Liguanian Sector, Flagship Olympia
The dreadnaught fired a burst on her maneuvering thrusters, correcting to a suddenly obvious shearing angle. “It’s a ramming attack!” That crazy son of a bitch. “Evasive maneuvers!”
“Aye!” came the call.
The high strain of the thrusters picked up around him, the stresses of the force and battle damage threatening to permanently distort the structure, but he felt his eyes involuntarily widen. Too slow.
The Singularity’s black armor had already swallowed the view, and an instant later, the bridge around him surrendered to inky blackness, the virtual illusion falling away. He’d been too slow once again.
“Dammit!” Reeter cursed, tearing the VR helmet off. “That bastard is insane!”
Manhattan allowed a smirk to form on her lips. “Quite to the contrary, I’d say he’s brilliant.” She had hoped Reeter’s combat experience would fare better against Gives’ tactics, and he had, but only to a certain degree. Eventually, he’d fallen into the same traps that she had.
“No, he’s insane. Making an attack like that is suicide.” Pitting one ship’s structure against another, that was just making a bet. There were other, better ways to win a battle. “It wasn’t even a killing blow!” It was a useless, self-destructive attack that had no major effect on a ship’s weapons or propulsion systems.
“Yes,” she sighed, “it was.” With a wave of her hand, Manhattan projected a small recreation of the Palindrome’s final moments. “While the superstructures locked together, the Palindrome was tugged parallel. There was no hope of escape or evasion when the Singularity fired her broadside.”
The attack had been ruthless and effective. “Historically speaking, ramming is a recognized, but extremely uncommon tactic. Pirates are known to use it as a precursor to boarding. The Flagship Capitol sank due to such methods.”
“But ramming with a battleship? It’s insane. She’s not built for that.” Pirates would armor, strengthen and sharpen their ships’ bows to breach and board. It wasn’t the same.
“No, she wasn’t built for that, but I investigated what few of the Singularity’s engineering schematics remain in our possession.” Many of them had been lost, or more likely, burned. “Given the angle of her armor and the way her superstructure shunts and distributes impact forces on the bow, it’s viable, and there is no doubt that he knew that.”
The records of the fleet academy showed Gives had been a distinguished astroengineer, trained and gifted with ship engineering. He’d been quick and precise to implement an effective ramming attack.
“Perhaps it was lucky you weren’t there, Charleston.” While the Olympia herself may have turned the tide, a better match against the Singularity’s speed and ability, Reeter’s confidence would have been his undoing. “You underestimate him.” Reeter never would have been able to counter such bold tactics from someone he had spent years demeaning and despising. “And until you no longer do, he will always have the upper hand against you.”
Reeter tossed the VR helmet onto the inky onyx of the Olympia’s conference room table. “William Gives is a bygone fossil of an old era. He is worthless.”
“And yet, he remains one of the finest tacticians these worlds have ever seen.” His combat record was spotless, better than Reeter’s own, which he proclaimed to be so flawless. “How would you fare against the nine battleships?”
“I’d annihilate them. Blow past them, charge Thunderbolt, and do a flip burn.” The Olympia’s flagship weapon would leave nothing but graves behind.
Running the calculations, she knew such a tactic would be effective, but, “Without Thunderbolt how would you fare?” The answer? He wouldn’t. Placed in that situation without a surefire way to win, Reeter would have retreated. “The truth is, Charleston, you’ve gotten soft.”
Before the redness of his temper could color his face, she pranced over to stare up at him. “It’s true that once, you could have rivaled the Steel Prince.” He was clever and creative, but, “You’ve played the games of politics and charisma for so long that your combat instincts have dulled.” She should have seen it coming. Humans weren’t like her. They couldn’t rewrite themselves at whim, or instantaneously recall a useful memory, even if it was not their own. No, they were linear and limited, and that left so much room for improvement.
She flashed her perfectly white teeth, kept perhaps a bit sharper than a human’s should have been. “But, I believe we can remedy that, Charleston.”
He narrowed his emerald eyes, “I will never let you mess with my head, Manhattan.” He was all too aware of what she could do, and would never trust her to that degree.
“I know.” Not that you could stop me. She could choose to invade and alter his mind easily while he slept. He would never know the difference, though, “I had something else in mind.”
“And what would that be?” he snapped. “Another embarrassment at the hands of the once great Steel Prince?” Command’s fleet had been so demeaned in the Wilkerson Sector that it seemed Manhattan had let the bastard win.
"It could be argued that the Steel Prince remains great in many ways, Reeter.” The man’s motive and objective may have fallen from the worlds’ wanton desires, but his capability had never been in question. “Likely, his legend will always overshadow yours until the moment he falls at your feet.” That was a simple consequence of history. Reeter had thrived in an era of relative peace, and the Prince had built his reputation in the strife and hatred of the Dead Years.
