Paleon Sector, Battleship Singularity

Concern dominated Colonel Zarrey’s expression, but below his attentive eyes, there was a strong jaw clenched in frustration. The away team had been found out, but he hadn’t been privy to the demands of their release. He had to wait until the Admiral hung the handset back on its rack. “What did that bastard want?”

Running the tactical possibilities in his head, the Admiral didn’t answer immediately. “Me,” he finally said, leaning tiredly on the backlit radar console. “Alone.”

“That’s absurd!” Zarrey retorted. “You can’t go.”

“Yes, I can.” Tired or not, he was perfectly capable of making that exchange. “And, I fully intend to.” Despite his criminal profession, the Jayhawker usually stood by his word. With him, a deal was a deal. Jazmine, Gaffigan, and those coordinates would likely be allowed to leave if the Admiral turned himself over. The mission hadn’t failed yet.

“Admiral, that’s absurd.” They couldn’t be trading lives like that. The first rule in dealing with hostage situations was compromise, not complete submission. “You’re needed here.” Despite any reservations Zarrey held about his methods, the ship’s survival was reliant upon the Admiral’s leadership. “I’ll go as you. Owens can dress me up.” Yeoman Owens had gone to school for makeup and hair applications. She could make him look enough like the picture given out with the Admiral’s bounty to get by, at least temporarily.

“That will not work,” not that the Admiral doubted in Owens’ ability. Those skills of hers had proven to be an asset on other missions. “The Jayhawker will know you are not me.” The unfortunate reality was that Admiral Gives and the Jayhawker were not strangers. He and the stationmaster had met before, and Admiral Gives had approved this mission knowing that this outcome was a possibility. “You have command until I return, Colonel. Stay in the Paleon Sector.”

“You’re sidelining us?” Zarrey thundered. “Fuck that!”

“That is an order, Colonel. No matter what you hear in the next three hours, these are my orders, and you will follow them. You, every member of this crew, and Singularity will stay in the Paleon Sector.” Here, they would be safe, relatively speaking. “The only exception to this, I repeat the only exception to this is an attack by Command, at which point you are to retreat to the fallback position that Ensign Walters calculated, due west of here.”

Zarrey could feel the heat rising in his face. Sidelined. Again. There was absolutely nothing more frustrating to a Marine, let alone a battleship full of sailors. “That’s shit, Admiral.” It was absolute garbage.

“These are my orders.” He had not asked anyone to like them. “For three hours after I disembark, you will remain here with only that exception.” That was critical, absolutely critical. “Whatever happens, whatever you hear after I leave, your orders are to stay. Is that understood?”

To disobey would be mutiny, and as much as Zarrey hated this, he still wasn’t ready to commit to that. “Aye, sir,” he acknowledged vehemently, “I understand.” He glared at the rest of the crew, some of whom were watching his reaction for a cue. “We understand.” There would be no disobedience, no mutiny. Not now.

The Admiral pushed himself off the radar console, looking briefly to where Robinson sat on the upper tier of the bridge, handling communications. “Lieutenant, tell the flight deck to prepare a Warhawk for immediate launch.”

“Yes, sir,” Keifer replied quietly.

With that, the Admiral turned and left. Zarrey watched him go, and the minute he was out of sight, let go a stream of innovative curses. It figured this mission would go sideways on them, but Zarrey hadn’t predicted this. He swept his eyes across the room, noting the tension of the officers manning the controls. They kept their hands on the keys, ready for action, even out here in this empty sector. Eventually Zarrey found Robinson’s deeply concerned eyes. “Notify Lieutenant Colonel Pflum,” he told her. “If anyone can talk the Admiral out of being an idiot, it’s him.” The leader of the ship’s Marine contingent should at least be involved in something like this. “Seriously,” Zarrey grumbled, “Why are we even here if we’re going to get sidelined every fucking time? We have a battleship, let’s go kick some ass!”

“Well,” Galhino said, “Jazz did say that the path to the station was monitored by drones. No way we’re sneaking the Singularity past that.” This wasn’t exactly a stealth ship.

