Paleon Sector, Battleship Singularity
They stood side by side. Two lonely survivors. Two perfect strangers. Lieutenant Elizabeth Foster glanced to the young engineer. His torso was still heavily bandaged, but he made no move to speak with her, as if the bond they shared was nothing.
He hadn’t said a word to her, not even regarding the days she’d spent waiting in the medical bay, hoping he’d wake up. He offered no thanks, nor gave any acknowledgement of their shared pain. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe he didn’t realize. Maybe she just reminded him of what they’d both lost.
Foster sighed and straightened her posture, careful to be attentive without going to proper attention. The Singularity’s crew had insisted there was no need for the formality of saluting, and while she found it extremely odd and struggled to adjust, her comrade seemed unbothered. He stood in a near-slouch, calm, as the Admiral approached.
It struck her again how strangely short the Admiral was. Well, short was the wrong word. His stature was roughly average, but for a man of his reputation, that was remarkably underwhelming. Given the rumors, Foster had expected a giant, neigh, a titan, but the man wasn’t superhuman at all. His hair had grayed, and his cheek had darkened with a slight bruise, though he wore the signs of mortality well.
“Ensign, Lieutenant, I understand that you have been put in a difficult position,” he said, making his way to the head of the table in the ship’s narrow conference room. “You were brought aboard a renegade ship with no say in the matter, and that will mark you both as criminals. Currently, your survival is unknown to anyone in the worlds, and while I have no right to keep you from contacting your loved ones, you should understand that doing so with criminal status will only endanger them.” At present, Command didn’t know who, if anyone, had survived the Garganita’s wreck. It was cruel to leave their families thinking they were dead, but it was also reckless to correct that presumption. “Anyone you tell of your survival will become a target of Command.”
The Admiral folded his hands behind his back. “The choice is yours. I will allow use of the Singularity’s transmitters if you believe the truth outweighs the risk, but I would strongly advise against publicizing your survival.” He looked to the Gargantia’s pair of survivors, his gaze level. “Is there anyone you wish to contact?” With the ship’s position already compromised for the operation on Midwest Station, now was the time to risk such a transmission.
“No one is waiting out there for me, sir,” the engineer said. “Callie’s my friend. She’s family, and she’s here.”
Foster thought she caught a bit of ice in the Admiral’s gaze, something protective about it, but it was hard to tell. His expression never faltered. “Very well,” he said, “Ensign, you are dismissed.”
The engineer scampered out of the room, leaving Foster eye to eye with the deadliest fleet officer in human history. Don’t think about it, she told herself. It was better not to think about the facts of his history.
“What about you, Lieutenant?” the question was calm. “Is there anyone you wish to contact?”
Foster didn’t know. She had family, siblings even. But could she endanger them? Or could she serve on this ship letting them think her dead?
“You do not need to make your final decision now, Lieutenant.” Her tumult was all too clear. “If there is someone you wish to reach, notify me. I will make the proper arrangements. And should you wait, I will inform you if there is ever a chance to communicate such information securely.”
She trusted his word. “Then I will wait, sir,” she mustered up the determination to say. “In the meantime, I would like to request formal asylum here.” She had put off doing so until the Gargantia’s other survivor had awoken.
“You know your regulations, Lieutenant,” he said appreciatively. The engineer either hadn’t known or hadn’t cared. So far, he’d spend all his time shadowing Callie, which the Admiral didn’t especially like. The young man seemed a little too attached for his tastes. “Your asylum is granted.” Foster would be safe aboard these decks.
“Thank you, sir. And I would also like to extend my services as a trained officer. I understand computer training is not especially valuable here, but I’d like to be more than a passenger.” If she would seek refuge here, then she would work for her meals and shelter.
She was straight to the point. The Admiral respected it. Too bad you’re not a sensor officer. She would have done well on the bridge. “Welcome to the crew, Lieutenant. I admit that the Singularity’s computer facilities are limited, but for that reason, she may benefit from your services.” Against Manhattan, Foster’s skills would be a good asset. “I will have one of the technicians orient you on the central computer’s physical operation, but you will need to familiarize yourself with its code.” No one on board was overly familiar with it, including himself, considering how little the computer was used for anything but data searches and basic analyses.
