Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity
It seemed for the first time in a week, that nighttime had fallen aboard the Singularity. The crew finally exhausted themselves on the constant repairs and collectively crashed into sleep. It was quiet throughout the ship. A skeleton crew remained awake to maintain the ship’s systems. Even the ship herself had fallen silent, only the smallest of metallic creaks were heard.
Hovering outside Ariea’s gravity well, the anger that had characterized the ship’s return to the Homebound Sector had faded, but it was not easily forgotten. All other ship traffic gave a wide, intentional berth to the dreadnaught, even as she slipped back into apathy.
This usual sulking, shadowy hulk hardly resembled the fearsome harbinger of a few hours before. Only a shared title connected them. The disconnection between the bloody warship and aging battleship was a bewitchment of time itself, but anyone who knew the ship’s history would have called that separation a blessing.
While there was honor in the former flagship’s history, with heroism splashed across the walls of memory, she was also the mirror image of what humanity had become. At the height of their unity, she had been a beacon of strength, and at their lowest point, she had been the bottom dweller that fueled their suffering. When humanity turned on itself and central worlds had slain their brethren on the Frontier, she had been their weapon of choice.
The scars pockmarking the Singularity’s hull were assumed to be from the Hydrian War itself, fifty years before. A few dated back that far, but most of the dreadnaught’s injuries had been inflicted upon her by the very species she’d been built to save. No longer was the ship considered a protector, she was considered nothing more than the weapon of demise humanity had built itself.
Many of the Ariean nations blamed the halt in technological advances known as the Dead Years, directly on the former Flagship Singularity. The ship had been powerful, too powerful. Her utter destruction of the Frontier during the Rebellion had stricken humanity and brought them to deeply fear their own technology. Only now were the worlds recovering from that horror, and only now, fifty years later, was mechanical technology leaping back to equal and surpass the Singularity.
The abilities that had made the Singularity once-legendary were finally becoming standard-issue for the rest of the fleet, but that didn’t make the dreadnaught any less powerful. Now mostly forgotten, she remained the deadliest ship in human history. She was a tool, and in the right or wrong hands, she was extremely dangerous. These were simple, simple facts, lessons learned from the blood of the Frontier.
And yet, opening her eyes, Anabelle Parker was unaware of any of that. Where am I? She stared up at the metal ceiling above her with bleary eyes as the last of her sedative wore off. Slowly, the memories began to trickle back, like high viscosity liquid dripping through a straw.
The lights had dimmed somewhat, and it was now quiet around her. Nighttime, she thought, sliding out from beneath the covers. The metal floor was cold beneath her feet, but she felt well. Gone was her dizziness, cough and struggle to breathe. She felt stronger now than she had in months.
The needle had been removed from her arm, in its place a small bandage. An oversized t-shirt had been placed on the table. Slipping out of the paper hospital gown, she pulled it on. It was soft and long enough to be a dress on her tiny frame.
An emblem was stamped on the chest of the shirt, flaming red and yellow sun. It was foreign to her, but she remembered her father’s old uniform shirts. They had looked similar, but it didn’t matter much.
They had still been caught, and she had to find him. Right now, unsupervised, this was her chance to escape. She pushed carefully past the gray curtain surrounding her bed.
The room was large, a few people were asleep in beds around the edges. It smelled like a hospital. She treaded lightly towards the exit. The texture of the metal floor was strange on her bare feet, but not painful.
No one stirred, and no one approached her as she slipped out of the medical bay and into the ship’s empty corridors. Anabelle was quickly lost to their uniform labyrinth. Twice, she thought she heard voices in the halls, and twice she went off as fast as she could in the opposite direction.
Anabelle’s flight from the medical bay immediately had the attention of the ghost. The poor girl was frightened. She had no idea that she’d carefully snuck right past her father. Ron was presently asleep on the couch in the medical bay, covered by a blanket that one of the nurses had draped over him.
