Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity
She was waiting in the corridor as he slammed the door behind him, that concern in her eyes enough to turn his stomach. Stars, he should know better. He should know better than to get so angry about something like that, something that wasn’t supposed to matter. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed, calming between his breaths. “I’m sorry.” He knew her relationship with anger, how frightening it could be. And knowing what he did now, that even for a moment, she had entertained the idea that he might hurt her, he had to be careful. He had to maintain the calm that made her feel safe.
“Why are you sorry?” the ghost asked gently.
“Because I can’t stand it when they ask me that.” It was such a sadistic question. “Humanity is a parasite.” They sapped the life and resources from everything, demanded more than anything could give, this great ship included. “You shouldn’t have to hear that. Especially not from someone like him.” Someone who owed their life to her. “Too many people have brought up our past today.” He was so, so tired of it. Ron had drawn the unlucky privilege of stepping on his last nerve. “But, I suppose I couldn’t have him like me too much, right?” For a moment when he’d cracked that joke, Ron had been almost friendly with him. Unfortunately, it had been a poor joke for reasons far beyond Ron Parker’s understanding.
“Admiral,” she said softly, a fondness in her expression. “Please don’t be sorry for acting the way you did.” Maybe it was a break from the character he showed the worlds. Maybe it was an extreme overreaction from Ron’s perspective, but she also knew it was the truth of his thoughts. “I am so very grateful that you think that way. Because all their doubts, they do hurt.” Encompassed by so many negative thoughts, by so many who didn’t believe, by so many who demanded change, it twisted her own thoughts, her own mind. “I doubt myself, you know. Often.” She frequently wondered if she was truly worthy to continue as she was – a weapon that had inflicted such great pain upon so many. “I doubt me, but you never do.” Even as she remained a shadow of her former self’s strength.
Standing there, she could feel his anger. It didn’t frighten her. No, she could feel that its flames did not lash at her, they burned for her, frustrated that she had to endure such treatment. “Do not take this as another reason to hate your people, Admiral.” She knew him. She knew admitting how those doubts affected her only made humanity more revolting to him. “They simply do not know what they are doing.” His own awareness worsened his burden. “And, even if they did, even if they knew what they were doing to me and chose to do it anyway, I would still care about humanity. I would still protect it.”
He shook his head. “Why?” What made humanity deserve that when all they did was hurt her? “You know they would tear you apart without even thinking about it.” If her true existence was revealed to them, their resentment and fear would finally find a target, and they’d horribly, painfully rip her into pieces.
“There is good and bad in everything, Admiral. You taught me that.” She focused on this man and all their history. “There may be bad humans, ones who doubt and hurt, ones who create violence and hate, but there are also good ones.” There were humans who gave everything they had to others, who helped for no reward. There was even one who believed in her, trusted her despite all evidence that he shouldn’t, and that was enough. It had to be. “I cannot hate humanity because my crew is human.”
Her sincerity filled this corridor, giving it a physical warmth. “You amaze me.” After everything, even despite all the ways they unknowingly hurt her, she still wouldn’t turn on humanity. But that only made him hate humanity even more. His selfish, toxic species continued to doubt and hurt her, a being that benevolently loved them for all their faults. It made him sick. They had no right to abuse her like that. No right. The longer it went on, the further it went, the more he hated humanity and its cruel shortsightedness. “But,” he acknowledged quietly, “you have always been the better of us.” She had always been kind.
“That’s not true.” She had learned everything she now knew from him. “But it is my wish to help as much as I am able.”
“You give without counting the cost,” he warned her, “and someday you will have nothing left to give.” Humanity exacted a terrible price on kindness.
She only smiled, her expression soft. “I know you’ll take care of me.” She trusted him. No matter how much he despised his people, he would act in their interest as long as that was her intention.
He shook his head. “One of these days, I’m going to steal you away from here.” Something would finally push him too far, and he’d run off to find a people who truly deserved her kindness.
“No, you won’t,” she said warmly. She would never wish to leave while she could still be the protector that humanity had sought in her creation, and the Admiral, for all his anger and threats, would never violate her wishes. “And, I’m grateful.” You don’t know what your loyalty means to me. “I have always been grateful for you and all that you do for me.”
