Twenty-three years ago, Rico Sector, Knight Industries System 01, CT Titanica
For minutes, they sat, staring up at the weapon above them. No one cried. No one screamed. No one begged to run. It would have been pointless.
Menaw, the proud, once-charismatic leader of this protest sat in his chair, seeming to shrivel up more the longer he was made to watch the debris twist and turn around them. The Titanica’s panoramic windows revealed everything with horrifying ease. No matter how far away it truly was, no matter what the wreckage was made from, he could only see bodies. Every dark shadow in the haze of dissipating smoke was a person that he had brought here and inspired to die.
They had believed in him. These people who had answered his cries protest, these people had stayed here, believing they were safe in his crass overconfidence. And that made them as much his victims as they were the Bloody Singularity’s.
“Captain,” someone called, the voice of the living now sounding so unbelievably fragile. “We’re being hailed.”
She never specified who it was from. There was no need. There was only one other functional ship left in this system. “Answer it.”
When the communication appeared, the bridge of the military ship was horrifyingly tidy. There was not one item out of place. The frame was dominated by the controls of a well-oiled killing machine. Standing alone among a cadre of pale, blank crewmen, the ship’s commander didn’t announce himself. He didn’t demand anything. He only said, “I am willing to make a deal.”
Broken, Captain Menaw managed a chilling outward calm to match Commander Gives’. “I’m listening,” he answered, barely registering that he was still alive.
“You will leave this sector, you will never return, and you will destroy the records of your stay here.” He skimmed the raw and desperate expressions of the Titanica’s crew before settling again on Captain Menaw, his position obvious as he sat in the traditional blue suit of civilian captainship. “You will tell no one that you were here, and if someone asks, you will tell them that you have never met the Singularity except in distant passing.” They would hold themselves to complete, unbroken silence for the rest of their days. “You will swear to do these things on each and every one of your lives, and I will allow you escape with those lives.”
He drilled Menaw with his gaze, “But remember this, if I ever hear any word of what happened here today, I will tell Command that you are radical separatists. Then, the biggest, last manhunt you will ever see will spread across the worlds. And it will not stop until you. are. All. Dead.” He pronounced those last words very clearly, ensuring that it was more than a promise, simply the prediction of a possible future where one of them, any of them, opened their mouths. “Am I clear?”
Life had all but fled Captain Menaw, leaving him numb. “Yes, sir,” he answered in a dead tone, eyes flickering with the shadows of corpses only he saw outside the windows.
“Good,” Commander Gives answered, his voice stone cold. “You have five minutes to get out of this sector.” He ended the communication without bothering to specify what would happen if the Titanica failed to disappear within that time.
The lone survivor of a protest once a hundred ships strong vanished into subspace as soon as her FTL drive was charged. They called it a deal with the devil, but none of the crew, not even the fiercest defenders of the protest, intended to utter a word. They knew it would be their death, and a few hours later, a young Dean Merlyn found the once-unshakable Captain Menaw in his quarters. Shot by a gun still clasped in his own hand, the failure of his protest and massacre of his followers too much for him to bear.
Things were no better in the Rico Sector once the Titanica had fled. Sparing those lives left Commander Gives with a problem: the evidence. Planetary monitors and the Singularity’s own records would indicate that he had disobeyed his orders, allowing a ship to escape. His own crew would keep to silence, afraid to be involved, even by testifying in court, and the planetary security recordings could be altered remotely, it was the Singularity’s records that were the problem. The data on the ship’s control systems could be altered or wiped, but the Black Box was untouchable.
The Black Box’s technology allowed it to record the sensor readouts, flight path, communications and weapons data of a ship. Fearing soldiers’ refusal to complete distasteful jobs like the one they’d just finished, Command had installed a Black Box on every ship in the fleet. The knowledge that it would reveal any failure to complete orders was enough to force crewmen to heel, no matter the task, no matter their thoughts, because disobedience was treason and the penalty for treason was death.
Thus, locked in a Box that only Command had the key to, it was the Singularity’s records that would incriminate Commander Gives. The Generalty would cross-check the written report with those records and find that they didn’t match, then court martial him immediately for failing to complete his orders.
“They’re going to execute you,” the engineer at the controls simply said.
“Most likely,” Gives agreed. This wasn’t the first time he’d thrown his life away. At least this time, it was for a reason. Upon return to Command, he might be as good as dead, but he’d saved several lives and spared the ghost some pain.
“Then we tamper with the records,” the sensor officer declared. “We tear the Black Box out. You always hated that damned thing anyway, sir.”
It seemed saving a few lives had ingratiated him with the crew at least a little. Hmm, he mused, I probably should have tried that sooner. Everyone loved a hero, but, “That cannot be done.” The Black Box could not be tampered with. Any attempt to get at its contents would trigger fail safes until Command could retrieve it. Attempting to destroy or remove it would also trigger those safeties, not to mention cause potentially catastrophic damage to the ship, as the Box was thoroughly ingrained with the ship’s systems by millions of fibrous connections. It would take decades to find and sever those fibers before the Box could be safely removed.
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But Commander Gives would never endanger the ship to save his own skin. In his book, it just wasn’t worth it, so he gave what orders he could. “Reengage manual controls. Plot a course for the Homebound Sector.” Command would be awaiting news of their success and be even more pleased by his failure.
“Aye, sir.” The navigations officer said. “We are eighteen hours away by warp.”
“Understood.” That would be more than enough time to write a report for Command. “Secure from general quarters and engage FTL when ready. Ensign,” he summoned the yeoman on the bridge, “I will need a pen and some paper.” He would have to write that report here while he held the watch, since he refused to hand the ship off to Belle.
