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 – 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 – 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.”