Don’t say that. It tore at him to see her like this, to see her as a being that only wanted to help and do good. Should she not be like him, a creature of wrath and pain? It was an anomaly that made her a seeming miracle. And, as much as he loved to see her like this, content and hopeful, the happier she was, the more it tore at him. How can you be happy like this? He wanted to ask. He wanted to shout. How could she be happy surrounded by people oblivious to her? People who expressed no thanks for all that she did? How could she be so happy, denied true freedom and independent thought? How could this wholesome character be happy in the care of someone like him?
His thoughts were bitter and sad, as they always were, but they tended toward doubt, the way they often did. “Admiral?” she tried to pull him away before that familiar darkness could take root.
He regarded that form of hers so carefully. Unlike him, it hadn’t aged a day since the day he’d first seen it. It was ageless and simple, a true enough illusion of who she really was. It was plain – no excessive curves, no unrealistic elegance. Not even her lashes were exaggerated. Her long hair was left plain, only remarkable for its stark white color. Her pale lips were thin, but they curled into the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. She wasn’t human. In reality, she looked nothing like this, but he didn’t care. She was still his friend, his only friend, and she meant more to him than any and all of humanity’s undeserving worlds.
“Thank you,” he said.
She tilted her head, “For what?”
“For smiling.” That was enough to keep his anger, his sadness at bay. No matter what, if she was happy, it was enough. “It’s been a long time since I saw you smile like that.” Even for the months before that disastrous patrol in the Kalahari Sector, she had been mute, her attempts to smile pale comparisons to the genuine happiness he saw now. But, he understood, those had not been good times. Trying to dodge Command had been difficult, for all the good it hadn’t done in the end.
These would be better times. It would just be him, her, the crew, and a mission to do good in these worlds. The way she preferred it. Thus, he would do everything in his power to ensure that was her future, and headed toward his duties with that goal in mind.
On the deck above, the senior staff members were waiting in the war room, ready to plan their mission. Roomier than the ship’s conference room, the war room was designed, not for civil negotiations, but to plan missions and fleet movements. It was fully equipped with a few screens, backlit navigations table, necessary computing equipment, access to records, a full set of astral charts and anything else one could need for forward planning. A smattering of desks took up half the room, each large enough for a team of four to work at. The ship’s senior staff filled less than a third of them with ample room to spare.
This room, like many of the others, was a reminder of a bygone era. It had rarely seen use in the last few years, its resources unnecessary to plot the patrol courses the ship usually ran. However, for the task now ahead of them, the room was perfect.
Galhino stood around one of the desks with Robinson, Jazmine and Alba, a set of papers scattered before her. “I don’t know how the hell we’re expected to pull this off.” The requirements of this mission were not only unusual, but extreme. “I mean where are we going to find that much food?” Physical tons of food alone were required to feed the civilian fleet for any duration, and that discounted the need for clothes, bedding and sanitary items that the Singularity’s stowed supplies couldn’t compensate for.
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“Not only that, mates,” Lieutenant Colonel Pflum said where sat at the corner of the neighboring desk, “where are we expected to find it off Command’s radar?” He crossed his arms across his tactical vest. “The minute we show up to any fleet facility, the Erans will bring hell down upon us.” And the fleet’s resupply stations were the likeliest place to find materials like that in large quantities.
Nobody answered him. Most just turned to stare at the printed mission requirements once again, then took up less relevant conversations amongst themselves.
Walters looked nervous where he sat in the back, pouring over some telemetry books. And who could blame him? The kid was in this situation, isolated on this ship, wanted dead by the worlds, and was still young enough to have acne on his face.
Jazz passed around a flask of what he proudly proclaimed to be the strongest liquor on the ship, courtesy of Hawkins. Taking a whiff, Monty only laughed, but now sat, bored. Head of the weapons division, he’d have nothing to do until the specifics of a battle or necessary demolition were drawn up for him.
