18 hours later, Brimstone Sector, Battleship Singularity
Ask the ship, they said. It’ll be easy, they said. Well, maybe it was her imagination, but Amelia was really starting to feel that this ship didn’t like her very much.
“Amelia,” Ron trailed after her, “you should really slow down. Remember what the doc said.”
Oh right, she thought, what the doc said. The ship’s doctor was a slouched-over, hostile officer who reeked of alcohol, and gnawed on unlit cigarettes. She’d been greeted by his horrific bedside manner the moment she’d woken up in those cheap scratchy sheets on a bed that was uncomfortably hard under her weight. The doctor was the reason she was down here, lost.
She’d been furious to find herself in the medical bay, trapped for hours and enveloped by the heavy taste disinfectant. The Admiral hadn’t appeared or even sent a message. He, in fact, gave no indication that he had heard or cared about the injury she’d sustained during the ship’s emergency maneuvers.
The ship’s doctor had seen her frustration and frowned, the cigarette in his mouth drooping. Your father didn’t tell you everything, he had said. He told you what suited his needs. If you want the truth, ask the ship.
Amelia resented the insinuation that her father had lied to her, but she knew things weren’t adding up. She could see that. The lower echelons of this crew didn’t speak of the Admiral like he was a monster. They spoke of a responsible officer whose real intentions were hard to define. They told her he’d ordered a search for a helpless fleet of refugees, much to the surprise of his officers. She knew that wasn’t the action of remorseless killer.
But some part of her warned that his intentions for that fleet may not be as pure as they seemed, and she wanted the truth.
As Ron had explained the doctor’s cryptic words, the truth was held in the ship’s records. The archives would have the Admiral’s full personnel record, including the results of his psychological evaluations, and any criminal investigations that had involved him – with or without a conviction. In that file, she should find the answers she needed.
But that only mattered if they could find the archives. And that was proving a bit… difficult.
Maybe it was her concussion’s fault, but Amelia had never felt so frustratingly lost. Everything around her: the floor, the walls and even the ceiling was made of the same scuffed dark metal. She was trapped in the same bit of corridor that never seemed to end, stumbling along this never-ending maze.
Everything looked, felt, and even smelled the same. Near as she could tell, there was no way to distinguish one corridor from the others. “This ship is a death trap.”
“It’s not that bad.” Ron reassured her. The crew proudly proclaimed that the Singularity had the lowest casualty rate in the fleet for combat injuries and accidents. Overall, that made it safe, as far as combat ships went.
Amelia just harrumphed. “We’re going in circles.”
“You don’t say,” came the comment.
Amelia pursed her lips, trying not to snap at the Marines that had shadowed her trek. “Why are you even here?”
“The CO has assigned you an honor guard, due to your injuries and lack of familiarity with your surroundings.” It just so happened that on Cortana’s shift, Amelia had been discharged from the medical bay and decided to go on this stupid field trip. It also just so happened that her entire shift had been shadowed by the obnoxious, insubordinate Marine cadet who had originally spoken. Stars, she hated this ship.
Amelia laughed bitterly. “He doesn’t trust me at all.” It wasn’t enough that she’d been injured, now she’d earned herself a babysitter.
“Relax, beautiful Madame,” their second shadow winked, shoving past Cortana, “the Admiral’s just trying to make sure you don’t get yourself killed. You’re a planet hugger, and you planet huggers make some fine ladies, but you don’t know beezlenac about surviving on a battleship.”
“And who are you?” Ron asked. This little Marine Cadet that had been following their entire journey, laughing as they wound their way through the ship’s corridors.
“Cadet Frenchie,” the Marine grinned crookedly under his moustache, then jerked a thumb toward Cortana, “I’m only here to watch her, because I don’t trust her further than I can throw her, and well…” he gestured to his short, stocky form, “I can’t throw her.”
Sergeant Alise Cortana was relatively sure she had never been so humiliated. Not only had she been assigned to coddle a civvie, but it was the daughter of the man she’d failed to protect in Eagle’s Talon and nobody trusted her to do it. “What did I ever do to you, Cadet?” Frenchie, in particular, seemed to have it out for her, always shadowing her footsteps and insulting her sense of duty at every chance.
