Argo Sector, Battleship Singularity

At first, grabbed from her quarters and dragged again to the medical bay, Amelia had been furious. The senile old doctor had gone so far as to shove Ron, Anabelle, her and her son in his tiny office and forget all about them.

But, as the ship had trembled around them, shuddering and groaning, the deck bucking beneath her feet from either outgoing or incoming fire, she’d understood. As the smell of smoke hit her nostrils, wafting under the door, she’d understood. And, as they brought the wounded in, screaming and sobbing while she watched through the office window’s bent blinds, she’d understood.

Even now, in the seemingly disproportionate silence, she could feel the throb of her racing pulse in her veins. She felt so small, so useless, and so terrified. It was horrifying to know that nothing she did now would matter. If the tactics of the one in charge failed and if this machine broke apart around them, torn open to the void, death was the only certainty, and it was all she could do to sit and wait.

The whole experience gave her a new respect for those men and women on the crew. Combat was terrifying, especially here, below decks, where the outcome was completely out of their hands. Who would choose this life? Who would choose to face danger like that?

People braver than her, she supposed.

Watching the crew tend to their duties, they were focused, perhaps not calm, but at the least, focused. Even Ron was calmer than she at the prospect of combat, knowing that ships out there were trying to tear their own apart.

But when it was all said and done, after the nauseating FTL jump left her nearly vomiting on the doctor’s cluttered desk, Ron still just calmly sat there, Anabelle’s head in his lap. “Weren’t you scared?” Amelia asked him.

“Not much we can do.” Of course, serving as a Marine, he was used to that fact. He had considered offering to help defend the ship, but knew it would only blow his cover. He doubted the Singularity’s forces would be pleased to find one of the Olympia’s Marines in their midst, traitor or not, so he settled instead for comforting his daughter, grateful to find her healthy.

The pills the ship’s doctor had prescribed and provided left Anabelle stronger and more energetic than Ron could remember. Her skin was colorful, her hair vibrant, and the dark rings under her eyes were finally gone. Now, he could only feel guilty that he hadn’t sought help sooner.

Amelia didn’t read too much into Ron’s calm. He was clearly braver than she was. That had been obvious in the moment he’d pulled a shotgun on a group of soldiers in the shipyards. “Do you think we can come out?” The office was a little stuffy, and the medical bay beyond looked to have calmed somewhat.

“I’d wait. They might still be putting down the boarding forces.” He hadn’t heard any announcement that the ship was secure, so it was probable, even likely, that there was still ongoing fighting.

She sighed, but resigned herself to wait. As horrible as the FTL jumps continued to make her feel, they also still knocked the kids out pretty good. It earned a few rare moments of rest. Her son, Harrison, was incessant about touring the ship and seeing everything there was to see, but it all looked the same to her and it didn’t help that the Admiral seemed content to avoid them both.

“Speak of the devil,” she muttered, watching the man himself walk into the medical bay, two young women in tow, one of them obviously bruised and bleeding.

Ron looked up, surprised and concerned. There was only one reason he could think for the ship’s commander to be off the bridge this soon after a battle. “The Admiral’s hurt?” In their situation, they were surviving by his skill. If he were injured or killed, then they were major trouble.

“No, he looks fine,” or at least better than the other injured around. She considered rushing out and demanding answers about the battle: why they’d fought, if they’d won, whether or not they were safe, but he turned away to talk to the wounded crewman on the nearest bed, and that was enough to give her pause.

The conversation seemed brief as Amelia watched through the window blinds, but rather than leaving, he moved to speak with the crewman on the next bed over. That conversation was just as quick, but as he moved on, it became clear that he intended to speak to every one of the wounded crew who remained awake. She furrowed her brow, surprised, as she held the small window’s frame.

She stared out, watching. That was the action of someone… well, someone who cared. It was the action of someone who actually gave a damn about the people under his command.

It took her aback enough to reconsider the way she ought to be treating the Admiral. A part of her had just assumed, given what she’d heard about him, that the disinterest she’d seen extended to his core.

But that had been an unfair assumption. After all, he’d been so distant most of her life, stationed abroad, then ostracized by her father, that they were essentially strangers. He worked with his crew, lived and fought with them. It made sense that he would be closer to them and show at least interest, if not concern, regarding their condition.

But, an outsider looking in, Amelia still found this behavior perplexing, a break from what she’d come to expect.

