Polaris Sector, CT Badger
The Polaris Sector contained mostly ice, void of any rock debris or gasses.
The star, Polaris, sat in the middle of the sector, young and bright. Seen from sectors away, it held a brilliant blue hue and often twinkled as the ice chunks surrounding it shifted. The civilian ships could hide within the glittering ice shards, even harvest and filter them for a steady source of water. Tactically, it was a brilliant location, loathe as Captain Merlyn was to admit that.
Lacking the presence of dust and ore, sensors and radar for the civilian ships could work unhindered. If danger came, they stood at least a chance of detecting it.
But, however advantageous the Polaris Sector was to the refugee fleet, it would have held no appeal for the Singularity had she travelled alone. A battleship’s more powerful equipment was rarely hindered by dust and magnetic ore, and the dreadnaught was far too large to be camouflaged in the ice fields.
In fact, since the sector had no planetary bodies to speak of, there was nowhere for the Singularity to hide. Instead, she idled near the star, where the ice had been vaporized, moving in accordance with Polaris’ sunspots, so as not to paint a silhouette visibly against the star’s light, where it could potentially be seen and recognized, sectors away.
They were being as careful as they could, Merlyn knew, but restlessly pacing with the blue star’s predicted sunspots was an imperfect solution.
The boils of the blue star were violent swirls of black, tinged red on its edges, the same coloring painted on the hull of the ship that shadowed itself there. In the best times, it was strangely difficult to visually divine the ship’s presence. But, in the worst of times, Polaris seemed to tire of the black dreadnaught’s foreboding aura and failed to provide spots to cloak in front of, exposing the ship in full light.
Those were the moments that haunted him. Shadowed against the star, no matter how hard he tried, Merlyn couldn’t ignore the ship’s presence, nor could he ignore its implications.
“I don’t believe it.” Hours of mulling it over, of knowing that it made sense, Merlyn still couldn’t believe it. “I just… don’t.” This was a farce. It had to be.
After taking his own rest and helping the Matron with the children, Officer Jones had come back onto the bridge just moments ago, but the Captain didn’t look like he’d moved. The bags under his eyes had only grown. His hair, while not disheveled, was shining with the grease of several stressful days.
“The Steel Prince. Here.” It was only logical, given the Demon’s presence, but it was maddening all the same.
Jones furrowed his brows, “The who?”
Merlyn shook his head, handing over a data pad. “You’re a planet-hugger. I suppose you have no reason to know him. But we sailors… well, we know the players. Be them factions, ships, companies, or people, we know who calls the shots.” Such things dictated life, death, profit and safe passage. In the void, allegiances were everything. Those who worked alone never got far. “There are always places you should never go, people you should never engage. He,” Merlyn gestured to the tablet, “is one of them.”
Jones glanced to the data pad. The public dossier on the Singularity’s commander had been pulled. Most of the details were redacted, but the picture made matched up with the salt and pepper haired man seen in the communiques.
“The Steel Prince made his name sinking fleets just like this one. Civilian targets.” Sure, some had been militia ships trying to blend, but most, most had been transports just like the Badger. “That’s how they culled the Rebellion. They sank every single ship even suspected of separatist association, with or without proof.” The brutality used to end the Rebellion still very much haunted the Frontier.
Merlyn himself was no exception. He’d seen ships die that way. “They sent the Prince to gun them down, and he did, for decades. He was Command’s chosen executioner for a very, very long time. Hundreds, maybe thousands of ships sank by his command. Dozens of fleets. And I doubt this one will be any different.”
Jones mulled it over. He didn’t know the Captain very well, but so far, Merlyn had been steadfast. Even through the massacre in orbit, he’d kept his wits. Only now, presented with an apparent savior of unknown intention, did he seem to waiver. “Why are we still alive?” the police officer wondered. “If the Prince is known to kill, then why hasn’t he?”
Merlyn tightened his hands on the grip of his chair, the leather creaking. “I don’t know.” Breaking a long-standing pattern, the Prince had claimed an intent to protect this fleet, and that only concerned Merlyn more.
“Then what do we do?” the police officer asked. “Run?”
