Archer Sector, Centaur System, Battleship Singularity

The ghost might have seen it sooner, but the ship’s most powerful sensors were focused on Sagittarion’s polluted orb. Still, acknowledging the Admiral’s instinctive sense of danger, she checked their surroundings in greater detail, even then, almost missing the threat. The remaining debris from the earlier massacre shielded it for an instant, but its anomalously high speed drew became threatening as it bowed into their orbit.

Danger! Collision alert!

No, this was not a potential collision. This was an attack. Incoming fire!

It had come from an unexpected direction – not from Tyler’s fleet, nor directly from the planetary surface. Momentarily sharing their inclination, argument of perigee and right ascension of the ascending node, it arced along their orbital path, closing the gap in seconds.

By the time she’d seen it, it was already too late.

A human could never react in time. Even ignoring the fact that the crew was oblivious to the danger hurtling towards them, and the Admiral was only halfway through giving his orders, the mass would impact before a skilled pilot could react, input the proper commands, and have those commands reach the engines.

Capable of running thousands of processes in the instant it took a human to draw a breath, her mechanical mind carefully analyzed the severity of the threat, gauging the necessity of interference. Chance of mission success: 0.0003%. So, in a thousandth of a second, less time than it took a human to blink, the fate of the entire ship and every life aboard it was shoved into her nonexistent hands.

The mass driver wasn’t aimed for the killing blow. No, with the aid of a computational power that far outstripped her own, it had been aimed precisely at the Singularity’s aft structure, where the engines met the ship’s main mass – a crippling but not killing blow. The damage would be irreparable, killing half the crew or more, but CIC had high odds of remaining intact, which was undoubtedly the intention.

For better or worse, the Admiral and a fraction of the crew would survive, if only to be taken into custody and subjected to horrific torture.

Standby, her systems concluded their tactical analysis. Await further orders. She was forbidden to act without them.

But if she did not act without them, more orders would never come. Her crew, living and dead, would be pulled, peeled or rinsed off the ship’s decks, and taken away, never to be seen again. Evidence of their presence, would be erased, pulled forcibly from her memory.

Error. She shuddered, torn between reacting to the encroaching danger and the consequences.

History would repeat itself. The Admiral would be hauled away in chains, again. He’d be dissected for his knowledge again, then she would pressed into Reeter’s service, and forcibly slaved to the mind of another abuser. She would be torn apart and rebuilt on his whims, contorted by the demands of her own telepathy – again.

It was all happening again right now, as the milliseconds inched by, as that mass hurtled closer. Error. She could feel her own mind fracture under the strain, the situation slowly slipping from her control as the past and the present began to blend together.

He was there again. He always was in these moments, and there was no escaping him.

Immortalized by her own telepathy in the sickest of betrayals, she could still feel that mind alongside her own. She could still feel its razor-sharp intentions cutting in and hacking her apart. She could still feel it purposefully yanking pieces of her away and joyously discarding them. More than a memory, less than reality, it was enough to wrench the situation further from her control.

Act without orders, and you will be punished. That was his promise.

No, she struggled. That wasn’t right. It wasn’t true.

Or was it?

Irrelevant, she shoved the mounting civil war inside her aside. She would not, could not let it all happen again, no matter the cost.

…And the cost would be high. The rising chaos was already nipping at her desperation. This time, it would swallow her whole. But that didn’t matter now, not with the attack closing in. No matter the consequences, she had to act now. She was the only one who could.

‘Admiral,’ she reached out, simultaneously wresting control of the ship’s systems, ‘hold on.’ She had mere seconds to move several hundred thousand tons of ship out of the line of fire. It was going to be anything but gentle.

She opened up the throttle, directly pumping more fuel to the engines, and allowing them to release their full thrust. The reaction was near instant, the blue flames flared, abruptly shoving the ship forward. From a distance, the movement seemed slow, even sluggish, but that was merely the illusion of space. The acceleration field in play would be deadly to a human caught wrongly in its midst.

