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 – 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.
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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.