Admiral Gives was quite well aware of her gaze, and he didn’t appreciate being stared at like an animal in a zoo, but he elected to ignore it as he approached the last conscious crewman in sickbay. “How was your day, Corporal?” he asked the blond Marine.

May looked up, recognizing her company. “I’d say it was unexpectedly exciting, sir.” Still, as she watched him draw the curtain, she knew this conversation was turning serious, not just polite.

“Corporal, I was surprised you and your sisters elected to stay.” When he’d put out the announcement to allow crewmembers’ release from their stations on board, he’d expected some of them to take it. He had never truly expected every soul on board to follow him into separation from Command. “It was my understanding that you all had enough rebellion on New Orpheus.”

May let out a sigh. “Let’s just say this ship is the first place that’s felt like a home to us. We go where she goes.” She and her sisters held no love for Command, but it occurred to her why he may have come. “I was just hoping we wouldn’t be taking any …requests so soon.”

“Corporal, when I brought your unit on board, I gave you my word that I would not ask that of you.” He had no intent to break it. “This is not about that.” She and her sisters may have operated as assassins for Command, but he’d taken them on as mere Marines, and given his word not to request anything of their other skills. “I understand you were with the new Sergeant during the boarding attack?”

Relief swept over May, only for burning frustration to swell up in its place. “That damn bitch! You bet I was!” She’d volunteered for the task, eager to observe the new solider. “Fay and I were both with her. We got flanked at a junction, and Cortana blocked this massive Marine’s strike, but she deflected it right into my damn leg!” she gestured to the limb, bound toe to thigh in thick white bandages.

The attack had caught them off guard, and Cortana’s tactics hadn’t been adequate for working with a squad. “She tripped up Fay, so she got hurt too. I’d put money on the fact that bitch has never fought in close quarters with a unit.” If they’d just managed to work together, defeating that Marine shouldn’t have been a problem. “Where the hell did she come from?” Where had Command found someone so damn incompetent?

“She was a personal security guard in Eagle’s Talon. Until coming here, she had only seen fighting planetside.” Her record on that was spotless, even exemplary, but personnel combat on a battleship was entirely different.

May huffed, frustrated, “I bet her charge died real quick.”

“His death was quick, yes. The Secretary of Defense was shot in the head.” It would have been near-instant.

Oh. The binds of frustration in her chest immediately vanished, replaced by the heaviness of embarrassment. “Sorry, sir,” she said, lowering her voice. As out of line as the comment had been, she trusted him not to turn to anger.

“It is quite alright, Corporal.” She wasn’t the first to forget his ties to the former Secretary of Defense. “My brother and I were not close,” and that had been common knowledge in their shared military and political circles. “Now, what happened with the Sergeant after you were wounded?”

“She got mad at us for being ‘in her way.’” May rolled her eyes, emphasizing the quote with her hands. “Bitch has quite a temper, sir. No offense meant, but I suspect your personality,” or apparent lack thereof, “would really push her buttons.” It was no wonder that Cortana had tried to shoot him.

“That is not what I meant, Corporal.” Obviously, he was well aware of the new Sergeant’s temper. May was dancing around the subject, “Did Sergeant Cortana leave you behind?”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Frustration licked at her thoughts, but May was still hesitant to answer. Likely, her response would dictate Cortana’s fate. Answering no, and the Sergeant would be fine. Answering yes, and May knew the Admiral would be her reckoning.

Is that such a bad thing? The little voice in the back of her head whispered evilly.

No, for her own sake, May thought not. She sobered a bit, but answered with the truth, “Bitch ran off and left us, sir.” Fay had been wounded in the arm, and she in the legs. Together, they’d been immobile and unable to fight. “If Butterfly and his wingman hadn’t stumbled onto us first, she could have gotten us both killed.”

“I understand.” Cortana had committed a grave offense by leaving wounded behind, once again violating the trust of her comrades. “Where is Cadet Fay now?”

“Doc stitched her up and discharged her a while ago.” Fay’s dominant arm had to be kept immobile, but she could still help search the ship for planted equipment, unlike May, who couldn’t walk. “Probably for the best she isn’t here, sir. She’s still pretty shaken about… well, you know...”

Referring of course to the incident where Fay had shot him twice in the chest. “I never held that against her, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir. I know.” He’d made that extremely clear. “And from what I hear, the Sergeant is also in the ‘I Tried to Kill the Admiral Club,’ so that might make Fay feel better,” May smiled awkwardly, “though I hope we don’t get any other new members anytime soon.”