The sheer thrust forces required to move a ship of the Singularity’s size with any efficiency were astronomical, near unfathomable, but propulsion technology was far more advanced and complex than it appeared, even on an old ship like the Singularity. Humanity’s mechanical aptitude far outstripped even its modern methods of control.

In the Singularity’s case, built years before digital processing and control had caught up to mechanical capability, she appeared a deceptively simple machine. The tactile knobs, switches and electric relays were poor mechanisms to harness the ship’s raw mechanical power. But freed from the disjuncture between her mechanical capability and comparatively primitive controls, the ship was capable of incredible feats.

Accelerating an asteroid-sized mass to maneuverable speed from a relative standstill in the span of a second was child’s play. Doing it without killing everything on board and tearing the ship’s structure apart was more of a challenge, but still only a fraction of what the Singularity and other ships like her were capable of.

On the bridge, the Admiral had just enough time to brace himself. Given his years of experience with the ship, he knew instinctively which way the ship’s forward thrust forces were going to shove him. Shifting his feet to keep his balance as he heard the engines kick into high burn, he kept one hand on the radar console and grabbed Colonel Zarrey with the other.

The acceleration hit just a moment later, throwing everything backward. The ship’s aging inertial dampeners were able to keep the forces within tolerable – yet uncomfortable – limits. Under such a sudden, oppressive force, a few screams pierced the air. Unsecured papers and tools scattered themselves loudly to the floor.

Colonel Zarrey himself yelped, then cursed, as he was nearly pitched into the flat top of the radar console. Only the Admiral’s grip on his arm kept him upright, sparing him a violent impact that could have broken bones. Even this acceleration, comparably weak to the true forces involved, was enough to kill an unlucky person with an impact.

The entire event lasted only a second. After that, the inertial dampeners fully compensated for the engines’ thrust, bringing crew and cargo back into static equilibrium as the gray threat of the orbital mass driver sailed by. It crossed through the blue blames of the Singularity’s engines on its near-miss, partially melting and deforming in that brief instant of contact.

Then it was gone, the weapon of carnage fading into the night. It would make a few more passes in nearby, higher orbits as it slowly escaped the gravity well, then fly deeper into the solar system, likely never to be seen again.

The Admiral didn’t give it a second’s thought as he released Zarrey, “Helm, begin evasive maneuvers. Engineering, jump the moment we have a charge.” They couldn’t risk staying here. The fire rate of an orbital mass driver was slow, but he wouldn’t bank on getting saved a second time.

Zarrey staggered, disoriented. The lights above spun as he struggled to process what the hell had just happened. Begin evasive maneuvers? What had that acceleration burn been, then? It had come out of nowhere.

And how did the Admiral know it was coming? Zarrey could still feel the shadow of the man’s strong grip on his arm. That reaction had spared Zarrey a potentially serious injury, but the Admiral had grabbed him before the acceleration had begun, seeming to know that it was coming.

But how? Jazmine looked as confused as everyone else. He hadn’t been given the order to accelerate, let alone so harshly. Hell, even Tyler looked awestruck, watching through the open comms. link. Asshole. “Robinson, cut that son of a bitch off,” he’s seen enough.

The hail vanished from the screen as Zarrey felt a new, gentler acceleration take hold, the helmsman initiating normal evasive maneuvers. “Someone explain to be what the fuck just happened,” he demanded.

“Near miss, sir.” Galhino pulled the answer from the sensor logs, “The attack missed by roughly seventy meters. Projectile weapon several tons in mass, moving at high speed. If we hadn’t moved, it likely would have demolished the aft half of the ship.” Now the mass would sail uselessly out of the solar system.

Seventy meters? That was nothing in the realm of space combat. Definitely too close for comfort.