“Girl,” he drawled, “you tried to shoot Admiral Gives aboard the decks of the Bloody fucking Singularity.” Frenchie wasn’t sure if it was the bravest or stupidest thing he’d ever heard. “How did you think that was going to end up for you?”
“He violated the law.” Interfering in the inspector’s investigation of the starboard bow had been a criminal offense. “He ignored all orders to stop. I was within my bounds.” Her actions had been justified in self-dense. She had never felt so threatened.
“Aboard this ship, he is the law.” Cortana’s role in that investigation had been the worst mistake she could have made on this ship. In one fell swoop, she’d turned the entire crew against her and openly challenged the Admiral’s authority.
“I’m not afraid of him.” At the time, she’d been terrified, but it was clear that if the Admiral had wanted to kill her, he would have done it.
“Oh, Sarge,” Frenchie eyed her with pity, “he’s not the one you need to worry about.” The Admiral’s wrath was to be feared, no doubt, but he was lenient on the crew. It took a lot to incur his direct punishment. He was not the worst enemy to have aboard these decks.
Cortana just rolled her eyes. Why was this entire crew so entertained by giving cryptic warnings?
Ron looked between the two, “Can one of you help us find the archives or not?”
“Do you have authorization?” Frenchie asked.
“Yes,” Ron answered with certainty. “As the next of kin, Amelia has the authorization to pull the Admiral’s personnel file.” That was the decree of the fleet regulations.
Frenchie couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s your authorization?” Simply that Amelia had a right as a blood relative? He rapped on the nearest bulkhead, “Did you hear that, Sin?” Someone just laid claim to your old man.
This Marine was insane. Alise wasn’t sure what else she could possibly think of him. But then, everyone on this crew seemed slightly deranged in one way or another.
Ron nervously pushed the sleeves of his flannel up past his elbows. What about this situation inspired such laughter? “That’s the law, Cadet.” The next of kin had a right to see a service member’s complete personnel file.
Frenchie’s moustache continued to twitch in amusement. “A word of advice, you planet-huggers, this machine is not impartial domain.” This was no neutral ball of rock and water. This was a machine built to wage a war on her commander’s orders. “Grant respect where respect is due.”
Amelia just threw her hands into the air. “Fine.” It was clear Frenchie wasn’t going to help. “I’ll just wander around until I find the archives.” And she would find them eventually, even if she’d have to endure her splitting headache to do so.
Ron and Amelia started off and Cortana glared at the small Marine, resisting the urge to throw him against the bulkheads. “You disgust me.” The longer she spent amongst this crew, the more she came to resent each and every one of them. It seemed they went out of their way to be obnoxious and useless. It was hell, one she’d do anything to escape from. “The least you could do is help.”
“Unfortunately, Sergeant, I doubt anyone can help you now.” The poor Sergeant had no idea what power she had angered.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” More cryptic warnings? Didn’t this ever get old? “Just keep silent if you’re not going to help.”
I am helping, Sergeant, Frenchie thought, that crooked grin perfectly in place, I’m just not helping you.
Cortana had taken her eyes off Amelia and Ron for a mere moment, but when she turned to follow them, they were gone. The surrounding hallways were empty, save the suddenly deafening silence. “What?” She raced forward, peering down the corridors that met at this juncture, searching for any sign of her charges.
But they were gone, as if they’d just evaporated. There was no echo of voices, no tap of footfalls, only Frenchie’s cackling laughter.
How? How was this possible? She’d turned away for just a second. This wasn’t right. She knew this wasn’t right. The corridors at this juncture were long and straight. She should be able to see which way they had gone.
Frenchie had settled casually against the wall, smiling even as Cortana whirled on him with fury in her eyes. “Where did they go?”
The Marine just shrugged. Truthfully, he could see Ron and Amelia just fine as they walked away. They had gone on straight ahead, but he knew better than to interfere with the power that now choked this corridor.
A twinge of nausea rose up before Cortana could even think about tearing into the little Marine. The room lilted and she staggered, struggling to keep her balance. What the hell is happening to me?
