Twenty-three years ago, Homebound Sector, Haven System, Base Oceana
“Come in,” a voice called, breaking out of a conversation he could vaguely hear through the door.
Commander Gives stepped into the room, the powered door whooshing closed behind him. Two people were waiting beneath the soothing light of the crystal chandelier. Arms crossed upon his chest, Brent looked none too happy, the sneering twist missing from his lips for the moment, but the other approached him with the big, grand smile of a practiced politician.
“Commander Gives,” she greeted, initiating a handshake clearly practiced to be friendly, “it’s been so long. But believe me, it’s good to see you.”
“Once again, it is an honor, ma’am.” Not many officers ever had meetings with the president of the republic, but his unusual status had necessitated her involvement. Despite the required formalities between their ranks, he said nothing to Brent. It was sickening enough to stand in the same room. He would never regard the man as his superior unless given a direct order.
Similarly, Brent said nothing. He regarded the Commander the way a cat regarded water: with utter disgust.
Between them, Tui felt the tension and simply sighed. Always the same. “Gentlemen, there is no call to be hostile. I simply wanted to congratulate the Commander on his first successful tour, and what a long one it was.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Gives said, dipping his head politely. As friendly as Tui seemed, that was a politician’s act. Her skinny frame hid an incredible amount of ferocity, enough to earn the respect of Brent’s psychopathy. As president, she’d run on a political platform promising to end the violence on the Frontier. When she did so, she’d been hailed as a peacemaker, but her policies had been nothing so kind. It was this tiny woman, with a deceptively young-looking face framed by short black hair, who had authorized the fleet’s excessive use of force. It was she who had ordered Command to exterminate even the rumors of separatist forces, because if there was no rumor of rebellion, there was no rebellion either. Her ruthlessness had chased away even the idea that mass separatist forces could still exist anywhere in the worlds.
It was no surprise that Gives had been summoned to meet with her and Brent. The General was always eager to nitpick his work, and the commander-in-chief had taken a special interest in his success – or lack thereof. They would keep him busy until the spooks on Base Oceana finished the analysis of the mission data and promptly arrested him for treason.
But, Tui was oblivious to that at the moment. “I am impressed with the way you conducted yourself, Commander. I am thankful to find one of such conviction among the fleet’s ranks.” A soldier who never questioned orders would always have value.
“What,” Brent snarled, entirely affronted by Tui’s shower of appreciation, “we’re supposed to be grateful that he brought the damned flagship back in one piece? We’re supposed to make him a hero for doing his job?” He scoffed. “Nothing on the Frontier can even threaten her. An idiot could have done that.”
“An idiot has done that,” Commander Gives retorted.
Brent’s nostrils flared. “What was that, dirt buster?” He stomped closer to tower over the younger officer, “Trying to get me to wring that pathetic neck of yours?” He clenched his hands, desperately wanting to clasp them around a throat, any throat. “I am a hundred times smarter than you will ever be, because these worlds will never believe in you.” They would always think of him as a lower-class citizen.
Tui shoved her tiny form between them before the argument could escalate, grateful her pumps had purchase on the thick rug. “Gentlemen, you two are the smartest officers in the fleet. You are both capable of doing what needs to be done.” She focused on shoving Brent back, “And I should not need to remind you that killing him is not an option.”
Brent turned red. “You think that he is invaluable?” he argued, throwing Tui’s hand off his chest. “Because he’s the only one that weapon would tolerate? Don’t make me laugh.” He quickly grabbed a handful of Gives’ dark hair and yanked him closer. “He’s weak, the product of an error that turned even his own people against him.” He wrapped a meaty hand around the young officer’s jaw, finding the pressure points that would so easily break it. “Please, the poor worlds already hate him more than they ever did me, and I enjoyed sieging them. I enjoyed executing their people.” He tightened his grip, smiling, “But at least I was not a traitor.”
Commander Gives reached up and clapped his hands over Brent’s ears. In his restrained position, he wasn’t strong enough to rupture Brent’s eardrums with the force, but it startled Brent enough to drop him with a howl. Freed, Gives leapt back and tried to draw the sabre sheathed on his hip, but his adversary was faster. Brent lunged forward, smacked the guard of the sword with one hand and drove the second straight into the Commander’s gut.
The brutal uppercut floored him easily, and Brent was on top of him in an instant, gleefully wrapping his hands around the younger officer’s throat. He tightened and tightened his grip until it was clear his victim was painfully, slowly asphyxiating.