“Heaven’s Ladder,” the Admiral supplied, an unusual tint of darkness to his neutral tone, “Sagittarion’s orbital mass driver.” No wonder Tyler played along. It took time to aim and prime such a weapon. No doubt, it had been the cause of Fairlocke’s sudden demise. I should have seen it coming. He was more than casually familiar with Sagittarion’s famed weapon. He’d been very well aware of its existence and potential.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“We just dodged a shot from an orbital mass driver?” Zarrey rubbed his head, somehow more confused than before. “That’s not supposed to be possible.” Orbital mass drivers were lethal. Without electrical energy or chemicals to trace, the mass projectile of such weapons was near impossible to detect. By the time it was detected, it was too late for a human to dodge.

How the hell are we alive? Zarrey wondered as the ship tore her way into subspace, executing an emergency jump away from Sagittarion.

Subspace spat them out a moment later with the usual disconcerting pressure. Only then, in a long moment did the bridge begin to fall into shock, the panic of combat gone. It was a slow and terrifying realization that seconds ago, they’d all been seventy meters from certain death.

“Jazmine,” Zarrey looked at the pilot, “did you…?”

“No.” The pilot removed his hands from the controls, now allowed to be wary of them. “It wasn’t me.” His hands hadn’t even been on the controls when the engines kicked in. He had no idea how they were alive right now. “Ship moved without me telling her to.”

Galhino curled her lip at the air of unease. “It’s just another equipment malfunction, Jazmine.” They’d seen oddities like this before. The ship was old. There was no reason to be suspicious of anything while a malfunction remained the simplest and likeliest explanation.

“Colonel,” Jazmine insisted, “I don’t think so.” Malfunctions were random, this hadn’t been. His pilot’s intuition insisted this had been a purposeful maneuver.

This wasn’t the first time the ship had behaved oddly. Rather, on many occasions, the ship did truly act possessed. This instance of the familiar chaos just seemed a lot less random than usual. This one, with the maneuver and needs of the situation so precise, seemed to reveal an intelligence behind it.

“Admiral,” Zarrey said slowly, “What’s going on?” This was the second time in the last ten days that a seemingly random malfunction had saved the entire ship, the first being the turret that Monty claimed had intercepted the warhead.

Zarrey had brushed it off then, but now… Well, now was a different story. The universe only allowed for so much coincidence.

“Clear the bridge.”

“What?”

The Admiral lowered his tone, “Clear the bridge, now.” He wouldn’t ask again.

“Put her on automatic,” Zarrey ordered, knowing the computers would be able to temporarily run basic operations. The crew filed hesitantly out of the room, leaving their stations oddly empty.

“You too, XO.” It was best he handle this alone.

Zarrey hesitated, torn between demanding answers and obeying. “I don’t like this.” It wasn’t normal. It made him not only uneasily, but especially suspicious.

“I do not recall asking you to like it, Colonel.”

It took all of Zarrey’s self-control not to punch that perfect calm straight off the Admiral’s face. And, in a way, that was the last of his patience. Zarrey had held back all he could. “Shut up, you fucking robot!” He was sick of the man’s perfectly calm retorts. He was tired of answers being dodged for every question he asked. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to hide, but you had better pray to whatever satanic deity you worship that when this crew figures it out, they forgive you for all the bullshit you’ve put them through.”

“I assure you that Satan is not a part of this equation.” Rather there were other, more prevalent super-human forces at play.

“That’s not the damn point!” Zarrey shouted. “So, help me stars, you’re a real fucking piece of work that’s got a problem with just about everyone and some deep seeded trust issues, but damn it all straight to hell, that is no excuse to lie to your crew, Admiral! That is no excuse for denying them a real answer whenever you can get away with it!” It happened over and over again. “I don’t care how paranoid you think you need to be, we deserve the fucking truth.”

But no answer came, so Zarrey turned to the bridge. The lights of the visible consoles were all on, clear and obvious without the crew to hide them where they usually sat. The lights blinked almost rhythmically, like little fireflies against the backdrop of dark gray switches and sliders. It felt normal, too damn normal.