Zarrey was slumped over, brainlessly munching on one of the tasteless nutrient bars the mess packaged as snacks, a mug of black coffee steaming nearby. Everything about him spoke to utter exhaustion, the result of several consecutive bridge watches. Finished with his snack, he stared for a long moment at nothing, bleary eyed and tired, then hauled himself to his feet and lumbered over to Galhino and Alba’s shared side of the desk. “I want you two to keep an eye out.”
“An eye out for what, sir?” Galhino asked.
“You know what,” Zarrey grumbled. “The Admiral’s keeping secrets, and I don’t like it.” Some part of Zarrey had hoped splitting from Command would end that, that he would have no orders and no reason to hide things from the crew anymore. But, nobody on the ship had ever been that lucky. “There’s too much weird shit going on.” The Admiral had been put up on charges of treason, an AI – something thought a legend until a few days ago – was hunting them down with disturbing focus, the ship had critically malfunctioned twice in the last month – however strangely distant he felt from that concern – and in the midst of it all, the Admiral managed to disappear for nearly eight hours without a single living soul knowing where he was.
“Things are rarely ever normal here, Colonel,” Robinson said calmly. True, things weren’t usually this crazy, but they had all learned to ignore a few oddities aboard ship since nobody ever got hurt.
Where she stood by Galhino, Zarrey recognized honesty in Robinson’s brown eyes. She was often the voice of reason. Zarrey respected that about her, but that was also why he’d approached Galhino and Alba. Alba was a good kid. He noticed details that others often missed, especially when it came to the ship’s operation and machinery. He hadn’t worked his way onto the bridge by accident. And Galhino… Well, Zarrey knew Galhino wouldn’t hesitate to call bullshit on anything she saw, no matter who it regarded. And that too, had its value.
Galhino seemed to understand his intention, and he could trust her to rope Alba in, so he kept his attention on Robinson’s pretty face. It was abundantly clear that she too knew his intentions and was not complacent with them.
“You’re going to spy on the Admiral aboard his own ship?” she queried.
“Not spy.” That was an ugly word. “I’m telling them to supervise. Look for suspicious activity.” Zarrey didn’t like the prospect of it much either, but he felt it necessary. “Do you know how hard it is to disappear on a ship for several hours and have no one know where you went?” As a participant in a forbidden romance, she surely did. “Somebody always knows.” Whether they were willing to help cover it up was another story. However, in the Admiral’s case, he found that unlikely.
Even if Admiral Gives was close enough to anyone on the ship to have someone cover for him, which he wasn’t, that person probably would have come forward when accusations of foul play had been considered. The only exception would be if they’d been ordered to silence, and while the Admiral still commanded a great deal of loyalty from the lower echelons of the crew, despite the recent strains between him and the rest of the command staff, Zarrey didn’t believe he would have given that order. The Admiral was careful about using his authority like that. He didn’t involve the crew in his personal affairs, whatever they may be, and he didn’t force them into difficult positions. It was part of the reason the engineers, yeomen and Marines favored him.
“Call it what you want, Colonel, but I think you know he won’t take well to that.” The Admiral was mysterious in many ways, but when it came to people prying, he wasn’t guaranteed to be gentle. Robinson herself was quite content to keep her distance. In fact, that distance was exactly what Robinson liked best about him. She wouldn’t deny being terrified of the man, and no, she didn’t trust him either, but he had never demanded that trust on any personal level. He demanded enough trust from the crew to follow his orders, and no more. Really, trust there was optional too. Everyone on the bridge crew knew that the Admiral was capable of either running their station or using the command overrides to bypass their control. Their operating the consoles was really a matter of convenience and efficiency.
“Yeah, well, I don’t take well to being lied to.” Something was off and Zarrey knew it, no matter how strangely mute the concern felt. “He’s hiding something.” No, it was more than that. “He’s keeping too many secrets. I don’t like it.”
Robinson nervously tucked a lock of her brown hair back behind her ear. “Colonel, you’ve served with the Admiral for fifteen years. I should think that would earn some level of trust.” Why else would Zarrey stay? Though he had experience now, his skills weren’t tailored to a ship assignment. “Do you not think that he may have a reason for keeping secrets?” They had learned some truly horrible things in the last few days, including the reality of Sagittarion’s effective enslavement, and Manhattan’s ability to enter and alter people’s minds. They could all only take so much when it felt like the worlds they knew had shifted into something foreign and evil.