Commander Gives struggled, but he was no match for Brent’s size and strength, scouring the area for his fallen weapon. There, he spotted the dented guard of his Academy sword, and strained, twisting his body beneath Brent’s weight to try and reach it, but his fingertips were nowhere close. No!
Brent laughed, watching the struggle with satisfaction. “You’re weak, Gives. Always have been.” The wet, choking sounds of strangulation were music to his ears. He tightened his grip again, smiling as he saw his victim’s eyes start to lose focus. “You never belonged here.” Someone of his background should never have been among the fleet’s upper ranks.
The Commander could feel his struggle growing weaker. He was stronger than the last time they’d fought, strong enough to land a hit, but it wasn’t enough. Against Brent, it was never enough. Now his vision swam as it dimmed on the edges, eyes watering as his lungs burned for air. He reached for a weapon, for anything he could use, but there was nothing, only the feeling of the rug below fingers that were quickly going numb.
Distantly, vaguely, he could hear an alarm. It was muted here, but out in the corridor, it must have been as loud as a scream.
“Howard,” Tui appeared above Brent’s shoulder, “let him go.” A twinge of unease shadowed her expression when Brent didn’t move. “Listen…” listen to that alarm, “You have to let him go.”
Brent tightened his grip for a second, but then released it. “This means nothing,” he snarled, breath hot across Gives’ face. “You are nothing to these worlds, and you never will be. You will always be alone and unimportant, a pawn in someone else’s game.” Even Tui defended him only for his uses.
“And if you think, even for a moment, that the weapon’s apparent attachment to you will change any of that, then you’re a greater fool I thought. We don’t need you to control that thing. It answers to Command as much as it answers to you, and I know more about it than you ever will.” The Angel was his plaything. “I memorized each and every layer of that faux intelligence. That’s what happens when you force it to dissect itself over and over and over again for your entertainment.” Brent laughed, as if recalling a warm memory. “I have never seen something so eager to please that it will willingly tear its own mind apart and then act so honestly wounded-”
Truthfully, he could barely move where he was on the floor, heaving in air, but nothing in the worlds could have stopped him from decking Brent in that moment. The punch landed as a solid crack right on the jaw, enough to send the General stumbling back with a shout. As a psychopath, Brent got a high from others’ pain, but he was far less tolerant on his own.
Ignoring the clumsiness of limbs still numb from asphyxiation, Commander Gives hauled himself to his feet. “Shut your mouth.”
Rubbing the rising bump on his square jawline, Brent glared. “As much as I would enjoy killing you right now, I am far more eager to know what chaos will emerge from your summary execution for treason.”
“What are you talking about, General?” Tui asked.
“I have it from a reliable source that Gives failed to completely eradicate the rebels in the Rico Sector.”
While he had twisted his lip into that familiar sneer, Commander Gives was pleased to note it looked considerably more ridiculous with an obvious shiner on his jaw.
Tui was less amused, she straightened her suit jacket before turning very seriously to the Commander. “What’s he talking about, Commander?”
With effort, the Commander corrected his posture to something more proper. “I am unsure, Madame President.”
Tui didn’t believe that for a moment, but Gives had always been a man of fewer words. He said exactly as much as he meant to the first time around, and then nothing else. The man had certainly never been shy, but always guarded. “No matter,” she said, stowing her personal data pad, “the results are in. Knight Industries would like to deliver the confirmation of your mission data, with Command’s consent.” The analysis was complete. “They did not clarify whether it was good news or bad news, Commander.”
So, bad, then, he thought. They had found that one ship survived, and Knight Industries was calling directly to demand the ship be hunted and he be punished. Still, he held his calm, “I understand, ma’am.”
“Then let’s get to it.” Tui brushed her short dark hair perfectly into place, then grabbed the remote and powered on the massive screen that hung above the table. “Brent, hide that disgusting bruise and get out of the frame.”
Brent gave a low growl of discontent, but lumbered out of the camera’s view.
On the screen, the visage of a business man appeared in a large well-lit office. “President Tui, I will make this brief. That him?”
“Yes,” the President confirmed. “This is Commander William Gives. He led the mission that ended the Anti-Corporation Control Rebellion.”
The business man gave him a brief once-over. “Shorter than expected for a man of muddy blood. Often, we get big, strong line workers with his heritage…” the man shrugged the oddity away, focusing again, “To make matters short, your actions have saved my company. Knight Industries thanks you for your service. You dealt with the matter at hand quickly and without failure. I was told you performed the same way in your other missions, despite even your crew doubting your ability. Congratulations, Commander, your record is flawless.”