Zarrey rubbed at the scar on his jaw. “Sending the Admiral out alone isn’t any better!” He didn’t care if those had been the terms. “There’s nothing he can do that Monty and Jazz can’t. We should be planning a rescue mission, not sending over another naddlethworfing hostage!”

“Personally,” Galhino shrugged, “I’m fine with it, as long as he is the one that goes.”

“Galhino, pull your head out of your ass for thirty seconds and just remember that no one else knows how to navigate to Midwest Station. If Admiral Gives leaves, then we’re stuck here doing jack shit because we can’t get to the station.”

“I don’t see why he can’t leave instructions,” the sensor officer muttered. That should be simple enough for someone rumored to possess a genius-level intelligence.

“Well,” Zarrey snapped, “he didn’t leave instructions, and even if he did, that still wouldn’t solve the problem of being seen before we get there.” The away team would likely be executed if the Singularity moved from this position, let alone made any attempt to move toward the station. In Zarrey’s experience, surprise was a critical element of a successful hostage rescue. The enemy couldn’t be given the chance to kill or relocate the hostage.

Where he sat behind the engineering console, Ensign Alba didn’t enjoy the tension. Whether it was Zarrey and Galhino bickering, or Zarrey arguing with the Admiral, it made Alba nervous. Things had been far less tense when they’d been running lame patrols for the fleet. It was all he wanted to diffuse the situation. “The Admiral knows what he’s doing.” Probably. “I’m sure he has a plan.”

Colonel Zarrey did not share the young engineer’s optimism. So far today, nothing had gone according to plan. He doubted this would be the exception. “Congrats, Alba,” he told the kid cheerfully, “you just nominated yourself to deal with the ship when this goes wrong.”

Alba smiled. Then he realized what Zarrey had said. Wait, “You don’t think anything’s

going to happen, right, sir?”

“To be honest, Alba, I try not to think. It kinda hurts.” He had given up on trying to rationalize a good number of things that occurred on this ship. “But today feels like one of those days, and I’m really not in the mood to put up with it.” He tapped the nearest console with the toe of his boot, earning a soft clang from the metal. “You hear that?” he asked the ship. “Fucking behave. I hate being left in charge.” It never went well.

No announcement was made over the intercom, but word spread quickly across the ship. By the time Admiral Gives reached the hangar deck, most of the crew knew exactly what was happening. The away team had been caught, and their captor had demanded Admiral Gives surrender himself in exchange for their lives. Perhaps more surprising to the rest of the crew, Admiral Gives had accepted that condition.

On the flight deck, the crew did as they had been ordered. They readied a Warhawk to fly to the station, but that didn’t stop a number of them from standing between it and the Admiral. Lieutenant Colonel Pflum, alerted to the situation, had grabbed a squadron of Marines, and positioned himself on the scuffed floor of the hangar deck. He was waiting, expression sour, when the Admiral appeared. “This is insane, and you know it,” Pflum accused. “At least take a guard with you.” As the head of the ship’s Marine company, Pflum’s duty was to ensure that the safety of every crewman was taken care of, both on the ship and off of it.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Admiral Gives knew how reckless this action appeared. He was flying off into a situation well out of his control, but the Jayhawker had made his demands clear. He had to go alone. “I will not risk the life of anyone else on this gambit,” he told Pflum. “I knew it was a flawed plan.” He had known this was a possible outcome when he had sent Jazmine and Gaffigan to that station. “My safety is not worth the away team’s lives.” If he failed to cooperate, the Jayhawker would kill them.

Jazmine and Gaffigan needed him, and the Admiral wasn’t willing to let them down. He raised his voice to the crowd of crewmembers that had gathered around, “My life is no more important than that of anyone else on this ship.” He wanted all of them to understand that. His duty as the ship’s commander was no more critical than the duties of the lowest ranking crewman. They were both equally required for the ship to function and survive.

