Part 37.3 – FULL AUTOMATIC
Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity
Five missiles exploded into black armor of the Singularity’s starboard flank, blossoming with flowers of orange flame. The entire ship shook, then it screeched like something possessed. Which, at times like this, the Admiral supposed it was.
Bracing himself on the sturdy rim of the radar console, he barely managed to keep himself upright. That’s not right. The impact should never have been that severe. Checking the hull indicator chart on the wall, three new splotches of bleeding red greeted him. Those missiles should never have breached the hull. One of them, maybe, given a lucky strike at the right angle, but not three.
‘That’s to be expected.’ The ghost told him, mentally shaking off the impact as she shoved reports of damage aside. Some things never change. ‘Modifying missiles comes right out of their old playbook.’ Truly, this entire attack had been a recreation of something she knew by the depths of her mechanical existence. The only change had been how the virus activated – a new and unwelcome step to a dance she knew well: the death march of many battleships.
They always started with comms., disrupted communications and secured their own venomous uploads. Then they moved on, using comms. to spread their filth wherever it could go, paralyzing every system they touched. Then, they tested the paralysis with a small attack, always making sure it landed before they revealed their true strength.
But there were few left who would recognize that old death march. Admiral Gives had no reason to. He’d fought many battles, but never one like this. ‘Didn’t you find it strange a trained computer officer was stumped by this attack? She has seen what Manhattan can do, and yet this… This she did not recognize until it was too late.’ It was no fault of Foster’s. This code was beyond anything Foster been trained to recognize, and the magnitude of this infection was nothing compared to Manhattan’s capacity for absolute control, but it hardly mattered. It was not about suffering a cyberattack, or even the intention behind such an attack, it was all about who had written the code.
‘Admiral, this code… It’s Hydrian.’
The stone-faced Admiral nearly choked on nothing but air. ‘Pardon?’ Barely, he managed to hide his surprise in a cough that no one paid attention to amidst the damage updates and rapid beeps of the radar as it began to pick up a swarm of new contacts.
‘This virus is Hydrian.’ It was new, its code more complex and even more infectious than those used in the War, but the base programming and attack patterns were exactly as she remembered them. ‘Honestly,’ she huffed, ‘I didn’t think the so-called Almighty Queen’s drones had the balls.’ After their initial failures during the War, they had never again attempted to infect the Singularity with their viruses – certainly not after the ship became an imminent beacon of their death and defeat. ‘And mind you, biologically speaking, they certainly do not have any balls.’
There had always been theories that the Hydrian Armada would begin to breach the Neutral Zone the instant their stealth technology was good enough. That said, Admiral Gives had not been prepared to face such an event in the middle of a raid against a pirate clan. ‘You’re certain?’
‘Absolutely.’ Foster would have caught Manhattan’s attacks. Though advanced, they were still human in nature.
Dread had settled in on the bridge. Shaken by the last impact, the crew looked petrified as a new, larger group of missiles bore down upon them. With the hull breached by the first round and the railgun impact, chances of survival were effectively zero. Admiral Gives knew that better than anyone, but Hydrian involvement was another issue altogether. ‘What’s the play?’ The ghost could not intervene directly. If she did, she risked revealing herself. And to expose the power that had turned the tide of the War… The Hydrian Empire would do anything to seize it and turn it against humanity, or at least destroy it, even if that meant instigating another war.
‘I’m going to need you to trust me,’ the ghost told him.
‘Of course.’
He said that without an instant of hesitation. It amazed her how willing he was to place his life, the lives of the rest of the crew and the continuation of the mission, into the hands of an entity that for lack of better terms, possessed no hands. ‘Activate the automated controls.’ The ones that allowed the computers full authority over everything, including life support and weapons discharge. ‘I can’t fight a computer virus without the computer network.’ The partial network, corrupted as it was, wasn’t enough.
That plan made sense. He knew it did. The ghost could seize control of the entire ship at any moment, but there would be no way to disguise such action. The crew would ask questions, and the Hydrian force perpetuating this attack would realize something was amiss. Then, if they ever wanted to resume normal operations, another miracle would have to be performed to purge the virus from the computers.
‘Can you win?’ It seemed like a cruel question, but he knew this ship better than anyone. Her computers, even networked, were weak compared to any ship of the Hydrian Armada. That had been true fifty years ago, and it was doubly true now.
‘I would not ask for your trust if I could not deliver.’ His trust was something precious to her. ‘And quite frankly, it’s demeaning I let them get this far.’ The damn alien lizards were less than insects to her. She had once been poised to wipe their apparently glorious empire from the face of this galaxy.