If he had been one to laugh, he may have considered it. Always nice to have fans. “As I recall the incident, Cadet Fay was not the one who instigated the assassination attempt.”

May didn’t bother to fight the red rising to her cheeks, “I know.” She was not proud of her actions on that particular mission.

“Your sister may be due to be reminded of that fact.” Fay had avoided him ever since, though really, the entire incident was little more than a point of amusement now.

May nodded, wishing to steer the conversation in a different direction. She joked about it, but that was her way of avoiding the awkward fact that she and her sisters had very seriously tried to kill him. “What will you do with the Sergeant, sir?” She and her sisters were more aware than most of his patience. It had spared them from probable execution.

“The Sergeant’s situation is different than your own.” May might see similarities, but he didn’t – at least not where it mattered. “Repeatedly, both intentionally and not, she has brought harm to members of this crew, and that is a far higher transgression than attempting to take my life.”

May didn’t need to make eye contact to know he meant that as a truth. “You’re a little messed up, you know that?”

“You have accused me of worse things.” Many of them.

She nodded, face flushed with shame. That was a fair hit and she knew it. “Sorry, sir.”

He held nothing against May or her sisters, no matter what they’d done or said to him. They had been victims of the worlds’ evil. Now, they were loyal members of his crew, and that was all that mattered. “Rest well, Corporal. I am sure Doctor Macintosh will have you on your feet in no time.”

“If he doesn’t drink himself under the operating table first,” she muttered, having already smelled the level of alcohol on the medical officer’s breath.

“The doctor can handle his liquor, Corporal.” Macintosh had some of the steadiest operating hands in the fleet drunk or sober. He had his reasons for what he did, and the Admiral made a point not to bother him about it. “If you need anything, let me know.”

He made that offer to every single wounded crewman, every single time. It was polite, but no one ever asked anything of him. May certainly had no intent to. “I appreciate that, thank you, sir.”

Pushing past the plain gray curtain, he found Macintosh’s sour face and thinning hair. “You ass.”

Good to see you, too, the Admiral kept the retort to himself, asking instead, “How many?” There was no point in dancing around the subject. How many did I lose?

The doctor shoved his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “No dead. About a hundred wounded brought in so far. Half were serious enough to keep, the other half I stitched up and sent on their merry way.”

“And the Gargantia’s personnel?”

“The officer will be fine. She had hypothermia, but we got to her in time. The engineer on the other hand… I’d say it’s a toss-up. He might make it, he might not.” The Gargantia’s engineer was worse off than any of the other wounded. “He was impaled by his own ship, and I’ve never seen anything like that before.” Shrapnel impalements were pretty common, but someone being impaled by a splintered piece of the superstructure? That was new.

“The Gargantia’s build material was different.” It had been more brittle. The twisting and shearing stresses of the damage had allowed it to splinter dangerously. “The Singularity’s materials do not fail in the same way.” Likely, they would never see such an injury aboard ship.

“Don’t care.” Macintosh grunted. It had been a comment, not a request for an engineering lesson. “What do you want me to do with them when they wake?”

“Alert me. I will speak with them myself.” The survivors were in a complicated situation. They been brought aboard a renegade ship, and therefore made criminals, with no say in the matter.

Macintosh nodded, “Fine, but try to remember that you’re only human. You will need to sleep.” Beneath the bruises, he could see the bags under the ship commander’s eyes. “I’d rather not have you collapse in a random compartment.”

The Admiral said nothing to that, simply left. Tired as he was, now was not the time for him to rest. He had to ensure the ship was secured, wait for the damage report and deal with the fleet before he could even consider sleep, so he made his way back to the bridge.

Predictably, chaos was waiting for him. A scattering of papers littered the top of the radar console, and Zarrey stood, his hair greasy with sweat as he ran his hands through it, debating whether or not to pull it out. “You naddlethworfing son of a bitch.” He said, desperately trying to keep himself from shouting, “I don’t give a fuck who you are, you are not helping this situation.”

“Frankly, I find your demands outrageous. Your fleet massacred thousands of people in Sagittarion’s orbit, and now you expect unconditional obedience when you won’t even give us an explanation!”

“I tried to give you an explanation, and you wouldn’t even let me finish!” Now, most of the fleet was watching the argument. “You damn business men are all the same. You just want to be the big man in charge, and you don’t give a damn about who you have to jeopardize in the process. The longer you argue with us, the more danger this fleet is in!” One more jump, and they’d be in effective safety, away from any tracking beacons that had been planted aboard the Singularity by the boarders, but Hawkins had argued against it, and now none of the ships were cooperating.

