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 – 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.