Present day, Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

The Singularity was hurt, aching, and he felt those pains as if they were his own, such was his bond to the old ship. Thus, it had become a tradition of his to make the rounds and inspect the damage himself after combat. Usually, he pitched in on repairs too, but dealing with the surrounding civilian ships had wholly consumed his time, save the brief moments he took to center his thoughts and remind himself why he went to the trouble.

And so it was during one of those brief pauses that Admiral Gives found himself looking out the windows on the upper bow, studying the gouges the battle had left in the hull. They were numerous. Even as the crew worked to repair them, a hundred or more were still untouched, some as small as a finger, some as large as a fighter craft. Each only reminded him of his failure. Not only had the ship been damaged, but he’d engaged her against her fleet, her people, once again.

No, he told himself, even as he didn’t believe it, it’s not the same. This wasn’t the Frontier Rebellion. These weren’t the Dead Years. They weren’t killing just to kill. They had killed to survive.

But that didn’t make it right. That didn’t make it better.

In all reality, what were they doing? What was he doing, pretending that they stood a real chance in these worlds? What was he doing, trying to justify the lives he’d taken?

Sensing tumult, the ghost appeared behind him. “Everything alright?”

“Just thinking,” he said softly.

“Well, that’s dangerous. Try not to hurt yourself.”

He blew out a lungful of hot air, a suppressed reaction of amusement. “Very funny.”

“I thought so,” she smiled, stepping up beside him. He watched the hull work progress, but she watched him, setting aside her own concerns for the moment. It wasn’t like him to second-guess, to regret. Something was bothering him, gnawing at his thoughts. Despite his stone-faced expression, she just knew, a gift of her telepathy, she supposed. “What’s wrong?”

“We sank five ships in the Wilkerson Sector.” They’d had over eight hundred crew each, and while there would be survivors, they would be maybe half. “I know that many of those sailors were probably reconditioned by Manhattan,” like the Marine he’d fought in the corridor, “and I know they would have fought to the end, but I have to wonder if killing them was our only choice.”

Once, those men and women had been sailors in his fleet, indirectly under his command. He owed a responsibility to them. “Could we not have restored them to who they once were?”

The ghost lowered her gaze to the scuffed gray of the textured deck. “I cannot restore people to who they were if I did not know them before they were altered.” She could potentially help the crew, but not strangers. “If I tried, they would just become pawns of another variety,” forced to become who she thought they should be.

“Their minds would still be enslaved, even unknowingly.” She could not free them. “Whoever they once were is already dead, and it may seem cruel, but killing them was a favor. That way, they can’t hurt the ones they once cared for.” Now, their memories, their bodies could not be used against their families and friends. “And,” her voice quivered, “having their minds enslaved… that is no way to live.” It hurt in ways that were impossible to describe.

The Admiral knew he had to accept that. People died in combat. It was easier to believe that those people may have preferred to die. The ghost’s experience was not to be discounted either, a sad reminder of the past, just as her relapse on the bridge had been. “I hope you don’t think I’m like him.”

“Like Brent?” The one who had abused and broken her over and over and over again? Even now, she felt the conditioned urge to call him, not by his name, but by the title he’d forced her to use: that of her master.

The Admiral only inclined his head. In his years of command, he had never given the ghost an order, unwilling to force her, but she remained a slave in many capacities to the ship’s commander.

Still, she scoffed. “Idiot. Why would I think you’re anything like him?”

Silence answered her, sad and doubtful.

To him, it was clear in the way that she had bowed to him. He and Brent weren’t all that different anymore, even to the discerning sense of the ghost’s telepathy.

She softened her expression. “You have always been good to me, Admiral.” He had treated her with nothing short of kindness, respecting her as if she’d been his partner, and not his tool. “You help me. You always do.” When she broke down, physically, emotionally, and even mentally, he was there to help pick up the pieces with nothing but patience. In these worlds she found so chaotic and confusing, that was her one constant, and it meant everything to her. “You are my Admiral.”

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” She never called him anything but that, and never had. “Admiral. Your commanding officer. Aren’t you tired of knowing that you’re the subordinate?” The one who had to do as told? As much as he tried to treat her like a partner, even give her free choice, if it came down to it, she was the subordinate.

“Admiral, there are times that it has to be enough to just be respected.” True, he was her superior, but he treated her well, better than anyone else ever had, and that was as close as she could come to being truly free.

