Meloira Sector, Battleship Singularity
Lieutenant Elizabeth Foster left the central computer room both proud and perplexed. Answers regarding the cyberattack – she’d found them, despite their complexity. Her last few hours in the slightly too-warm environment of the computer room had not been wasted, though admittedly, she had felt more comfortable there than she had elsewhere on the ship. The whir of the computer fans and laboring cooling system were like old friends, for that was her element.
Foster’s last few hours had been spent on the floor hunched over the screen of a handheld data pad because the Singularity’s computer room did not have work stations within it. The computer and its records were meant to be queried in other places: the bridge, war room, library or even the digital archive room, but none of those terminals were equipped with code analysis capability. The central computer had simply never been designed for that. Analysis of Hydrian code had been considered pointless during the War. The Hydra had been too far beyond humanity’s capability. However, it was possible to interface with the computer using external equipment to borrow the computer’s records and processing power for analyzing code.
The setup was a far cry from the analysis stations that had lined the Gargantia’s computer room, but Foster was grateful to have work – work that made use of her skillset. Since she had the general combat training given to all officers, she had been willing to join the boarding party, but the cyberattack had put coding skills in high demand, and she was the only computer officer aboard.
It had been a rush, and a new challenge for Foster. The system architecture on the Singularity was vastly different from what she was acclimated to. The ship had been built to serve a vastly different purpose than the Gargantia. The Gargantia had been built for police-action, meant to control territory, survey and evaluate threats internal to humanity. The Singularity was first and foremost a combat ship, and that showed in every aspect of the ship’s design. It wasn’t integrated and intelligent, but redundant and bulky, meant to take a beating and survive. Foster couldn’t say she favored one approach over the other. They both served a purpose, and both were capable in their own ways.
Hurrying back to the bridge, Foster was pleased to note she only got turned around a couple of times. The Singularity’s corridors weren’t as clearly marked as the Gargantia’s had been, but she suspected that was the result of wear and tear, not intent. There were markings at the doors and hallway junctions, but they were often so chipped they were difficult or impossible to read.
Still, Lieutenant Foster made it back to the bridge with her arms full of computer equipment. “Sir,” she called out to the command center before she caught a clear view of the room. She expected Admiral Gives to be here, but he wasn’t.
Instead, a roguish looking blond man was standing beside the flat top of the radar console, and he looked around with the same confusion she did, as if expecting the Admiral to be here when someone said ‘sir.’
“Colonel, sir,” Foster said, directly to him this time, “I have information regarding the cyberattack.” She had seen Zarrey only once, in those brief few moments they had been on the bridge together during the raid. He kept his origins clear, still decked out in the uniform of the Marines, complete with cargo pants, combat boots and hair irregularly flattened by his helmet. A distinctive pink scar cut across his chin and he sported a few darkening bruises from the raid.
Still Zarrey grinned as he saw Foster. She was a pretty young woman, trim with long hair so perfectly blonde it had to be natural, but that wasn’t Zarrey’s interest. Finally, he thought, answers. They’d all been waiting for those a little too long. “Lieutenant Foster, right? I don’t believe I’ve properly introduced myself.” He thrust a hand out, “I’m Colonel Zarrey, but I’m sure you knew that.”
Juggling her equipment to one arm, Foster accepted his handshake. His grip was solid, but far from crushing. “Yes, sir. Pleasure to meet you.” Until now, she’d only dealt with the Admiral, not Zarrey. The man wore a big grin for a Marine. Most of the Marines she’d met were more serious personalities.
“Well,” Zarrey said, “I haven’t the foggiest idea where the Admiral fucked off to, but show me what you got.”
He gestured vaguely to the flat top of the radar console. It was backlit, and had a marked-up map laid upon it, but the chart was for the asteroid field that held Crimson Heart’s base, not for the vacant system they sailed through now. She dumped her armful of equipment onto the console, grateful to be free of its weight, then plucked her data pad from the top of the pile and powered it on. “To be entirely clear, sir. The Admiral was correct on multiple counts.”
“Yeah,” Zarrey sighed, almost disappointedly. “You’ll get used to that. He’s rarely ever wrong.” For Foster’s benefit, he shrugged. “It can be a bit annoying, but it’s usually quite helpful.”
“I’m sure, sir, but while he was correct on multiple accounts, Admiral Gives also missed something.” When she said that, Foster could nearly see Zarrey’s ears perk up with interest.
Zarrey leaned forward with obvious interest. “Do tell me more.”