The disorientation stopped as suddenly as it had begun. Balance returning to the equilibrium of her ears and focus returning to her eyes, she found herself on her knees, the texture of the deck tiles prodded sharply at her hands.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
She suddenly felt very small. She, Sergeant Alise Cortana, was nothing against this machine. She was a mere speck at the mercy of something she didn’t understand.
It was cold, the air around her felt chilled, unnatural. Some part of her knew that it wasn’t real, that none of this was real, but it all felt real. She shivered, half expecting to see frost settling in around her.
But she knew it. Her senses were being manipulated. Her body and her thoughts were being merely tugged along on the strings. She was a marionette, a mere plaything to the creature in her head.
How much of this was real? How much was fake? Had anything she’d seen here been truly real? An all-consuming panic bubbled up in side her mind. What was this? “Get out of my head!” Cortana screamed, resisting the urge to scratch at the presence that lingered inside her skull. She couldn’t reach it. It was deeper inside her head than anything she’d ever felt, tickling her as if to prove it was more than a shadow.
Then it was gone.
Like a rubber band, reality snapped back into place. The bubble of illusion popped, taking with it the chilly air and perfect silence. Her senses felt hazy, as if another presence had trodden among them.
There was a sensation of madness to it all, as if she knew that this alien presence could do worse than toy with her senses. It could drive her insane with phantom touches, with the sensation of ants crawling beneath her skin or with screams that no one else heard.
This was merely a warning.
Alise Cortana pried her trembling hands from the deck and fled from that corridor with nothing but self-preservation in mind.
A steel gray gaze coldly followed her retreat, knowing that no thought of duty remained in Cortana’s head. In mere seconds, all evidence of loyalty, of responsibility had been wiped away. I see right through you, Sergeant. That mind was selfish and unsatisfied, the very feel of it unwelcome. It simply encouraged rougher methods of manipulation.
The ghost’s pale lips curled slightly in amusement. Run while you can, Sergeant. She would allow it… for now. Alise Cortana’s resistance was impressive, but it would soon fade. Eventually, any awareness of manipulation would disappear, the way it always did. For the longer Cortana remained aboard this cursed ship’s decks, the more control the ghost gained over her. In the end, trapped here in the void, there would be no escape.
She turned slowly to the Marine who remained, not sensing the fear she had come to dread.
Awed by the reality of her appearance, Frenchie quickly bowed, the gesture befitting royalty in its sincerity. “My lady,” he greeted. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever.”
A smile tugged at her lips. Frenchie had always felt slightly unhinged, but he was loyal and playful. This was the first time he’d seen her, but was just insane enough to believe – or realize – that they had met before in another way. It was difficult to gauge just how much his unbalanced mind understood about her existence.
She dipped her head in gratitude. Without Frenchie’s distraction, manipulating Sergeant Cortana’s senses would have been a thousand times more difficult.
Ron didn’t think much of the Sergeant’s disappearance. As lost as he and Amelia were, the Sergeant had been just as frustrated and confused. At least it was quiet enough to think now, with the Marines’ bickering gone.
Ron’s prior service in the fleet gave him some intuition on where the archives should be, and now he could act on that knowledge without fear of being found out.
In theory, the archives should be deep in the ship’s core, near the central computer since the records of the computer and archives worked hand in hand to manage and maintain the ship’s onboard information database. Physical objects and critical information were kept in the archives, while the computer managed any extra details and information through digital storage.
A deck or two below CIC was a standard placement for both the archives and the central computer. Still, Ron was almost surprised when he recognized the labeling on the hatches along the right side of the corridor.
A Marine guard was standing outside the closed main access hatch. “Miss Gives, Mister Parker,” he greeted stiffly, “What brings you here?”
His tone was level and polite, but it was clear he thought their appearance here was odd. Ron wasn’t sure what to make of the Marine. He looked too old to be a mere Corporal, but the rank paraphernalia on his uniform was clear. “Amelia requests to pull the Admiral’s personnel file, Corporal.”
Corporal Kallahan looked between them, noting Amelia’s nod of agreement. It was clear no one had told them. “I cannot authorize your entry into the archives.” Only the Admiral could give that permission.