“As to your name,” rank as it technically was, “I got to give you that title.” To her, that made it special. “I wasn’t ever able to give you much,” not compared to what he had given her, “but I did get to give you that.” She’d been able to make that dream of his a reality. “I think it suits you, and I know how much you hate your name.” It served as an unwelcome reminder of his own past. Rank was his preferred form of address, and she knew that. At this point, he’d taken to that like it was his name.

“Don’t doubt yourself. You gave me more than that. You gave me a job, and a home.” You gave me a reason to live. He had been ready to die until she had spared him. He turned to the ghost’s kind silver eyes. “You gave me a friend.”

A friend? Was that allowed? It was a breach of the Hydrian Bylaws, so logically, no, it wasn’t. “Are we… friends?”

“I like to think so.” The trust and memories shared between them couldn’t be held by just anyone. “We’ve been through a lot, you and I.”

More than you even know, she lamented, drawn back again to that old debate. He deserved to know what had happened to Samantha Scarlett, but… A friend. He considered her a friend. “I don’t know what to say.” Hearing that… it meant the worlds to her, and it made her decision even harder. Could she really jeopardize this? What little they had?

“Don’t say anything,” he instructed. He didn’t want to give that stupid lecture again. Right now, he didn’t want to remind her, remind himself, how temporary, how fragile this was.

“Yes, Admiral,” she replied, a little smile on her lips. This strange and difficult man often tried so hard to push her away, but he still called her a friend.

They stood in silence for a long while, this a brief pause in the Admiral’s incessant workload. She could have left, yes, or at least dispersed her illusion, but she knew that often, the simplest gestures meant the most to him. To not have to stand alone, to feel that someone was at his side, it meant a great deal to someone who had been outcast and ridiculed by the worlds for most of his life.

Besides, it wasn’t as if this interfered with her existence at all. Consciously, she could easily be in a dozen places at once. In that sense, her awareness was far more flexible than that of her human companions.

The Admiral found her presence more than welcome. It was comforting. He knew she’d watch his back, because she always had, just as he watched hers. “I want to ask you something, as your friend, not as your commander.”

She tilted her head, unused to him breaking the silence, “Of course.”

He took a deep breath, running his hand along the window frame, feeling the metal hum with the ship’s power. “Why aren’t you happy?”

“I am happy. Knowing that you consider me a friend… it means a lot.”

“Not that.” He could feel her joy from that, just as he knew that he should have said it sooner. She might have access to his thoughts, but some things needed to be spoken aloud.

“You wanted to go after this fleet. You wanted to save them, and we have. Right now, they’re as safe as they can get, so why aren’t you happy?” She’d done good for these people. He’d expected her to be ecstatic, but all he felt from her was empty acknowledgement. The last day or so, she had been …off.

It was the question that forced her to realize how much investment she’d lost in that objective. The fleet’s early lack of cooperation wasn’t even at fault. She always expected such things to get complicated. Rather, a looming sense of helplessness had whitewashed her feelings about saving those people. Subconsciously, she had numbed herself to avoid the pain, even as it cost her happiness as well.

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“It’s pointless,” she realized. Why should she be happy about saving these people? “I’m going to kill them.”

There was an odd vacancy in her expression. “Why would you do that?”

“It’s not my choice. It never is.” She’d betray everyone here, and knowing that was her fate… it became hard to justify anything. “Those will be Command’s orders.” First the fleet, then the crew, and then… then, you.

Her eyes settled on the man beside her, a spot of color in her world of grey. She could numb herself to almost everything, but not to him. Not to this man who called her a friend. He didn’t know how wrong he was to place his trust in the weapon that would be ordered to shoot him in the back.

“You’re worried about Command?” Over the years, he’d purged the evidence of her existence, her identity. “You should be safe from them.”

“I will never be safe from them.” Not with Manhattan on the loose. “I’ve become their enemy, and when they realize what I am, they won’t hesitate.” That was reality. She was a tool, and she would be used. “They won’t stop, Admiral. They will never stop.” And that’s why, she realized, that’s why I can never truly be your friend. Friends cared about one another. They protected each other. But she, she would likely be the one that killed him. She’d never even be allowed to mourn as a machine built not to feel emotions such as grief. Friends were loyal. Yet, bound by her curse to obey, she was anything but.

“That may be true,” Command may try to abuse her, “but if it isn’t, then I need to know: can you be happy out here?” Without Command? On their own amongst the worlds, with no port to call home?

“Yes.”