“What?” Brent boomed. “That is a lie!”
Commander Gives ignored him, focusing on the business man. “Thank you, sir.”
“With that, I leave you to discuss matters with President Tui. Good day.”
The transmission vanished before anyone could argue, leaving Tui to sigh. “He forgot to introduce himself.” The business man thought his time was too valuable for those trivialities.
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“I know who he is,” Commander Gives said. How could he not? “Tarn Verdois, the current CEO of Knight Industries.” One of the wealthiest people in the worlds.
Tui hummed her approval. “Good. Then you understand how pleased he was with your performance to call personally.” That was no small gesture from a man so powerful. “Relations between my administration and Knight Industries have never been better, and I have you to thank for that.”
“Are you insane?” Brent thundered over. “My source told me this pathetic piece of trash let a ship escape that protest in direct violation of his orders. That is treason.”
“And Command has confirmed otherwise.” Tui countered. “The mission data and the Commander’s report match perfectly. He did his job flawlessly.”
“So, check the Black Box. It will show the truth,” Brent snarled. He could sense the weakness, the lie.
“The Black Box was used. Its secure data confirmed his success, as expected, right, Commander?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Commander Gives heard himself say. Years of practice concealing his emotions left the answer as calm as before, even while his mind reeled. Somehow, the Black Box had failed to incriminate him. But that made no sense. The Box had never shown any signs of malfunction.
Red began to tint Brent’s face. He knew that Tui would not ignore an act of treason, no matter how useful she found Gives as a pawn. “You altered those records… How?” he demanded, “HOW?” The Black Boxes were infallible.
Tui brushed him off, “Leave. I have things to discuss with Commander Gives.” She pointed to the door, “Now, Brent.”
They stood in an uncomfortable silence until the door closed behind Brent. The moment it did, Tui let out a sigh and dropped her posture. Her thin shoulders slumped so far her sharply pressed suit suddenly seemed two sizes too large. Still, Commander Gives still found himself uncomfortable. Little good could come from someone his rank discussing anything in private with the President. Especially when he should be a marked traitor.
Tui pulled the crystalline bottle of liquor off the conference table and poured herself a glass. “The inspectors have informed me that the flagship is in better condition now than she has been in a decade. Apparently, your command has been substantially more thorough with maintenance and repair than General Brent’s was.” She leaned casually against the table, wrapping her thin fingers carefully around her glass, “Is there a reason for that?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered stiffly. “Under Brent’s command, the ship was rapidly deteriorating. If I had continued his tactics, the ship would have suffered an irreparable maintenance burn out within a few years.”
“I know you’re very smart, Mister Gives. You’ve no need to prove any technical knowledge to me. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve proven your worth time and time again these last four years, so don’t give me the technical jargon, just tell me what it means.”
Irritation flared for a moment. He’d never been trying to prove his intelligence with technical terminology. It was not his fault Tui had never bothered to familiarize himself with it, but he paused and reconsidered his words, concealing that frustration as if he felt nothing. “If I had continued General Brent’s tactics, the ship would have deteriorated continuously for the next few years. Eventually, there would have been a point where further maintenance was useless and the ship’s capability and reliability would have rapidly declined until she was no longer fit for service.”
“And fit only to be recycled,” Tui concluded. “Did that bother you, Commander? To know that your ship had a finite lifetime and that it was nearing its end?”
“Ma’am, machines do not age. Given proper care, they can remain functional for a millennium.” In a sense, they were immortal.
“But battleships do get old. The start to deteriorate and they get retired. Their metals get reused to build squadrons of new ships. And the Singularity will be no exception.” Eventually, even if it was after his command ended, the crew would get lazy. They’d cut corners and the ship would start to degrade.
“Perhaps she should be the exception, Madame President. The Singularity saved our entire species from the Hydrian Empire. Without her, we would be extinct. She served flawlessly through the War and the Frontier Rebellion, and now into these Dead Years. It has been twenty-seven years, and no build has come close to her level of power.” After nearly three decades, she was unquestionably still the fleet’s most powerful ship, no matter what rumors had begun to circulate of her deterioration. “If the Hydra were to attack, what would you send to defend us? The Royal-class ships? Or the flagship?”