He saw no way that this ended well for him, but there was still no reason to take that out on the crew. He had made this choice. They’d had nothing to do with it. The least he could do was keep Belle from beating them until they returned to Base Oceana.
Writing the report took a few hours, but he filed it all as if he had followed his orders to the letter: no survivors. The ship’s records would show the truth, but he’d be damned if he readily admitted anything. Brent would consider the entire event a display of incompetence and Commander Gives would never willingly give him that satisfaction.
Belle returned to the bridge once, expecting to take over the watch, but his glare kept her out of CIC. While she was denied her chance to take over for a few hours, she still smiled, pleased. In that, it was clear she knew. She knew he’d defied his orders, and undoubtedly, she would waste no time messaging General Brent with that fact. The military police would probably be waiting to detain him the moment he stepped off the ship. Belle’s satisfaction was revoltingly apparent as she waved to him. “Good bye, little Prince. I didn’t know you had that kind of determination in you, but I suppose I should be grateful.”
He steeled his countenance, “I am still your commanding officer, Colonel. I would suggest you not aggravate me, because I would be well within my rights to airlock an officer that has helped instigate several mutinies aboard my ship before returning to Command.” The thought was probably a little too tempting. He wouldn’t have to worry about the repercussions, since his act of defiance in the Rico Sector would almost certainly already give him the death penalty.
With a twinge of disgust on her lip, Belle left again, and the bridge settled into silence. Even with the shift change, the officers were quiet at their stations. These crew members may not have seen it first hand, but they knew very well what had happened in the Rico Sector. The resulting dead and the fate of their Commander left them somber and hesitant to speak. Expressing sympathy could incriminate them as much as actually participating in disobedience.
Commander Gives didn’t mind the silence. He was used to it, and it let him hear the sounds of the ship. At warp, the power of the FTL drive that currently enabled them to travel through hyperspace manifested as a strange, pulsating hum, not at all similar to the now-mute tone of the main engines. The noise was not unwelcome, but he’d grown accustomed to the sound of the engines – learned to identify their thrust direction and magnitude by pitch. That alone had kept Belle from trying to sabotage their courses and search patterns over the years.
She had always been desperate to oust him, seeking a second chance to take over command. As it turned out, despite his own insistence, she’d probably get it. Of course, knowing what he did, Belle would almost certainly be rejected again.
But someone, someone would get lucky the way he had.
With her creator now dead, Command would take no chances. The ghost would have to choose. She would have to allow one of the officers they sent her to take over. To deny that would likely result in her dismantlement and the failure of her mission.
I’m sorry, he thought. In the end, he’d done nothing for her, made nothing better. But, right or wrong he’d made his choice, and sparing those few lives had to mean more than the empty promise of a future he couldn’t give. In that, he knew he should have made his stand some time ago. He could have spared the other lives in the Rico Sector. He could have ended all of this violence a dozen missions ago. He could have ended it all the day he took command and steered the ship toward a star a hundred years away, alone.
Not doing so was perhaps one of his greatest regrets.
Because everything that had happened since was wrong. The intelligence of the almighty Angel of Destruction had trusted him to do right, but he’d done only wrong. And yet, she was innocent of that, just as she was innocent of the abuse Brent had put her through. It was the innocence of a child asked to do and endure terrible things for her parents, unknowing the true meaning, not understanding the way her own instincts balked. While the ghost was certainly not a child, admittedly more intelligent and experienced than he was, her mind had been twisted, cut apart and tied in knots. Her level of understanding was fragmented, leaving her unaware of the worlds’ unending cruelty and her own role within it.
He had spent the last four years trying to rectify that, trying to ensure she could strengthen, heal and understand. With that, someday, she hopefully would outgrow the chains that bound her to torturously obey such a selfish species. But progress had been slow, too slow. Brent’s damage had been incalculable. After four years, he could still only get the ghost to speak to him on the calmest days. But the days they spent slaving away for Command were rarely calm, and even in those scarce calm moments, he could only catch glimpses of what she would, should have been capable of without the scars Brent’s abuse.
Now, it was all he could do to hope that what he’d done would be enough, because his remaining hours disappeared all too quickly. They were soon dropping out of hyperspace in the Haven System, home to Ariea’s crystalline jewel.
The planet hadn’t changed at all in their absence, it glistened with a near-spotless atmosphere above oceans of sapphire blue. Still, he could only turn from the sight of it. He’d dreaded this return since the day he’d left. This will be a hell of a homecoming.
The crew should have been overjoyed to finally, finally make it back to one of the central worlds, to peaceful territory, but their dread sapped the light from the mood. Funny. After years of hating his guts, they suddenly seemed hesitant to deliver him to his death. They considered sparing the Titanica a merciful act, proof that he wasn’t the psychopath Belle made him out to be.
They probably would be less comforted to know the act was pointless. The minute Command realized what he’d done, the Titanica would be hunted down and sunk, but this had never been about those protesters.
“Base Oceana is requesting our mission data, Commander,” the communications officer announced, his headset immediately bombarded by inquiries.
“Send it.” As per usual, Command would waste no time dissecting their results and reports.
“Aye,” the officer confirmed, “We have also received orders to dock at Base Oceana surrender for inspection.”
The Commander watched the officer fidget, everyone on the bridge aware that allowing that inspection would enable one of Command’s personnel to retrieve the secure data from the Black Box. That would be the order that signed his death warrant, but it was inevitable. Refusing the inspection would be an entirely new level of trouble.
He let out a breath, holding his calm, “Send notification of compliance.” Some part of him expected to be anxious, but that knot in his stomach wasn’t there. He’d always known a fate like this would await him. Command had tried to kill him before… repeatedly. The only difference was, this time, he’d finally given them a reason.