The ghost contemplated directing the child back to the medical bay, but that would take harsher manipulation than she was willing to use. Anabelle would not willingly go back the way she’d come. It was easier to direct her elsewhere by coaxing her subconscious. Like that, it was easy to manipulate her instincts into believing some corridors more welcoming than others.
Ordinarily, the ghost would not meddle in such affairs, but it was dangerous for the child to wander. If she found her way into the engineering spaces, she could easily be injured, so the ghost thought little of directing her somewhere safer. After all, she nor anyone else aboard the ship wanted to see anything bad happen to the young girl.
Back in the medical bay, Doctor Macintosh wasn’t sure what woke him up. He blamed it on the innate sense that something had gone wrong, and that was certainly true as he stared upon the empty bed. “For the sake of the stars,” he cursed loudly. Another patient walked out on me. First it had been the Admiral, and now this.
Woken by the doctor’s curse, Ron Parker threw the curtain open. “What happened?” He saw the mess of tangled sheets, “Where’d she go?”
“Hell if I know,” Macintosh said-, pinching his nose. Just great.
“You lost my daughter?” Allowed to visit his daughter while she had slept, and thus cured of her paranoia, Ron was still furious. “What kind of doctor are you?”
“Give me five minutes and I’ll be a drunk one,” Macintosh muttered. He was so not in the mood, stalking past Ron, “I’ll call CIC and report it. They’ll find her.”
“I’m going to look for her.” A ship like this was dangerous, potentially deadly for a child. He had to find her before she got hurt.
Macintosh grabbed onto Ron’s shoulder, digging his thumb into the recently stitched knife wound. “You’ve been on this ship all of a few hours. You’ll just get lost.” He shoved the father into a nearby chair, “Wait here, and they’ll be able to bring her right to you when she’s found.”
Stalking into his office, Macintosh’s mood soured even further. The last thing he wanted was to wake the entire exhausted crew to search for a scared little girl.
“That will not be necessary, Doctor.”
Macintosh spun in his chair, turning to find the mysterious ghost had taken form behind him. “What do you mean by that?”
“I have directed Anabelle somewhere safe. Her father may wait for her in their shared quarters.”
“And I’m just supposed to trust that?” Macintosh didn’t know what to think as he slouched against the back of his creaky chair.
The ghost tilted her head just slightly, confused. “It would seem incorrect to argue you have a choice.” The child’s fate, along with every other life aboard these decks was presently in her hands. That was nothing unusual, it simply just was.
Elsewhere on the ship, Anabelle crept down another corridor, this one lined with framed pictures. She followed the wall, running her fingers along its cool metal until she found an open doorway. Peeking in, a large, open room awaited her. About a dozen people sat behind desks lined with colorful lights and knobs. They were quiet, focused, it seemed. One man stood alone in the center of the room. He turned to her calmly, as if expecting her, “Ah, Miss Anabelle, please come in.”
Her first instinct was to run, to hide, but something stopped her. She had expected anger from these people, she had expected cruelty from her captors, but he seemed so perfectly calm. It was odd. “Why do you know my name?” she asked, clinging to the doorframe.
“Your father was quite adamant that you receive the best care we could provide.”
Anabelle’s eyes went wide, “You talked to my dad?”
Technically, I stabbed him first, the Admiral supposed, but, “Yes.” That talk had been less than friendly, but that was hardly an important detail. “No one has any intent to harm you here, Miss Anabelle. Please, come in.”
She stared at this stranger for another moment, perplexed, but slowly began to step into the room. She paused after every step as if expecting some trap to spring.
The Admiral watched passively, knowing full well it was best not to rush her. It would only turn her skittish. ‘You know I don’t do kids,’ he reminded the ghost silently. When she’d told him she was sending him a visitor, he’d assumed it was a saboteur. Honestly, that would have been preferable.
‘But you’re so good with them,’ the ghost replied through their bond. His incredible patience was useful when it came to kids.
‘That was a long time ago.’ He hadn’t dealt with a kid in many years now, not since… He closed his eyes, trusting the feel of the console beneath his fingertips. New Terra. He hadn’t dealt with a child since… that.