A heated anger dominated the ghost’s presence, one that promised violence, and Admiral Gives suspected the only thing that had so far restrained her was the fact that the crew was yet unharmed. This virus had caused them no casualties, only allowed damage to the ship. Still, promise of exceptional violence or not, he trusted her. After all they had been through, she had earned that. “Ensign Alba,” he turned to the boyish engineer, “power up the central computer.” As it contained sensitive records, the central computer and its drives were often kept offline in combat, sparing it damage from power surges. Still, the most powerful computer on the ship in terms of processing capability, it was the heart of the automated control network.
“Sir, powering up the central computer will allow it to be corrupted.” The instant it was online, the virus paralyzing the rest of the ship’s systems would attack it.
“We are dead in the water as we are, Ensign,” the Admiral reminded. “This virus will not allow us to switch back to manual controls, but it will allow us to go full-automatic.” It had no reason to fight that. Theoretically, activating the full-automatic controls would allow the virus to completely seize control of the ship.
“…Sir, if we do that, we will cede control to the virus,” Alba said. The Singularity had no cyberwarfare programs. The automated controls had no way to combat the infection.
“We only need those protocols to last long enough to intercept the missiles.” After that, well, they had more time to find a long-term solution. “The virus may attack them, even rewrite them, but those protocols are highly redundant.” They were dummy protocols. They adapted poorly to new situations, because they were very resistant to change. “They are coded to defend the crew, and they will do just that.” After all, the main purpose of these protocols was to take over in the rare case that the crew became incapacitated.
“I can’t condone that action, sir,” Alba said. “If we surrender the ship to hostile control, our support craft will be in danger.” The Singularity’s weapons would be turned against them.
“Seconded,” Maria Galhino added, “that’d be homicide, and there’s no guarantee the missiles will be intercepted.” She swallowed, the movement difficult on her dry throat. “If we remain as we are, we take the hit, and our support craft can get away.” They could survive, even if the rest of the crew likely wouldn’t.
Ordinarily, challenging the commanding officer’s orders was the executive officer’s domain. It was against regulations to operate a ship with only one command officer on the bridge. The fleet had found the dual system created checks and balances that protected crews and prevented collateral damage. So, it seemed in Zarrey’s absence, the crew took it upon themselves to challenge his orders. Usually, the Admiral tried to be patient with such things, but there wasn’t time for their well-intentioned challenges, and in all cases, final domain fell to the commanding officer, if they were willing to use it.
We only need a second. If the automatic protocols could last just one second, the systems would recognize the danger and intercept those missiles. Feeling the surging power of the ship through the hand he kept on the radar console, Admiral Gives assured, I trust you. This ship had seen him through worse. And with that, he ignored the crew consensus and grabbed the handset nearest to him. “Breaker, breaker.”
The weight of the corded device was familiar in his hand, and the crew was far too slow to realize what he was doing. By the time realization had dawned on them, widening their eyes and drawing gasps from their throats, the response from the ship had come: three mid-range tones. Long, short, short, half of the melody of two that knew each other so well.
“Control Network Override Delta Auto. Admiral, Gives, William S.,” he fed in the necessary information for the command override. “Battleship Singularity. Omega. Nu. Nu. Delta. Tau. Override Confirm.” He read out the necessary string of security numbers faster than he would have liked, pushed by the shock and indignation he saw rising in Galhino’s expression, but the system kept up just fine, rated with more than a dozen redundancies. “Breaker. One. Four. Accept or deny.”
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As the string of security numbers started being read back to him, Galhino’s shout drowned out the sound. “What have you done?”
He moved the handset to his shoulder, pressing the microphone into his jacket to muffle the sound of the argument. “My job.”
“No,” she snarled, standing up. “You’ve just killed everyone.” Activating the automated controls allowed the virus to do more than just paralyze the ship. It allowed the virus to control it, to turn it against the crew. Everything from the firing controls to life support would be under its control. “Rescind those orders. Now.”
He met her eyes without even an ounce of hesitation, and simply said, “No.”
Galhino and the others might settle for going down and saving the portion of the crew riding in their support craft, but Admiral Gives refused to sacrifice his ship and the hundreds of lives aboard her. He had seen enough noble sacrifices to regard them with disgust. He would not accept that outcome while there was any other option. Whether those here believed it or not, they deserved to live another day. Even if it went wrong, activating the automated protocols gave them a chance – a chance to save everybody. Regardless of whether the ghost could combat that virus, he trusted that those protocols could hold out for the second they needed to fulfill their purpose.
