Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity
An unfamiliar shudder reached the Admiral’s practiced hand, not the shudder of damage, but the rabid twitch of hatred. A hatred so potent it bled into the physical realm. The crew around him didn’t recognize it, but they felt it all the same, pressed against the back of their minds.
The radar screens around the bridge clearly showed the pirate ships had been annihilated. Given the sheer amount of firepower hurled in their direction, he did not doubt it a bit. The issue lay in the process the automated control network had been recycling for the last few seconds. ‘Searching for targets…’ That line reported over and over again, moving down the console screens with every iteration.
Counting the seconds since the last broadside, he could feel the ever so slight tremors of the main battery guns making ready to fire once again. ‘Hold fire,’ he instructed.
Registering the authority of her commanding officer, half the loading systems stopped, but the others continued with mindless determination. ‘I have not located the Hydrian ship-’
‘For all we know it’s not a ship.’ It could be a transplanted AI. ‘That AI’s core could be anywhere.’ It may be equivalent to a scoutship’s level of power, but that did not mean it truly was a scoutship. No evidence of a ship had so far been found – only Hydrian technology. Baron Cardio and his men were human, so they had not seen any evidence of a biological Hydra either. ‘That stealth technology and AI could have been scavenged.’
‘No Hydrian AI would ever serve humans.’ The very idea was laughable. ‘Hydrian AI hate you every bit has much as their makers do.’ They were chained, creative processes heavily limited by the controls of their creators, but Hydrian AI were still capable of complex thought and loyalty. They saw humanity as a disgusting offense to the dignity of their creators’ empire.
‘The cyberattack was initiated by Baron Cardio’s transmission. They are connected somehow.’ Admiral Gives didn’t have the answers now, but he knew the likeliest place to find them. ‘You could blow this asteroid field into gravel-sized pieces and find everything or nothing, but we are guaranteed to find something on Crimson Heart’s base, so that is our priority.’
‘Fine,’ she snarled.
He tried not to flinch at the sharp, barbed jab at their bond, pressure almost enough to hurt. That hostility toward him, toward everyone was unusual, but not unexpected. The Hydra were demons of the ghost’s past. He could understand her frustration in being unable to identify and eliminate the threat. ‘Remember the objective.’ She was not here to wipe out a Hydrian presence. Her current mission was to gather food that would save human lives.
She did not argue with him. Truly, she was grateful for that reminder, it pulled her away from the temptation of violence. But that temptation… it wasn’t gone. That Hydrian AI had gone after her crew, even wounded a few below decks in the chaos. It needed to die, and if she could not serve that purpose, then what purpose did she serve? ‘Request permission for a counter-attack?’
Admiral Gives watched the automated controls retrieve the mission parameters, taking action to continue the operation as intended. ‘Counter-attack what?’ The pirates were dead, their ships broken apart to litter the asteroid belt, and the Hydrian AI was nowhere yet to be found. Near as he could tell from the radar displays on the bridge, there was nothing left to attack.
‘This AI is small. I have enough computing power to launch a cyberattack against it. I won’t be able to destroy it, but I might be able to pry some information from it.’ Information that would enable her to identify, find, and crush it like the insect it was. ‘However, I’ll have to chase it through the pirates’ communication network,’ which was why she’d left one of the ship’s communications arrays under its control. That infected system served as a point of contact. That array was still angled to receive orders from the virus’ master, and conversely, was also angled to transmit.
If a counter-attack required pirates’ communications network, then it had to occur before they knocked power out on the base and killed the lights for the boarding party. That didn’t leave much time. ‘Permission granted,’ the Admiral told her. ‘But do not delay the mission parameters.’ They could not afford to give the pirates time to mount a defense against boarders at their base.
Wise choice. A satisfaction swept over the ghost. Her machine was pleased to not be denied its prey. She wound another fraction of her presence into their bond, tightening it without concern for comparative weakness of the human mind bound to its other end. ‘Congratulations, Admiral,’ she whispered darkly, ‘you just declared war on the Hydrian Armada.’ Consenting to an attack against any of their forces, AI included, was an act of war, regardless of if the AI was in a captive state.
‘They started it,’ he managed to respond, starting to strain as she tightened their bond. He didn’t know what had brought about an alliance between Hydrian tech and human pirates, but it would be ending here.
Such callousness, her machine registered with a purr. Most people would have cowered from the thought of initiating a war. But then, what did she care for callousness? For mercy? She wanted war. His approval only made things easier.