“I understand. Thank you again, sir.” Working would help keep her mind off other things. She’d discovered how much she disliked having nothing to do in these last few days. It brought a lot of intrusive thoughts about the Gargantia’s end and her family to the surface. “Will there be anything else, sir?”
“The supply officer will reach out in the next few hours. He will get you whatever you need to make yourself comfortable.” Foster would need a new uniforms among other things to make this a more permanent residence, since her belongings had all been lost on the Gargantia. “You already know your way around, so I will forgo a proper tour, but I will have the Colonel schedule you for the emergency repair training.”
Foster couldn’t help but shudder a bit. “Is that really necessary, sir?” Rumors had been quick to circulate about the last person to attempt that training. “I heard what happened to the Sergeant.”
The Admiral withheld a sigh. It seemed the ship’s rumor mill never stopped turning. “What happened to Sergeant Cortana was nothing more than an issue of her own design. Believe me, you will not encounter the same problem.” So far, Foster had proved herself capable and compassionate to others. She would fit in well among the crew. In fact, she’d been essentially adopted into their ranks days ago. “I mandate that repair training for every new crew member, just as I require self-defense training.” In a deadly situation, those minor skills could help save their life or someone else’s.
Lieutenant Foster nodded, careful to maintain her posture. So far, the Admiral had been nothing but honest to her. If he said it wouldn’t be an issue, she had no choice but to believe him. “Permission to ask another question, sir?”
“Lieutenant, there is no need to be so formal.” She looked like she was tensed to dodge an attack. I’m not going to stab you. Relax. “Go ahead and ask your question. No need for permission.” Foster had the drilled habits of a very professional crew. Fairlocke had favored that environment. Admiral Gives found it wasted a lot of time.
“What will you do with Ensign Schmindaro, sir?” What would happen to the Gargantia’s other survivor, since he had failed to request asylum?
“It does appear that the Ensign has decided to join the engineering team.”
“…Did he request permission to do so?” Schmindaro had been awake less than a day. Maybe she had been the slow one.
“No, he did not.” Since he’d awoken, the Gargantia’s engineer had been following Ensign Smith around nonstop.
“Then I will apologize for my subordinate, sir.” As the highest-ranking crewman to survive the Gargantia’s demise, she was accountable for Schmindaro and his actions.
“It is not your responsibility, Lieutenant. So long as he proves to be loyal, it will not be an issue.” Truly, the engineers needed all the help they could get. “These things are not always my decision.”
“How can they not be your decision?” she wondered, then corrected herself, “…sir.”
Sometimes, he asked himself that question. “This is a very stubborn ship, and her crew is every bit her equal.” It was often better not to resist. He watched Foster try to reconcile that for a moment. “You must think me eager to control every aspect of this ship’s operation.”
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“Well, yes, sir. I suppose so.” Was that not his very job?
“Lieutenant, one of the most difficult things for a commander to realize is that their crew does more than work on their ship. They also live there.” Younger commanders strove for control. Often, they craved nothing more than the realization of their power, but that could prove to be one of the most destructive factors in a crew’s working dynamic. A little flexibility went a long way. “This ship is a home, and sometimes guests come to stay.” It wasn’t always willing, and like termites in a wood frame, it also wasn’t always beneficial. Time would certainly tell on the account of Okara Schmindaro.
“Ah,” Foster could understand that. “Thank you, sir. With your permission, I’ll take my leave.”
He nodded, checking the time on his watch. A few hours had passed since Jazmine and Gaffigan had disembarked. It was difficult to estimate how long their mission would take, but they should have reached Midwest Station at least an hour ago. Still, until the away team either contacted them or returned, there was nothing to do. In the meantime, matters aboard ship hadn’t slowed in the slightest. A few crew were down from FTL fatigue, and the ship wasn’t much better off – in urgent need of rest and repairs, but there were still other matters to attend to, such as the Gargantia’s survivors.