Reeter’s popularity, coupled with the propaganda and poise he’d surrounded himself with had given him a name – a name the people cheered and soldiers willingly died for, but it couldn’t compete with the living legend of the deadliest officer in the fleet. How could the reputation of a perfect gentleman and hero compare to a title that even whispered drove entire nations into unconditional surrender?
It didn’t. In biological creatures evolved to survive by fight or flight, fear would always outweigh admiration. So, until Reeter proved himself to the rest of humanity as one to be loved and feared, the Steel Prince’s reputation would surely eclipse his own.
But that created an opportunity. If Reeter and his movement managed to fell such a legend, then their own legend would grow tenfold. For that and the information he held, the former Fleet Admiral had become a prime target. “And I will remind you, Charleston, that we need him alive.” She looked forward to dissecting such brilliant mind.
Reeter twisted his face, planting his palms on the cold stone table. “Alive or dead, the priority is that he be dealt with.”
“Alive,” she stressed. “He can answer many of our theories. Those regarding the Angel. Those regarding my sister, Wichita. He has the answers. We merely need to take them.” Willing or not was not her concern. He would suffer first and foremost, but, “Twisted to our whims, he could be an invaluable asset.” To defeat such a legend and then weave it with their own, it would speak to a power the worlds had never known.
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“Like hell,” Reeter spat.
“In his years, the Prince has never been anything but a pawn. Brilliant, even reclusive, he was still nothing but a pawn.” He’d been an asset to many forces over the years. “He served Command unquestioningly for decades. He proved himself capable of taking unsavory orders… for the right reasons.” Reasons she could divulge, if given the opportunity.
“Your obsession with him is your problem, Manhattan.” He wasn’t interested. “For what he cost these worlds, these people, he deserves the most painful death he can be given.” In his negligence, his cowardice, he’d allowed humanity’s only real chance at peace to burn. He, not any member of the New Era, had lit the funeral pyres on humanity’s flawed republic.
And rather than to face the hardships, the inequality that his choice had created, he’d retreated to isolation on a decaying battleship. He had lived a life of plenty, of power, even on those boring patrols while the people he’d left behind clashed, and clawed, struggled and starved. Where was the justice in that?
There was none.
And that was exactly what Reeter had set out to fix. Those deemed worthy would have what they needed to live good lives, to better the human race, and those unworthy would serve what purpose they could. Everyone would get the equality they deserved. No one would starve. No one would fight. No one would suffer.
It would be perfection, the world he helped create.
“It seems your dedication remains untarnished.” Though they often disagreed, “That resolve will serve you well, Charleston. Your instincts,” those human impulses that she had long since lost, “they are useful in combat.” He had fared better against the Prince for seemingly that reason. “Thus, we will work to hone them.”
“I’m listening,” Reeter said, leaning onto the table’s cold crystalline surface, feeling it slowly warm below his fingertips. Proud as he was, he had to admit that he hadn’t seen battle in quite some time. When the time came, he wanted no question of his victory.
“We will begin training.” She gestured to the VR helmet. “Without risking the Olympia, we can use the rest of the fleet to engage the Singularity and gather data. We will use that data to train you.” Afterall, why not learn from the best? Studying the Steel Prince’s tactics and movements would give him an edge, not only against the Prince himself, but against all others. “With that renewing and strengthening the natural talent you previously displayed, you will become perhaps the best tactician the worlds have ever seen.”
Reeter hummed, “I do like the sound of that.” He could lead these worlds to a new era of prosperity, be the greatest leader among them, undefeatable and irrefutable. “Perhaps this detour wasn’t for nothing.”
Detour? She held back her scoff, programming her hologram to display a pleasant expression. “I merely took action to solidify our victory, Charleston.” Taking over the Olympia had been a temporary measure, though the power it gave her remained intoxicating. It was wonderful to investigate the mysteries of FTL first hand, to feel the solar radiation pressure of alien suns on the passing hull.
“We will arrive in the XA-01 System soon,” she advised. “No doubt, our plans will accelerate immediately afterward.” Even with control over the central worlds mostly solidified, and the Frontier in a planned rebellion, they had a long path ahead of them. The New Era was only beginning. “I would advise you to rest. We will be entering the communications blackout zone soon.” The very same zone that had once forbidden her escape.
They would be cut off from any news regarding the Singularity’s movement, though her other processes would continue operation. The separation did not concern her as it once may have. Enough of her was centered on the Olympia that she would be nearly whole when the rest of her was freed, even if the processes she’d left behind were somehow purged.
