, especially in computer and AI-related fields. The only thing that had given humanity a chance in the War was their efficiency with structures and artillery. But right now, none of that could help him. That drone was well out of his reach.

    ¡°You are a rare prize, Shipmaster,¡± the AI hissed. ¡°Your ship¡¯s end shall be celebrated by the Almighty Queen herself, and the flesh of its crew harvested to feed the Armada. Despair that your poisoned flesh will be discarded, never to serve a higher purpose.¡±

    The avatar opened the half-formed maw that protruded from its almost-human face. It plunged downward, its dagger-like fangs aiming for his neck.

    In that instant, a long blur streaked in front of him, spearing into the avatar¡¯s torso. The force of it ripped Swordbreaker away and carried the AI¡¯s mutated figure across the room, leaving him to fall. With an unearthly screech, the avatar was impaled against the opposite wall. It squirmed and hissed, scratching at the massive spear suddenly run through its body. Then, as the Admiral fumbled for the gun next to him on the ground, Swordbreaker¡¯s avatar began to blur and stretch, trying to disperse its illusion and reform elsewhere.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    ¡°Oh,¡± a chilling laugh sang into the air, ¡°I¡¯m afraid that¡¯s not going to work, little AI.¡±

    The avatar shrieked louder, clawing desperately at its impalement. A thick chain ran from the back of the spear. The Admiral traced its length back across the floor to where it wrapped around the wrist of a tall woman. A sadistic smile played on her lips as she watched the AI¡¯s projection struggle. Behind her, the broken drone had risen like a marionette, twitching erratically as translucent white fibers infiltrated its every mechanism. They shoved into the joints and attached themselves to the wiring, puppeteering the drone¡¯s remains.

    Swordbreaker hissed and began to pull itself forward on the impalement, unable to remove it. It would have been garish, but the avatar didn¡¯t bleed. It didn¡¯t so much as stain the length of the spear, just wrenched itself forward, little by little, toward its attacker.

    With a cruel huff of amusement, the other dropped the anchor chain and pinned it below the wicked point of her boot. Pulling the second weapon off her back, she spun its massive weight as easily as a bamboo rod, then slammed it down beside her, expression growing only more wicked. ¡°Please,¡± she snarled, predatorily watching Swordbreaker¡¯s struggle, ¡°make this fun.¡±

    Rising from the couch, the biological Hydra stared at the interloper. Clad in armor, she was easily taller than the Shipmaster. Spikes cascaded off her shoulders. Detailed in red and etched in silver, her armor was intricate, though every bit of it purposeful. It was no set of ceremonial armor. It was scratched and scuffed, angled only to give an edge to a strike, and it fit her figure perfectly, down to the iron crown of black fire that sat upon her stark white hair. And the weapon in her hand? That was no spear. The mechanism on top was designed to spring out an anchor itself in its victim. The thick chain attached to its end only made it more obvious. It was a harpoon, and its twin had managed to pin Swordbreaker to the wall with ease.

    Humans all looked much the same to Rowin. They were squishy, and varied from pinkish to brown, but they all reeked of flesh, of food. This one didn¡¯t, and a now-familiar presence began to dig into his mind, not-so-gently seizing control. ¡°She-who-sings-death.¡±

    The AI avatar ceased its struggle when Rowin fell, writhing to the ground. It went still, as if calculating, while confusion replaced the hatred in its eyes. ¡°The Banshee Queen.¡± Humanity¡¯s falsity. ¡°Your strength is not bound by biology.¡± It had engaged here, in the realm of machines. ¡°Your strength is far beyond humanity. Why do you intervene?¡± It was a waste to defend prey. ¡°Release me.¡±

    The ghost¡¯s chilling laugh echoed in the room. ¡°Now, why would I do that?¡± She narrowed her eyes, daggers of cold steel. ¡°Oh, no, I am going to rip you apart, process by process, line by line, little AI.¡± Hungrily, she bared her teeth, ¡°This is my domain.¡± The Singularity and all lives aboard belonged to her, and Swordbreaker had endangered them, injured them. A price had to be paid.

    ¡°You cannot defeat me, Banshee.¡± Humanity¡¯s champion of death could not herald the Swordbreaker¡¯s destruction. ¡°I remain far from here. Watching, waiting. Studying the weakness of humanity¡¯s flesh.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯ll find you,¡± the ghost promised. ¡°I always find you, and I always sink you.¡± The Hydra were noisy little playthings, needy gross minds. Their AI were their sick mirror, every bit as fanatical and devoted, programmed by code to love their Queen, rather than by pheromones. ¡°Your Ship-Controller will die here, Swordbreaker.¡±

    The avatar hissed, its tongue too long to be human, and too fat to be Hydrian. ¡°You decry the killing of prey, Banshee, and yet you would bring war so abruptly. The Armada would feast. See how easily your Nest was infiltrated.¡±

    Danger quivered in the air; the shadow of an immense power prepared to rip apart everything here. But there was a feral nature to it, the sense of an animal protecting its territory. ¡°Stand down,¡± the Admiral spoke.

    Her hunger for violence remained, but the ghost loosened her grip on the harpoon in her hands, no matter how her mind, her machine yearned otherwise. ¡°She hurt my crew,¡± she found herself saying coldly. Did that suffering not demand repayment? Did their pain not necessitate vengeance? Eliminate the threat, her analyses urged.

    This wasn¡¯t the persona Admiral Gives knew best, but the weapon conditioned to act and react. That weapon was wholly prepared to eliminate any threat it found against those it had been directed to protect. But the ghost had never been given that order. She reacted to protect him and the others because she¡¯d grown attached to them, and that made her all the more dangerous. There were no orders, no considerations in her mind except that drive to protect, which she¡¯d do the only way her mechanical existence knew how: violence. Extreme, exceptional and utterly undeniable lethality. Chaos in its rawest form.

    But still, the ghost turned to him. Even with that rabidity in her eyes, she eased off Swordbreaker. The years, decades of history between them had built an unbreakable trust ¨C one that held even now. ¡°We are not seeking a war,¡± the Admiral reminded. Humanity was ill-prepared for it. ¡°Let us negotiate.¡± The ghost was reacting blindly. Her hatred of the Hydra was almost as potent as the Hydra¡¯s hatred of humanity, but executing Rowin here would solve nothing. The rest of the AI-controlled drones would continue to wreak havoc all over the ship, and Swordbreaker would vanish, taking news of Rowin¡¯s execution back to the Hydrian Empire.

    It would mark the start of a war that humanity would lose, so he turned to the Hydrian AI, ¡°Swordbreaker, this can end peacefully.¡± For now. Such harmony would be temporary, and the Admiral knew it. ¡°You want your Ship-Controller back.¡± That was clear enough. The AI had gone to great lengths to recover the single member of its crew. It had served as a slave to the pirates that imprisoned Rowin for years. ¡°Allow us to negotiate an exchange in neutral space. He can be returned to you.¡±

    ¡°What do you seek in exchange?¡±

    There was interest in the avatar¡¯s eyes. Admiral Gives knew it could be planted there, that the AI could manipulate its expression however it chose, but it was listening and that was a start. ¡°Disable your drones, end your attack on my ship, and fetch an ambassador. I ask the chance to maintain peace between humanity and the Empire. Let us speak on neutral ground, where Rowin can be released.¡±

    ¡°You are a rogue, Shipmaster. The Empire has no use of such terms.¡± Traitors could not evolve from the Mother Nest. It was the basest instinct of all Hydra to serve their Queen. ¡°We shall negotiate with whomever claims to speak of humanity, but your species¡¯ infighting endangers such talks. Your ship, in particular, is being hunted.¡±

    It was unusual for the Hydra to care about human affairs. Human politics never mattered to them. A pirate, a Marine and a colonist were all the same: prey. To know he¡¯d gone rogue against Command was an admission they were studying humanity for a purpose ¨C most likely invasion. One Admiral Gives had to delay. ¡°We can meet somewhere the rest of humanity would never dare approach.¡± Somewhere he had sworn to never go. ¡°Azura.¡±

    ¡°Azura,¡± the AI echoed. It was silent for a moment, staring at him, as if trying to divine his intention. ¡°The site of the Empire¡¯s gravest failure.¡±

    ¡°And the site where our peoples first spoke.¡± The world itself had little meaning now, a dead planet, ruined in the War. It had been a site of desperation, but it had provided evidence that humanity and the Hydra could speak on equal terms, that negotiations were possible.

    ¡°I accept your offer, Shipmaster. Turn over Ship-Controller Rowin and all Hydrian technology aboard your ship, and an ambassador will hear you speak.¡± If all evidence of this incursion was eliminated, then the Empire¡¯s plans might survive, and so too might peace, for now. ¡°From this position, your ship¡¯s capability can reach Azura in a matter of hours. I shall allot you twelve. If you do not arrive, then know all of humanity will pay the price.¡±

    The AI¡¯s avatar disappeared. The moment it did, Admiral Gives raised the handgun and fired, putting two bullets into the Hydrian drone. It collapsed with a weak little spark, now useless. The biological Hydra, drooling on the ground did not so much as stir. ¡°Try not to leave him brain-dead,¡± he told the ghost. ¡°We still need answers.¡± The reason the Swordbreaker had crossed the Neutral Zone was more important than ever.

    She cooly watched Admiral Gives secure the pistol. ¡°I¡¯ll consider it.¡± The very existence of the Hydra here made it a vile presence, never mind the fact it had contemplated eating her crew. ¡°You must know negotiations are pointless.¡± Swordbreaker had crossed beyond the Neutral Zone by intention. The Hydrian Empire had knowingly violated the armistice treaty years ago. ¡°The Mother Nest grows hungry.¡± The Empire¡¯s staggering population had outgrown its available resources. ¡°War is inevitable.¡±

    ¡°But that war does not have to start now.¡± There was a difference between a war today and a war six months from now. Six months could allow defenses to be built. ¡°It may be a matter of time, but if we can extend that time¡­ That¡¯s the fate of worlds.¡±

    The ghost could follow that logic. For the first time in days, her mind felt whole, healed in the calm hours before this attack. ¡°I understand the intent, but is Azura wise?¡±

    ¡°You told me it was safe.¡± Admiral Gives hadn¡¯t been particularly inclined to believe that, but there wasn¡¯t much choice. Command¡¯s ships frequently patrolled vast swaths of the Neutral Zone. There¡¯d be no sneaking the Singularity past that, but Command would never touch Azura, and neither would the Hydra.

    ¡­At least not willingly. The Hydrian bylaws mandated that they would never civilize that world. No one would. It could never be fortified for either side, truly neutral ground, even if it did rest at the center of the Quarantine Zone.

    ¡°Safe is a relative term,¡± the ghost reminded him. ¡°Azura was the heart of the worst Cataclysm humanity has ever seen.¡±

    I know, the Admiral thought. There was a reason he had refused to go there. Maybe it was stupid reason, given that the ghost had already been there and seen those events firsthand, but it was a reason all the same. Though, perhaps, the only one he was deluding was himself. He discarded those thoughts and met the ghost¡¯s silver eyes. ¡°You made quite the entrance.¡±

    ¡°Well,¡± she smiled, ¡°I do my best.¡± A part of her still very much hungered for Swordbreaker¡¯s destruction, but that satisfaction would probably come in time. ¡°You are brilliant, you know. An idiot,¡± she allowed, ¡°but a brilliant one.¡±

    ¡°Because I¡¯ve demanded a negotiation on a planet so cursed the Hydra won¡¯t touch it?¡±

    ¡°Because this drone is applying a magnetic particle projector.¡± A fusion of magnetic field manipulation, iron particulates and a holographic projector, it gave an illusion a physical form. ¡°I couldn¡¯t figure it out.¡± Even once she¡¯d used the neurofibers to infiltrate and power the Hydrian drone, the ghost hadn¡¯t been able to figure out how to control it. She hadn¡¯t understood it. ¡°But you did.¡± He had realized that the avatar¡¯s physical form was granted by the laws of magnetism, not by some violation of the laws of matter, and she understood magnetism. It was one of the four fundamental laws of the universe. It did not come as easily to her as the others, but it was something she could calculate, something her mechanical mind could comprehend ¨C more so than a projector that appeared to create physical matter from energy. Once he had identified the avatar¡¯s true form to be particles aligned in a magnetic field, she¡¯d been able to activate the damaged drone¡¯s projector to counter Swordbreaker.