“No.” Hawkins’ early refusal to cooperate had laid the terms out clearly. An attempt to run or jeopardize the fleet would end in getting sunk. Given who they were dealing with, there was no question of that. “We cooperate. The Prince is in charge. If he wants us dead, then there’s nothing we can do.” It was best not to aggravate him. There was a reason the businessman had gone quiet. “And,” the thought occurred to him, “it would be best not to tell the matron.”
“Tell me what?” Her shoes clicking down the rungs of the ladder, Helena Delleora descended onto the Badger’s cramped bridge. The stale air smelled vaguely of sweat, no doubt emanating from the Captain, judging from his greasy hair and wrinkled clothes. But it wasn’t as if the hold, packed with anxious kids, was much better.
Officer Jones looked to her, recognizing her unfortunate timing, then back to the Captain, who now looked even more exhausted than before.
Helena glanced between them. “What’s going on?” Her gut insisted it was bad news, but she struggled to determine how their situation could get any worse.
The Captain sighed tiredly, but vaguely gestured for Jones to pass the data pad over. A confused Helena took it from him, recognizing the format of an official public document. She’d been given one such document for each of the children placed in her care, but those had been biographies. This was a fleet dossier, a service member’s public record.
“The kids were just asking about this.” It was natural for their attention to be drawn to the battleship. It was larger and quite different than the other ships around them. They’d begun badgering her with questions about what it was doing, who was in charge and how they could perhaps someday command one.
She didn’t have the heart to tell them that they were criminals now, undocumented illegal refugees in the eyes of the Ariean Central Government. None of them would ever be allowed to serve on, let alone command a battleship like that. Many of the kids were truly too young to comprehend such things.
Captain Merlyn rubbed the back of his aching head, feeling a repulsive amount of grease in his auburn hair. “It would be best to not share that with the children.” He wasn’t sure how far the stories of the Prince had spread.
“Why?” She didn’t see anything unsuitable in this document. Most of it was redacted.
“If just one of them were to recognize that name, they may never sleep again.” He severely doubted he would, in the presence of such a monster. It was odd such a person would rebel from the central government, but Merlyn didn’t disbelieve it, given the Singularity’s apparent damage. The ship’s armor had been thoroughly holed, and the only ships capable of inflicting such damage on a battleship was Command’s own fleet.
The matron kept looking up to him for a further explanation he didn’t have the energy to give. Another planet-hugger, she knew nothing of the powers that dominated the void. “Until this week, he was the Fleet Admiral of the UCSC fleet. Out here, that would make him not only the law, but the judge, jury and executioner.”
“The Fleet Admiral?” Helena felt her eyes widening. “Sounds like a good person to have on our side.” Who better to protect this fleet from Command than one of Command’s own leaders?
“As if.” Merlyn snorted quietly. There was more to it than that.
The matron ignored him. “And that means he’s got a hell of a ship under his Command, right?” Surely the Fleet Admiral had kept a powerful ship, one that truly could defend this fleet?
Yeah, Merlyn thought miserably, it’s a hell of a ship, if by that you mean Demon. After her service in the Frontier Rebellion, the Singularity had singlehandedly become the deadliest ship, no, the deadliest machine in human history. No other invention, let alone ship, even came close. “That’s the old War flagship, Miss Delleora.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
That had been, what, two, three flagships ago? “So, it’s old? Is that a problem?”
Merlyn winced, too aware of the ship’s looming shadow. It always seemed to carry a weightier presence than it should. “Meaning that since the end of the War, it has preyed upon the poorer worlds, the poorer people.” People like the Sags that now populated this fleet. “Meaning, that on the Frontier, it is known not as a ship, but as a bringer of death.” One so effective that rumor was blind to its true form. “That, Miss Delleora, is the Night Demon.”
The rumors of the Steel Prince had not permeated to the surface of many worlds, but the retold horrors of the Night Demon certainly had. After all, the Demon itself had once laid siege to Sagittarion, and it had been around longer than any soldier. Helena found the data pad in her hands shaking. “But I thought it was a monster.”
“It is.” Merlyn, along with many Frontiersmen, truly believed that. The damned ship and its commander both deserved to rot in hell.
Helena didn’t disbelieve it. She couldn’t. Not with the ship’s strangely heavy presence. It felt like she was being watched, had ever since the Singularity jumped into the system. She’d blamed it on the likelihood of detailed sensor sweeps, but now she wasn’t so sure.
