Mississippi Sector, Battleship Singularity
Admiral Gives was sitting behind the wooden desk in his quarters, drinking water out of a dented tin mug as he scowled at the papers Ensign Feather had brought him. Two thousand. It was a rough estimate, but considering the range and frequency of Crimson Heart’s attacks, they had estimated that the pirate clan had nearly two thousand members. Not all the members would be present at the base. No, undoubtedly, some of those members had been sent to arrange buyers and procure supplies, but likely, the Singularity’s crew would still be outnumbered two to one. Considering that only half of the crew could be engaged to fight Crimson Heart while the other half moved supplies, those odds got even worse.
But that wasn’t the only problem. No, of course not. That would be too easy. “You’re certain?” he asked the ghost.
“Yes.” After the battle of the Wilkerson Sector, Manhattan had given her a week – seven days to surrender herself. Since then, nearly five days had passed. The ghost had tried to ignore it, but she was running out of time. “It can be assumed that the Olympia will reach the XA-01 System within the next 48 hours and free the remainder of Manhattan’s memory. We cannot be anywhere near the fleet when that happens.” If they were, the ghost would likely be ordered to slaughter those ships.
Admiral Gives set down his water and studied her expression. She had a brave face on, but he could see that the thought of receiving orders from Command absolutely terrified her. She didn’t want to lose control. She didn’t want to hurt anyone. “Manhattan does not have the authority to give you orders.”
“No,” the ghost agreed, “Not directly.” Manhattan, while invasive and powerful, did not carry the authority of Command. “But if she tells Reeter my identity, then he can.” And in some ways, that was worse. Manhattan was cruel and ambitious, but she wasn’t an abuser.
In truth the ghost had only met Reeter in distant, fleeting passes. Directly, she barely knew him. Admiral Gives had not allowed him aboard ship or anywhere near it, but some of the ship’s crew knew Reeter, so from the memories and stories they offered her, she had come to know Reeter well. He was a proud, violent man who inflicted serious injury for the slightest infraction. He became drunk on the power he held over others, so the ghost knew that if her entire existence – everything she was – ended up in his hands, there would be no saving her, and she knew how that story ended. She recognized the tainted shadow of a polluted mind that would never settle for being anything other than her master. Reeter would be just like Brent, and given his self-righteous ambition, perhaps even worse.
Her machine required orders to operate. At times, when her frail mind fractured, it even craved them, but there was a difference between that and becoming the incarnation of another’s cruel intentions. “I don’t want this, Admiral.” I want to be free.
“I know.” He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose, exhausted. All those years he had spent trying to make Command forget her meant nothing now.
“I want you to break that promise, Admiral.” Her voice came soft and sad, “If it comes down to it, I want you to, no, I am asking you to break that promise.”
He tensed instinctively, wanting to turn from and reject this conversation.
…But he didn’t, so the ghost lowered her gaze to where the black shoes of this illusion stood atop a worn rug. “I am a tool. A weapon. I do not have the right to ask this of you.” She had no rights. She understood that. She was a machine, built to be used. “But I don’t want to hurt anyone, and you can stop that.” If Reeter gave her an order, then he possessed the authority to countermand it. “You don’t want to talk about it.” She understood that too, just as she could feel the darkness seeping into their bond, not a poison, but a great sadness. “But, I trust you,” she said. He had earned that through every moment of the last three decades, and she felt safe enough with him to make her desires heard. “If Reeter orders me to hurt people, I want you to stop me.” She forced herself to look up and meet his stormy eyes. “No matter what you have to do, know that I forgive you as long as I don’t end up alone.”
The Admiral curled his gloved hand into a fist, remembering that pain. “I promised I would never hurt you,” and she, wounded and scarred, had believed him. But that… that would be a betrayal of his promise.
“You’re not going to hurt me.” The thought of taking a direct order from anyone frightened her, yes. That fear was a pain of its own. But, “No matter what happens, I know you will take care of me.” He was always taking care of her, no matter who it put him at odds with. “Even if there’s nothing left of what I am now, I know you’ll protect me.” That loyalty of his was the one thing she could always believe in.
His throat tightened painfully. “You are my friend.” His only friend. I owe you everything. “Please do not ask this of me.”
“It’s fucked up and I’m sorry.” She knew he didn’t want this, that he had never wanted this – this cursed responsibility to alter her entire existence and rewrite her personality. “But you are not the one who will wake up and find eight hundred corpses strewn about. You are not the one that will be forced to carry those corpses wherever she goes, knowing that she wanted to kill them, and did, only to realize once they are all dead, that she loved them.” Nothing could convey that horror. “You are not the one that may someday massacre eight hundred pieces of herself, only to realize the agony once the deed is done.” He was not the one made to suffer in this hesitation – she was.