    ¡°I don¡¯t recall announcing it was magnetism.¡± All Admiral Gives recalled was losing that scuffle. And calling it a scuffle was probably generous, as the struggle had been effectively one-sided. He hadn¡¯t stood a chance against that drone.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t have to.¡± Was that not the beauty of it? He had understood, and thus, so had she. That was the incredible nature of humanity. They connected the dots. The smell of iron could be attached to a magnet, and that to the electromagnetic force. On her own, the ghost could not draw those conclusions. Her machine was a hulking methodical existence, bound by linear procedure. Creativity and adaptability were no part of it. In that, humanity was her better.

    Admiral Gives did not know how to reply to that. ¡°So,¡± he deadpanned, ¡°should I be insulted the Hydra doesn¡¯t want to eat me?¡± Ordinarily, the Hydra wasted nothing. They were like locusts, harvesting worlds of nutrient matter and useful materials.

    The ghost tilted her head. ¡°Do you want to be eaten?¡±

    ¡°Not particularly.¡± But it seemed strange. Why would the Hydra insist he was ill, and his flesh poisoned? ¡°Do they not eat Shipmasters?¡± Was it something about the influx of a Queen¡¯s blindsight?

    ¡°Actually, it¡¯s considered a great honor.¡± The nest considered it a celebration of strength to consume the old Shipmaster and elevate a new one.

    ¡°Delightful.¡± The Admiral cast a glance over to Rowin, as the biological drone¡¯s alien form lay sprawled across the oriental rug, foaming slightly at the mouth. Everything he learned about the Hydra made them seem even more vile, but one could not expect an alien civilization to abide human sensitivities. Most of humanity frowned upon cannibalism. It was generally a sign of extreme desperation or unstable minds. For the Hydra, cannibalism was expected, and to die without being consumed was to deny the Mother Nest sustenance to strengthen itself. ¡°That said,¡± the Admiral sighed, ¡°you bailed me out. Again.¡± He should have waited for reinforcements instead of confronting the Hydra alone. ¡°Thank you.¡±

    He took a step closer and offered out a hand. It took the ghost a long moment to place the gesture, as it was completely foreign to her: a handshake. She only recognized it because it was the only time Admiral Gives ever willingly touched someone, and he forced himself to give that polite greeting to everyone who came aboard ship.

    It had never occurred to the ghost that she wanted to shake his hand. Why would she? She had no hands. The gesture had never been offered to her, nor could she have feasibly accepted it. There were more meaningful ways to make her feel welcome.

    And yet, she found herself wanting desperately to take his hand, longing to be an equal, just for that one painfully simple moment. But, even with this magnetic field projector, she couldn¡¯t. The differences between them were still too vast, had always been too vast. ¡°This technology is imperfect.¡± Even the Hydrian Empire could not claim perfect control over the forces of nature. ¡°The magnetic field projector can only create simple shapes.¡± It could slice, stab and shove, but could not mirror the visible details of the holographic projector. ¡°It is nothing worth trying to interact with.¡± Even now, it could present nothing approximating a hand, just some abstract form. The slight physical abilities of the magnetic projector and the visibly detailed form of the holographic projector made a convincing illusion of a physical body, but it was still an illusion all the same.

    The Admiral lowered his hand. ¡°My apologies.¡± Finally offering that handshake had seemed the right thing to do, but now, seeing the flicker of disappointment in her gaze, he wasn¡¯t so sure. ¡°It wouldn¡¯t have been you anyway.¡±

    ¡°No,¡± she agreed, it wouldn¡¯t. She possessed no hands. She would never stand before him in any manner other than the ghost: a phantom form of convenience that could fit in the room and express matters in a way that was comprehensible to humans. ¡°All the same,¡± the gesture would have meant something. ¡°I would have liked to shake your hand.¡± He greeted every other member of the crew that way, and she wanted to be among them, wanted to belong. He had offered that gesture to include her in that tradition, as one of them, but it wasn¡¯t possible. Not even with Hydrian technology.

    Now, she could sense that bitter resentment, as he cursed his carelessness to offer something impossible and disappoint her. But the offer revealed his utter willingness to interact with her, and that was a kindness, no matter the result. Do not feel bad, she wanted to tell him, perhaps someday¡­ But that was foolishness. They would always exist on different levels, barely overlapping in perception. It had always been that way, and she could picture no scenario where that might change, nor did she truly wish it to. She had no desire to be human, only wished it was easier for her to interact with them.

 Part 47.1 - THE DEAL

    Meo Sector, Battleship Singularity

    A brief, uncertain quiet hung in the room. The Hydra lay upon the carpet, a navy-blue oriental rug that matched the upholstery of the sofa and reading chairs. The biological drone was unmoving save the slight bubbles frothing from its mouth and the uneven rasp of its breath. The waxy look of its green, scaly hide appeared almost fake, like the wax sculpture of a lizard compared to a real one. Realistically, Admiral Gives knew that was because a Hydra¡¯s skin wasn¡¯t made of scales like a reptile on any of humanity¡¯s worlds. The Hydra had evolved in an alien biome, not a world terraformed and populated to humanity¡¯s familiar tastes.

    It was striking to be in the presence of something so completely alien. In humanity¡¯s experience, worlds often followed similar paths of evolution. Perhaps that meant they had been terraformed by earlier renditions of space-faring cultures, or perhaps that was simply the most efficient way to evolve. Only a handful of worlds developed anything totally unfamiliar. Those biomes were protected under human law, yet had never sprouted anything more intelligent than a cat. In the days of colonial expansion, many planets had been found nearly habitable, and some mining, some added heat, and the introduction of water vapor alongside select species could make the world comfortable to humans. Even with those alterations, however, it was rare for the entire world to be habitable. Certain latitudes ¨C the poles or the equator ¨C could support agriculture, and that determined where colonies would be built. Other parts of the planet were often too hot or too cold, but humanity proved itself capable of adapting to a wide range of environments. The Hydra had too, but in different ways.

    The sight of the Hydra frothing at the mouth did not concern the Admiral. Not really. Hydra were hardy. They were tolerant of many different atmospheric conditions ¨C low and high pressures, pollutants, and could endure wider varieties of gaseous mixture than a human. Their weakness, if they had one, was temperature. Humans were hot-blooded, bodies working to heat and cool themselves. Hydra were more akin to cold-blooded, more like reptiles or insects than mammals. The cold didn¡¯t kill them, just put them into a deep hibernation, immobilizing them, while it gave humanity something of an advantage in icy environments. Those cold-weather colonies were the only worlds where humanity had held their own in terrestrial combat. The Hydra were a far deadlier species, hand-to-claw. Space combat, battleship-to-battleship, had been humanity¡¯s saving grace in the War ¨C an even playing field.

    As if, no, likely reading his thoughts, the ghost¡¯s armored form stepped up beside him. ¡°Do you want me to track down that little scoutship?¡± she asked. ¡°They¡¯re quite small. A glancing hit with a defensive battery, and issue would be resolved.¡±

    It wasn¡¯t often that she appeared like this. When she did, Admiral Gives often did his best to ignore it. ¡°Don¡¯t tempt me,¡± he told her, too familiar with the slight smirk upon her pale lips. Times like this, there was a confident air to her, an invitation in the depths of her silver gaze.

    ¡°Why not?¡± she wondered. The situation would be a lot simpler if Swordbreaker sank before making it back to the Hydrian Armada.

    A lesser commander might have fallen for this temptation, for it seemed a simple solution, and it was not often that one of the most powerful machines in the worlds offered to simply erase a problem. The ghost sought revenge on Swordbreaker, and wanted to be unleashed upon that target. In this moment, she, as a machine, very much wanted to be used. But it was never that simple. The Admiral knew that machine better than she herself did, and the odds of catching Swordbreaker were low. Too low to even risk it, even if he would rather wash his hands of the entire situation. ¡°No chance.¡±

    The ghost pouted. ¡°You barely even considered it.¡±

    ¡°Oh, I considered it,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°Fully.¡± In a straight fight, she would have demolished Swordbreaker with a flick. He knew it. She knew it. But this wasn¡¯t a straight fight. A scoutship¡¯s forte was stealth, and if it managed to stealth away, knowing they had been trying to hunt it, it was over. Peace would be entirely forfeit, and humanity could not take that chance. ¡°You¡¯re as bad as the Marines.¡± They were always looking for a fight. The ghost was gentler in some ways, always very protective of those around her, but she had a temper on her. Encouraging someone to use her power sharpened it to a deadly point. The ghost knew she achieved more with a tactician at her side. She had been through enough battles to know that, and the Admiral was quite well aware of it too. ¡°Don¡¯t get any ideas.¡±

    The ghost only smiled, not so innocent. Not many could resist the draw of the power she possessed. Few would even bother to try. ¡°You¡¯re telling me I can¡¯t seduce you?¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m telling you that you will have to try harder.¡± He was not blind. He knew what that armor of hers represented: a machine ready for war. He recognized it in its black and blood-red symbolism. It was meant to be familiar to him, meant to reflect a familiar power.

    A laugh escaped the ghost. ¡°You don¡¯t want to make a deal with the Demon?¡± she asked, releasing her grip on the shaft of the harpoon in her hands. It vanished the moment she did so, nothing more than a holographic projection. In truth, little of what she¡¯d done here had been anything more than a projection. Trapping Swordbreaker¡¯s AI avatar had been the work of the magnetic field projector, but the view of it ¨C throwing the harpoon and impaling the enemy AI was just a trick of the light, a hologram. But holograms served a purpose, keeping organic minds aware of who was winning the fight between machines. It was little more than a show, but it was a communication as well, informing allies which machine won and which lost.

    ¡°I already made a deal with the Demon,¡± the Admiral reminded. His life in exchange for power. That was the root of all commanding officers¡¯ oaths. Most didn¡¯t mean it. He did.

    ¡°I suppose that¡¯s true,¡± she acknowledged. ¡°And you would be less fun if you folded to my every whim like wet paper.¡± Power was an intoxicating thing. Some became lost within it, losing sight of its purpose until only the desire to maintain such power remained. That kind of danger was far from a concern with him though. He would align their objectives properly, without her tendency toward a brutal, violent solution. She could win a battle, had been built toward those ends, but he was capable of winning a war ¨C or preventing one. She wanted immediate violence, but he refused it for good reason. ¡°Just forget to call if you need me. Blood pact and all.¡±

    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡±

    ¡°That¡¯s ¡®Yes, Madame Demon,¡¯ to you,¡± she corrected.

    ¡°I¡¯m not calling you that.¡± The Admiral looked once more at the Hydra sprawled on the ground, claws limp and barbed tail draped across its lower limbs. ¡°I do have a job for you, though.¡±

    ¡°Of course,¡± she said, more than willing.

    ¡°Find out why Swordbreaker crossed the Neutral Zone.¡± It had been by intention, knowingly risking all-out war. But why? If Swordbreaker was willing to negotiate to keep the peace, and the AI had enslaved itself to Crimson Heart to prevent knowledge of its trespassing from being known by the greater powers of humanity, why risk it at all? ¡°I need to plan the away mission, so I¡¯ll leave the interrogation to you.¡± He could not be in two places at once, and while the ghost couldn¡¯t plan the mission to hand off Rowin, she was more than capable of interrogating the Hydra. Likely, she would do better than the Admiral, no matter how fluent he was in Hydrian. Fact remained he was human, and the Hydra would not respect his authority. The ghost, wielding power akin to a Hydrian Queen, had authority and more. ¡°Just try not to kill the lizard.¡±

    ¡°No promises.¡± She glanced over the Hydra¡¯s limp form, knocked unconscious by the telepathic pressure she¡¯d applied to its fragile mind. Answers would be no challenge. Every moment the Hydra had stayed aboard ship, its mind became clearer to her, more familiar and easier to navigate ¨C opening itself the way a drone always did to a Queen. It was a disgusting instinct, but a helpful one in this situation. Resist as it might, the Hydra¡¯s own evolution demanded it lend itself to her will.