She handed back the tablet. “What should I tell the kids?” she asked quietly. “They aren’t going to stop asking questions.”
“If they demand it, give them the name. Nothing else.” The older ones might make the connection, but Merlyn doubted it. Planet huggers had their own distorted rumors of the truths sailors knew in the void.
On the bridge, a piece of equipment beeped. Jones checked it before the Captain could muster the strength to raise his exhausted hands to the controls. “We’re being hailed. Audio only.” Jones glanced beyond the ice fields, swallowing uncomfortably. Without a word, he flipped the switch to put it on the overhead speakers.
“This is UCSC-14, Battleship Singularity hailing CT-493, Cargo Transport Badger. Badger, please respond.”
For a long moment, those words hung in the air. But, his chest tight with dread, Merlyn soon hit the proper controls to respond. “Singularity, this is Badger. Captain speaking, I read you.”
“Captain Merlyn, you have been voted in as the leader of the 2nd Adjunct. Do you accept this responsibility?”
As per the Singularity’s orders, the fleet had been divvied up into five groups. Each had been ordered to vote and select a representative to represent their portion of the fleet’s concerns to the Singularity. It would make dealing with the fleet of two hundred odd ships more manageable.
Among the Captains, appointing the Adjunct leaders was mainly a question of seniority. Merlyn had many years under his belt, and given the earlier communication among the ships of the 2nd Adjunct, he’d expected this. At the least, the position would allow him to judge the Singularity’s intentions firsthand, even if it shoveled more responsibility onto his slumping shoulders.
“Yes,” he answered the comm. “I accept.”
“Understood. A meeting with the Adjunct leaders will be held aboard the Singularity in an hour. You are expected to attend.”
Merlyn’s stomach flopped into somersaults. “Aboard the Singularity?” Stars, no.
“10-4, Badger.”
Bile rose up in his throat as he fought to swallow it back. It hadn’t occurred to him that he’d have to board the Demon when so far everything had been done over hails. He fought the terror driven nausea, trying to keep his voice steady. “Singularity, I’ll need to request a shuttle.” The Badger didn’t carry one.
“Negative, Badger. You’ve been issued special permission in light of what was shown on your submitted crew, cargo and passenger manifests. Navigate out of the ice fields on relative heading 207 mark zero and prepare to rendezvous.”
The voice on the radio was calm and gentle, but that didn’t stop panic from gripping his heart. “Rendezvous?” he asked, feeling lightheaded. “Is there a problem?”
“No problem, Captain,” was the response. “Admiral’s orders.”
Admiral’s orders. Merlyn closed his eyes. No. Stars, no. This couldn’t be happening. There was no way. He couldn’t possibly know.
“If you have further concerns,” the woman offered, “you can request Actual directly.”
“No!” Merlyn said quickly. Too quickly, he knew. “No,” he purposefully softened his tone, “that won’t be necessary.” He reached out to the Badger’s flight controls. “Altering course to 207 mark zero.” What choice did he really have?
“Thank you for your cooperation, Captain.”
Distantly, he heard the radio click off as he numbly programmed the ship’s autopilot to take them out of the ice fields. He was in no condition to do it himself.
Helena and Jones’ stares were physical on his sore and aging body, but he made no attempt to address them. The horror and repulsion he felt at this moment could not properly be put into words.
No doubt, after he’d submitted the presence of the orphans on the manifests each ship had been ordered to transmit, he’d garnered more attention than he wanted. They had probably run scans, confirming the high number of life forms. The kids had probably triggered this.
Yes, that had to be it. It had nothing to do with him.
The Badger’s maneuvers out of the ice fields were robotic, curving them perfectly around the large ice crystals as the Singularity’s form grew steadily clearer in view.
The hours between her arrival and now had served the ship well. Oxygen no longer sprayed into space. The breached compartments had been sealed off, but the bow was still riddled with holes that were hard to discern from a distance, present only in the way the hull lights played the shadows.
The battleship’s prow was misshapen. Gashes in the armor made the plating jut out at odd angles, disfiguring what smooth form should have been. Jones and the matron gaped up at the contorted frame of the Singularity’s damaged engine, mangled heat shielding torn outward with oddly bent thrust vents. Unlike the others, a blue flame didn’t burn on the end of that engine. It was apparently damaged beyond current use.