Galhino stomped over, fury rattling the textured deck plates under her feet. “Give me the handset.” This insanity had to stop now.
Admiral Gives read her anger with ease, but still, his only movement was to calmly replace the handset to its rack.
A new wash of red rose to Galhino’s face, not rage, but indignation. Ignoring her threat may have been the worst insult imaginable. “I will override your authority. We have majority.”
“You can try,” he said, turning to study the swarm of missiles burning their way. By now, they were nearly halfway to their target. “But, remind me again, who is this ship’s second officer?” To override his commands, they would need the authority of the first and second officers.
“We don’t have…” She paused, realizing the oddity. “Shit. We don’t have a second officer.” Dear stars. Without one, they could not override his authority. “You absolute maniac!”
She reached out grab the front of his uniform, but he easily sidestepped the movement. “I have told each and every one of you this,” he reminded coldly. “This is my ship.” She answered to him and him alone. After he’d thrown Major Fairlocke, the ship’s last second officer, off the ship, he had consciously chosen not to fill that vacancy. That left the crew without the means to override his command codes. “Threaten me all you like, Lieutenant. My ship will never answer to you.” He would not stand down. Nobody would die today. Not on his watch. Not while there was still something he could do to stop it. There would be no noble sacrifices today.
“You…” Galhino snarled, stepping back and raising her voice with an accusation. “You planned for this.” He had plotted since the departure of Major Fairlocke to supersede the crew’s authority.
Perhaps I did, the Admiral thought. So what? He was not above acting the maniacal tyrant if it spared the lives of his ship’s crew. He had faced one too many bloody mutinies to trust blindly. “I will not allow unnecessary bloodshed aboard these decks. Willing or unwilling.”
“Command would hang you for this,” Galhino said. It was a violation of every rule in the book.
“You know very well what Command thought of this ship, Lieutenant.” She’d been an old scow, overdue for her time in the scrapyards. “And you know very well what they thought of this crew.” Undesirable miscreants and petty criminals not worth discharging. Thus, they’d been thrown at the feet of the fleet’s most notoriously uncaring officer. “So, tell me, do you really think they gave a damn?”
Galhino took another step back, shaking her head. “You disgust me.”
“I know.” She had always resented him. “But, against my better judgement, I have always tolerated you.” If she had been anyone else, he’d have thrown her off the ship months ago. But she, she had a purpose here, as did he. “Sit down, Lieutenant, and maybe you will see the reason this ship earned my trust.”
All around them, the screens and consoles on the bridge suddenly went dark. The lights shining down from the ceiling remained steady, but the absence of the consoles’ glows was still obvious. All that was left were the indicator lights shining in the corners of the consoles, a gem of color among the consoles’ drab states. Rather than the cautionary yellow of the ‘HYBRID’ indicator, Galhino could see now that they were all red, signaling the takeover of the automated controls, and she could not help her sharp intake of breath. I’m too late. It was already over. The power had been rerouted to the central computer and the command network had been brought online, linking the central computer to the infected systems.
Some part of Galhino expected the systems never to reboot, or for them to flicker with corrupted error signs, but after a pause, each and every one of them came on simultaneously. The white loading screens burned at her retinas, displaying a gray outline of the fleet insignia: an eight-pointed star set upon a partial wreath of olive branches. ‘System loading…’ the computers read, ‘Stand by…’ The ellipses blinked, one dot after another, over and over and over again with the perfect timing of a metronome.
The perfect synchronicity of the consoles’ booting sequence was a sign that the network between them had come online, as intended, but that didn’t mean it was safe. That didn’t mean it wasn’t being attacked or seized by the virus corrupting the individual systems. “This means nothing,” she told the Admiral.
“Either way, it is out of our hands,” he replied coldly. “Return to your station. Observe the automated controls.” Maybe you’ll learn something.
She glared vehemently, and she moved stiffly, but Galhino did as told, giving the Admiral room to breathe once again. He held his outward calm, but after the events the night before… He didn’t know how he would handle being grabbed. So far today, proximity to anyone, especially Galhino’s aggression, had made him particularly uncomfortable, but this was no time and no place to confront such concerns.
Across the arcs of consoles, every computer finished loading simultaneously. The white background vanished to present a plain back void. ‘System ready. Automatic Protocols Activated.’ The white text appeared one line at a time as the system picked up speed, listing off a dozen other checks confirming the presence of each necessary computer on the network. In the end, it surmised, ‘Tactical Network: Online.’