“She has a right to see that file, Corporal.” Ron admitted to being somewhat curious about it himself. The Steel Prince was described in so many ways by so many different people. It might be a morbid curiosity, but Ron wanted to know which, if any, of those personas was the truth.
“I understand that, sir, but I can’t let you in without the CO’s direct authorization.” Those were the standing orders aboard ship.
“Then you have it, Corporal.”
Heads whipped. Ron stared at the latest arrival. How did he get so close without me hearing him? The Admiral stood just a few steps away, a folder in his hands, seemingly as calm as ever.
“Sir,” the Marine acknowledged.
“Let them in,” the Admiral ordered. “I have nothing to hide in that file.”
The Marine opened the hatch, allowing them entry. Ron and Amelia hesitated, but then ducked inside, even if only to escape the Admiral’s passive blue stare.
An officer was waiting by the archive registry terminal. She greeted them with a small knowing smile. “Welcome. I know what you’re after. Please follow me.”
Her small smile washed everything over in warmth. It left no questions, leaving Amelia plodding complacently behind the officer’s graceful steps.
Ron followed behind her, noticing that the Admiral hadn’t followed them. He was still discussing something with the Marine in the corridor, their voices lowered just enough to render the conversation unintelligible.
“Corporal, I do not appreciate the exchange you shared with Colonel Zarrey outside CIC.” It had been easy to tell that Zarrey had been distracted upon his return to CIC. “We both have our history with this ship, but I expect a degree of subtlety in discussing it. Do not undermine this crew’s trust.”
“All due respect, sir, you don’t exactly make it easy.” While the underlayers of the Admiral’s crew, most of the Marines, pilots and engineers still trusted him, the officers were more uncertain. They were noticing things and making realizations that they had been blind to before. The Admiral’s secrecy only encouraged them to dig further.
“It is not my job to make it easy, Corporal. It is my job to protect this ship and this crew to the best of my ability, and that is exactly what I intend to do.” He regarded Kallahan’s light hair, which was very much the opposite of his own, though it too was graying beneath his cap. It was nothing more than physical evidence that they stood on opposing sides. “I expect you to play along.”
An acknowledgement of the order rested on his tongue, but Kallahan found he just couldn’t force it out. He dropped the act of a clueless subordinate. “This crew is going to figure it out. And when they do, they will never forgive you.”
“So be it.”
Admiral Gives stepped forward to enter the archives, aiming to return the file in his hands, but Kallahan couldn’t shake the wrongness of it. A man with his crimes didn’t deserve to speak so coldly and act so unaffected. “What you did wasn’t a kindness.”
The Admiral stopped. “I know.”
“Do you even regret it?”
There was a slight shake in his breath, “No.” Given the chance, he would not take back his greatest crime. “I did what I had to do.”
With that, he stepped inside. Kallahan didn’t look after him. While the Marine didn’t agree with the Admiral’s actions, he had no choice but to respect them. There was no going back.
Among the archives, Amelia felt trapped. The tall shelves blocked the light and managed a layer of dust, despite the efficiency of the ship’s air filters. The air held a musty flavor and it was still and quiet, possessing the undisturbed, ancient essence of a tomb.
The archives had grown large, a tribute to the ship’s age and history, but the room felt cramped. The knowledge was packed in with little room to walk. Their guide moved easily in the elegant strides of a dancer, but Amelia and Ron struggled to follow.
Soon, she stopped in front of a shelf. “The Admiral’s personnel file is here.”
Amelia stepped forward, awed by the number of folders ordered on the shelf. It would take her hours to sort through all of them.
Sensing her despair, Ron went to help. “They’re colored by rank and alphabetized,” he explained, “We’re looking for the one with the silver tab.” Familiar with the fleet’s filing system, it took him just a moment to find it.
He pulled it out to be met with their guide’s glare. Her gray eyes glinted like the edge of a knife. She said nothing, but Ron was quick to hand off the file, realizing the oddities of their companion for the first time. She was tall and slim, her visible skin pale, but she was eloquent. Her voice was trustworthy and soothing as it passed from rosy lips. Her long hair was a striking white, but there was no rank band on her sleeve. Who was she?