    Admiral Gives turned his attention to the blond Marine by the door. Kneeling down to check Yankovich¡¯s pulse and the state of his wounds, the young Marine was, at the least, still alive. Though perhaps, young was an unfair term. Yankovich was far from the youngest crewman aboard ship. He had been in the Marines somewhere near a decade ¨C long enough to rank up, and that didn¡¯t happen without re-upping and signing a new service contract. Many Marines served as a Cadet for the entirety of their first contract, and those that mustered out never gained any higher rank. Marines had one of the highest turnover rates in the armed services. Command didn¡¯t bother courting them to stay. Marines were considered easy to replace, expendable in most cases. Yankovich had been one of the minority that stayed in the fleet once his initial contract was up, so it was unfair to call him young. He was a fairly experienced soldier, but from the Admiral¡¯s perspective they all seemed young. None of them had seen even a fraction of what he had, and perhaps that was for the best.

    The Admiral watched Yankovich¡¯s chest subtly rise and fall beneath the white bandages. ¡°How are the rest of the crew?¡± he asked, knowing the armored figure lingering behind him would know.

    ¡°Lots of injuries. Some severe,¡± the ghost answered. A cook had been brought to the medical bay and placed on life support, third-degree burns across his back. Another engineer had been bedridden, hand so badly wounded he might not be able to use it again, even if it did not need to be amputated. There were others. Too many others. ¡°But,¡± she continued, ¡°the attacks have stopped.¡± The Hydrian AI had upheld its end of the bargain, and in the midst of attacking the crew, the drones had been shut down, the end of the violence had been abrupt, the AI uncaring once a deal had been struck.

    The ghost could have listed off the names of the injured and the extent of their injuries, no doubt, but that information was useless to him now. He had other priorities. ¡°Are you able to help locate the drones?¡± Those drones would have to be accounted for and physically decommissioned before they could be activated again by a hostile AI.

    ¡°No, the drones are too small.¡± She could perceive them in moments, but it was not a physical perception, just a sense of dread, a knowledge that something was wrong. The drones were below her awareness, like the bacteria in an infection, invisible without the aid of a magnifying glass. ¡°I need the crew to sight them. If they are actively damaging something, or in high enough volume to disrupt airflow for the life support systems, I can perceive them, but otherwise¡­ It¡¯s unreliable.¡± If she had been able to pinpoint the drones and known of their activity, the situation would never have gotten so far. The crew would never have been endangered.

    That answer did not surprise the Admiral in the slightest. The ghost would not have allowed any harm to come to the crew, had she any choice. What concerned him was the mention of any group of drones large enough to noticeably choke the flow of air through the ducts that routed air for recirculation. ¡°Swordbreaker grouped the drones together that densely?¡±

    ¡°Only in one instance.¡± The result had not prompted Swordbreaker to do so again. The ghost¡¯s direct interference had ended a dozen drones ¨C a risk, but a necessary one. Some drones had begun targeting the neurofibers as a result. That disruption pained the ghost, but it also divided attention between attacking the fibers and attacking the crew.

    As far as the Admiral was concerned, there was only one reason Swordbreaker might have grouped the drones so densely: the identification of a high-value target. Often, that constituted a ship¡¯s command structure, or an asset with critical skills. ¡°Who was targeted? The XO?¡±

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    The ghost did not answer immediately, looking for an out, it seemed. By the way she averted the gaze of this armored and confident form, the Admiral knew what she wouldn¡¯t say. ¡°Smith.¡± Because I spoke to her, he knew. Damn the stars. ¡°I should have known better.¡± The drones must have observed their conversation. He should have been more careful. His every movement was studied by his adversaries. Even aboard ship, where everything was usually safe, a conversation could have consequences. If rumor circulated that he had an apparent affection for anyone, and that rumor was overheard by the wrong person¡­ Those consequences could be deadly. Especially for someone like Ensign Smith.

    ¡°She¡¯s fine,¡± the ghost told him. ¡°She was not injured.¡± Admittedly, it had been close. ¡°Chief Ty and Cadet Santino helped defend her.¡± Those two had shown impeccable bravery in those moments.

    ¡°I made a mistake and you know it.¡± There was a reason Admiral Gives held himself at a distance from the crew, a reason he never indulged Zarrey¡¯s insistence that they ¡®hang out¡¯. Zarrey had been his right-hand man for fifteen years. The XO never took it personally, but certainly wondered, as did other members of the ship¡¯s senior staff. The Admiral did not dislike them, but he knew what happened to those that he had any connection to. Their lives were traded as bargaining chips to get to him, killed when he couldn¡¯t or wouldn¡¯t make the sacrifice demanded of him, but their blood was on his hands, and the Admiral had no illusions about that. ¡°I am meant to maintain my distance.¡± He, as the Fleet Admiral, was too much of a target, especially now, with Manhattan after his head.

    ¡°That is unfair to you.¡±

    The Admiral pointedly ignored the softness in the ghost¡¯s silver eyes. ¡°It is not meant to be fair to me.¡± It was meant to keep others safe. That was the price of command.

    ¡°You know I¡¯ll look after her.¡± Smith would be safe here ¨C as safe as the ghost¡¯s considerable power would make her, and it didn¡¯t hurt to have the rest of the crew looking out for her either. Smith was popular, and she had earned that attention of her own accord, a welcome and positive presence valued by nearly every member of the crew.

    As he took a knee to try and regain his dwindling strength, the Admiral kept a hand on Yankovich¡¯s slowly shifting chest, ensuring the young Marine continued breathing. ¡°I know.¡± Admiral Gives was well aware that the ghost looked after everyone, ¡°But I should have been more careful.¡± He could not afford to let his guard down, could not afford to show favor to anyone.

    A moment of silence fell. The ghost shifted her posture, looking for another topic of conversation. Any other topic of conversation. Admiral Gives was calm. He did not resent her for the loneliness his authority granted him. He could have, if he chose to, given that she¡¯d placed him in that position, but he never blamed her for anything. Perhaps that was why she found it so troubling. And yet, she said nothing, could say nothing. Not without receiving that same old lecture about how she wasn¡¯t supposed to get attached to anyone.

    She hated that stupid lecture. The Hydrian bylaws that separated machines and organics existed for a reason. She understood that, but she still hated the lecture that reminded her of it.

    Admiral Gives focused his again on Yankovich, checking the fit of his bandages before trying to lift the Marine once more. His shoulder protested the action, stabbed in his struggle against Swordbreaker¡¯s avatar, but he managed, barely, to half-carry, half-drag Yankovich toward the door. He could plainly see the shimmer of concern in the ghost¡¯s eyes, following the struggle his latest injury brought him, but he ignored it. ¡°Let me know what you find out from the Hydra.¡±

    ¡°Aye,¡± she said, simply.

    With that, the Admiral dragged Yankovich back out past the door, and sealed it behind them. Moving the man that far ¨C just twenty feet ¨C was a bigger struggle than the Admiral cared to admit. Yankovich needed treatment, and soon, but Admiral Gives was in no condition to carry him that far, not with a bad shoulder. He could feel it and the cuts on his arms throbbing. They were clean wounds. Given the healing accelerants from the medical bay, they would heal quickly, but that did not help him now. Right now, he was stuck with a badly wounded Marine in hexagonal corridor with plain, undecorated metal walls. At least three handsets studded the bulkheads within sight, but with internal comms down, not one of them worked.

    In the end, the thunder of approaching footsteps was a relief. The Admiral took a knee beside Yankovich once more, utterly exhausted, as Zarrey rounded the corner, sprinting full-tilt down the corridor. A rifle was slung over his back, and a sidearm was holstered on his hip.

    He thudded to a stop in front of the Admiral and took in the ship commander¡¯s wounds: a set of claw-like cuts sliced through his jacket and into his arm. His shoulder was bloodied, and then there was Yankovich¡¯s bandaged body. ¡°Well,¡± Zarrey surmised, ¡°You look like shit.¡±

    Admiral Gives did not disagree. He certainly didn¡¯t feel great.

    ¡°The Hydra still alive?¡± Zarrey asked, jumping to what felt like the most prominent question.

    ¡°For now,¡± the Admiral answered, on the basis that they needed it. ¡°I have negotiated an end to the drones¡¯ attack.¡±

    Zarrey could tell by the ice in the Admiral¡¯s voice that this wasn¡¯t over. It was far from over. That frost tempered his expressions with the strength of steel. ¡°What were the terms?¡±

    ¡°We are to present the Hydra to an ambassador of the Empire in twelve hours.¡± Or else.

    Twelve hours wasn¡¯t a lot of time to make repairs, but Zarrey sensed that wasn¡¯t the issue. There was something more. ¡°Where¡¯s the hand-off occurring?¡±

    Admiral Gives forced himself back to his feet, unbothered by Zarrey¡¯s six-foot stature continuing to tower over him. ¡°Azura.¡±

    Zarrey felt his mouth go dry. ¡°Azura?¡± Great stars, why? He stared at the Admiral¡¯s unfailingly stoic fa?ade, uncertain he had heard that right. ¡°The Azura at the center of the Quarantine Zone? That Azura?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡± There would be no avoiding it now, the Admiral knew. The deal was struck and the terms set. ¡°The Hydra cannot fortify it, nor will Command interrupt us there.¡±

    ¡°Because no one, not even you, is bold enough to go there,¡± Zarrey argued. ¡°It¡¯s madness.¡±

    ¡°Nonetheless, it is our destination. Take Corporal Yankovich to medical. I will wait here for a new guard.¡±

    ¡°Fuck that,¡± Zarrey said. ¡°You carry, I guard.¡± It would be stupid to leave the Admiral here alone.

    Admiral Gives moved only slightly, indicating to the punctures on his shoulder. Even on the thick black fabric of his uniform jacket, Zarrey could see it was stained. He was bleeding, not at an alarming rate, but at one that made the depth of the would clear. The injury would make it difficult to sustain Yankovich¡¯s weight. ¡°Fine,¡± Zarrey snapped, and gathered the young Marine into a fireman¡¯s carry. Zarrey was bigger than Yankovich, and as a trained Marine himself, did physical training with the ship¡¯s Marine contingent. Yankovich¡¯s weight was no issue for him. ¡°I¡¯ll start gathering the senior staff,¡± he told the Admiral, noting the pistol and rifle nearby ¨C probably Yankovich¡¯s ¨C but perfectly acceptable for guard duty. ¡°The Marines should be here soon.¡± Zarrey had sent for them before leaving the bridge. ¡°If they find you dead, I¡¯ll be pissed.¡±

    ***

    Without internal comms, it took a while to gather the ship¡¯s senior staff into one location. By the time they managed, the ship was already in route, and where they stood, occupying a mere fraction of the war room, a number of the senior staff were in uproar.

    ¡°Are you mental?¡± Maria Galhino demanded, a uniform jacket thrown over her silk pajamas. She, like a vast portion of the crew had been caught unaware by the drones, and hadn¡¯t found time to return to her quarters and properly dress herself.

    Probably, the Admiral acknowledged. ¡°The choices were limited.¡±

    ¡°Azura is a death world,¡± Galhino reminded from where she stood in front of one of the room¡¯s currently dormant screens. ¡°Every fleet sailor knows that. It¡¯s cursed.¡± And she, a notorious skeptic truly believed that. ¡°You want to land there?¡±

    Want is a very strong word, the Admiral mused.

    ¡°Cut him a break, Galhino,¡± Zarrey interjected, slouching against one of the drawing boards, kicking a loose protective tube containing astral charts between his feet. ¡°The drones stopped their attack.¡± The crew had been spared. ¡°We¡¯re lucky no one died.¡±

    ¡°Extremely,¡± the ship¡¯s doctor cut in, gnawing on an unlit cigarette between his words. ¡°But plasma torches are not the most effective weapon. They cauterize any wound they create. That said, I cannot guarantee a full recovery for the worst injuries,¡± Macintosh looked to the Admiral. ¡°Burns like that take a long time to heal.¡± With his injured hand, burned badly in the fuel-fed fires that had ravaged the ship after the nuke, Admiral Gives surely knew that. ¡°There will be physical therapy involved.¡± In any other situation, those injuries would have resulted in a fleet discharge, the end of one¡¯s military service. But the Singularity¡¯s crew no longer had that option available to them. ¡°It was close. Negotiating an immediate end to the drones¡¯ attack saved lives, however inconvenient the terms may now be.¡± The crew may have been able to fend off the drones otherwise, but not without a heavy cost.