Once the door clicked closed behind Foster, he looked at one of the conference room’s old leather chairs. It looked very appealing at the moment as the fatigue of those FTL maneuvers pulled at his limbs, but he focused his attention on the one standing behind it. “What?”
The ghost wore a frown upon her pale lips. “You don’t trust Okara Schmindaro.”
“I think we’ve established by now that I don’t really trust anyone.” It was another thing ship commanders learned only if they lived long enough: trust was to be earned, not given.
She crossed her arms. “I told you he and Callie are good friends from basic.” That was a good thing. “I would not have reunited them if he had bad intentions.”
He did not respond. The Admiral countered her annoyance with determined silence that made the argument for him. She rolled her eyes, too familiar with this reaction. Idiot. “He’s not a threat. I am certain of that.” Of course, the Gargantia’s engineer was not really the problem. Rather, it was who he’d chosen to associate with. “You are being overprotective.”
“Maybe,” he allowed. “But that is my job.” He was not serving his ship unless he was protecting both her and her crew. “You told me not to worry about the last young man that started following Ensign Smith around, and I have a very distinct memory of nearly throwing him out an airlock on Persephone Station.”
“I have apologized for that on numerous occasions.”
“Yes, you have.” He didn’t hold it against her. It was just a handy example that proved his point. “Keep an eye on it. If he earns our trust, so be it. Until then, he’s a risk. A risk I will allow, but a risk all the same.”
She sighed. “Fine, but I think you’re being paranoid.”
“You’re entitled to your opinion.” He’d rather be paranoid than have something horrible happen to one of the ship’s crew.
Though she believed steadfastly in Schmindaro’s harmlessness, she respected the Admiral too much to cast his judgement aside. This overprotective paranoia stemmed from a history she was not apt to disregard. His loyalty demanded he act as he did. “How do you want me to handle it, should Schmindaro become an immediate threat?” Sometimes, in these situations, notifying him wasn’t good enough. Sometimes, his help would come too late.
Under the command of his predecessors, the ghost had been forced to stand idle as crew suffered through horrible instances. Anymore, a slight transgression invoked her wrath. After all she’d been forced to watch, she had no tolerance for it, and neither did the Admiral. “If he becomes an immediate threat, dispose of him.” It was as simple as that. “No need to worry about the mess.” He’d take care of it.
A cold, cruel smile spread across her face. “Understood.” Foster was wiser than she knew. The ghost could not directly harm a member of the ship’s crew, so she was safe. Schmindaro, on the other hand, was not endowed with that protection. If he became a threat, then his fate would make the Sergeant’s recent treatment look pleasant.
Satisfied with that, the Admiral headed back to the bridge. Anytime now, he expected some sort of word from the away team. They’d had plenty of time to fly to the station and make the trade. It was high time the price was paid.
Still, CIC was calm when he arrived. Zarrey was minding the ship from the center of the semicircular room. The large XO only gave a shrug. “Nothing yet.” The ship’s sensors hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary in this empty sector, and they’d received no transmissions. “Should we consider mobilizing a recovery team?”
“Not yet,” the Admiral told him. “We have no way to know how long it would take to make a trade.” Simply, there had to be clients with interest in both directions. The information sold had to be valuable, but a purchaser had to be willing and able to trade the information sought in return. It was a complex business that usually took time. By sharing the ship’s current whereabouts, they had hoped to speed the process along, since as far as the Jayhawker knew, there was no guarantee the ship would remain in this location. Of course, the Admiral had no intention of leaving this region without his chief armory officer and the ship’s helmsman.
Another hour slid by, and Colonel Zarrey had begun pacing the length of the bridge behind the sensor, helm and weapons consoles. “Don’t you think it’s time we get that other pilot on standby to fly to the station?”
“He is standing by.”
“Then get him on the bridge,” Zarrey said, annoyed. “Let’s go get our men.” This was taking far too long. They should have heard or detected something by now.
“He is on the bridge, but it is still too soon for us to act.” There was still no evidence the plan had gone awry.