Taking the file into her hands, Amelia had expected the file to be thicker, but she supposed she had nothing to compare it to. It was stamped with the fleet’s eight-pointed star insignia, and the Admiral’s full name and rank were typed onto the silver tab.
Answers. At last, they were in her hands. Still, she hesitated. Was this a truth she really wanted? Likely it would make the man who currently owned her and her son’s life into more of a monster than he already was.
And yet, she opened that folder slowly, seeking the honest truth.
She was met with blank beige cardstock.
The folder was empty. Of course it is. A choked laugh escaped her throat. “Nothing to hide in this file?” His words had been true. They were so dreadfully true. There was never anything to hide in an empty file. She threw it into Ron’s hands, trying to hold back tears.
Ron took a moment to study their guide’s utter surprise. Clearly, she’d expected the file to be here, as well. “So, this isn’t normal?”
“No.” That idiot. “Ever the tactician. Often, he’s too smart for his own good.”
“He took his own file out of the archives?” Sure, Admiral Gives had the means, but what about the motive? “Why?” What was he trying to hide?
“I’m not sure.” Stealing his own file out of the archives was a new low, even for the Admiral. He had just ruined several hours of her meddling. Idiot. “Please guide Miss Amelia out of the archives, I will speak with the Admiral.”
She didn’t give Ron a chance to argue before she turned on her heel and strode away, to be quickly lost behind the archives’ towering shelves.
Out of sight, the ghost let that illusion dissolve, then reappeared behind the Admiral. “You better not have lost that file,” she said, not bothering to keep the irritation out of her voice.
He replied by holding it up with one hand and continuing his search through the archives with the other.
“When did you grab that?” You idiot.
“Hard to believe you don’t pay attention to me all the time,” he retorted, though from the look on her face, she was going to start. That expression held nothing but displeasure.
Dammit, Admiral. “This was for your own good.” She had manipulated events to purposefully bring Amelia here. “Amelia would have read that file and realized you saved her father’s life. Without you, she wouldn’t exist.” All this meddling had been to a point. “Amelia would have started treating you better.”
“Giving Amelia the truth about her grandfather would have only led her to more questions.” Worse questions. “It’s better she hate me than hate this entire ship.” The ghost had good intentions, but she wasn’t thinking of the long term. “If she wants answers, then she can come to me directly and I can decide what lie I want to give her.” He didn’t lie to his crew, had no qualms lying to civilian charges if it kept them complacent.
“You would lie to your family?”
“They’re not my family anymore.” His brother had made that very clear to him. “They’re just people that feel entitled to my protection.” They were just another few civilians. He would do his job and lend that protection, but that shouldn’t be mistaken for affection.
The ghost’s expression fell a bit. Truly, he wasn’t sure why she cared. He was used to her meddling in his personal affairs, but he wasn’t sure why she bothered. “I couldn’t care less what Amelia thinks of me.” The Singularity and her crew meant more to him than his family ever had. “This ship is my home,” and she would always be his priority.
The ghost furrowed her brow, struggling to understand the complexity of the situation. “She should treat you better.” He had, after all, rescued Amelia and her son from Reeter. “You’re not a bad person.”
“I’m not?” News to me, he thought, returning the file on Heaven’s Ladder to its place on the shelf. Sagittarion’s rebuilt orbital mass driver was a problem for another day. Disabling it wasn’t worth risking the Singularity. In his book, nothing really was.
Was that a genuine question or was he just messing with her? It was difficult to tell with his stoic façade, but her telepathy told her all she needed to know. He was definitely messing with her. Idiot. “Why are you like this?” He simply lived to make things as difficult as possible.
“Keeps me entertained.” He wasn’t the type that enjoyed boredom. He had too many things he’d rather not think about.
There was a pause. The ghost was looking off, strangely focused on something only she could see. He knew that look… “Contact?”
“Contact,” she agreed.
He grabbed his papers, and set off towards the door. “What are we dealing with?”
“Three confirmed targets, I identify them as Squadron 26.”
“Battleships.” That figures. They had gone looking for a fleet, and they had found one, but it was the wrong one.