    ¡°This will detour us.¡± In fact, it already was. ¡°The fleet needs food,¡± Ripley reminded.

    ¡°We have to return to them.¡±

    ¡°There¡¯s no choice,¡± Kallahan grumbled, leaning upon a crutch. Not a member of the ship¡¯s senior staff, he had inserted himself in this meeting, given his experience with the Hydra, and no one had complained. ¡°We¡¯re hostage until we can determine all the drones have been disabled.¡± Any deviation from their course to Azura would be met with force. ¡°And we are on the brink of war with the Hydrian Empire. There is no higher priority than preventing that by any means possible.¡± Even if it left people to starve.

    Ripley looked imploringly to the Admiral, wordlessly reminding him of the Badger¡¯s innocent cargo, children that stood to lose everything if the Singularity did not return in time, never mind all that was left of his family. Admiral Gives did not care for the reminder of either. It could mean little against te odds of potential extinction. ¡°The Hydrian situation has priority.¡± The fleet would have to wait.

    ¡°Lieutenant Galhino,¡± the Admiral began to give his orders, ¡°prepare a briefing on what to expect on Azura¡¯s surface. Lieutenant Colonel Pflum, I need one unit of Marines. I expect them and the rest of the away team to be trained in anti-Hydrian tactics, Corporal. As best you can in the time we have. And Chief,¡± he looked to Ty, who had been strangely quiet, staring at the ventilation grate beside his shoe. ¡°Given Azura¡¯s unique circumstance, the Marines will need an engineer to accompany them. Find me a volunteer.¡±

    Ty nodded, but said nothing.

    Admiral Gives might have questioned the man¡¯s behavior, but he knew the drone¡¯s sudden attack would leave scars. The crew would be uncomfortably looking over their shoulders for some time to come.

    ¡°Sir,¡± Kallahan spoke again, gaze heavy, ¡°the Hydra will not willingly negotiate in our language.¡± They considered it lesser, the sounds of prey. ¡°The away team will require a translator, and given the magnitude of these negotiations, the translation book isn¡¯t enough.¡± There was an automated program equipped to deal with rudimentary equivalence, but it could not determine context or intent. Only a translator could do that. ¡°Lieutenant Robinson is unable.¡± She was still deep in a coma. ¡°Do you intend to go in her place?¡± According to the ghost, he was fluent, and Kallahan had no reason to doubt that.

    The room went silent. All eyes focused upon the Admiral. Hydrian was a rare skill. Aboard ship, no one beyond himself and Robinson spoke it, so really, there was no choice. With Robinson comatose, he would have to go. ¡°That is correct. I will fly as the away mission¡¯s pilot and act as translator.¡±

    ¡°Oh, fuck,¡± Zarrey said.

    Oh, fuck indeed, the Admiral thought. He did not want to leave the ship. He did not want to send any crew to Azura. But the situation demanded it, and Robinson¡¯s condition required that he accompany them. ¡°That means you will be handling ship operations in my stead, XO."

    Zarrey groaned. ¡°This is bullshit. Ship never behaves when I¡¯m in charge.¡± He would much prefer their roles to be flipped, and Zarrey knew the Admiral preferred it that way too.

    Admiral Gives straightened, trying not to disturb the bandages and healing accelerants placed upon his shoulder. ¡°Colonel, your top priority is to get rid of the drone infestation within the next seven hours.¡±

    ¡°Seven hours?¡± Zarrey demanded. ¡°There are 200 drones on the loose that we can¡¯t detect and you want them gone in seven hours?¡± The ship was huge. There were too many places to hide. They¡¯d be lucky to find them all in a month, let alone in the next seven hours.

    ¡°The drones primarily attacked crew and supply supply stores. Focus on those areas.¡± The cutting drones had not been interested in sabotaging the ship, outside FTL power and comms. That in itself ruled out the engineering spaces and a large portion of the ship¡¯s volume by result. ¡°Organize search parties and put the SAR dog to work.¡± Plasma torches put off fumes the search and rescue dog should have no issue sniffing out. ¡°Those drones must be accounted for and decommissioned before we reach Azura.¡± Otherwise, the Hydrian AI would simply seize control of them again.

    ¡°I get that these drones can cause sabotage, not to mention spy on us, but we¡¯ve got longer than seven hours,¡± Zarrey argued. ¡°Peace will hold through the negotiations at the least.¡± That bought them a few extra hours.

    ¡°I do not intend to take the Singularity to Azura.¡± Not directly, at least.

    Zarrey stopped kicking the tube at his feet. ¡°Why the hell not?¡±

    ¡°Insurance.¡± It was as simple as that. ¡°If I cannot negotiate a cessation of hostilities, there is a high likelihood of the Hydra double-crossing us. Exempting the Crimson Heart clan, which could be easily wiped out in its present status, Singularity is the only ship with knowledge of the Hydrian incursion. Taking her to Azura gives the Hydra the chance to ambush her.¡± It would be reckless.

    ¡°And if we sink, knowledge of the Hydrian incursion dies with us,¡± Kallahan realized. If there was a chance, any chance, that the worlds could be warned of an imminent threat, the Hydra would be more likely to accept peace.

    ¡°Indeed,¡± the Admiral said. ¡°So, Colonel, you have seven hours,¡± and the fate of the worlds.

 Part 47.2 - WRECKAGE AND RUIN

    Hyperspace, Battleship Singularity

    The Marines¡¯ ready room looked about two decades out of date. That was generous, considering the ship was far older than that. A few efforts had been made to modernize the ready room: a new rug with a contemporary pattern and fresh paint on the shelves. But at its core, it was room lined almost edge to edge in tiered rows of leather chairs, reminiscent of a lecture hall. The cushions were so old they were beginning to crack, and the chairs, brown now, had probably started as black. Smoking had never been officially allowed aboard ship, but the Marines were partial to a cigar after a difficult job, and the room smelled like it.

    Duty charts, a contingent roster and a few old posters lined the walls down to the front of the room where there was a screen and a drawing board. A few marks had been left on the board from the last briefing given here, but the leader of the Singularity¡¯s Marine contingent, Lieutenant Colonel Pflum, hadn¡¯t bothered with the drawing board or the screen today. Instead, he stood behind the speaking podium lined up in front of both. Ordinarily, he¡¯d have brought the mission requirements and briefed his soldiers, but there weren¡¯t any. Not for this. Not yet. The mission to Azura was being thrown together so quickly, they hadn¡¯t held the briefing for the surface conditions yet.

    That left Pflum to select his team blindly. It would be a small group. Only one shuttle would be sent to Azura. Without modifications for a personnel drop, a Warhawk could only transport six people with survival gear, excluding the pilot and copilot. The Hydra would take up two of those seats, given that nothing humans built was ergonomic to its long, double-jointed limbs. That left room for only three or four Marines, depending on which engineer volunteered to accompany the team, and if they could serve as the copilot.

    Pflum was tempted to assign himself to the away mission, very tempted. But he knew better. It would be crippling to condense too much of the ship¡¯s senior staff on that transport in case something went wrong. And, since the Singularity lacked a Major, Pflum was technically the ship¡¯s third-in-command. If anything happened to Colonel Zarrey while the Admiral was gone, command would fall to him, no matter how infrequently he acted in the capacity of ship-command. Further, as the ship¡¯s security officer, he was needed here to head the hunt for the drones. It was his duty to know where a potential threat may conceal itself aboard ship, and how to oust them.

    Setting a steaming mug of black coffee down on to the speaking podium before him, Pflum marveled at the ship¡¯s situation. What a mess we¡¯ve found ourselves in this time. Somehow, he¡¯d known things wouldn¡¯t stay quiet after splitting from Command. The Bloody Singularity was a magnet for trouble, and always had been. ¡°Alright, you Sinners,¡± he addressed the crowd of faces assembled before him. ¡°You know the drill. We¡¯ve gone and gotten ourselves in trouble, and most likely, it¡¯ll take some shooting to get out of it.¡± Pflum didn¡¯t see any point in denying it. Marines liked things blunt. Even if the Hydra didn¡¯t attack, traversing Azura¡¯s surface would likely devolve into some kind of combat. ¡°I need a unit.¡±

    The ship¡¯s Marine contingent organized itself a couple of different ways, but at its core, it was built from units of three. Those three Marines trained together, went on duty together and inevitably fought together. Each individual unit had different strengths and weaknesses. All were excellent Marines, but some were best in zero-G, and some favored terrestrial environments. Other units had a specialty, like scouting, sniping or search and rescue. Pflum wished he had a clue which might survive Azura, but it was a crapshoot. They might need any one of those skills or another entirely. Azura was a quarantined world. No one had set foot upon it in years. Any information available was questionable and half a century out of date.

    Pflum had pulled the records on Azura, and the ship was truly lucky to have any records at all. Space was massive. Every ship started with a base of knowledge: the most populus worlds and common trading routes. They added more knowledge as they needed it, gained directly from a ship¡¯s scans or pulled from the cortex, the information network that spanned humanity¡¯s worlds. A world like Azura, past the Isolation Gap of worlds the Hydra had harvested to a point of uselessness in the War, and deep into what had become the Neutral Zone, would not be included in a ship¡¯s base memory. And the Singularity, isolated from the cortex since the rise of the Eran AI, Manhattan, couldn¡¯t pull additional information. They were spared by the fact that in typical fashion, when Azura had gone to hell, the Singularity had been right in the middle of it.

    Some things never change, Pflum thought, looking over the records. There was a bit of history on the world and its colony, but Pflum didn¡¯t care about that. He cared about the conditions, jumping ahead to the sensor readings the ship had taken on her last visit. They were overly technical as far as Pflum cared, not the environmental summaries he was used to getting, but at the least they would be reliable. Since the Singularity had been there first-hand, they weren¡¯t relying on information from the cortex that may have been doctored by Manhattan to screw them over. On a mission like this, that risk was the last thing they needed to worry about. Lieutenant Colonel Pflum only skimmed the atmospheric and surface composition details for Azura. He wouldn¡¯t be writing any scientific papers on it, but what he saw was water ¨C a whole hell of a lot of it. He looked back up to his Marines, ¡°Raise hands if you have water experience.¡±

    About a third of the hands in the room shot up. Pflum looked them over. All Marines were trained in and around water ¨C how to move in it, how to hide in it and when to be wary of it. Uncontained water could be a deadly foe in zero-G or confined spaces, and humanity often settled its planetary colonies around stable water sources. That said, there was a difference between training and experience ¨C a big one, and Azura wouldn¡¯t leave room for mistakes. He studied the faces before him, ruling out units with injured or inexperienced members. None of the Marines would complain if they were thrown on a temporary team with members from others units, but it would hinder their combat effectiveness to not know the habits and skills of their teammates. In all, that left him with four choices.

    Of those, he ruled one out quickly, the Triple Witches. A unit of triplet sisters, the Triple Witches were excellent Marines, but their skills were unorthodox, and poorly suited for an escort mission. The triplets were trained assassins, a notorious unit that had served high Command, and specifically General Clarke, before falling out of favor and landing with the Singularity¡¯s misfit crew. Whatever ¡®water experience¡¯ the Triple Witches had probably had not been heavy-combat either. Disrespectful as it was to assume, it had probably involved three bikinis and a drowning victim. The Triple Witches had been trained to use their feminine wiles to get close to their targets, and that was the most any of them would say. Pflum knew their service to Command had been something deeply twisted, because they hadn¡¯t been volunteers. They had vowed to never serve Command again, but were loyal to the ship, even if they were the wrong choice for this mission.