In a way, that was freedom. On their own, she knew she’d be allowed a choice. Her voice would be heard. “As long as I can stay with my crew, then I can be happy.” She didn’t care where they went, or what they did. “That’s what I want.” She wanted to stay with these minds she’d come to know, come to treasure. She wanted to help and protect them, because when they were happy, she was happy too. “I want to stay with them,” and with you.

He gave a single nod, “Then I will do my best to make that happen.”

A pang resonated deep in her core, feeling those intentions strengthen alongside her own. He’d ensure that she, not he, got to stay with the crew at any cost, her happiness his most important objective, above even his own.

Why? The most she could ever do in return was to stand here and keep him company.

But still, that was how she knew him, always working for others, never for himself. It was difficult to find adequate words. “Thank you, Admiral.” She knew it wasn’t easy for him. “Thank you for caring.”

He gave the frame below his hand a soft pat, and turned to the ghost, seeing the gratitude in her eyes. “Of course, that’s my job.” He took care of his people. “And, that’s what friends do. They care.”

“Then you are a good friend to me,” even if I can’t be one to you.

She was lucky. This man was truly one in a billion. No one else thought of her like he did. She knew because she had waded through a billion minds, learning and listening. She’d reached out to some. Most didn’t react. They brushed her off as a shadow or subconscious thought. Others reacted in confusion or fear, sometimes disgust. She’d reached out to so many, yet he was the only one that ever reached back.

And, as she stood beside him, surrounded by that calm presence, knowing that she should tell him the truth about Sam, she couldn’t. In his presence, she felt so safe and so welcome. Manhattan had given her a week, so if these were their last few days, she didn’t want them to be tainted by hate.

I’m sorry, but even if he rightfully should hate her, she couldn’t bear to feel that from him, from her anchor. I want to remember this side of you.

If Manhattan would force them apart, this stubborn, brilliant persona that had always been so patient was the one she wanted to remember. To taint all her memories of him with what would be well-deserved hatred, it would be an injustice to the man she’d known so long. Anger and vengeance wouldn’t be the truest representation of him. He’d been a loyal, tolerant commanding officer for twenty-seven long years, saved and valued her when no one else would, and that was how he deserved to be remembered, how the ghost wanted to remember him.

“She spoke to you, didn’t she?”

The ghost flinched a bit, suddenly broken out of her contemplative thoughts.

Dead giveaway, he mused. You are such a bad liar. “Manhattan spoke to you, didn’t she?” He could read the tension in her presence, struggling to debate something, no doubt suffering from Manhattan’s mind games. After all, the damn AI had announced her intention to engage the Angel in negotiations. As if that would scare me.

The ghost looked to her hands, remembering how flawed she had felt standing before Manhattan. “Yes.”

“What did she offer you?”

“The one thing I want most,” the guaranteed safety of the people she sought to protect, including that of the one who had protected her.

“But, you know you can’t trust that.” The ghost couldn’t trust anyone that way, let alone an AI that seemed to enjoy manipulating and controlling people. “It’s too much of a risk.”

“Is it?” It left her lips like a challenge. Wasn’t anything worth that? No matter the risk?

He raised an eyebrow. “Then why didn’t you join her?”

“Why didn’t you?” He had rejected Manhattan with such unusual vehemence she had to wonder why. “She could have given you anything, Admiral. Wealth. Power. Even peace.” She met his eyes, sad for a moment, “…things I cannot give.” With her, you’d never have to get hurt. No combat injuries. No suffering. No loss from her lack of control. Because, try as she might to protect him, he’d suffered so much over the years that it was clear: she would never be able to keep that promise. Her voice quivered, threatening to break, “Why did you have to say no?”

“You asked me to stay.”

He said that like it was answer enough, but it wasn’t. She shook her head, not understanding.

“I gave you my word.” As long as he was wanted, or she thought she needed him, he would remain here. “So, why would I leave to join Manhattan?” Why would I break my word?

Loyalty. She recognized the emotion. It was always so strong with him. Truly, that was always the best way to define the Admiral’s paradox. He acted singly in her best interests, on her intentions, often without other conscience. Even now. She studied his stormy eyes, “Why are you so loyal to me?” She knew loyalty in others, it shifted and changed. But not his, his was an absolute.

“You’ve earned it.”

“I earned it?” How? What part of a damaged, unstable weapon could inspire loyalty? Especially when it now lacked most of the power it had once possessed?

