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 – 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 – 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.”
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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.