“Too soon my ass.” Zarrey grumbled. “How long do you plan to wait? They could be in trouble right now!” In his opinion, that was all too likely. “And where the hell is this mystery pilot?” Looking around, Zarrey didn’t spot anyone out of place on the bridge. The usual stations were staffed, and Owens was going between the arcs of consoles, trading out papers. Kallahan was the Marine guard at the door. None of the duty officers had added a set of pilot’s wings to their uniform overnight. In fact, the only one not manning the helm and wearing a set of pilot’s wings pinned to their uniform was Admiral Gives. Oh, beezlenac. “Don’t tell me.”
Colonel Zarrey reached up to palm his face, dreading the inevitable headache this would bring him. Damn it all to hell. “Don’t tell me it’s you.”
Then, I guess I won’t, the Admiral thought. “Ensign Alba,” he turned to the engineer. “Begin jump preparations. Apply damage mitigation tactics.” Another jump was only going to worsen the damage further. It would take time to prepare, even if he didn’t plan to make a move yet.
“Contact,” Maria Galhino announced, stealing the focus of the entire bridge. “Small contact. It crept into visual range. Probably a camera drone, sir.” Her fingers flew across the controls as she worked to resolve the passive sensor data.
“Finally.” Zarrey cracked his knuckles. “Let’s blow it up.”
“Weapons hold,” the Admiral ordered. “Let them have a look.” A camera drone wasn’t going to hurt anything. It couldn’t do damage even if it wanted to. Camera drones were tiny unmanned craft, mainly used to drift into range on low power and transmit visual confirmation of a target.
“Fucking hell,” Zarrey complained loudly. “Where’s your sense of fun?” He hated being stuck on the sideline for missions like this. “At least let us destroy the drone.”
Admiral Gives tapped the radar console below his hand, garnering the ghost’s silent attention. ‘I expected bounty hunters.’ The ship was, after all, worth a fortune. Likely, Command would pay a partial reward for even damaging the ship.
‘Agreed.’ She responded. ‘This is anomalous.’ They’d come expecting a fight, but this wasn’t a fight.
Not a good sign, the Admiral decided. Anything out of the ordinary was a bad sign on a mission like this. “Are there any identifying markings on the drone?”
Galhino had focused one of the ship’s telescopes onto the drone. “No, sir. It’s a standard make. No markings. No modifications. It could have been launched from any ship large enough to carry it.” These drones weren’t specialty equipment. They weren’t even military equipment. Freightliners regularly carried and applied them to various ends.
“Maybe they’re verifying the information, like Jazz said they might?” Zarrey suggested.
“Unlikely.” There was too much risk involved. A probe like this would almost certainly be detected by military grade equipment, and the Jayhawker knew it. Perhaps the obvious hull damage had lured the Jayhawker into assuming the ship was sensor-blind? No, that was too risky of an assumption. The Jayhawker was not so careless.
“Your orders, sir?” Zarrey prompted him. “Should we hunt for the ship that launched it?” Likely, it wasn’t too far beyond their sensor range.
“Play dead,” the Admiral said. “Let them think they have the advantage.” Only then would whoever was on the other side of the drone’s transmission show themselves. “If we had been sold out to Command, we would already have a squadron of battleships on top of us.” There was risk in this method, but there was potential reward too. Patience was a necessity in situations like this. “That said, continue FTL preparations, but hold off on charging the drives.” They couldn’t afford the fuel consumption that came from holding an FTL charge.
“Aye,” came the chorus.
Walters spoke from the back, barely audible as perspiration formed on the crown of his shaved head. “Coordinates, sir?”
“A safe location in the sector due west, Ensign.” That would take them into the isolation gap left by the Hydrian War. There, they were not likely to encounter any other ships or patrols. It would be a fine position to rest and regroup if they were forced to retreat here for any reason.
“…So your grand plan is to wait?” Zarrey asked, already knowing the answer. “I hate it.”
“If we move too soon, our away team is as good as dead, Colonel.” It could be the mission was proceeding as planned, but simply slower than anticipated. Moving in that case would expose the team. But, if Gaffigan and Jazmine had been compromised, then likely, they would send a cry for help or be used as hostages. “We have no choice but to wait.”