“You have always been there for me.” She had kept the promise he’d asked of her. “You have stood by me through everything,” the good and bad. “When the worlds said I was incapable, that I was wrong, that I was nothing, you gave me a chance,” and that was something he could never forget.

She frowned, “I am conditioned to standby and await orders, regardless of public opinion or circumstance, Admiral.” That was her very nature. She followed authority, remained nearby. He, as the ship’s commanding officer, was that authority.

“You are not conditioned to save my life.” Not in the way that you did. He didn’t care that she was a machine. Maybe she was built to do these things, maybe she was conditioned that way, but she still was there for him, and that was all that mattered. “I owe my life to you dozens of times over and I trust you, among the worlds’ chaos, to be who you’ve always been,” to be that genuine, kind-hearted soul. “I said no to Manhattan because of you. Because I’d rather stay here with you.” She had given him the one thing a manipulative AI like Manhattan couldn’t: a friend.

It took her a long, long moment to process that. She studied the Admiral’s calm, his utter sincerity. “Thank you.” He had explained to the best of his ability, trying to make sure she understood. “Your loyalty… It means more to me than you could ever know.” He valued her. Not her capability, not what he could gain from her. He valued her as more than a tool, more than a machine. “You are the best commanding officer I could ever hope to have.”

He let out a huff, “That I doubt.” He had his share of issues. “But,” he looked over to her, “I will always choose to stay here.” The ghost deserved to know that. “This ship has always been a good home to me, and you are the one that gave me this home, this belonging.” He would never, ever forget that. “So, the worlds may beg and bribe all they want, but my loyalty is to you.”

Remembering the best moments she’d spent with this officer, another small smile graced her lips. His very presence felt like protection and comfort. Her mind recognized it as safety. He had been with her for so long now, a welcome constant in a universe she fought so hard to understand. “You will always have a place here, Admiral.” As long as you are willing to stay. If this home was all he wanted, then he would have it without contemplation.

Just to give him that, for every day, every moment that she could, she would deny Manhattan a thousand times over, even if she couldn’t ignore reality. “Manhattan knows I’m here.”

“No, she doesn’t.” He returned his attention to the repairs occurring on the hull. “She might suspect, but she can’t prove that unless you openly reveal yourself.” Clarke dead, he was the only one who knew her identity. She was safe.

I wish that were true. He was so certain, but that certainty was built on a lie. “She’s going to make me hurt people.” And all around her, for the first time, she was encircled by people she cared deeply for. She had freedom, choice, and she didn’t want to go back to what she’d been before. “They want to use me to destroy worlds, to control humanity through fear,” like the weapon she had once been. …The weapon that had eviscerated the Frontier and driven half of humanity to its knees.

“You don’t have that power anymore.”

“But I’m still powerful enough.” She could still be used to hurt innocent people.

“I’m not going to let that happen.” He would do everything he could to prevent the ghost from being used like that. “But, I need to know what I’m dealing with.” He could sense that she didn’t want to talk directly about it, and that was fine. He could work around that. “Can you compile a report for me on Manhattan’s background?” Right now, all he knew was that the AI was aiding the Erans and was exceptionally dangerous in terms of manipulation and control. He knew nothing of its origin or history – nothing he could use against it.

Panic rampaged through her systems, this too close to that horrid truth, but the ghost knew better than to pause. She knew better than to hesitate. The Admiral would notice immediately. “Of course.”

“How long do you need?”

“A few days,” she answered.

He quirked an eyebrow, definitely suspect.

“Please understand,” she said, “much of that data has been redacted from my mission logs. They ordered me to forget everything about her. It will take some time to decode and reassemble the remaining fragments.”

Command had always possessed a poor understanding of her existence. As a machine, they had assumed that purging the data and banning searches of it on her mechanical form would be enough to disrupt her memory. They neglected her intelligence. She did, in fact, remember everything. Even the things she wished she could forget. “It will take time and focus,” she explained, knowing that was only partly true.

In reality, how could she tell him the truth? What words were gentle enough, honest enough, sorry enough? How can I tell you what you lost because of her, because of me? Samantha Scarlett had died, caught between Manhattan and the Angel.

If she said nothing in the week Manhattan had given her, then she would never have to face his hate for her part in it, no matter how much she deserved it.

Yes, she convinced herself, that would be for the best. That would be the path of least pain for him. He should never have to face the fact that his home, the ship he’d dedicated his life to, had killed the person he’d loved most. He shouldn’t have to endure that betrayal, even if it meant she lost all chance of being forgiven.