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 – 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 – 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.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
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 – 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.