The argument was logical. He never spoke without logic, but it was flawed. “Yes, despite the rumors, the flagship operated flawlessly, with not one single error.” She took a swallow from her glass, and narrowed her eyes, “…until four years ago.”
“You would consider my command to be an error, ma’am?”
The question was neutral, but she knew the glint in his blue eyes: a challenge. “You’re a very gifted officer, Commander.” She could not shame the performance of an officer with an apparently flawless record. “It is unfortunate that it took these circumstances to demonstrate that.”
“I was a decorated executive officer before Brent sent me to die in the scout fleet, Madame President. I am well aware that my current situation has nothing to do with my skill.” He could prove himself a thousand times, and Command would still find a reason to doubt him.
“I see,” Tui said, setting her now-empty glass back onto the table, only to refill it with a longer pour. “Then I can understand how complicated that makes things for you, Commander.”
“I would argue that makes things relatively simple,” he replied calmly. “I stay in line, I stay alive.”
She shook her head. “I know why you punched Brent. You’re very defensive about that weapon, because without it, without its apparent attachment to you, you would have died in the scout fleet, in pain and all alone.”
Oh, I would have died long before that, he knew as he studied the President for any sign of malintent.
“You feel you owe that weapon a debt, and it is acting hurt, acting like it needs help, and not from just anyone, from you.” That was a powerful thing, to feel chosen, to feel validated, especially for someone like him, who was an outcast among the worlds. “But you’re smart enough to know that it is manipulating you.” In her experience, despite his youth, he was probably the wisest officer in the fleet.
“It becomes what it needs to be, Commander. Brent adored it because it was his favorite victim, and you adore it because you think it needs you, and is perhaps the only one that ever has.” It was a brilliant ploy. “By result, neither one of you would allow it to be destroyed.”
“But I will remind you that this thing is smarter than either of you, and a million times more powerful. Powerful enough to threaten the Hydrian Empire with extinction,” a society with technology far beyond their own. “If it turned on us…” She shuddered to consider that reality.
“The Angel of Destruction was created to save humanity, Madame President. She would never turn on us unless driven to a point of madness.”
“So you have told me before,” she said, “and so the creator of the weapon agreed.” Tui had no choice but to trust that, and, “I have no choice but to trust that task to you, Commander. Keep that intelligence sane.” That should be his top priority. “Do whatever it takes,” she ordered.
“You may not like my methods.”
Tui chuckled dryly, the burn of liquor in her throat. “At least you’re honest.” These days, that was a peculiar trait. As president, people too often told her what she wanted to hear. “I believe this may help.”
She handed him a black satin box from the table, barely the size of his palm. “Knight Industries was insistent that your service be rewarded, and well, the vote for my reelection is coming up. It would benefit my platform to have a high-ranking officer from the lower class. Many activists and worlds will look favorably upon that. So, congratulations, Admiral.”
He opened the box to find a set of rank pins, each a single gold star resting on a silver base. The symbol of an Admiral with a flagship under his command.
She waited a moment, but he was strangely quiet. “You know, usually, people smile or cheer, given these.” But not him, it seemed. He was as impassive as ever.
“These are the rank pins for a full Admiral. You skipped a rank.”
“Yes,” that was no error. “Fleet PR has been having a hard time explaining why the flagship is under the command of lower-ranking officer. Traditionally, as you know, such a command would go to either a highly decorated officer, or to the Fleet Admiral. This should solve that problem.”
“The fleet will never take me seriously.” They already didn’t take him seriously. Now, jumping ranks for obviously political reasons, they’d treat him as a joke.
“Then I suggest you make them take you seriously, Mister Gives. I know you are smarter than Brent.” He’d outsmarted the man while Brent had still been his commanding officer. “Use that. There will be a public ceremony honoring your promotion tomorrow at 0900. Be there.”
“Understood.”
“Then we’re finished. Just remember what I told you about the Angel, Admiral. That thing survives by manipulation. Do what you must to keep it functional, but remember where your own loyalties lie.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he acknowledged.
After that, the walk home was suffocating. He felt drained and exhausted, and above all else, confused. He’d approached that meeting expecting to be in the gallows by nightfall, but instead he’d come away with a promotion and general authorization to do as he pleased.
When he stepped past the airlock, nodding to the guard, he made his way carefully into the ship’s depths. He walked a few minutes until he found an empty corridor and then it was all he could do to put his back to the wall and slide miserably to the floor, wanting to melt into the deck and never move again. It had been a hell of a day, or two, since he hadn’t slept in the meantime.