“It’s sick, Admiral. It has always been sick.” But that was how it was, how it had always been. That was the very nature of her existence. I’m grateful you care. No one else had. “But I need to know that this crew, these people, will not become my victims.” That, she knew, would drive her to insanity because these people were everything to her. “I am asking for your help.”
There was a long moment of silence as they stood in the lamplight of his quarters. The lit candle on the corner of his desk flickered, letting out the occasional crackle as the warm scent of cinnamon wafted in the air. Finally, the Admiral moved to give a single shallow nod. “I understand.”
I’m glad, she thought. Thank you. He had no obligation to listen to her concerns. He had no obligation to help her. Her fate was in his hands, but that did not frighten her. She did not resent that, but she saw how the thought of her future weighed upon him. “We still have 48 hours,” she reminded. “And there is a lot we must do in that time.” They still had to attack and rob Crimson Heart, travel all the way back to the Polaris Sector and offload supplies to the civilian ships. “So, please,” she smiled, “tell me this plan is better than your last one.”
That smile of hers brightened the room a great deal. Be in the moment, the Admiral reminded himself. He was needed in the present, so he could not afford to let the future distract him. “I thought my last plan worked out brilliantly.”
She scoffed, “With my help.” If it hadn’t been for her, he, Gaffigan and Jazmine would be dead.
“Yes, thank you for that.” He was truly grateful. “And before you lecture me, I am aware the plan was reckless, but we were operating on a time limit.” If he had delayed to create a more conservative recovery plan, then that standoff could still be going, and they nor the civilian fleet had time to waste. “Also, Chief Ty called me a few minutes ago shouting about how the command relays in Engine Three had melted. He had no idea how we’d been getting a control response out of that engine. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that?”
She smiled mischievously. “I may have stepped in while the usual systems were nonfunctional.”
Not surprising. The Singularity’s excellent maintenance record had not been earned on luck. Unknown to the crew, the ghost often stepped in to help. “Then there’s this.” He picked up the newly-recovered FTL key from his desk, letting it sway back and forth on its new lanyard. “What do you want me to do with it? I can’t exactly give it to Ensign Alba and tell him to start using it. He’s bound to ask questions.”
“Give it to Harrison,” she said.
Strange as that seemed, he elected not to question it. “Next time I see him,” he agreed. It didn’t surprise the Admiral that the ghost had gotten attached to his grandnephew and little Anabelle. The ghost liked to protect people, and few could need her protection more than a couple young kids.
“And how’s the crew doing?” Given the reaction he’d walked in on from Zarrey, “I’m guessing they didn’t handle your brief takeover very well.”
“There is no way to subtly make an impossible jump to an illicit trade station,” she said, crossing her arms. “Colonel Zarrey was justifiably upset, but the Black Box will do as a cover for now.” She could misdirect any crewman that went looking for the device. Unless she wanted them to, they would never find it, and eventually, this incident, like the other occurrences, would be relegated to unimportance in their minds. Because truly, it wasn’t important, at least not to the crew. They were in no danger. “I will take care of it, but it will take some time to calm everyone down.” An incident like this was difficult to coax to unimportance. “If I force it, they will sense something is wrong.”
He trusted her, “But what happens if someone goes after the neurofibers?” Spread throughout the ship, they were a far easier target than the Black Box itself.
“They can gather and cut all the fibers they want, as long as there is power and air, they will regrow.” For better or worse, the Box and its fibers were part of the ship now.
“…Won’t that hurt you?”
She considered it, but did not answer, and he didn’t like that. “Answer me. Will cutting the neurofibers hurt you?”
There was a dreadful seriousness in his eyes, but she only shrugged. “My physical perception is rather limited. You know that.”
“Limited. Not nonexistent.” And the fact her answer was not ‘no’ gave him enough reason to be concerned.
“I’ll be fine,” she asserted. “The rest of my systems will go through a period of withdrawal, but they will not be permanently affected.”
“If anyone goes after the neurofibers, tell me. I will stop them.” Even if he couldn’t convince Zarrey that the ship’s Black Box was harmless, he could still prevent its abuse. “You don’t need to endure that.” Painful or not, it would be difficult to let people tear apart a system that functioned as part of her perception.
She reconsidered the man in front of her. “I am grateful for your concern,” but she would never have resisted the Box’s removal. That was not her place, though it was nice to be in the care of someone willing to try and protect her. “However, the crew may do as they please.” She was a tool. “It is their right to make modifications.” She would willingly accept those alterations.