It was handling itself exactly the way it was designed to, and Admiral Gives knew that. ‘Status?’
For the ghost, bringing those automated protocols online was like stretching out a muscle she rarely used. It felt a little awkward at first, but it quickly loosened and allowed her new, easier movement. Been awhile, she thought, extending her reach into the depths of the central computer’s code. It, like the rest of the ship, answered to her whims without contest. Directing it created a buffer between her and the rest of the machine. It allowed her to exert control indirectly, giving her a cover under which to act.
In most circumstances, she paid the ship’s computers very little attention. They served their purpose – holding detailed records and completing task calculations. Their purpose was informatory, and they stood little chance of ever directly harming anyone, even in malfunction, so the hierarchy of her awareness had prioritized other things: engines, life support, even the structural integrity of the ship. At any given moment, the ghost was far more aware of those systems than the computers.
Still, she could tell now, as she became more aware of them, that they were suffering. Their code was being hacked apart. With the logic functions of their code failing, the processors were struggling to complete the programs, overrun with inefficiencies. Perhaps overclocking them was a side effect, or perhaps the virus intended to burn them out permanently, but she gave it little heed, and simply forced the processors back to their usual clocking speed. Like every other piece of machinery aboard, the computers answered to her. To her, slowing the hardware down was easier than a human slowing their breathing.
Temperature normalizing… The diagnostics read to her, and with that, she took a closer inspection of the code. The computers usually ran as a background process to her, but she could choose to be aware of the software, each program they prompted, each line of code they stepped through. After all, those programs were a part of the ship, as was she.
Beginning tactical analysis, the computer network read to her. She supervised it, but in this case, her machine could operate without direct interference, so long as she did not allow foreign signals to reach the central computer.
In all, the analysis of the damage took her a few microseconds. ‘Damage to the computer code is severe, and worsening,’ she reported. ‘I can repair it, but it will take time.’ Correcting the code would be a little like making stitches – sewing a part of herself back up. It was uncomfortable, but no more than the infliction of the wounds themselves. ‘This is Hydrian code, but whoever structured this attack knew the standard cyber architecture of the fleet. While it is effective in disruption, it is not attacking the system priorities.’
‘And that means what exactly?’ the Admiral asked, tightening his grip on the radar console. He felt particularly useless in this situation, and he didn’t enjoy it, even if he recognized there was nothing he could do.
‘They knew information on the fleet, but they didn’t know these systems, specifically, as these operating systems are unique amongst the fleet.’ In many ways, the modern fleet had been based off the Singularity. The systems she ran were not identical to the rest of the fleet, though in this case similar enough.
‘Situational analysis complete,’ the computers read, white lettering scrolling simultaneously across the top of every computer on the bridge. ‘Incoming threats detected. Sensor ID Confirmed: 52 Hostile Standard [S-1] Missiles.’ It was likely that many of those missiles had been altered with armor piercing shaped charges, as the first group had been, but that was not apparent on the scans the automated protocols ran. ‘Calculating counter-offensive…’
A loading circle appeared on the screens, a stark reminder that the ship’s limited processing capability ate precious time, but it soon disappeared, replaced with, ‘Acquiring targets…’
The ghost ushered the tactical network along, eager to swat the missile threat from the sky. Truthfully, she hardly needed the network. In some ways, it made it easier to act independently, as she had those procedures to fall back upon, but in others, the automated protocols were slow and inflexible. Still, they served their purpose. They protected the crew, so she allowed the central computer to orchestrate the defensive plan and permitted the defensive guns to take aim when they were prompted to.
She focused instead on studying the virus. It was fast and infectious, but it was not a massive attack. The code was new, or at the least new to her, similar but not identical to any she’d seen in the War. It had all the flags and mannerisms of a Hydrian virus, but where had it come from? The Neutral Zone was not far from here, galactically speaking, but they were still very much on the human side, and if the Hydra had trespassed across the Neutral Zone in any form, it was grounds to restart the War… A war that humanity could not win in its present state of political division.
Was this cyberattack a Hydrian act of war? And if so, why release it now, onto a ship ordinarily known for its cyber immunity, during a raid against Crimson Heart – a human pirate clan? It made no sense, but she knew she could chase that strand of thought, and find it only wound into knots, never an end or answer. Her mind was not meant for strategic thinking, only tactical awareness. It was better to leave the long-term planning and investigation to the Admiral. Right now, her only purpose was to get him and the rest of the crew out of here alive.