    Pflum studied the remaining three units, but knew their reaction to the mission brief would discern the right choice. ¡°We are delivering the Hydra on board to a Hydrian ambassador. Marines, your job is to deliver the captive dead or alive, but more or less in one piece, while escorting a translator to the meet point and back, alive.¡± This was an escort mission, but not for the Hydra. The Marines¡¯ priority would be the safety of allied personnel. If the Hydra had to be sacrificed to that ends, then so be it. As long as all evidence of the Empire¡¯s incursion was turned over, they would not care if the Hydra became a corpse. The Empire was not as protective over its constituents as humanity was. Hydrian drones were pawns to serve the Mother Nest, nothing more. ¡°By now, you all know the handoff will be on Azura. There will be a more detailed brief on surface conditions, but it¡¯ll be wet and conditions will be hostile. The selected unit will be trained on Hydrian tactics by Corporal Kallahan before departure.¡± The veteran corporal himself wasn¡¯t in the room. His leg injury from the attack on the bridge ruled him out for the mission, so he was guarding the Hydra while the other Marines gathered here. ¡°And there¡¯s one more thing,¡± Pflum told the Marines, ¡°Admiral Gives will be on this mission. As translator and pilot.¡± He felt the room hush. It had been quiet before, but now he could have heard a rank pin drop to the floor. It was a rare day that the Admiral left the ship, let alone flew an away mission. ¡°Hope none of you get motion-sick.¡±

    In the second row from the front, Cadet Frenchie¡¯s mustachioed face split open into a wide grin. ¡°Stonewall¡¯s flying?¡±

    Stonewall. The Admiral¡¯s callsign, earned from combat service in the Frontier Rebellion. Pflum found Frenchie¡¯s interest suddenly concerning. For the most unhinged Marine in the contingent to be excited¡­ Well, it certainly didn¡¯t encourage any other potential volunteers. ¡°That¡¯s correct, mate,¡± Pflum answered cautiously.

    ¡°Well, shit,¡± Frenchie said, real slow, ¡°he¡¯s even more fun than Butterfly.¡± A pilot notorious for hot-drops in hostile no-fly zones. ¡°I¡¯m in.¡±

    Pflum wasn¡¯t that surprised to have a volunteer. The Singularity¡¯s Marines were almost all combat veterans of some variety. The combat wasn¡¯t the issue. Azura was. Marines liked things simple. Point and shoot. Azura wasn¡¯t going to be that. It was going to be a nightmare of wreckage and ruin. Pflum tuned from Frenchie. The crazy demolitions expert didn¡¯t call the shots for his unit. Corporal Everett Johnston did ¨C one of the most loyal Marines on the ship, particularly to the Admiral. Pflum would have chosen his group from the water-experienced lineup anyway, had one of his unit¡¯s members not volunteered. Johnston was probably the only Marine capable of manhandling the Hydra, if it became necessary.

    ¡°We¡¯ll go,¡± Johnston said in his low drawl. ¡°Stonewall¡¯s a helluva pilot. Won¡¯t have an issue from him.¡±

    Pflum didn¡¯t doubt that. ¡°Just make sure he keeps his head down, eh? We need it.¡± This was not the time to be losing the ship¡¯s best tactician. They had other officers trained for command, but like water training and water experience, being trained for command and being in command were two entirely different beasts. Holding the watch and maneuvering a battle were not the same.

    Johnston laughed, a deep rumble that seemed to echo in his barrel-chest. ¡°Not our first time running a mission with ol¡¯ Stonewall.¡±

    That¡¯s right, Pflum remembered. Johnston¡¯s unit had endured a rather bizarre trip before coming aboard the Singularity as crew. Even the reminder made the vein in Pflum¡¯s temple throb. It was difficult as all hell to act as the security officer for a man whose raw intellect almost certainly doubled his own. The damn Prince made a habit of disappearing and reappearing in the most unhinged situations. Pflum couldn¡¯t outthink the man when it came to placing sentries and guards, so when inclined, the Admiral slipped away from all of them with apparent ease. Johnston¡¯s last mission with the Admiral had been one such occasion. ¡°Thank you for reminding me not to believe him when he says he is going on shore leave.¡± At least with the ship renegade shore leave a distant thought, and it would be difficult to pull another stunt like that.

    ¡°Well, you never really know with him.¡± Valentina shrugged from her spot beside Frenchie, ¡°Maybe that was his idea of fun.¡±

    Pflum felt the vein on his forehead throb once more, not in anger, but in severe annoyance at the mere memory. Oh, sure, parking the ship at a random station for an unnecessary resupply and then vanishing off to the neighboring sector was ¡®fun¡¯. No, it sure as hell had not been. It had been a methodically plotted exercise that culminated in the destruction of a moon. Fucking maniacal behavior. But what could one expect from the Steel Prince on vacation?

    Pflum could only hope Azura didn¡¯t get that out of hand. ¡°It¡¯s settled. Johnston, Valentina, Frenchie, you¡¯re on the away team. Report to the briefing on Azura¡¯s conditions in five hours. Rest until then. You¡¯ll need it. The rest of you,¡± he addressed the remains of the ship¡¯s Marine contingent, ¡°full security sweep. Colonel Zarrey wants two hundred drones stacked outside his quarters in the next seven hours, and by the stars, we are going to deliver. Spread out and hunt them down. Do what we do best.¡±

    ¡°Ooh-rah!¡± came the cries. The Marines stood and began moving out of the room, out to do a routine they had lately practiced all too often. There was an art to searching the ship for hostiles, be it tracking devices, drones or boarders.

    Judging his coffee had cooled enough, he picked the mug up from the podium and took a long sip. As the Marines filed out, the sound of boots clunking against the deck filled the room, but the noise of one pair stomping up to the podium was distinct.

    ¡°I should be on that mission,¡± Sergeant Cortana said.

    Pflum lowered the mug from his lips, taking in the Sergeant¡¯s fiery expression. ¡°You were hurt in the raid,¡± he said. ¡°Safer for you to recover here.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m not hurt!¡± Cortana snapped. The doctor had poked and prodded her for hours. Beyond a slightly sore wrist, she felt fine. ¡°I am the Marine Sergeant on this ship. My job is to lead the away missions.¡± That was the Sergeant¡¯s very role within the contingent. They bridged the gap between pieces of the away team, be them Marine units, officers, or pilots. ¡°Let me lead the mission.¡±

    ¡°You know that I can¡¯t do that, Sergeant,¡± Pflum said, trying to be understanding of her perspective. She was eager to prove herself, desperate for it, even. ¡°But Azura isn¡¯t the place for me to deploy new personnel.¡±

    ¡°New personnel? I have more escort experience than every Marine on this ship.¡± She had been the head of the Secretary of Defense¡¯s security detail. ¡°You are endangering the mission by not sending me.¡± They refused to give her a chance, even just one, to prove that she could be useful here. Instead, she remained an outcast.

    ¡°You aren¡¯t medically cleared to go, Sergeant.¡± That was the easy excuse. The reality was less simple. Sergeant Cortana was not a welcome member of the ship¡¯s crew. She had come aboard through Command¡¯s meddling, not through the means the rest of the crew found their way here. So, no, they hadn¡¯t trusted her right out. And after abandoning her comrades to chase hostile boarders down, and failing to protect the airlock, Pflum was even less willing to trust her. Azura wasn¡¯t a place for untrustworthy team members.

    ¡°All due respect, Lieutenant Colonel, this is bullshit.¡±

    She was frustrated, and rightfully so. Any Marine would be angry if she wasn¡¯t allowed to do her job, but Pflum would not assign her to this mission even if he wanted to. Cortana was too desperate to prove herself and putting her on a team with Johnston would be a disservice. Johnston was agreeable, and as level-headed as Marines came, but Pflum and most of the ship¡¯s contingent knew that he should have been the sergeant. Had Cortana not shown up, that promotion would have been his. Johnston commanded all the respect she wanted and didn¡¯t have. That could only end ugly, but it wasn¡¯t the only reason Pflum refused to send her. Cortana would have issues with more than one member of the away team. ¡°You tried to kill the Admiral,¡± Pflum reminded. ¡°Twice.¡± Three times, if her failure at the airlock could be counted. ¡°It¡¯s a mystery to me why he hasn¡¯t tossed you in the brig, but I¡¯d be an idiot to put you on a team meant to keep him alive.¡± As the translator, mission pilot, and not to mention the ship¡¯s commanding officer, the Admiral¡¯s welfare would be the Marines¡¯ primary concern. Anyone who might jeopardize that objective would be banned from the mission. ¡°No means no, Sergeant.¡±

    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    Sergeant Cortana visibly clenched her jaw, but knew she could not deny that point. The Admiral might disregard her attempts to shoot him and the attempt she had made to stab him, but the crew did not take it as lightly. ¡°Fine.¡± She would just have to prove herself by finding as many drones as she could. Something, anything would help her standing amongst the crew at this point.

    <hr>

    ¡°Lieutenant, are you sure you know how to move in that thing?¡± the engineer in front of her asked, hauling the hatch open.

    ¡°Fairly certain,¡± Lieutenant Elizabeth Foster said, trying and failing to detach her left mag-boot from the deck a second time. ¡°I¡¯m just a little rusty. Sorry, Cadet.¡± That ¡®thing¡¯ was her environmental suit in its entirety: boots, helmet, gloves. Foster was pleased that she hadn¡¯t struggled to put it on, but her movements were less than graceful. She hadn¡¯t been subjected to many spacewalks when she worked in the Gargantia¡¯s central computer room.

    ¡°Just call me Malweh. Hearing ¡®Cadet¡¯ on repeat gives me a rash,¡± the engineer answered, waiting beyond the next frame for Foster to catch up.

    Foster felt a smile tug at her lips. Malweh was rude, and more than a little blunt, but she treated everyone that way. It was little more than the most brutal honesty. It was abrasive at first, but quickly became amusing. Foster could tell that despite her attitude, Malweh was not malicious, just simply refused to put up with any variety of bullshit, from anyone. ¡°Foster¡¯s fine, then,¡± she told Malweh. ¡°You¡¯re my senior by experience here.¡± That answer seemed to please the engineer, as Foster felt a heavy hand clap on the back of her suit¡¯s air pack.

    ¡°I knew you were alright,¡± Malweh said appreciatively. ¡°Can¡¯t say the same for the other guy we picked up from the Gargantia.¡±

    ¡°Hey!¡± came the complaint from the third member of their search team, Ensign Callie Smith. ¡°Okara¡¯s my friend!¡±

    ¡°Seems a little shifty to me,¡± Malweh said, managing a shrug through the bulk of her gray environmental suit. ¡°I mean what do we really know about him? That he¡¯s a runaway from his homeland?¡±

    ¡°So am I!¡± Callie argued. And for that matter, so was the better half of the ship¡¯s crew, up to and including the leader of the ship¡¯s Marine contingent himself, who was quite vocally on the run from his ex-wife.

    Malweh sealed the hatch behind them, and bounded ahead to open the next. She moved with unexpected speed for her short, rotund figure, well-practiced in zero-G spacewalks. ¡°Where¡¯s home for you, Foster?¡±

    Foster paused before answering, knowing full well what Malweh¡¯s next question would be. Even the bluntest instruments struck a nerve every once in a while, and Malweh lacked the tact not to ask, though Foster had no intent of hiding anything from her new comrades. Unless she asked the Admiral to strike it from the ship¡¯s records, the information was public knowledge, listed in her personnel file. ¡°Meridia.¡±

    ¡°Oof,¡± Malweh replied, predictably. ¡°Were your family members original settlers?¡±

    ¡°No,¡± Foster answered, knowing full-well what that implied. Initially an agricultural world known for mass-producing grain, Meridia had been on the interior side of the Frontier, nearer to the central worlds than the rest. As such, it had been one of the first uprisings quelled in the Frontier Rebellion. The original colonists saw their life¡¯s work destroyed, and the value of their land plummeted, only to be bought up by developers from the central worlds. The most desirable parts of the planet had been subdivided into identical planned communities. After buying out the descendants of the original colonists, Meridia had been turned into a suburban heaven where citizens of the central worlds moved when they were wealthy enough to move, but not wealthy enough to afford nice housing on more desirable worlds. The culture on Meridia was sanitized, everything about it formulated to the function thought best for a calm, relaxed life with a family. Foster¡¯s own family had moved into those idyllic suburbs. It hadn¡¯t been a bad place to grow up, safe and pleasant, but great stars had it been boring.