Ahead, the portside bow was crushed inward, as if the ship had hit something large. A piece of debris during the fight, perhaps? Helena didn’t truly know what to make of it all. The ship looked like it had been put through hell. “Stars.”
Captain Merlyn tried not to give it too much attention, even as his instincts screamed at him to take control from the computer and bank away. “Miss Delleora,” his voice came out a rasp from his tightening throat, “Go ensure the kids are dressed and ready to move.”
Tearing her gaze away, Helena nodded. She didn’t question the Captain’s odd behavior. This situation was difficult for everyone.
Between gawking at the battleship ahead and checking the readouts, Jones paid him no mind either. That was fine by Merlyn. It left him with no reason to keep up appearances. Shuddering, he drew his shoulders in close and just tried to forget.
But he couldn’t forget his wife and children. He couldn’t forget the blank face of the Titanica’s Captain where he’d been found, skin graying, stone cold dead, and staring blankly ahead with his brains blown all over the bulkheads.
Squeezing his eyes closed against the rising nausea, Merlyn could still remember the smell.
How was it fair? How was it right that he had to look upon that cursed ship? That ship he’d hoped to never see again? Fate was so cruel, and the Singularity and her commander deserved every ounce of the hate put to their names.
Surely they should have perished long ago, in some penance for their crimes?
But no, the worlds didn’t work like that. The powerful lived an eternity compared to those they crushed underfoot. Now, he was forced to stare up at that garish black armor and be unwillingly taken back to that horrid day twenty-six years before…
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Twenty-three years ago, Rico Sector, Knight Industries System 01, CT Titanica
“The year is 4226. They say that the Frontier Rebellion ended eleven years ago, and yet, our people are still fighting a war. A war against their safety, their success, and their homes. Entire star systems are bought and sold from beneath their colonists’ feet, simply because they are considered the property of a nation-state that has never farmed the soil or mined the ore, because they planted a flag there a century ago. We live and work everyday in the fear that some corporation will find something they seek on our world, buy it without our consent, and strip it dry of the natural resources that grow our food and feed our children.”
“Enough is enough.” The daily wave of propaganda washed over thousands of hungry, frustrated listeners, fed this motive through speakers, headsets and monitors. “It ends now. Knight Industries, a fleet has assembled in orbit to protest your irrefutable power. A corporation should never have been allowed to buy planets, own systems and dominate sectors. And we, the people, shall stunt your growth.”
A young Dean Merlyn watched his mentor deliver this speech, glowing with the aura of a man who believed in every word he said. “This fleet of protesters will not break until Knight Industries bows to meet our demands, or is bled dry.”
A makeshift fleet of a hundred ships, summoned from every system on the Frontier was orbiting around Knight Industries largest distribution center. They were small ships: transports, scouts and scows, crewed by only enough protesters to make them fly, and armed just enough to keep company transports from running the blockade, but their numbers only grew as the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion dragged on.
Airing this propaganda and turning back every attempt to run the blockade, hours and days slipped by. Knight Industries’ largest distribution center was left encased in an impenetrable envelope of ships filled by people displaced by corporate deals. In weeks of fruitless protests, only communications were allowed to reach or leave the planet.
Still, Knight Industries never negotiated.
Knight Industries never acknowledged the reason behind the protest.
Knight Industries never even faltered.
…Until three weeks into the protest when the company’s other distribution centers buckled under the strain, forcing delays onto even the wealthiest of customers. Then, Knight Industries’ stock began to drop. Without its largest shipping and receiving facility, the company had no hope of maintaining its power and wealth.
But still, Knight Industries refused to negotiate with so-called ‘financial terrorists,’ and in desperation, the company turned to its biggest buyer: the Ariean Central Government, the republic that governed all of humanity’s worlds – a so-recent victor in the Rebellion – and pleaded for help.
At first, the government did nothing, unwilling to attack its people, but as Knight Industries began a slow, inevitable collapse, the production of military ships began to slow.
Fearing that losing or delaying those builds might encourage the Frontier back to war, Command took action, sending their most dutiful ship – their flagship.