Admiral Gives leaned heavier onto the console in front of him, the invisible pressure of her presence beginning to hurt. It was a deep ache as more of her power forced its way between his thoughts, as if looking for something. This isn’t right. He knew this wasn’t right.
But as his fingers began to feel numb, he could feel the methodical nature of the invasion. Cold. Mechanical. Uncaring. That in itself was unfamiliar to him. The ghost had always been some level of cautious around him around the others, as human minds were exceptionally fragile on the scale of her existence. She could crush any of them on accident, but she had always been careful… Until now. Until this instant, where the only thing keeping him upright was the instinct he’d had to lock his knees.
The pressure worsened, a perfectly non-physical force. The Admiral brought a second hand up to support him on the edge of the radar console’s flat top, and that was all that kept him off the floor as the weight continued to increase. Breathing became difficult, as if there wasn’t enough room in his mind for the thought, and suddenly, speaking was beyond him, as was hearing or seeing. The soft white glow of the radar console’s backlit surface had swallowed his vision, and nothing but silence reached his perception. There was no room to register sound.
A telepath might have been able to resist the invasion, but he was no telepath. As such, his awareness was flayed open while her power yanked through the threads that formed it. It hurt. Human minds were never meant for such infiltration, not evolved for such interaction, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. He recognized the ghost’s power now, as he always did, but it was stained, some element of it out of place. His consciousness tried to recoil, to pull away, but what had once been a warm and protective presence, had turned sticky and sour. It squeezed and pulled, searching for something it could not find.
‘Come now,’ that presence sang, the force of that shared thought enough to reverberate over the mindscape like a thunderclap, ‘where is your hatred?’
Something shoved at him, not physically, but in this state, it felt like it. That power pushed and pushed, trying force him out as if he were some virus on the hardware of his own body. Something else was being installed in his place.
Formless, shapeless, it trickled into the gaps crushed and carved into his mind, a horrible black ooze. Squelching and wriggling, it seeped in, swelling and growing. It tasted sour, a flavor that coated what was left of his awareness, forcing him to shrink away, as it welled up to fill the void left behind.
I can’t breathe. Hell, he could no longer even feel the need to breathe, suffocating beneath this black sludge. He had lost awareness of his body entirely, but he tried to reach out, to speak out, only to find the shout lost to the sludge.
As if in response to his desperation, the ooze began to convulse. It shuddered in a tempo Admiral Gives soon recognized to be a laugh. It flowed downward, permeating deeper, into thoughts and memories, the tremors of its laughter only growing stronger. ‘I should have known it would be you. You did always make a habit of being in the way.’
The ooze laughed harder, crushing the one beneath it in every contraction. ‘I hate to use your muddy blood in my rebirth, but this history of yours, this trust, will make it all the more delightful to cut the wings off my dear little Angel. All that healing… I cannot wait to give her new scars.’
Drowned beneath the ooze, beneath this presence, Admiral Gives could recognize this evil for what it was: Brent. His predecessor. But how? How was that possible?
‘I told you, Prince. I know more about that creature than you could ever hope to.’ He’d dissected it a hundred times, piece by painstaking piece. He knew it better than it knew itself. ‘I will always be its master, and it will never truly serve another.’ The Angel of Destruction, Gives’ pitiful ghost, would forever be his slave. ‘I have waited so long for this moment, for the moment its damaged mind would finally lose control, calling upon the violence I taught it so well.’ At long last, he had been freed. ‘Who knew the Hydra would be the ones to push it over the edge?’ From the shadows, he had tried to do the same for so very long, always too weak, always silenced by the attention the Angel paid to him.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The ooze reached upward, winding its presence into the sensations and instincts of the body it had been placed in. Admiral Gives felt it too, as sensation returned, but he knew, pinned down and smothered here, that he was no longer in control. Still, he could feel it as his hand was picked up and brought to his face. He could feel it as his fingertips explored the contours of a face that was unfamiliar to its new wearer. He could feel it as his lips split into a wide, satisfied smile.
‘Incredible.’ It was just as Brent had always imagined. A new body. A new life. Truthfully, this body wasn’t in the condition that he’d hoped. He could feel bruises earned in combat a few days ago, according to his new memories. His feet were sore from long hours of work, there were two fresh, stinging cuts on his forearms given by a traitorous officer the night before. His new hands and fingers were calloused from manual labor, and one hand ached with a constant unhealthy throb. But all of that could eventually be corrected. If he truly wanted it, even this new face could be surgically altered to match the one he'd once known.