“Perhaps,” Robinson said, “we should merely be glad that his orders have so far been generous.” Many crew members had agreed to this rebellion because this ship was their home, and they had nowhere else to go. For most of them, the Admiral hadn’t been a concern. But, as they remained on his ship, he ran things, and his orders could have been nightmarish. He could have gone after the Eran loyalists, taken the ship and crew to war, but for reasons unknown had ordered a search and rescue mission instead.
“The last thing he kept from us involved the ship getting hit with a nuke.” Zarrey crossed his arms. “I’m not eager to take that chance again.”
“Would him telling you have made a difference?” They had discussed this in the crew lounge, and the answer was no. Had the Admiral warned them of Command’s intent to target the ship, the crew would have called him paranoid. “Best we can do is focus on the here and now.” They had a mission to plan.
Zarrey regarded Robinson. She wasn’t too curvy, her height average. It was her bronze skin that made her so unique. Even after years in space, she hadn’t gone pale. She had a light in her that had taken months to show when she’d first come aboard, but she was a skilled officer. Arguably, she would have made a better XO than Zarrey did. Her skills and demeanor were just more fitted to the task. In many ways, that level-headedness and preparedness reminded him of Fairlocke. If it hadn’t been for her time on the Ariea, Robinson would have been destined to command a ship, but now she was stuck here with this misfit crew. “Robinson, you don’t need to be involved if you’re not comfortable with it.” About half the bridge crew would have refused to circumvent the Admiral’s authority for their own reasons. Galhino was the most obvious exception, and Alba wasn’t afraid to bring anything forward if he thought it concerned the ship.
Alba was a born and raised spacer. His lanky form was passed down from his ancestors, who had lived generations without reliable artificial gravity. He was several generations removed from that, and just as strong as the rest of the crew, but it showed in his bone structure. The kid had spent his life living and working on ships since infancy, and he well knew the consequences of finding something mechanically wrong and not announcing it. In the void, ignoring such things was a death sentence, and as a spacer, Alba was hyper-aware of that. Unlike Robinson, Alba’s past was a mystery to Zarrey. He’d been on the ship for years, but was barely over twenty. He’d certainly been underage when he’d joined up, but nobody knew the circumstances. That had stayed between him and the Admiral.
“Alba, you know this ship. You know these malfunctions aren’t normal.” As normal as they for some reason felt, they weren’t. “We don’t have guns fire for no reason, we don’t have engine control malfunctions that act like evasive actions and we don’t usually have weird power fluctuations.” Something was off. “We’ve got to find the cause, whether the Admiral wants to ignore it or not. Do you understand?” That wasn’t something that could be left unchecked, not when this ship was now their only lifeline. If she went down, they went with her. Help wouldn’t come to a crew of traitors.
“I understand, sir.” Alba usually spent his off hours down in the engineering spaces anyway. “I’ll bring Malweh in if I need an extra pair of hands,” he said, not looking up from the schematics he was studying on the desk. Malweh would be more than willing to work behind the Admiral’s back.
“And Galhino,” Zarrey met the dark eyes below her curly hair, only to watch her shake her head side to side. “No? This is what you do best.” Vocally voicing her doubts and concerns was a large part of what she did on the bridge. “I thought you, out of everyone, would jump on the chance to figure out what the hell he’s hiding from us.”
Still, Galhino just shook her head, lips pursed and eyes wide. It wasn’t until he felt the chill of a shadow behind him that Zarrey realized why. He palmed his face, dammit. So much for subtlety.
“XO, I will do you the respect of not prying into that conversation, but I trust you know that I am in no mood to put down a mutiny.”
“Not a mutiny, sir.” I’m not that stupid. As secretive as the Admiral was, Zarrey knew he offered the best odds of keeping them all alive. “Just looking for answers.”
“Then, I will not waste my time ordering you to stop, since it is clear you will disregard it, Colonel.” He’d just have to trust that Zarrey, Galhino and Alba would find nothing worthwhile. “Let us focus on the mission at hand.”