“Are you okay?” Anabelle asked, looking up with big brown eyes.
The innocent look of those brown eyes was the same. They always looked so much the same. Why did Anabelle have to look so much like her? It turned his stomach. “I’m fine,” he answered, pushing that unwelcome memory away.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Where am I?” Perhaps if she knew that she could find her father.
“You are aboard the Singularity, my ship. This would be the command center.” The semicircular room housed the essential control functions, and coincidentally was one of the safest places on the ship. Deep in the ship’s core, there was no heavy machinery here that could pose a threat to Anabelle.
“So who are you?” He reminded her a lot of a stern teacher she’d had once at school.
“Admiral Gives.”
She knew enough to know that half of that was a rank, one shared by the man her father had run away from. “Do you know Admiral Reeter?” The other people in the room tensed noticeably at that question. They kept giving Admiral Gives strange looks as she spoke with him.
“I know him, but we are not friends,” the Admiral told her. Truthfully, he had never minded kids. They didn’t take his blunt responses the wrong way. But that memory of his… He could barely stomach it. Any time he saw a child, it was always the same. Those big brown eyes haunted him.
It was almost a relief to have Anabelle look away. He couldn’t stand the memory. Pressing his fingers into the metal rim of the radar console, he watched the young girl scamper over to the sensor station.
The crewman monitoring the controls looked over, and the Admiral gave him a nod. With that, Anabelle was welcomed and introduced to all the colorful buttons. Her excitement could barely be contained.
Admiral Gives purposefully directed his attention elsewhere, ignoring Anabelle’s high-pitched giggle. He couldn’t stand the sound.
‘Admiral?’ the ghost could sense the darkness in his thoughts. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I don’t do kids.’ Not anymore. They just reminded him of things he wanted to forget. Was it too much to ask to hold this last bridge watch with just his crew and his ship?
He used to like showing off the ship to anyone who paid attention to it, kids included. He used to be so proud… Oh. The ghost abruptly realized her mistake. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ The Admiral couldn’t hold it against her. He had too many bad memories to avoid triggering all of them. The human psyche was a complicated story, and he had more mental scars than most.
‘I am sorry, Admiral.’ She was well and truly sorry.
He tapped the metal of the console beneath his fingers. ‘I said it’s fine.’ He was a veteran battleship commander. Bad déjà vu was part of the job. He had worse memories than New Terra anyway.
Anabelle scampered back over to him, a big grin on her face. “This is super neat!” This room was full of wonder. Everyone was nice, and all the lights and knobs were so colorful. She may not understand what they did, but they looked impressive. “But, I think I’d like to see my father now.”
The crewman at sensors turned around, “Sir, I’d be happy to walk her down there.”
“Thank you, Ensign Potter, but I will take care of it,” the Admiral said. I should probably apologize for stabbing Mister Parker anyway.
“Sir, really, it’s not a big deal.” Potter liked the kid. She reminded him of his own sister.
Admiral Gives quirked an eyebrow, “Did I stutter, Ensign?”
“No, sir.”
“Then do not make me repeat myself.” No stutter, no uncertainty. It was simple.
Potter gulped, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”
Abrasive as it seemed, Admiral Gives refused to entertain people questioning his orders on account of logic alone. It was not only an annoying habit for a crew, but a dangerous one. If the crew habitually questioned his orders during combat, then their threat response time would be slowed, and that was unacceptable. He needed them to listen to his commands the first time around.
“Miss Anabelle,” he turned to the little blonde girl, “if you will follow me, I will take you to your father.”
The kid seemed to briefly contemplate it, but nodded. “Okay.”
Admiral Gives handed the watch off to the usual leader of the night watch, Lieutenant Johannes, and left CIC. Anabelle followed, her bare feet cold on the metal deck. She padded along behind him, “Mister Admiral,” she said quietly, “can I ask you some questions?”
“Just ‘Admiral’ is fine, and yes.” He didn’t mind answering questions.
“How long have I been here? I don’t remember coming aboard.”