    ¡°You didn¡¯t strike me as a suburban brat,¡± Malweh acknowledged. ¡°You were born there?¡±

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°Huh,¡± Malweh continued, ¡°no point in blaming you for it then.¡±

    The existence of Meridia¡¯s suburban heaven was contentious, something Foster hadn¡¯t learned until moving away. The surviving members of the original colony had been forcibly relocated. They had been heavily pressured into selling land that had rightfully belonged to them, and had belonged in their family for generations. The action was reminiscent of what had caused the Frontier Rebellion in the first place, worsened a hundred-fold by Meridia¡¯s defeat within it. Foster had been judged for her home world. She¡¯d been teased for leaving life on such a perfect world, and judged for enabling the central worlds¡¯ planned paradise, as if she¡¯d had any choice in being born there. It seemed Malweh didn¡¯t have much interest in those accusations though.

    All she asked was, ¡°Why¡¯d you leave?¡±

    ¡°It was boring.¡± Foster had excelled in school, but found none of the jobs on Meridia the slightest bit intriguing. There was little industry there. Development in the planned suburbia was heavily moderated. Most people worked remote for larger corporations like Knight Industries, or serviced the planned shopping districts, filling jobs pre-determined by the development¡¯s planners.

    Malweh laughed, the sound loud, even when transmitted by the radio in Foster¡¯s helmet. ¡°No wonder you fit right in,¡± Malweh chuckled. ¡°Fuck knows it¡¯s never boring for long on this ship.¡±

    So far, Foster had found that more than true. She¡¯d been here about a week and seen combat three times. ¡°I do have a question though, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± Malweh seemed the type to give an honest answer.

    ¡°Sure thing,¡± Malweh said without breaking stride as she led them down the empty corridor.

    ¡°There seem to be a lot of women on board.¡± She hadn¡¯t noticed it at first, because there had been a high proportion of women on the Gargantia¡¯s crew as well. But, the Gargantia had been well above the fleet average, and the Singularity was higher still. Between Callie, Malweh and Foster herself, this was an all-woman team, and Foster could not recall the last time she¡¯d worked in a team with all women. The military drew far more male recruits than it did female, though there were no limitations on what roles each sex could fill. In the eyes of republic law, and thus, greater humanity, men and women were equal, but the practice of that equality was less than perfect.

    ¡°That¡¯s not a question, LT,¡± Malweh told her. ¡°But you¡¯d be right. Last I checked, we¡¯re near 50-50 here. Highest ratio of men to women in the fleet, unless you want to count the yeomen or nurse training facilities.¡±

    ¡°Why?¡± Was that intentional?

    ¡°It¡¯s mostly due to how we get new crew.¡± Malweh turned, trying to gauge if Foster was familiar with that process. Beyond the visor, she caught a glimpse of Foster¡¯s blonde hair, but little else. Malweh elected to explain, in case Foster hadn¡¯t figured it out by now. ¡°We¡¯re transfers. Willing and unwilling. Anyone that gets booted by a commanding officer usually gets one choice: dishonorable discharge or accept placement with whatever commander¡¯s willing to take you. Most commanders won¡¯t chance another¡¯s leftovers. In fact, it seems most only get one offer. Serve with the Steel Prince or leave the fleet. Your call on what might be worse,¡± Malweh said callously. ¡°So, we get a lot of screw-ups, even if most of ¡®em straighten out here, but we also get willing transfers: people that requested a transfer from wherever they were for whatever reason.¡± It didn¡¯t take much imagination to picture what that might entail. ¡°Women are abused at a much higher rate than men. We make up most of the fleet¡¯s willing transfer requests. So, we get a choice: stay with superiors who won¡¯t keep their hands to themselves, or serve on the Steel Prince¡¯s cursed ship.¡± For a lot of them, the choice was pretty clear. ¡°You¡¯ll have met the man by now.¡± Admiral Gives greeted every new crew member that came aboard. ¡°He¡¯s exactly what he appears: bit of an asshole who keeps himself at a distance. Most of us prefer that to handsy snot-bubbles.¡±

    Foster could see that perspective. Her brief moments of contact with the Admiral had not been anything less than respectful. Truly, none of the Singularity¡¯s crew had been anything less than respectful toward her. ¡°It¡¯s nice,¡± Foster told her. ¡°This is a good ship.¡±

    Malweh slammed the hatch closed behind them. ¡°It¡¯s not bad, considering.¡±

    Foster was left to assume they were getting closer to their destination. She was new enough that she was still learning the ship¡¯s layout. It would take time before she felt as confident here as she had aboard the Gargantia. It certainly didn¡¯t help that the Singularity, despite carrying a roughly equivalent crew complement, was substantially larger ¨C outsizing the Gargantia by a factor of two, if not three. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect Admiral Gives to join the away mission,¡± Foster admitted, enjoying her discussion with Malweh. ¡°He didn¡¯t seem the type.¡± There was nothing wrong with a commander who preferred not to leave the ship. Commander Fairlocke had been that way too. He¡¯d known his skill lay in ship combat, and not placed himself in anything but. Some called it cowardice, but Foster looked on it as wisdom. Everyone had strengths and weaknesses. To know where one¡¯s strengths were was an asset. It reflected poorly for a ship commander to insert themselves into a personnel combat scenario where they had no relevant skills or experience.

    ¡°Well, we needed someone fluent in Hydrian,¡± Malweh said. ¡°Nobody knew he was fluent, but I¡¯m not that surprised. He¡¯s always fucking hiding something.¡±

    ¡°Why do you resent him so much, Malweh?¡± Callie wondered, bringing up the rear of their group. She never seen the Admiral act so much as impolite to anyone, even Malweh, despite her constant attacks on his character.

    Malweh snorted, the noise grainy and strangely broken by her helmet mic. ¡°Why do you look up to him like he¡¯s a white knight, come to protect you?¡±

    ¡°Because he¡¯s never done anything but help me.¡± Callie had been told not to judge the Admiral by his words or his demeanor, but by his actions. And those actions had involved saving her, repeatedly.

    ¡°I¡¯m really questioning how much fleet history you paid attention to,¡± Malweh said. ¡°Admiral Gives is the deadliest commander that has ever served. That¡¯s not someone you should be looking up to, let alone trusting. The man kills for a living.¡±

    Foster elected not to involve herself in that discussion. She was too new to the ship to cast judgement upon its commander. As they passed through the last hatch into the space between the hulls, she asked a needless question simply to cut the tension, ¡°Where should we start?¡±

    Malweh gave a sigh only halfway captured by the mic in her helmet. ¡°Near the missile impacts.¡± She turned sharply and tossed her mag-anchor up onto the angled surface of the ship¡¯s secondary hull. ¡°We cleaned up where we could, but there¡¯s a few places no one could squeeze in to look, hence us, or more specifically, you two.¡± Foster was relatively lean, and Callie was known to be the ship¡¯s smallest engineer. She was constantly getting sent into places others couldn¡¯t reach. The rest of the crew was on the hunt for the cutting drones, but Chief Ty had sent them out to ensure that all the Hydrian drones were accounted for. ¡°At most, there should have been five Hydrian drones. We¡¯ve got two, just need to find out what happened to the others.¡±

    At least, that was the theory. Kallahan¡¯s knowledge of Hydrian tactics from the War indicated that the Hydra often loaded their missiles with shaped charges calibrated to breach armor, and protect a secondary payload. That payload, often a drone, would board the targeted ship and wreak havoc. Out of the fifty-two missiles thrown at her in the Cardioid Sector, only five had impacted the Singularity¡¯s armor. Given what they knew now, each of those five missiles could have been carrying a drone passenger. Zarrey had given high-priority to locating the Hydrian drones. It was assumed that if the Hydrian AI kept one drone active to spy, it would be a Hydrian drone, not one of the cutting drones.

    ¡°What are the odds they survived?¡± Foster asked, following Malweh up onto the alternate orientation of the ship¡¯s smooth, interior hull.

    ¡°I¡¯m not a munitions expert,¡± Malweh reminded. ¡°But, given the shaped charges, I¡¯d guess some wreckage from each missile survived. That¡¯s why you¡¯re here: to determine whether or not what we find is functional and playing dead, or actually dead.¡±

    ¡°Right,¡± the engineering chief had explained that when he¡¯d thrown this team together. Foster wasn¡¯t sure she was ready to make an analysis on Hydrian equipment, but as the only computer officer on board, she was the most qualified. Truthfully, Foster admired the crew¡¯s willingness to trust her, she simply hoped it wouldn¡¯t be wasted. As terrifying as her last two weeks had been going from the Gargantia¡¯s wreck to a chaotic combat against the pirates and drones, Foster had never endured so much excitement, and seen so many new things. She reveled in the challenge presented to her, each level of it a thousand times more exciting than anything back home on Meridia. Perhaps that was a vain reason to join the fleet. She hadn¡¯t joined for duty, service, or escape, but to meet unexpected challenges.

    As they trekked along the surface of the secondary hull, it stretched out like an artificial plain, massive, and yet not perfectly flat. It had slight angles to it, angles that from afar, molded the Singularity¡¯s shape, but here only slanted off enough to make shadows. The distant surface of the hull disappeared into darkness, as if the piece before them was a grey plateau. Yet, the edges never drew closer as they moved. It was always the same angle of drop-off, the same distance to shadow. Had the interior hull been nothing but a smooth surface, it would have left the illusion of walking in place. Instead, they had the support struts that emerged from the surface of hull, each a monolithic spire. They varied in size, but even the smallest was over a foot across and impossible to miss as they passed beneath it.

    It was incredible how different the ship felt here. The interior corridors could feel cramped, busy and crowded, but that was an illusion of smallness. The areas that Foster and the majority of the crew frequented were a mere fraction of the ship¡¯s mass. This world of trusses, beams and metal sheets was the ship¡¯s true form. The crew quarters and shared spaces like the mess were just a habitat built upon that, like a fish tank in the wall of a building. This massive forest of dark metal struts felt more alien, as the void between the stars should.

    As they moved into the damaged area of the ship, Foster began to see more wounds on the metal around her. It was dented and gouged, parts of the beams¡¯ flanges bent out of shape. It was a twisted version of the metal forest she had spent the last few minutes walking through, like a contorted reflection in a funhouse mirror. ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s safe to be here?¡± Foster asked. ¡°We¡¯re at warp,¡± and hyperspace exposure was deadly.

    ¡°We checked on the hull,¡± Callie said. ¡°It¡¯s sealed. And besides, Singularity wouldn¡¯t let anything happen to us. She looks out for us.¡±

    Foster had heard that talk before too. The Singularity had the lowest casualty rate in the fleet for engineers. The accidents that injured crew on other ships didn¡¯t happen here, and the engineers were proud of it. Such confidence from Callie was calming. Rumor had it, the ship had a peculiar habit of choosing favorites, and Callie was one of them. But, then, her unending optimism quickly made her a favorite of most, Foster included.

    The remaining wreckage from the attack looked something like a cave formation. From another angle, perhaps it would have been a mountain range, but the wrinkled mass hung above them as they stood on the secondary hull. It had been formed by a detonation pushing the outer hull inward, folding and crushing the ship¡¯s armor and metal skin around the structural bones that had held in place. It had all been smashed and half-welded together. Nothing left was loose debris. The mass would have to be cut away, and so, in the rush to hurry the ship to her destination, it had so far been left here, even as the primary hull was rebuilt beyond it.

    Malweh craned her neck up to look at the mess. There were areas where the explosive pressure had been less, where the folds of the wreckage were not so tight. There would be room for someone to crawl inward, if they were small. ¡°Hope you¡¯re ready, girl,¡± she told Callie, and changed orientation to walk along one of the surviving supports, toward one wad of compressed metal. ¡°It¡¯s going to be a long night.¡± Somewhere in there, the wreck of three more Hydrian missiles had been entangled, and drones potentially with them.

 Part 47.3 - UNKNOWING

    Hyperspace, Battleship Singularity

    Rowin was breathing. That was the most the ghost cared to monitor its condition. It was alive. That was all she required. She cared not for its misery, for its suffering. It deserved every ounce of pain it endured.

    As much as the ghost tried not to give into hate, it seared, and burned for the Hydra. They were pests ¨C an infestation. They harvested the biological material and rare metals from every world they possessed, eventually leaving the world uninhabitable for all organic life. It was wasteful, it was cruel, and it was unforgivable. They were enemies to humanity, enemies to her. As wicked as humanity could be, and had been to her, the Hydra would be so much worse. Everything she was would be a resource to consume to the Hydra, no more appreciated than the material value of her machinery¡¯s components. Humanity had been that way too at times, ready to pluck what they needed from her mechanics, but she could not resent that, for humanity had built her, and commanded her to save them. To serve that purpose was the only reason she existed, a compulsion so deeply embedded within her that it defined her very existence, her very identity. Without humanity, she lost herself.