“Welcome home, Admiral.”
Recognizing her perfectly plain officer’s shoes, he turned his head, altogether too tired to move further than that. “Thank you,” he told the ghost. “You okay?”
Though she hesitated, she eventually nodded. Surprisingly, her Master had not summoned her, but she could still feel the poison of his mind, burning like a cattle prod searing into flesh. Still, she reached up to touch her throat, a question in her eyes.
“Ah,” doing the same, he could already feel dark bruises taking form. No doubt, the marks left by Brent’s attempt to strangle him were obvious. “Let’s just say that the negotiations were tense.” Even his hand was getting sore from where he’d decked Brent on the jaw. His bones and muscles still weren’t as strong as they should have been.
“…I am sorry.”
Her voice was so quiet that he nearly missed it. “Not your fault.” This was hardly the first time he’d come back banged up from a station visit. Most of the fleet’s higher-ups didn’t take well to him. He’d lost track of how many black eyes he’d worn home. Under such conditions, it was no wonder that he still hadn’t recovered from the starvation and chemical injections the scout fleet had put him though. Flexing his sore hand, he spoke quietly, “Times, I don’t think I’ll ever recover from what happened that day.”
She looked him over again, slowly, as if checking for some detail she may have missed, but there was a shadow in her silver gaze. Memory, he knew. Even without a word, he knew that she understood. She was probably the only one in the worlds that truly understood.
He returned his gaze to the floor, tired, “I don’t think I really know what I’m doing.” He played a good part, certainly. He’d fooled the entire crew, hell, even tricked the President of humanity’s republic into thinking that he was a brilliant soldier, driven to complete his ends. There were times he believed in that lie too, but there were always days like today to remind him otherwise.
He was lost, and had been for some time. As much as he wanted to help the ghost, he didn’t truly know how. Where he sat, huddled against the wall of a machine a million times bigger and stronger than him, he was overwhelmed. A dead man walking, he himself barely knew how to live, so teaching the ghost how to do the same felt like an insurmountable task.
Pulling his glasses from his pocket, he began to fiddle with them, opening and closing the hinges. In actuality, he was much too young to need them, but the damage the scout fleet had done to his eyes was irreversible, even with the central worlds’ medical technology. Now, these frames just reminded him of times that had been worse than even this. “You saved my life, but I can’t help but feel I didn’t deserve that.” Four long years, but nothing had really changed. “Someone else could have helped you more. I don’t know why you picked me.”
“Kindness.”
The answer came so clear, so certain, it was another glimpse into the true complexity of this mind, and not the shell she’d hidden behind. But an instant later that was gone, and the tentative, skittish presence he usually saw was in its place. “I’m not sure how well you really know me, then.” He wasn’t a kind man. “What I’ve done and forced you to do is cruel.” He knew that, even if he had seen no other option.
There was a strange sadness in her gaze, and with a trembling hand she pointed to the spot beside him on the floor, seeking permission. “Rendezvous?”
“Of course,” he said. “You don’t have to ask.”
She said nothing to that, but sat carefully down, a comfortable distance between them. Without looking over, she pulled a book from the air and cracked it open on her lap. “Chapter Eighteen.”
She paused for a moment there, looking over for approval. It took him a moment, much too surprised to say anything at first. You were listening. When she wouldn’t talk to him, he often read books aloud in his quarters. Pretending that she cared to hear them had eased his loneliness. He had hoped it would calm her, and now it seemed that she was mirroring that back to him. The green book in her hands was the one he’d been reading last time, and she was just picking up where he’d left off, willing to keep him company.
“Tui is wrong about you,” he told her. “You’re not trying to manipulate anyone. I know that.” He could feel that. “I trust you.” This intelligence cared about those around her, no matter how weak they were in comparison. Like him, she was just looking for a place among the chaos of these worlds. “And for what it’s worth, thank you.” She had saved his life again today. “I know you altered those records.” He didn’t know how and he didn’t especially care. He only knew that she was the only one capable of manipulating the Black Box. “I may not know how to help you, but I promised you I would try.” He wouldn’t give up on that. “I’ll start by getting us the hell away from here.” The further from Command, the better. “I’ll request a new mission tomorrow.” Given the short turn around and the lack of shore leave, they’d probably end up replacing half the crew, but considering the misery and mutinies of the last four years, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
She nodded gratefully, a rare little smile warming her features. Then she turned to the book in her hands and began to read, feeling the thoughts of the man beside her finally begin to calm.