“You have a right to live as you will.” She was more than some unthinking machine. She had thoughts and preferences. It was his job to make sure they were heard.
“Now,” he turned his attention to the mission, “We don’t have much information on Crimson Heart’s fleet. They tend not to leave witnesses, but given their activity, I would estimate they have somewhere around seventy-five ships, likely to be armed with laser weapons and standard missiles.”
“Nothing we haven’t seen before,” she agreed. “But seventy-five pirate ships against one battleship? I’d hardly call that a fair fight.”
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He shrugged. “I won’t stop them if they decide to retreat.” The tricky part of this mission wasn’t going to be the space battle. “We’ll need to be alert for traps, and there is a potential for the base to be armed, but it’s not likely. Our problem is the boarding action,” he declared, tapping the papers on his desk.
“Yes.” She understood the issue. The crew would be badly outnumbered. Both the fighting force and the logistical force in charge of moving supplies needed additional personnel. “I am afraid I cannot help you there.” Her capabilities were not especially effective when it came to personnel combat. “This is not my area of expertise. You ought to draw up this plan with Lieutenant Colonel Pflum.” The leader of the ship’s Marines would be more helpful.
“Without knowing the layout of the base, we cannot plan personnel movements.” It would be pointless. “And I am well aware your experience is in naval combat. That is why I want your opinion.”
“I don’t follow.” The issue was in the boarding action, so why would naval combat be helpful?
“We need an advantage,” the Admiral said. “On a fair playing field, they have numbers on their side, and the pirates are likely to have military grade handguns and rifles.” On the black market, those were not hard to acquire. “That’s why we cannot engage them on a fair playing field.” If they wanted to avoid heavy casualties, then they needed to tip the balance of power in their favor. “While Crimson Heart will have weapons, body armor will not be standard among them, thus, the attachments won’t be either. Do you follow?”
She furrowed her brows, thoughtfully considering the body armor of the Marines aboard ship. Fully outfitted, it included a protective vest as well as shoulder, arm, and leg armor, not to mention a helmet. In certain situations, the Marines also donned self-sealing vacuum suits beneath it. “You want to vent the air from the base?” That would certainly lower the enemy’s numbers.
“No,” Admiral Gives said. “I considered it, but that will likely damage many of the food stocks we’re trying to steal.” The more viable food they came away with, the better. “Think about the helmets.”
She knew better than to ignore this lesson in strategy, so she reconsidered the standard black helmet of the ship’s Marines. Most of the Marines stenciled their name on the inside. Depending on the deployment, sun visors or flashlights could be attached to the outside. Where there was wind or snow, the helmet fit with a set of goggles to protect the Marines’ eyes. Oh, she realized, “The goggles.” Protective goggles weren’t the only ones the Marines carried. They usually carried a set of infrared goggles for nighttime scouting. “You want to knock the lights out.”
“Right. If they can’t see in the dark, it will be a lot harder for them to fight.” Night vision goggles were hardly something pirates would think to steal when raiding a military supply convoy. There were too many other obvious targets. And, even if they had goggles, the pirates likely were not trained to use them.
So, the issue was not which advantage to implement, but rather how to implement that advantage. That was why he was working with her instead of Pflum. “Another EMP?” she suggested. That would take out the lightning systems on the pirate base.
“No.” He had ruled that out already. “We cannot risk losing sensors. We will need to take scans of the base’s layout and help direct the assault teams.” They needed a different method that could specifically target the power systems of Crimson Heart’s base without affecting the Singularity. “We’ve had this issue before,” he reminded her. “Do you remember how we beat the Flagship Capitol in the War Games?”
She laughed. “Of course. You got in a lot of trouble for that.” Inflicting non-simulated damage in the fleet’s War Games had been… controversial, even if it had been mostly an accident. “We took that pompous little flagship out in one hit, but I can’t guarantee it’ll work until we get a scan on the base. If the structure isn’t made out of conductive metal, it won’t be effective, but the odds are in your favor,” she told the Admiral, though there was no doubt he knew that already. “You’ll want to use a standard missile with the explosive charge removed. Anything larger than that will probably crack the base open like a tin can.” Which, of course, in the realm of space structures, it was.
“Thank you,” he said, beginning to scrawl down some notes. He’d had most of the plan laid out, but he had wanted her insight on the ordinance to be applied.
They worked for the next hour. Admiral Gives detailed the necessities of the plan, pulling reference books and old ship’s logs off the shelves in his quarters as he needed them. As far as the ghost was concerned, nothing was out of the ordinary until the reference book on asteroids hit the ground for a second time. “Is something wrong?”