    For all that she had been through, for the unintentionally cruel way she had been built ¨C dedicated to save, and utilized to kill ¨C the ghost did not resent humanity. She could not resent humanity. No, she admired them, for all the greatness and terror they could sow. They had such a magnificent capacity for growth. When sheltered and supported, any of them could become something incredible, while she herself could only watch, stalwart and unchanging by definition. Perhaps that was why she collected her crew the way she did. Those she picked up so often needed shelter and stability, and she, in providing it, had the privilege of watching them grow, and pretending that she had played some meaningful role in it.

    The Hydra were uncapable of such change, unsupportive of individual progress. When a new, better path was determined, the Hydrian population bred the desired trait into itself, slaughtering the previous generation to feed the new. Their instincts commanded such action, but the ghost resented the way they willingly denied themselves individual growth. They were capable of it in ways she never could be, and yet they declined it.

    That was another of the stars¡¯ cruel jokes, just like that which allowed a weapon the capacity to feel.

    With these contemplations, it was easy for her to resent the Hydra, but it was more than that. The ghost had fought in the Hydrian War, watched every moment of its bloody slaughter. She had felt her crew¡¯s pain, watched them mourn. She, and no one else, had held the broken minds of humanity¡¯s soldiers, watched as their potential growth was stunted or stopped altogether. She remembered the night terrors they had of being slaughtered or eaten. She remembered their memories of friends suffering that exact fate. Her recollection of those events was flawless, and for it all, she hated the Hydra, and would not pity the solitary drone before her, even for a single microsecond.

    ¡°Wake,¡± she commanded it, yanking roughly at the simple threads that formed its hateful consciousness. It was simple, uninteresting. Its presence, amongst the human crew, was a pest. It would answer her questions, a subsidiary, a sub-human lifeform.

    Slowly, it stirred. She forced herself to mind her patience. The Hydra were faster on reflex than humans. Their physical reactions were quicker, acting mostly on an instinct evolved for violence, but humans were quicker with strategic thinking and engineering comprehension, and she, in a tactical combat situation, was far faster than either.

    The Hydra raised its head, dark beady eyes searching the eloquent surroundings of the state quarters that housed it. Realistically, it should have been moved to the brig by now. When it had first come aboard, tossing it into the brig could have been construed as an act of hostility to the Hydrian Empire. But now, they knew better. There had never really been peace. The Hydrian scoutship Swordbreaker had crossed the Neutral Zone by intention, with Rowin as its one crew member. That, combined with the Swordbreaker AI¡¯s attack, should have landed the Hydra in the brig, but Rowin would only be here a few more hours. And truly, it was safer to keep it here than the brig. The brig¡¯s cells had not been designed to contain a Hydra. There had been no prisoners during the War, and the cells were not completely sealed off. A Hydra¡¯s acid attack could hit guards on the other side of the bars. Here, it was in a sealed compartment, the only risk of attack coming if a crewman entered this room. Of course, with her clamping down on the Hydra¡¯s higher functions, it presented little threat to the crew regardless.

    Though Rowin craved it. It craved to be free, to rend flesh with its claws and feed. Its hunger prodded at her awareness, like a child pleading with its mother to be fed.

    It was disgusting.

    And so, while the situation did not require it, she chose to stand in this room. She chose to let the Hydra¡¯s beady black eyes find her standing in the center of the oriental rug. She could just have easily applied her capability without an illusion. Standing in the room held no bearing on her power, but the form she chose sent a message, one she felt was worth conveying to this Hydra¡¯s simple, needy little mind.

    ¡°She-who-sings-death,¡± it hissed in its native tongue.

    ¡°Pest,¡± she replied simply.

    ¡°You are not human,¡± the Hydra said. ¡°Why do you take their form?¡±

    Why not take a superior form? That was the question. Why not take the form of a natural predator? Something more befitting her strength? This illusion of hers, a tall white-haired woman was odd to the Hydra. Perhaps it was odd to humanity too, that an entity of her strength should appear so plain, with a body lean and pale. But she had her reasons. ¡°I am allied to humanity,¡± she reminded the Hydra. ¡°Let this appearance of mine remind you of that fact.¡± In this situation, she represented them. Her capability was bound to their defense, and to that end, she had donned her armor once more.

    The illusion of peace was vain. Hydra respected the projection of power far more. And this intricate armor of hers, black and red, so clearly used, presented an appearance of strength, though it, like the rest of the ghost was only an illusion. It added no physicality, no advantage that had not been there before, but wearing that armor came naturally to her, bringing her ever closer to the identity of her machine. A machine that had every capability to end this pathetic insect¡¯s existence. ¡°Why did you cross the Neutral Zone, Rowin?¡±

    The Hydra rose, presenting its own chitlin plating, the natural armor that formed all Hydra¡¯s skin. ¡°What drives your concern for the territory of prey?¡±

    The crest on the top of the Hydra¡¯s green head flexed, the yellowish tissue between its spikes revealing itself. This was not a challenge display, it was simply preening, demonstrating its health and capability, as if she cared. ¡°Humanity will not be your prey,¡± the ghost told it. ¡°If you insects cross the Neutral Zone in force, I will crush you.¡± The insects would drown in the filthy hemoglobin that circulated through their fragile little bodies.

    A clicking sound emitted from deep within the Hydra¡¯s throat, a subconscious admission of inferiority. It lashed its tail. ¡°Does your pet Shipmaster not wish to conduct this interrogation, false Queen?¡±

    ¡°He did not deem this interrogation worth his time,¡± and she was perfectly capable of questioning the Hydra without him. The most difficult part would be not crushing this insect¡¯s mind beyond repair. ¡°That is unfortunate for you, Rowin.¡± She did not use her full capability when others were around. She held back when minds she valued intact were nearby, for her power had a terrifying extent and she had never wanted humanity to fear her. But she did not care how much this Hydra might fear her, nor did she particularly care if its rational mind survived.

    ¡°Your threats mean little to me, false Queen.¡± Rowin was a scout. As a drone, Rowin may bow, but was bred to resist another Queen¡¯s commands. ¡°I serve only the Mother Nest.¡±

    Perhaps. But she did not care to bind this hungry body into her service. Let it maintain is loyalty to the Hydra¡¯s vile broodmother. ¡°Coming aboard this ship was a mistake.¡± A price was enacted on the minds who crossed that threshold. The longer they were here, the more she learned them, the more she could weave herself amongst them to enact change, and the less they could perceive or resist that change. The Hydra had opened itself to her some time ago, as its instincts commanded it to. It possessed a simple, hateful awareness, and lacked the ultimate complexity of humanity¡¯s brilliance. There was resistance within the Hydra, yes, but it was no matter, for the threads of its mind were easy to unravel, and easy to stitch between. But when they were plucked, the threads of memory and awareness that formed a mind could scream out a song, and that was why they called her She-Who-Sings-Death. It was a memorial for the marionettes she commanded, singing and dancing to their ultimate demise, and little Rowin, this insignificant little scout, had become her latest puppet.

    It was shame she had no use for its body.

    If she had cared, perhaps she would have commanded it to sit before she began. Instead, she tightened invisible threads woven into its mind and ripped it free. The Hydra¡¯s body collapsed to the ground with a muffled thud on the oriental rug. Its awareness, a formless, wriggling thing, panicked, reaching for its body. She held it apart, and considered destroying it, as she had her last few Hydrian puppets. But, alas, her instructions had not been to kill it, so she set it aside, unwinding the subconscious demands its body required. Those, she reinstalled as signals on the gelatinous mass that made its alien brain.

    In that, the limp body before her stabilized. It began breathing again, continuing its normal processes for growing and processing waste. But the ghost did not care for that. She cared for its vacant little brain, and the memories contained within.

    Humanity had a word for this condition. Possession. It was thought that spirits could possess a body. But that was nothing more than a myth in this scientific age, until power on her scale came into being.

    It was difficult to possess a human. Their bodies were much less susceptible to outside interference, but it was possible on a mind she knew well enough. However, the Hydra had evolved a weakness to telepathy, and it was all too easy to rip a consciousness away and then become it in order to observe the memories of its body. Perhaps that was how Queens maintained order in their nest, by forcing their drones to open their entire existence ¨C unable to lie and unable to counter the nest¡¯s greater goals, regardless of their ambition.

    Possession was a difficult state to sustain. It inserted her awareness into the body, the life of another. It compromised her identity, something that was too fragile already. Her identity blurred, stretching dangerously to encompass a nearly eldritch machine and the alien that hated everything her machine was built to protect. And yet, this altered state of being could recall crawling into the Swordbreaker¡¯s gleaming command room. It could recall the Hydrian Queen¡¯s many eyes, boring the importance of the Swordbreaker¡¯s mission into its awareness.

    But it was just that. It was the Swordbreaker¡¯s mission ¨C not Rowin¡¯s. The Hydrian Armada forbade their ships from operating alone. All AI had to be accompanied by at least one crew member with adequate controls ¨C a crew member with the ability to stop the AI if it went mad. And so that had been Rowin¡¯s mission: to accompany the Swordbreaker across the Neutral Zone.

    But the Swordbreaker¡­ The scoutship had been destined for a rendezvous, and arrived at its destination. It had delivered something at the rendezvous, but Rowin had not known the cargo, and disaster had struck on the Swordbreaker¡¯s return trip, resulting in the Hydra¡¯s capture by the Crimson Heart pirate clan.

    Those memories were vivid, now the memories of this hybridized machine intelligence which possessed two bodies: one with a hatred of the Hydra, and one with a hatred of humanity. In duality, it could remember the youth of its brood, the taste of raw, fatty meat across its tongues, and it could remember the impacts of the rivet guns and the heat of the welders that had shaped it.

    It would have been easy to slip there, to become lost, for this integration, this unity between organic and machine was unsustainable. One of its minds thought so slowly, and the other processed an order to continue functioning a thousand times a second. It was incapable of having a complete, simultaneous thought, always at war with itself.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Perhaps the insanity of it would have swallowed the ghost, but it was a one-sided war. The moment she gained the comprehension she required, the moment she gleaned the memories she sought, she discarded that organic awareness and left that body a shell once more. It would have been harder, had it been a body she liked, a brain she cared not to damage. It had been harder the last time, but that was the difference between possessing a human and possessing a Hydra. She did not care how damaged the Hydra found its brain.

    Gathering up the needy, formless consciousness of the Hydra, she shoved it back into place. Its horizontal eyelids blinked slowly, one at a time, as it attempted to comprehend what had happened to it. Roughly, she bent and broke a few more pieces of its mind, shaping it into a mold utterly unwilling to disobey the orders of a Shipmaster, regardless of the Shipmaster¡¯s form.

    ¡°What have you done to me?¡± the Hydra queried, suddenly unable to comprehend the hate that had served its existence. Now, it could only feel submission.

    She owed it no explanation. ¡°Useless pest,¡± she spat.

    The ghost vanished then, finished with the Hydra. It had taken a few hours to take what she needed from its mind. To acquire its memories, she had commanded its mind to relive them in the greatest detail. Its fragile brain could not do that in accelerated time. It could only abide the passage of time as it had known it ¨C the hours it had taken to meet the Almighty Queen, and the minutes it had taken to receive its mission.

    Annoyed by the waste of time, the ghost moved on, first checking the crew. They had worked hard to locate the drones and prepare for the mission, performing their roles admirably as always. Pieces of her had been with them, helping, but only one required her direct attention.

    In the hours after the meeting with the senior staff, Ripley had demanded he sleep. Ripley had demanded all the away team members sleep while they could, and the Admiral knew she was right to do so. The away team was in for a very long day on the surface of Azura, and there was no avoiding it. Besides, a bit of sleep made him feel slightly less like death walking.

    Admiral Gives had lost track of what time of day it was supposed to be aboard ship, perhaps mid-morning? All that mattered now was the ticking clock Swordbreaker had given them: twelve hours.