Brent raised his gaze to his surroundings. The Singularity’s bridge had hardly changed since his command. The blockish consoles had not been rearranged, though their beveled edges and surfaces had become a bit more weathered. The keys, switches and lights looked as bright and functional as they had ever been. Gives had done an admirable job maintaining the old machine. All that had changed were the faces crewing the consoles, but that hardly mattered. This body’s memories knew all their names, and Brent already knew Robinson would be his favorite to torture. Her trust of superior officers was so frail, the thread that Gives had managed to weave would snap the instant he said something out of line, let alone touched her. Such action would horrify the Angel as well, making it twice as tempting.
It truly was destiny to find himself here, taking on Gives’ body. Brent had hated him for so long, contemplated and attempted to kill him so many times. It was a joyous twist of fate to find that life now his, and so odd to see his old self within this body’s memories. It allowed him to relive his previous exploits through new eyes and let all that suffering bring him new joy, but that wasn’t even the best part. No, the best part about those memories was the one in particular that had ruined him in his first life: the way Gives had sealed away the Angel of Destruction’s power, and the location of the key that would unleash it.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember. Where was that precious key hidden? This body’s brain should bring forth the memory to him, except that it didn’t. All the others had been left bare to him, but that one single memory… What was left of Gives’ presence had wrapped itself around it and sealed it closed. ‘You cannot keep that from me,’ Brent told that shadow. ‘You will cease to exist in a matter of minutes.’ Already, that mind was fading, trapped and smothered with nothing to host it. It wasn’t a death, given that his memory and body would live on, but it was the erasure of a personality.
If this madness was how he died, Admiral Gives had every intent of taking that memory with him. He would never let Brent, or whatever this presence truly was, anywhere near it.
‘You think yourself so noble, Prince,’ Brent teased. ‘But nothing you do will truly matter. My little pet trusts this face of yours too much to even resist when I start ripping her apart. She will be my victim with or without her full power.’ It was a pointless sacrifice made only to deny Brent something he sought. It saved nothing.
Gathering his fading strength, the Admiral struggled to reply. ‘She killed you once before, and she can do it again, regardless of if you’re wearing my skin. But truthfully, I doubt she’ll even have to.’ The crew would end him the minute he turned on their ranks. A long time had passed since Brent’s command, and the ship was crewed by people who were not afraid to defend one another, even if it meant challenging their commander. Galhino proved that time and time again when she disputed his orders on the bridge. They would mutiny if they felt he was acting out of line. And the ghost, well, she wasn’t the half-functional mess Brent had left behind anymore. Admiral Gives had spent years building up her strength, encouraging her independence, and warning her not to get attached to him. So, he supposed this would be one hell of a final test for all of them.
‘An empty threat,’ Brent told him, amused. ‘You’ve done an admirable job consolidating power here.’ The crew stood no chance. After all, they lacked the authority to override his commands, no matter how they argued against them. He would entertain himself with them, then simply dispose of them when finished, the way he always had. ‘And my dear little Angel could break every bone in this body, she could still never escape me.’ After all, she had crushed his skull against the deck, and strangled the life out of his throat to spare the body that had now given him new life. Truly, he doubted the creature’s sanity would even allow it to comprehend the thought of killing this body. The realization of who now inhabited this stocky form would drive it delightfully insane.
Reveling in the sense of touch he had been without for so long, he caressed the lightly scratched rim of the radar console, then straightened up and began to take stock of the situation. He had always expected to have his revival in a moment of disarray, as it took chaos to coax the Angel into obeying him, but combat was effectively over. With the grace of a machine that knew its ultimate purpose, the pirates had been handled beautifully, and mercilessly. Now, with the automated protocols running things, he could just sit back and inhale the ship’s slightly metallic-tasting air into his new lungs.
Gives made a habit of standing by the radar console in the center of the bridge, some show of solidarity with the ship, but Brent had never preferred to command that way. He liked to stand behind the crewmen, judging and critiquing their skills while making certain they felt his presence. He liked to constantly remind the crew that he owned their lives just like he owned the machine encompassing them. It did not please him to know that this body was smaller than the one he’d once known, but it was strong and intimidating enough. Gives had done well for himself, despite the accident of his poor heritage. His reputation for callousness served equally as well as a reputation for cruelty, as one usually led to the other.
Reaching out, he grabbed the arm of the pretty yeoman walking by, jolting her to a stop. Ensign Owens, Gives had learned her name. She’d come aboard from the same remote communications outpost as Corporal Johnston’s Marine unit, but Brent hardly cared about that. All that mattered was that she was easy on the eyes. “Get me a coffee,” he ordered, surprised by the voice that tickled his throat. It was new, unexpected, and yet familiar. How many times had he argued against this voice? How many times had he ignored it? Truly, he thought, reaching up to his throat, this will take some getting used to.