“You were unconscious, dangerously ill when you were brought aboard, Miss Anabelle. That was roughly nine hours ago.” Her health had improved greatly since, a tribute to the medical skills Macintosh did his best to drown in liquor.
“And why aren’t you and Admiral Reeter friends?”
Because he’s evil, the Admiral thought, though to be fair, I’m evil too. But, clearly, that wasn’t a viable explanation. “Miss Anabelle, I am certain you noticed that I am not exactly popular.” Kids always picked up on that stuff, and it wasn’t as if the crew made any attempt to hide their opinion.
“Yeah, but I don’t get it.” Anabelle looked up to him, “You’re actually a very nice person.”
“Am I?” he asked, leading her around another corner. That’s new.
“I think so,” Anabelle grinned. Why else would he personally take the time to walk her to her father?
Anabelle was young, too young to realize who exactly he was. The term nice was never used to describe the Steel Prince. He didn’t have figurative blood on his hands, he had it soaked up to his elbows, and that certainly included the blood of children.
People generally had two reactions when they met Admiral Gives for the first time: disgust and horror. The facts of his history were gruesome and his calm – usually mistaken for disinterest – turned people against him without fail. It took either a child’s imagination or a very rare person to see past that. Though what people found beyond his calm generally tended to be less to their liking. The worlds didn’t know it, but they preferred a man like him to be calm.
When people in his position became emotional, they made mistakes, mistakes that cost thousands, possibly millions of lives. But because he was rational, people always read him as a monster, as a killer. They assumed he took some sort of sick enjoyment out of the suffering. He did not. He simply had grown accustomed to the ways of the worlds. Mercy, pity and emotion were flaws, they were weaknesses to be attacked. Affection, guilt, hate and morality were what got people killed. Not displaying those things helped him keep people alive, even if it meant people took him as some cruel abomination.
“You don’t talk a lot, do you?” Anabelle said, interrupting his thoughts.
“No.” If it wasn’t directly relevant to his work, he tended to silence. It was generally more beneficial to listen and learn.
“It’s okay, I’m shy too.”
Sure doesn’t seem it, the Admiral mused. “There is no direct correlation between being quiet and being shy.” He was not shy, “I am-” He went silent when Anabelle took hold of his hand, his immediate urge to shake off her grip and react in self-defense. He curbed that instinct, trying to conceal the way he tensed. Pushing her away would only frighten her. She was just a kid, she wouldn’t understand his aversion to being touched.
Her hand was so small, frail, in comparison to his own. That alone brought back another unwelcome memory, a reminder of the last child he’d dealt with, the last little girl that had decided to trust him. No, he couldn’t, wouldn’t confront those memories.
Purposefully avoiding the look innocence in those big brown eyes, he guided Anabelle to the state quarters her father had temporarily been assigned and knocked. It was time for this painful reminder to end.
The door creaked open almost instantly. “Belle!” Ron knelt down and opened his arms. Anabelle jumped into them with a joyous giggle.
Admiral Gives forcibly ignored the shrill sound and folded his now-free hands behind his back, rubbing the feeling of contact from the skin. It seemed everything was in order, so he turned to leave.
“Admiral,” Ron called after him, standing as his daughter hugged his waist. “Thank you.” His first instinct was to assume the Admiral had done something awful to Anabelle, but he knew his daughter. She was as skittish as they came. If the Admiral had been improper in any way, she’d be crying, not laughing. “I was wrong about you.”
“Doubtful.”
Doubtful? “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I am what I am, Mister Parker. Do not expect me to be anything but that.” He was every bit of the monster Ron had first accused him of being. He’d stabbed Ron before and if it became necessary, he’d do it again without hesitation. “Your daughter should be less trusting of strangers.” Not all of them were tormented by young ghosts with big brown eyes.
Ron couldn’t help but tighten his protective embrace, suddenly uneasy. The look in the Admiral’s stormy blue eyes was cold, but not menacing. “Was she wrong to trust you, Prince?”