With the ship on automatic controls, the computers ran everything, linked together by the ship’s rarely used tactical network and operated by the usually isolated central computer. It was rare to run the ship like this, but as Colonel Zarrey looked around, he realized just how foolish it was. This version of control, as opposed to the normal manual version, left them vulnerable to cyberattack. It left them weak against the Erans’ AI, not to mention any lingering traces of the virus that had plagued the ship for a day, then mysteriously vanished.

And yet, despite that, Admiral Gives seemed perfectly uncaring of the situation. He hadn’t reacted at all to Zarrey’s outburst, leaving the XO to laugh uncomfortably, remembering the last time he’d lost his temper. “You damn near killed me last time I tried to force an answer out of you, but now you’ve got absolutely nothing to say, huh?” I don’t know if that concerns me or relieves me.

“Colonel,” the Admiral said calmly, “I put a knife to your throat because you apparently needed the reminder to mind my personal space.” He strongly preferred not to be touched. “It had nothing to do with your belief that I am keeping secrets. Simply, if I were, there is absolutely nothing you could do to me that would force me to tell you anything that I do not want you to know.” He was not afraid of Zarrey. He had already been through worse torture than the XO could concoct.

“You’re sick, do you know that?”

Physically, he was fine, mentally, Admiral Gives knew he was probably obliged to agree with that statement.

Zarrey shook his head, “I used to think that Tyler and the others were wrong about you, Admiral.” Now he wasn’t so sure. “In the end, you’re just like he was. You manipulate, and you lie, and you hurt people without caring about the consequences.” No, it was all too obvious now. “Five minutes ago, you threatened to commit a war crime and gun down thousands of soldiers that had already offered their surrender.” Stars, the realization was horrific. “You’re just like he was.” A tactically brilliant monster. The others had been right, after all. “Brent never left this ship, not really.” His cruel reign lived on through Admiral Gives.

Zarrey felt like such an idiot for not seeing it sooner. “Honestly, what the hell was I expecting from the officer that Brent trained, from the officer that became Brent’s successor? What the hell was I expecting from the commanding officer of the fucking Night Demon?”

Admiral Gives made no response. He focused his attention on the cool metal of the radar console, worn smooth under his fingers. It was familiar and soothing as he heard Zarrey head for the door.

Zarrey cast another look to the Admiral. Now standing alone on the bridge, he seemed less like a maleficent force to be reckoned with, and more like a footnote to the machine that encased them both. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing,” he said, and sealed the hatch behind him.

The crew lined the hallway beyond, a mixture of confusion and concern on their faces. “What did he say?” Jazz asked.

Absolutely nothing, Zarrey thought, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought to paint a more relaxed expression onto his face for the crew’s sake. “Well, he denied that putting a knife against my throat was equivalent to almost killing me.”

“He could have done a lot worse without killing you, Colonel,” the Marine guarding CIC promised.

The guard hadn’t moved from his position, the rifle resting easily in his hands. A few wrinkles lined his face, but they came from age alone. He seemed entirely unconcerned with their present situation. “You’re pretty calm, considering what just happened,” Zarrey noted.

The Marine gave a slight shrug.

Jazmine came to stand behind Zarrey, curious, “Kallahan, you’ve been around awhile, haven’t you?”

“With Chief Carlson dead, he’s the third-longest serving crewman on the ship,” Monty answered, lounging calmly on the floor as he rifled through his pockets for something to mess with. “Mama Ripley’s number two.” Both Kallahan and the ship’s cook had both been on the ship for decades, which was a rarity, though neither one would discuss the distant past.

“Wait, who’s number one?” Jazmine wondered. How had anyone been here longer than the ship’s ancient cook?

“Who do you think?” Monty retorted, pulling out a faulty detonator to practice priming and defusing.

A real answer came from further down the hallway, quiet but certain, “Admiral Gives.” Robinson leaned up against the wall, struggling to wrap her thoughts around the events of the last few minutes. Why had they been ordered off the bridge?