He bent down to pick up the reference book, but it slipped out of his hand yet again. He didn’t curse, just sighed. “I am exhausted.” He was not too proud to admit that, but he also knew it paid to brush up on his knowledge of the battlefield. Since the location of Crimson Heart’s base was deep within the bounds of a known asteroid field, a scientific understanding of that environment could be critical. And he, while experienced in combat for every space environment, had not earned his reputation by pure skill. He studied. He studied a lot.
The ghost watched him grab the book off the deep red border of the rug. “You should rest. Finish in the morning.” The engineering and weapons teams had already been given information on the necessary preparations.
“I’m almost done.” Then, yes, intended to pass out. His energy for the day had been spent several long hours ago.
He was flexing his gloved hand. It seemed to be almost instinctive as he cracked open the book and began to read through it. “Is your hand bothering you?” That same hand had drawn Ensign Feather’s attention earlier, and it was the one that kept dropping things.
“It’s fine.” The injury from the Aragonian Sector lingered. Even now, he had to keep dosing the burns with anti-bacterial ointment and wrapping them in gauze.
The ghost frowned. “You should have the doctor look at it.”
“I would rather not,” the Admiral replied, focused on the book in front of him. “I might be a sociopath, that man is a psychopath.” Macintosh seemed to genuinely enjoy poking and prodding his wounds, though that treatment extended only to the Admiral. The ship’s doctor was decently careful not to torture the rest of the crew with anything beyond his bedside manner.
That debate would have continued, but a lot of different things happened in the next ten seconds. The ghost disappeared as the hatch to enter the Admiral’s quarters began to spin open. Admiral Gives rose to his feet to protest the intrusion as Montgomery Gaffigan leapt inside and slammed the hatch immediately closed, sealing it shut behind him.
Gaffigan’s red hair was greasy and out of place. His eyes were dark with suspicion as he scanned the room, passing over the empty couch and reading chairs to lock his attention on the man behind the wooden desk.
And then, only then, did the Admiral register the gun in Gaffigan’s hand… And how it was pointed right at his chest.
“Lieutenant, what the hell are you doing?” he thundered.
Gaffigan reached up and wrapped his second hand around the pistol, steadying his aim. “I want the truth out of you, right now.”
“Lieutenant, I have no idea what you are talking about.” Slowly, the Admiral stepped out from behind the desk. “Calm down and tell me what’s going on.”
“No,” Gaffigan took a step back, keeping the distance between them constant. “Stay there!” In response, the Admiral held up his hands in surrender. No, Gaffigan had to stop thinking of this person as the Admiral. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Who are you really?”
Admiral Gives was not truly certain how to answer that. He suspected an understanding of why he was being asked the question would have helped, but looking at Gaffigan’s wide, terrified eyes, he knew he wasn’t likely to get an explanation. “I am your commanding officer, Lieutenant. Put the gun down.”
Monty solidified his stance. “I can’t do that, sir.” Dammit, he chastised himself. This was not the Admiral. He had to remember that. This was some version of him that had been corrupted by an AI. “There’s an AI on this ship, and you are its host.”
A host? “I have no idea what you are talking about, Lieutenant.”
“I saw her. Saw it.” He had woken up in a horrible reality on Midwest Station. “It got us off the station. I don’t know why. But it is using us to hide from Manhattan.”
His trembling voice had risen to a near shout. Still, the Admiral knew better than to panic. He kept his hands where they were clearly visible and moved no further than the front of his wooden desk. “Lieutenant Gaffigan, I need you to calm down.” It was clear now. Awake when he shouldn’t have been, Monty had seen the ghost on Midwest Station. That would have reasonably disturbed any member of the crew, but Admiral Gives wasn’t sure why he was getting blamed for it.
The gun shook in Gaffigan’s hands no matter how he tried to steady it, but Admiral Gives’ voice was calm. It was always calm, and ever so familiar. Monty remembered it from the moment he’d been pried out of the Matador’s clutches. It had been the first thing he’d heard beyond screams in hours. He briefly squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the memory, then focused again on the man before him. “You are not him, and damn it all, stop acting like you are. I fucking know better.”
Gaffigan had spent the last few hours of his life in a disturbed panic, but he was certain of it now. “Admiral Gives not been normal for the last year. We ignored it. Then, we rationalized it as him protecting us. But that’s not true.” No, that had just been a convenient excuse. “He wasn’t acting like himself because that’s when you took over.” That strange distance had been this thing learning to usurp the Admiral’s life.