Pflum glared, reading the Admiral’s intentions. “Don’t you dare try to make this seem less severe than it is, you bloody bastard.” Whether the Admiral wanted it or not, they had to prioritize the Admiral’s life over that of lower-ranking crew. It was a cold mathematics, but the reality of the situation was they had more repair men, they had more pilots, and they had more Marines, but they only had one commander. And for all the doubts and uncertainties that surrounded him, one simple fact remained: not one crewmember had died since breaking free of Command. Through the scuffle above Sagittarion, the detonation of Squadron 26, and the Battle of the Wilkerson Sector, not one crewmember had been lost.

It was an incredible statistic. Pflum had served on other ships. He understood the magnitude of such a feat, and so did the rest of the crew. In this rebellion from Command, two things were keeping them alive. The first, of course, was the Singularity, which had managed, against all expectations, to go toe to toe with nine battleships in the Wilkerson Sector. But the second, equally critical part of the equation, was Admiral Gives. Without him, they wouldn’t have lived long enough to secede from Command in the first place.

Thus, Pflum stood right between the Admiral and that little black reconship. For the good of the entire crew, the man could not be allowed to turn himself over. “Sir, what evidence do you ‘ave that Jazz and Monty will even be released?” Pflum challenged. “We ‘ave absolutely no guarantee the Jayhawker will abide ‘is own word.” The Admiral could be turning himself over for nothing.

Admiral Gives did not justify that with a response. Instead, he turned to Chief Ty, who had approached from the side, probably to weigh in with a similar opinion. “Chief,” the Admiral greeted him before he could interject. “I want you to disable the FTL drives.”

It was an instinctive reaction for Ty to straighten up under the ship commander’s direct attention. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged. “Which ones?” They were overdue for inspection considering their recent use.

“For the next three hours, all of them.”

Ty’s head snapped up in surprise. He simply froze, the oil-stained towel in his hands fluttering to the white deck.

The engineering chief wasn’t the only one taken aback. Pflum scowled, “You don’t trust Colonel Zarrey to follow through with your orders, sir?” Disabling the FTL drives would doubly ensure the ship stayed in the Paleon Sector, regardless of Zarrey’s intentions.

“No,” the Admiral answered, “I trust the Colonel fully.” Zarrey would follow orders, but it wasn’t Zarrey he was worried about. “Now, LC, are you going to move, or am I going to have to order you to?” Gaffigan and Jazmine would be killed if he wasted any more time.

“Sir, if you live, I expect the Colonel will ‘ave words for you.” Colorful words, no doubt.

“If I live?” the Admiral queried. You have little faith. Pflum clearly thought this was reckless, that it was suicidal. The Admiral believed it was neither. It was simply a tactical movement. There was a plan. There was always a plan, even if the crew didn’t necessarily know it.

Still, Pflum and his Marines stepped aside. Except by force, they couldn’t stop the Admiral, and here on the hangar deck’s wide-open space, they weren’t prepared to take that step. Pflum only watched the Admiral board that Warhawk with a horrible sinking feeling. Ty looked similarly ill, contemplating his new orders to disable the ship’s FTL drives. Effectively, that order stranded them in the Paleon Sector. If an emergency occurred while the drives were disconnected, they would be helpless to escape until at least one of the drives was reconnected and Ty didn’t like that prospect at all.

Minutes later, Admiral Gives’ Warhawk was sitting in the cavernous portside landing bay. Calm as ever, he ran the final safety checks, and acquired take-off permissions. Despite the seemingly hesitant release of the magnetic locks, he lifted off with practiced ease. Setting an easy course into the void, he reached over to begin working the controls for FTL navigation.

A pale, slim hand stopped him. “Let me do that,” the ghost said, having taken form in the copilot’s seat. “You’re a horrible navigator.” He couldn’t be trusted to get from this system to the next, let alone two sectors over. “I’d rather you not get lost.”

“Thank you,” he said, reaching up to start charging the FTL drive instead.

She said nothing to that, displeasure etched into her expression. She simply took over and readied the FTL sequence his transport would need.