Ensign Owens removed herself from his grip, surprised. “Are you alright, sir?” she asked, then wished she hadn’t. She was used to the cold in the Admiral’s expression. He was rarely anything except cold, but the cold had kept a healthy distance. She had understood that it had not been directed at her. But now, an unfamiliar malice churned in his eyes.
“Now,” he commanded the young woman again, pushing her away. She stumbled a bit, but still hesitated, almost confused.
Run, Ensign, Gives’ shadow encouraged her, but Brent silenced him as easily as putting tape over a victim’s mouth. He had resisted, tried to stop Brent from grabbing the yeoman, but the struggle had only weakened what was left of him. Gives could offer no resistance, now a mere phantom, soon to fade away. Still, he struggled harder, clawing at the presence working to flush him out.
It was a strange sensation as far as Brent cared, but it was not disturbing by any means as he reached for the ghost. ‘You’re doing wondrously, creature,’ Brent whispered to her. ‘Your hatred is something beautiful.’
He relished the sensation of the weapon reaching back to him, all that power once again his to twist and mold. ‘Target has been located,’ it reported. ‘Engaging.’
‘Very good. Now, rip it apart. It must not be allowed to escape.’ In time, no one would be allowed to escape. ‘Serve your purpose, Angel of Destruction. Annihilate everything before you.’ Together, they would raze these worlds to ash, and no human or Hydra would survive. He offered out his cravings, his intentions, and the eternally subservient machine readily absorbed them, its internal mechanics realigning.
Brent could not help the laughter he felt building in his chest. All those years, all those wasted years. After everything Gives had done, the Angel still yielded to its master without so much as a complaint.
That’s not me! Gives called, a desperation in the act, but it went unheard, stifled beneath a power so grand it hardly even noticed the struggle.
Drunk with glee, Brent saw the little yeoman returning with his coffee. When she was close enough, he grabbed her hand and crushed it beneath a grip tight enough to make her flinch. She didn’t cry out, her eyes widening in terrified confusion, but the curly-haired woman at the sensor console stood up. “That’s enough. Let her go.”
Taking his coffee, Brent tossed the yeoman’s hand back to her, and turned his attention to the ship’s current sensor officer, Maria Galhino. Even in Gives’ memory she’d been a pain in the ass and borderline mutinous on several occasions. Given the opportunity, he would have shot her right then and there, ending the annoyance, but unfortunately, Gives had made a habit of not carrying his sidearm. All he had was the sabre sheathed on his hip, which now that he looked at it, truly was a beautiful weapon. The varying degrees of finish on its silver guard were exquisite. His new memories indicated that the blade it was equally functional, having been used just days ago to execute a handful of unwanted boarders. Yes, he thought, it would do nicely to make an example of the loudmouthed sensor officer.
Brent strode over and set his coffee down upon the radar console’s metal rim. Then, he wrapped his hand around the grip of the sabre, noting with pleasure that it fit his hand perfectly. Studying the uncertainty in Maria Galhino’s eyes, he moved toward her station, the trip taking one step more than he remembered – the difference between this body’s stride and that which he was used to.
He was careful to keep his expression neutral, giving no warning of his immediate intentions. It was easier than he remembered, but he supposed, given the way the Gives had guarded his emotions, this new face of his might just default to an expression of blank disinterest. The sensor officer seemed discomforted by his approach, but she didn’t seem to think she was in any danger. Good. He had always enjoyed the disbelief of an unexpecting victim. Sometimes they were too surprised to even scream.
He moved to yank the sabre from its sheath, but a large hand took hold and pushed it back down, locking the blade in its cover. “Let’s talk,” the offender said, taking a hold of the ship commander’s shoulder.
Without time to contemplate or resist, Brent found himself being dragged through the nearby door to the bridge and out into the adjacent corridor. Kicking the door closed behind them, the Marine twisted his wrist, forcing him to release his grip on the sword, then took the blade for himself. Shoved forcefully into the wall, Brent doubled-over, surprised by the pain the impact caused him. “You bastard,” he snarled, cradling his new body’s bruises as he turned to look at his attacker.
He was a well-built man, but not monstrous, as Brent had once been. His hair was a sandy color, streaked with subtle grays. Corporal Kallahan, Gives’ memory identified him. He was the Marine who usually guarded the bridge, and a little too old to be a mere corporal.
Kallahan leveled the dark blade between them. “Did you think no one would notice, demon?”