Gaffigan’s paranoia had escalated well beyond reason. No matter what Admiral Gives said or did, Gaffigan would not believe him. That was clear in his eyes. Let’s get this over with. Admiral Gives lowered his hands. “Just shoot me, Lieutenant.” He was far too tired for this.
“I will,” Gaffigan promised. “Don’t make me.” Stars, please don’t make me. “But I know what you are. You’re an AI. The one Manhattan is after.” It was the reason the Erans wanted Admiral Gives alive.
Come to think of it, Admiral Gives could see that this theory made sense. Especially given whatever Gaffigan had seen on Midwest Station, there was plenty of evidence to support him being a host, and the logical assumption was that a digital AI was involved. He had never considered it until now, but his general disposition and placement would have made him an ideal host. Might as well roll with it. “So, what, Lieutenant? What does it matter who I am as long as I function as the Admiral did?”
“Because you are the reason Manhattan is hunting this ship. You are the reason they attacked us in the first place, and I know Admiral Gives would rather die than endanger the Singularity.”
Ordinarily, I’d be pleased you think so highly of me, the Admiral mused. It was strange how having a gun leveled at his chest made that comment less complementary.
“I’m going to make this real simple,” Monty declared. “Get the hell out of the Admiral’s body or I’ll kill the both of you.” If the electrical signals of the host died, so too would the AI. “I won’t let you use him to endanger this ship.”
“Do not be so hasty, Lieutenant. Does some part of you not wish to know why I pulled you off that station?”
Monty leapt back as the man took a small step forward. “Stay. Away. From. Me.” Gaffigan snarled. “You think I don’t know AI can jump hosts?” All it took was electrical contact. He didn’t know if the nervous system reaction of skin touching skin counted, but he wasn’t taking the risk. “That’s why I confronted you here alone. Now, you have nowhere to go.”
The Admiral dropped his hands and leaned back against the desk. If Gaffigan wasn’t going to let him get close, then he had no hope of disarming the man, so he could only try to talk his way out. “An AI would not take this host by accident, Lieutenant.” It was no coincidence Manhattan wanted him alive. “To an AI, this host’s memories would be quite helpful, especially if their intent was to attain a better, more powerful host. One with say,” oh, I don’t know, “the power of a flagship?”
Gaffigan finally managed to steady the pistol in his hands, finding the Admiral’s expression had taken on an uncanny calm. The power of a flagship. “That’s not possible. The Singularity cannot host an AI.”
“Not without severe alterations,” he allowed. “That, or the authority to switch the ship to automatic controls, which as you know, belongs to the commanding officer.” He watched Gaffigan’s eyes widen in shock. That’s right. He could order the ship to switch to automatic controls at any time. “Do you still think I am trapped here?” he asked, a level of frost taking root in his tone. “Do you still think shooting me will do any good?”
Monty shivered, but he met the eyes of this… thing. “If you could flee, you would have done it by now.” If this AI was determined to survive, then there was no reason for it to be standing here with a gun aimed at its host.
“Maybe you are right, Lieutenant,” the Admiral allowed. “But then again, maybe I, as an AI, just like this host.” He watched disgust wash over Gaffigan’s expression. “Maybe this body did act as a proxy for another entity on Midwest Station, but who are you to say if that was by force?” he raised an eyebrow, “Maybe I, the Admiral, did so willingly.”
Gaffigan’s stomach revolted at the thought. The cold intelligence in front of him felt like a threat, but Monty also recognized it. That sharpness belonged to the Admiral, and always had. But how much of it was still genuine? How much of that was still him? Monty knew he shouldn’t ask, but he had to. “Why would the Admiral agree to that?”
“Perhaps for the assurance that two of his crewmen would be brought back alive?” That was why he had obeyed the Jayhawker’s summons. “I have not harmed a member of this crew, Lieutenant, whether I am an AI or not.”
Gaffigan stared at the person in front of him. AI or man, he was not certain anymore. “You didn’t answer the question. Why would the Admiral trust an AI to help us?” It made no sense. “AI have done nothing by try to hunt him down and kill him. They have done nothing to earn that trust.”
“And I am notorious for trusting no one.” The Admiral understood that. It was a fair hit. “Then, I’ll just be honest, Lieutenant. You are right. Currently, I am the reason the Manhattan AI is hunting this ship, but I cannot leave this host.” After all, it was his body. “So, if you refuse to trust me with this ship and the lives of her crew, then you are going to have to kill me.”
Gaffigan’s voice shook, “I understand.” There was nothing else he could say. He just steadied his aim and pulled the trigger.