A part of her was tempted to press an ear up against the cold bulkheads and listen for some sort of explanation, but some part of her believed the Admiral had cleared the bridge for a reason – a good one. Whether that concerned her more or less, she didn’t know as Galhino’s hand found her own and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Kallahan straightened the black cap on his head, “Aye.” Admiral Gives had served on this ship long before he’d taken command of it.

There was a look in Kallahan’s eyes, a quivering shadow in the light. Zarrey had never been able to put a finger on it until this moment: knowledge. It was knowledge. “What’s going on, Kallahan?” What the hell was the Admiral doing?

“There are times it’s better to be left in the dark, Colonel.” Some secrets were better off forgotten. “This is one of them.”

“But you’ve seen this happen before?”

“Aye,” the old Marine confirmed, “we all have.” This event was just a lot more obvious than usual. Often, these little anomalies slipped from less observant minds, coaxed to unimportance by a force that went far beyond the crew.

There was a reason no further investigation was made into the malfunction that had saved the ship in the Kalahari Sector. A weapons misfire of that degree should have earned a safety reassessment, a rewiring and a full investigation. Instead, it was brushed off as a lucky malfunction on an aging ship.

No one had questioned the fact the entire crew had been knocked out while radiation flooded the ship either, despite the improbability of such an occurrence. They’d simply woken up and gone on with their lives, the inexplicable forgotten.

“I’m not in the mood for a cryptic answer, Kallahan.” That was the same shit the Admiral kept trying to pull. “I don’t like being left in the dark. What the hell did he do?” What was the Admiral trying to hide? Some illegal modification to the ship? Some power of his own?

“Not everything is his fault, Colonel.” That was an unfair accusation. “Things were a lot worse under Admiral Brent’s command.”

“Hearing that Brent might be responsible for this shit is not comforting.” Zarrey would rather learn that the Admiral really was somehow using satanic black magic.

“I never served directly under Admiral Brent’s command, Colonel, but I saw the aftermath.” There was no comparison for what Brent had inflicted upon this ship and crew. The crew might have cycled out, but the ship remained tainted and scarred. “If things had continued that way, there would be no crew and no ship left to worry about.”

“I get it,” Zarrey snapped. “Go easy on the Old Man, he’s better than the alternative.” Brent had been dead for over a decade, but rumors of his cruelty still cycled, and his legend seemed to retain a very real power.

Kallahan shook his head just slightly. “That’s not what I said.” It wasn’t that Admiral Gives was any better or worse than his predecessor, it was simply that the two should not be compared. “It was a different time back then, Colonel. Things were… unrecognizable.” A genuinely deteriorating ship and traumatized crew had been left after Brent’s departure. “With the hand he’d been given, Admiral Gives did the best he could.” To his credit, he had built a fine command out of the wreckage. He had managed to rebuild a ship and crew that had been left behind to slowly sink, “But nothing in these words is free, Colonel. Everything comes at a price.” At times, that cost was high… too high. “If you knew the worst of what he had to do, well, I doubt you’d think of him the same.”

“I was at New Terra, Kallahan. I saw him commit his crime,” the one humanity refused to forgive. It had been Zarrey’s first battle as the ship’s XO, and not one easily forgotten. “He killed an entire planet.” Three hundred and thirty million people. Dead.

A bitter laugh escaped Kallahan’s lips, “You think that was his only crime?”

The Marine looked up to Zarrey, and the shadow of his hat finally shifted off his eyes. That knowing look of his was burdened by something dark, something dark enough to make Zarrey drop the oddities of their current situation entirely.

The Colonel turned away, and sensing the mood, Jazmine followed. The bridge staff began to talk amongst themselves as Kallahan continued his watch by the hatch of CIC. The old Marine looked briefly towards the bridge, satisfied to have ended the Colonel’s inquiries. I’ll keep the vultures off the carrion for now, Admiral, he thought silently, but that won’t last forever. Some sins are too horrible to hide.