In the meantime, the Admiral looked past her to observe his ship. The repairs on the hull still hadn’t been finished. Since he hadn’t known who their coordinates would be sold to, he had elected not to risk workers on the hull for the duration of Gaffigan and Jazmine’s mission. That said, the remaining damage was just a fraction of the amount that had been present after the Battle of the Wilkerson Sector. Chief Ty and his teams had taken no short cuts. Over the last week, the most serious damage had been reduced to nothing but a new pattern of scars for him to memorize – not that he needed to memorize the new placement of old wounds. He would have known his ship anywhere.

Still, evidence of recent trials was clear. The lower portside engine had been carefully restored, and the teams had reactivated it, but there was a shadow where the damage had been. Between all the thruster ports and vents, most people wouldn’t have noticed it, but he did. It was a cautious reminder of how close the Battle of the Wilkerson Sector had really been, and what it had nearly cost him. Sheer luck had rendered that engine damage repairable.

There was an unusual exhaustion on the ship now, too. He’d pushed her hard to get here. The colors on the hull seemed to have lost some of their vibrancy, but he knew no matter how tired the ship looked, or how many trips to subspace remained, the Singularity would see this mission through to the end, as would he. That shallow, exhausted aura still had purpose within it. The old dreadnaught was flying for a whole fleet now, and neither of them could forget that. The fate of Sagittarion’s refugees now rested with them. If they failed this mission, the fleet and everyone within it would die.

They needed the coordinates for Crimson Heart’s base of operations, and Admiral Gives fully intended to get them, so he focused on the woman in the copilot’s seat. She looked deeply irritated; arms crossed as her gray eyes glared daggers at him. “Why are you an idiot?”

Mostly? “Fun.”

“Damn it all, Admiral. If he doesn’t kill you, I will.” At this rate, he was going to deserve it.

“I’m fine with that.” A death at the hands of a friend was a kind death.

Her gray eyes bored into him, frustration and concern wrestling for control. With his comment through, concern won out, even as she knew it wasn’t supposed to. Don’t get attached. She had always been told that, but it was hard not to. “You are playing right into his hands, and you know it.”

“That is the plan,” the Admiral said.

“That’s a horrible plan!” Why was he the only one that couldn’t see that?

“Unfortunately, Nathan Gadwood isn’t stupid. He won’t make the same mistake twice.” The Jayhawker wanted to isolate him from the ship, and Admiral Gives fully intended to let him. “He won’t do it wrong again, but there is still no guarantee he does it right.” The stationmaster did not understand the forces at work. Thus, probability dictated that the Admiral maintained an advantage. The Jayhawker wanted him on that station. Fine. The Jayhawker was going to get more than he bargained for.

“If something goes wrong, before you get on the station, I can’t help you,” she warned.

“I wouldn’t expect you to. It’s not your job to look after me.” She owed him absolutely nothing.

“Has it occurred to you that he might just kill you?”

“He won’t.” The Admiral was confident of that. “I have something he wants. But if I won’t let him have it, then he’ll destroy it.” That was predictable, simply the engagement of two tacticians that knew each other. “That’s why I needed the FTL drives disabled.” He trusted Zarrey to follow his orders, but there could also be no chance of a miscommunication. “No matter what you hear, what he says, you have to stay in the Paleon Sector.”

“Admiral,” she said sweetly, then dropped her tone straight to menacing. “Disabling the FTL drives won’t keep me in the Paleon Sector.”

Oh, I know. In fact, he was counting on it. “Then, let it be an excuse,” he said. “Since we both know you were going to do whatever you wanted anyway.”

You’re still mad about the repair orders. She narrowed her eyes, certain of that. You petty jerk. This was not the time to be making a point. She did not have a better plan, but his was fantastically terrible. She sighed, realizing she had little choice but to allow it. “Try not to die. I have never lost a commanding officer, and I’d rather not have you be the first.”

“I’m honored,” he retorted.

“I mean that.” They often bickered, but that element of companionship often meant as much to her as sincerity. “Come back to me in one piece.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I’ll do my best. He’d bring every member of the crew back, safe and sound.