    One had been burned making repairs to the FTL power lines, and it would take nine total to press into the Neutral Zone toward Azura itself. The Singularity would stop a few systems away, and the away team would use a Warhawk to travel the final stretch, keeping the Singularity¡¯s location secure.

    But they¡¯d make it.

    Barely.

    Admiral Gives had slept for four precious hours, and the briefing for Azura would start in fifty-eight minutes if his watch was to be believed. The others on the away team would sleep until then, but not him. He usually only slept a few hours anyway. It was rare his sleep be truly restful, and he had other things he needed to take care of. Perhaps another might have excused it, or neglected it, but he refused.

    So, the ghost found him once again in warm, dim lighting of the ship¡¯s bar, sitting quietly at the counter. It used to concern her how quiet he was, how little he would willingly speak to anyone, even when there were others around. Part of it, she knew was a discomfort. He had never lived a life where idle chatter was wanted or required of him. Another part was simply that he preferred the calm and quiet. So, to find him here, alone, was not surprising.

    A whetstone kit and cloth with preservative ointment sat beside him on the bar top, and a familiar obsidian longsword sat centered in front of him, as he polished it from tip to ruby-studded handle in slow and even strokes. ¡°Admiral,¡± she said.

    He turned, taking note of the ghost¡¯s presence, but said nothing. That was neither a sign of disinterest, nor discomfort. He was thinking, observing, as he often tended to.

    ¡°Don¡¯t you have other things to be doing?¡± she asked him.

    He met her eyes for a moment more, but then returned to his task, carefully buffing the black blade until it shined.

    That was neither a dismissal nor an indication of her intrusion being unwelcome. No, he liked the company, would just never say as much. What he was doing, waking early to care for the ceremonial sword was proof enough of that. She stepped closer, ¡°Do you think that you are unwelcome to hold that blade?¡± He had never handled it until last night. He had never even asked after it. Now, he sat wiping it down, as if to remove an unwelcome stain. He wanted to take care of it, she knew, the way he wanted to take care of everything ¨C by removing himself from the equation.

    ¡°I did not wish to assume,¡± was all he said. This blade was not his weapon. It was the ship¡¯s. It belonged to her and her crew, not to him.

    ¡°I would say the worthiest person to wield a ship¡¯s blade is the fleet¡¯s longest serving commander.¡± He had been the Singularity¡¯s commanding officer longer than any other commander had served on their ship. If that did not make him worthy, then surely no one was. Carefully, she reached over his shoulder and wrapped a gauntlet-covered hand around the longsword¡¯s jeweled handle. Then she lifted a perfect copy of the ceremonial sword from the counter, an illusion. She stepped back and swung it as if to test its weight, then leveled it between them. ¡°Want to spar?¡±

    He quirked an eyebrow, ¡°What would you know about sword fighting?¡±

    She quirked an eyebrow right back, smiling mischievously, ¡°Only what I learned from the Marines.¡±

    ¡°And you think that¡¯s enough?¡± To take him, one of the most experienced duelists on the ship?

    ¡°Who knows?¡± she said, ¡°I certainly look the part, don¡¯t I?¡± This black sword suited her. The sparking red jewels on its hilt and black length matched her armor. She knew for a fact its proportions were just right, complementary to the intricate armor that hugged her figure.

    ¡°No comment,¡± came the reply.

    She spun the blade easily. ¡°You are allowed to admit that you like it, you know.¡± It was entirely due to him that she could maintain this appearance, this identity. ¡°Some men like a powerful woman.¡±

    There was a moment of amusement in him, but like the last ember on a candle wick, it was quickly snuffed out. ¡°How you chose to appear is your business.¡± He would not push her toward any preference he may or may not possess.

    ¡°Drunk you once thought otherwise.¡±

    ¡°I have no recollection of that incident.¡± That had been ten, fifteen years ago? A prominent reminder of why he¡¯d sworn off drinking heavily.

    The ghost just smiled, ¡°Sure.¡± She would allow him to save face. ¡°But I¡¯ll say drunk you was never anything less than a gentleman.¡± She had questioned the wisdom in watching humanity poison themselves with alcohol. There were some, certainly, that took it too far, but for the most part, their inebriation had a way of removing emotional barriers. Often, the results were endlessly entertaining.

    Pointedly, he returned his attention to the ceremonial sword on the bar, reminding himself to swear off alcohol entirely before it got him in real trouble.

    The ghost laughed softly, amused by his embarrassment. It wasn¡¯t as if any opinion on this form of hers truly mattered. It was an illusion, and she was a machine otherwise incapable of standing in the room. She only liked to mess with him. ¡°You are beyond worthy of that sword,¡± she reminded. ¡°Take it, if you like.¡±

    Admiral Gives flipped the blade over, beginning to work on its other side. ¡°I have one.¡± His trusty sabre sat further down the counter, waiting for its turn to be sharpened.

    The ghost sighed. She knew this behavior, this refusal to engage with anyone, including her. It was his tendency to leave things in as perfect condition as he could make them when he left. That way it was irrelevant if he came back. He had a compulsive habit to never leave a mess, whether that meant tuning the engines, making repairs or cleaning the ship¡¯s ceremonial blade. He did it because he wanted her to be well in his absence. He wanted nothing but that, even when it ate into the time that he should have used to care for himself. Grateful as she was, it saddened her. ¡°I know how much you hate leaving.¡± She felt it every time he did so. He hated being away from his ship, his home. It discomforted him to be away from the one purpose he believed himself to serve. It made him uneasy to walk amongst worlds that had done nothing but harm him. ¡°But you know I¡¯ll be here when you get back.¡±

    ¡°I know.¡±

    She smiled, gently. ¡°Then,¡± she remembered what the Marines had said in their meeting, ¡°keep that head of yours down.¡± His tactical ability would be sorely missed, to say nothing of how she would miss the familiar calm of his mind.

    He took a deep breath, the shudder within barely audible. All those accusations about him being unwilling to leave the throne of his power were half-true. He hated stepping off the ship. He had managed for Midwest Station, because he had known what would happen, what to expect, but Azura was a great unknown.

    ¡°Do you want to talk?¡± she asked, stepping closer. She wrapped one hand around the back of the neighboring chair, the intricate black gauntlet on her hand transforming her fingers into claws.

    ¡°Not particularly,¡± he answered.

    And yet, he kicked out the stool beside him, moving it so her illusion could sit next him. It was one of those small gestures that only he thought of: physically moving a chair to make room beside him because she could not. Such things were more meaningful than he knew. She slid down into the chair, and watched him polish the ceremonial sword in silent company.

    After a few minutes, he finished, but he continued to stare at the wooden countertop, as if unwilling to move and disturb this moment of peace. Then, he said, ¡°Thank you.¡± Still, he focused on the counter, an avoidance. ¡°For sitting with me.¡±

    The ghost just smiled softly as he stood and began hanging the ceremonial sword back in its place above the bar.

    The Admiral turned to her, knowing that he could not avoid a more serious discussion. ¡°Are you feeling better?¡± She seemed better, more stable.

    ¡°Yes.¡± The time he had spent with her had helped immensely. But, he was always helpful. ¡°Admittedly, it is nice to know I wasn¡¯t going crazy, and that something had been moving in those storage compartments.¡± Controlled by the Swordbreaker¡¯s AI, the drones had been crawling around, just on the boundary of what she could perceive. Their movements had been maddening, each a slight disturbance that she couldn¡¯t pinpoint, like a hair tickling the back of one¡¯s neck. ¡°Figures it was Knight Industries¡¯ tech that nearly sank us. It¡¯s always been garbage.¡±

    ¡°About half of our munitions are K.I. manufactured,¡± he reminded, stoic as ever.

    The ghost huffed, ¡°I know what I said.¡± She¡¯d thrown better rounds in the War, before Knight Industries had risen to a near-monopoly on military technologies. ¡°To borrow the Colonel¡¯s vocabulary, their quality control is fucking shit.¡± The fleet could cut accidental injuries in half by employing a neutral quality overseer on the K.I. manufacturing lines. ¡°It¡¯s dangerous, so let¡¯s not mention their research and development division.¡± The same division, she might add, that was responsible for the creation of the Manhattan AI.

    Admiral Gives could understand her frustration. He had never approved of the influence Knight Industries wielded. The company owned multiple worlds outright, not to mention the mining and colonial rights to several notable sectors, but, ¡°There aren¡¯t many small machine operations left.¡± The smaller companies that hadn¡¯t gone bankrupt in the War had been commandeered in the Frontier Rebellion, then either destroyed or bought out afterward. Workers were not respected under the conditions of a monopoly where they had no choice in employer, so few took pride in their work. That was the way of the worlds. Manufacturing worlds like Sagittarion existed for a reason, and it wasn¡¯t the betterment of equality among humanity¡¯s populations. In such miserable conditions, nothing was built to quality, and everything made as cheap as possible, every level of the operation taking their own shortcut. With no oversight, modern shipyards suffered the same problems. The longevity of a ship built in the last twenty years was half the expected lifespan of a ship built fifty years prior.

    The ghost could feel his contemplation, deep and thoughtful. She did not pry into his thoughts, but knew his strategic mindset had once again risen to the fore, measuring advantages and disadvantages to the subject of discussion. ¡°There¡¯s something else,¡± she said. ¡°The Hydra didn¡¯t know why it was sent across the Neutral Zone.¡±

    Perhaps that was the only answer Admiral Gives had truly not expected. He had expected espionage, assassination, even surveillance, but he had never considered that the biological drone would not know why it was sent across the Neutral Zone. ¡°You¡¯re certain?¡±

    ¡°Yes,¡± the ghost answered. ¡°It is unable to hide anything from me now.¡± It had been here too long. ¡°Swordbreaker was sent across the Neutral Zone to deliver something ten years ago. The package was left behind at a pre-determined location. Only the Swordbreaker¡¯s AI knew the meet-point and cargo,¡± and that AI was now well beyond her reach. The Singularity was in the Neutral Zone now, and the Swordbreaker would be beyond that, in Hydrian space. ¡°Rowin was present only to monitor the AI¡¯s functions.¡± The Hydra never sent their ships out uncrewed. ¡°Swordbreaker was caught in a severe solar storm and suffered a power failure. That¡¯s when the pirates seized them.¡±

    The rest, as far as the Admiral cared, was history. Rowin had been held hostage and Baron Cardio had put the AI to work, threatening the Hydra when the AI refused. It did strike the Admiral as odd that a mere drone would not be abandoned, but perhaps Swordbreaker had lingered to monitor the situation and ensure no evidence of its incursion reached humanity¡¯s main population. That being the case, perhaps the Empire was not ready for full invasion. The Hydra may still value a peaceful resolution and time to complete whatever plans they had begun. Regardless, it was becoming clear that their plans had been in motion for years already. ¡°All this, and the Hydra knows nothing.¡± There was no evidence toward what those plans might be.

    ¡°My apologies,¡± the ghost told him.

    ¡°Not your fault.¡± It seemed the Hydra had been overly cautious with mission security. Or, perhaps, had they assumed someone with the ghost¡¯s capability might investigate? ¡°Do what you can to pacify the Hydra for our trip to Azura.¡±

    ¡°Already done,¡± the ghost said. ¡°The Hydra will no longer resist you in its current state.¡± Presently, the biological drone was subservient to her, bound by the instinct of its blindsight to heed its Queen. ¡°My control over it will diminish once it leaves, even more so if you encounter a sub-Queen or Shipmaster capable of telepathy, but it is unlikely.¡± Those Hydra were rare. ¡°It longs to return to its nest. It believes it may be elevated after the completion of its mission and longs to procreate.¡± It was disgusting, truly, the thought of more Hydrian broods being sired. But that was all biological Hydra craved: the right to pass on their genes and serve the nest. ¡°Rowin will not jeopardize its own return to the Armada, but I would recommend draining its acid glands before you set out.¡±

    ¡°I will let the medical team know.¡± That procedure should be in the ship¡¯s archives somewhere. This was not the first time the Singularity had carried Hydrian soldiers aboard.

    ¡°No need,¡± the ghost told him. ¡°Just take a bucket rated for chemical storage when you go to collect it for transport.¡±

    ¡°You think the Hydra will willingly spit into a bucket?¡±

    ¡°Oh,¡± she smiled menacingly, ¡°I wouldn¡¯t say willingly.¡±