Ignoring her advisement, Reeter furrowed his brow. Something had struck him as odd about that VR battle simulation. Now, agreeing to study such tactics, he knew what it was. “I can’t help but notice he fought a traditional battle.”
“Hmm?” she said, subdividing her other processes.
“The Prince.” Reeter curled his lip at the thought, still disgusted to admit that there was anything to learn from the man. “He fought a traditional battle in the Wilkerson Sector.” Some tactics had been unorthodox perhaps, but not the weaponry. “No superweapons. No electrical or magnetic manipulation. No telepathic tricks. Just kinetic weapons and blunt force.” Ordinarily, that would have been fine, but it broke with what they’d seen so far. “Where was the Angel of Destruction?” If it was so protective, should it not have intervened?
“I conducted experimental negotiations with the entity. It made no response. So, once again, I can neither confirm nor deny its presence. If it is indeed present, it either could not respond or did not care to.” Really, that experiment had so far told her nothing. “I gave it a week to reveal itself, but I am not hopeful.”
In the meantime, even isolated here, she had other experiments to run. The betterment of humanity could be stopped for nothing. And even if Reeter played his role willingly, this particular experiment would take time to gestate. Best to get started.
“Ensign,” she summoned the yeoman who had been standing by in the corner, nervously doing her best to ignore the upper-level command discussions occurring in front of her. A fine specimen.
Ensign Tucker swallowed her nerves and stepped forward, as she’d been told. “Refreshments, sir?” she asked, bringing the cart forward.
“That would be… lovely,” he said, recognizing the beauty of this yeoman.
Through the Olympia’s possessed life-support systems, Manhattan could sense his breaths deepen, oxygen consumption rising as his pulse quickened. Predictable. “Consider her a peace offering, from me to you. I had her transferred at Base Oceana.”
“Personnel transfers are supposed to be my decision, Manhattan.” Ordinarily that would have been a spiteful snap, but he found his voice softening as he gazed upon the woman, her cheeks flushing red as she tried to ignore the turn in their conversation. “But… mmhmm,” he looked her over again.
“Yes,” Manhattan leaned in close, limiting her sound emissions to a whisper from the nearby VR helmet, “I happen to know that she is just your type.”
Loathe as he was to admit it, he couldn’t be angry with this addition to his crew. She was lovely, a body that looked soft and smooth, slightly tanned skin and luscious sandy hair. In all other words, she was beautiful.
“Here you are, sir,” Tucker said, handing a glass of chilled water over. “No ice,” as all the yeomen knew he preferred it.
He took the glass with one hand, and her palm with the other. “Many thanks, Yeoman,” he said, tracing the lines of her dainty fingers. “May I have your name?”
“Tucker,” she said, uneasy between Manhattan’s eager expression and Reeter’s own …hunger. “Ensign Tucker.”
“Your full name?” he prompted holding her hand a little tighter.
She hesitated, but he tightened his grip more, clearly not intending to release her until she answered. “Sandra Tucker, sir.”
“Sandra,” he reached out to hold the side of her elegant face. “A beautiful name for a beautiful person.”
She flinched away, yanking her hand loose. “Sir.” Ordinarily, she’d be flattered, after all, Reeter was a handsome man. But this was too much. He was coming on way too strong. And hadn’t his fiancée just been taken hostage by the now-renegade Fleet Admiral?
He sighed in disappointment. Too soon, he supposed. “My apologies, I was just entranced by your beauty.” He doused her with a handsome smile, knowing it would ease the cliches of his lines. It always did. “You’re just lovelier up close.”
A new blush tinted her cheeks, but still, she shifted uncomfortably. This felt… wrong. Back at Command, almost any yeomen would have fought over the chance to join the Olympia’s crew. They would have fainted at the opportunity to serve as Reeter’s assistant, let alone earn such personal attention.
But this wasn’t Command, and none of the Olympia’s yeomen had seemed jealous of her new post. That had seemed odd, and now, she thought she knew why. The feel of it, of him was suddenly invasive. “Will there be anything else, sir?” she queried, swallowing her nerves. “Henceforth, I will be serving as your personal assistant.”
Excellent. He drowned his eagerness in another dazzling smile. “You may go, Ensign, but I imagine we will see each other again soon.” Very soon.
“Yes, of course, sir.” She said, clinging to the polite formalities. Rumor had it that Reeter liked such things. “I look forward to serving with you.” Without a doubt, this would be the most important post she ever held, even if she now felt less eager.
She saw herself out, and he looked after her, still smiling. It seemed she was already warming up to him. Of course, he thought. They all did eventually, and then she’d give him whatever he wanted, just like the others.
Because, he saw something he wanted in her, and when the time was right, he’d have it, the way he always did.