“That is not for the two of us to decide,” Admiral Gives answered stonily. “I will say this once, Mister Parker, I have no intentions regarding you or your daughter.” It was Ron’s choice whether or not to believe him. The Admiral had better things to do than defend his tarnished honor. “This ship has no intent to harm her, but that will not stop her from injuring herself.” But, as long as Anabelle properly followed safety procedure, she would be just as safe as the rest of the crew. “Keep a close eye on her until you both are more familiar with your surroundings.”
“Of course,” Ron said, wondering, not for the first time, what motivations the Steel Prince was hiding.
The Admiral said nothing to that, turning to go back the way he’d come, now heading to his own quarters. Unsurprisingly, the ghost was waiting for him around the next corner, a look of amusement disguising her deep concern. It was no wonder Ron had started to turn defensive. “Could you have been any more cryptic?”
“Yes,” he answered without pausing his steps. He knew to expect the ghost’s frequent interjections.
“You do realize this is why everyone thinks you’re evil, right?” He was so dark and ominous all the time. It was a sort of superpower that intimidated scoundrels into submission and led everyone else to the worst assumptions.
“I am evil.” He’d built his livelihood on chaos and death. Was there anything more evil than that?
“That’s not true.” She refused to believe that. “Real evil manipulates and abuses everyone it comes across.” They had both seen real evil, and they both knew that he wasn’t it. “You’re just troubled.”
“Tell that to New Terra.”
The ghost sighed, peeling her back off the bulkheads to follow him down the corridor. “Don’t be grumpy,” she said. “I know how you get when kids are involved.”
“Do you?” He spun to face her pale expression, “Because I would like to think if you really understood that, then maybe you wouldn’t let them get involved. Maybe you would try to keep them the hell away from me.”
The ghost blinked, surprised by the sharp edge in his voice. It was as close as he would ever come to yelling at her, a rare indication that she had done something that genuinely upset him. She shied away and stared down at her shoes.
Dammit. The Admiral shook his head, wishing he could take back those words. “I’m sorry.” He had meant in no way to take his haunted memories out on her. “Sorry.” He had a thousand problems to confront tomorrow, and hadn’t properly slept or eaten since before his coma, but he should know better than to take it out on her. “Just forget about it. It’s fine.” It was not her fault he couldn’t confront his own emotions.
Exhaustedly rubbing his temple, he turned away and continued toward his quarters. The ghost remained where she was, looking up only to watch him leave. The now-familiar ache made its reappearance as she looked sadly after him. I didn’t mean to upset you. Had things changed so much that she brought him nothing but pain?
It truly hadn’t been that long ago, at least not to her perception of time, that Admiral Gives had happily dealt with kids. It had not been so long ago, that he would have preferred it to working with adults who seemed to constantly lie and stab him in the back. Kids were honest, and they treated him better because they usually saw the decency that he tried so hard to deny. It hadn’t been so long ago in her perfect memory, so it was easy for her to forget that things weren’t that way anymore.
These days, Admiral Gives could barely stand the look of a child. Because of what had happened on New Terra, just the resemblance made him sick. He managed to function, but it haunted him. Humanity never admitted the toll that tragedy had taken on him. They looked at him like he was unfeeling and uncaring, but that wasn’t true, none of it was.
It just happened that New Terra had been a sort of breaking point. The Admiral that cared about humanity’s place among the stars, the man that had shown weakness and kindness, had died there. What was left was a flatly brilliant person who no longer knew how to cope with his emotions, someone the worlds wouldn’t consider whole or functional.
The things that used to please him had all been tainted by the horrors the rest of humanity had put him though. Even she only ever seemed to make things worse for him. Hours ago, in the medical bay, she’d begged him to wake up. She’d been so afraid, but now she had to wonder why she had asked that of him. What gave her the right to ask him to suffer any more than he already had?
What gave her the right to beg for him not die saving his beloved ship, and then allow him to leave on a suicide mission he didn’t truly believe in not two days later? What gave her the right to inflict that pain on him, while he tried so hard to treat her well?