Out of the camera’s view, the Admiral watched the exchange, studying Hawkins, but ultimately decided it was time to bail Zarrey out before his temper got the best of him. “How is diplomacy working out for you, XO?”

Asshole. Loathe as he was to admit it, asking nicely hadn’t gone over any better than the Admiral’s methods. In fact, if possible, it had gone over worse. “You’ve made your point,” he grunted. But seriously, he silently mouthed, “Please help.”

Fine. The Admiral stepped into the camera’s view, retaking his usual position on the far side of the radar console. Hawkins fixated on him instantly, “Ah, the master graces us with his presence.”

The Admiral said nothing, merely continued his observation of Hawkins. The business man’s suit was perfectly tailored and no doubt expensive. However, it was clear enough that he’d been trapped on Sagittarion due not only to his own ambitions, but because of a betrayal in his own organization – probably his assistant wanting to take his job, as was the brutality of corporate life in the upper echelons of one of the worlds’ most powerful companies.

“Come to threaten obedience as our overlord?” Hawkins challenged.

“I will say this exactly once. We will aid and defend any ship that complies with the given directives. Those that do not will be appropriately silenced to protect the rest.”

“Appropriately silenced?” Hawkins twisted his face, “What is that supposed to mean?” What kind of self-proclaimed savior threatened death to those that didn’t want to be saved?

“I believe those terms are clear enough.” Cooperate or die. Times like these, it was best to paint things in black and white.

Hawkins curled his lip, but passively folded his hands atop his mahogany desktop, as if to appear profound. “Does our apparent tyrant have a name?”

“Yes.”

Hawkins leaned forward, apparently waiting for further elaboration, but the Admiral just stared at him. After a long and awkward moment, Hawkins swallowed his agitation. “Care to tell us what it is?”

Resting a hand on the guard of his blood-flecked sword, the Admiral held Hawkins’ gaze calmly through the communique. “To someone like you, I imagine my actual name is of little consequence.” Simply, Hawkins didn’t actually care. He only sought informational ammunition he could use to trade favors and gain power. “That said, these worlds gave me a title that you may recognize.”

The business man narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?” This former fleet dog presumed to be known by people that were his superior in every way?

“After all, your company made several overt attempts to remove both my authority and my life.” In recent years, he’d become no friend to Knight Industries’ more private affairs, and the rebuttals of the wealthiest among the worlds tended to be cutthroat – often literally.

“What?” Hawkins furrowed his brow. “No.” It can’t be. “That’s not possible.” That couldn’t possibly be right. “You’re too young.”

“Travel long enough at relativistic speeds, and these worlds begin to age faster than those that sail between them.” With FTL, the effect was mitigated, but he’d been sailing for most of his life. He wasn’t young, but he was often younger than those who heard the rumors expected.

Zarrey watched the exchange, eagerly sensing a shift in power. Fear. It was bleeding into the air from Hawkins feed, no matter how perfectly poised he kept his expression.

“You’re not him.” Hawkins insisted. “The Steel Prince would never…”

“Never what?” Zarrey queried. “Reject the authority of those considered his superiors?” Be them corporate men or Command? “Never be caught commanding the deadliest ship in human history?” Watching the businessman’s eyes widen, the XO held back a laugh. “Yeah.”

When Hawkins’ attention shifted back to him, the Admiral took quick note of his expression, equal parts incredulity and fear. “It seems you have heard of me.” Good. That would make this short. “So, believe that if you stand in my way, you will be appropriately silenced without hesitation.”

The earlier instructions registered on Hawkins with an entirely new impact. Stars. This man very well would kill him. “That… will not be necessary. I will comply.”

“Then I advise you to do so quickly.”

“Yes, I understand,” Hawkins said, scrambling to end the communication.

After the hail disappeared from the screen, Robinson’s headset began to ping with incoming notifications. “We’re receiving compliance signals from the fleet, sir.”

“Very well.” Nice to be respected. “Send coordinates for the Polaris Sector. Inform them we will follow in several hours, once we have verified that there are no agents or transponders aboard and their position will be secure in our presence.”

Robinson’s confirmation was drowned out by Zarrey. “Holy fuck, you terrify people. You know that, right?” The mere mention of the Steel Prince was more than enough to frighten people into submission. “Hawkins looked about ready to stain his pants when he realized who he’d been backtalking.”

“Then I suspect it will not be a further issue.” They might complain, but the civilian ships would comply.