Foster really wasn’t sure what to make of his reaction. Given Zarrey’s carefree attitude, it seemed harmless, but she could also see the officers at the bridge consoles stiffen with interest. Perhaps it was some sort of rivalry, or a bet between the officers on the Admiral’s accuracy? That didn’t seem too far off base for this crew, in Foster’s limited experience. “The cyberattack we suffered during the battle against Crimson Heart was unquestionably of Hydrian origin. The way it paralyzed the Singularity’s systems, even the order it attacked in… It was by the book, a perfect match to what the central computer had in its records.” It could not be more obvious where the attack had originated.
“The code itself wasn’t identical to samples from the War,” Foster added. “It had been modernized, faster to attack, more agile in the way it jumped between systems, but it was exactly what we’d expect to see from Hydrian cyberwarfare a few decades of advancement past the War. However, what baffled me was the way it infected us in the first place.” That was where the anomaly lay.
Foster could not truly help her fascination. It seeped from her words as she explained, “The code had been implanted in pieces through the pirates’ communications data. When Lieutenant Robinson flagged it as suspicious, I was brought in to analyze. I pulled the code out of the transmission data, and ran a standard analysis suite to piece it together and verify its intent. That’s exactly what triggered it.” Foster would have begged for forgiveness if she thought the infection could have been avoided in any way. “The code was precisely written to trigger when a standard fleet analysis was run on it. It weaseled out of the sandbox I had isolated it in because whoever wrote its trigger knew exactly how I would attempt to isolate and analyze it.”
Zarrey furrowed his brows. “I’m not following.” His specialty had never been in technology, least of all in computers. “Dumb it down for me.”
“Whoever wrote the code that triggered the Hydrian cyberattack knew fleet protocol, sir. They knew exactly how we, as a UCSC crew, were going to react, and they used it to their advantage. But,” Foster continued, “the cyberattack’s just the tip of the iceberg. The stealth technology they used to conceal their shore batteries is the same way. It’s Hydrian tech, and according to the Singularity’s archives, it is often employed by scoutships, but it was modified. Stealth tech with active interference isn’t flawless. It has to falsely transmit a signal in the spectrum we’ve scanned in. Realistically, with such systems, there is a spectrum it either can’t or isn’t prepared to transmit in. However, the stealth tech was flawless against us because someone knew what spectrums Singularity, as a UCSC ship, was likely to try.”
Realization dawned on Zarrey. “We’ve got a damn snitch.”
“Yes and no, sir.” Foster quickly said. “Someone used fleet training against us, but it wasn’t one of ours.” It astounded her how quickly she had come to mean that – ours, not yours. Truly, she’d only been on this ship a handful of days, and been an official part of the crew for only a fraction of that, but they were a wonderfully welcoming bunch. Not one of them gave the slightest indication of disagreement that she’d become one of them. “It simply was not feasible for one of our crew to be the so-called snitch. We’d known the location of Crimson Heart’s base for less than a day.” That was nowhere near enough time for a rat, no matter how talented, to prepare the pirates for an attack. “Someone in the Crimson Heart clan must have expected to combat the fleet and prepared accordingly, so I ran a search through AWOL and discharged personnel who had the training that was used against us.”
“Wouldn’t you need the cortex for that?” Zarrey asked. The network that interlinked all humanity’s worlds contained a secure database for fleet use – one that would include details on all ships and personnel, but the Singularity had been cut off. Connecting to the cortex now risked an encounter with the Eran AI, Manhattan, which dominated the digital realm. It wasn’t a chance the crew had been willing to take.
“I thought so too,” Foster admitted. “The Gargantia had near-constant communication with the cortex for information, but the Singularity was designed to operate independently. She has loads of offline databases, including, as the serving flagship of the Fleet Admiral, a full backup of the fleet personnel directory. It’s a few weeks old now, but it had what I needed.” Before isolating the ship from the cortex, it would have been updated regularly.
Zarrey scratched at his head. “We have a backup of the personnel directory? Why? We’ve never even looked at the damn thing.” The crew’s records were kept in redundancy, digital and hardcopy, but the records of the entire fleet? What use would they, so often relegated to backwater patrols, have for those?
“I presume it is because the Fleet Admiral has the authority to recall retired servicemen and women back to active service.” That made sense to Foster. If the Admiral might be forced to do that in wartime, he would need the fleet’s records available with or without the cortex. “Nevertheless, look at this.” She handed over her data pad, an image alight on the screen.
Zarrey stared at the picture: a service man in fleet blacks. His collar was trim, rank pins aligned and centered. His face wasn’t particularly memorable, save the hearty pink in his cheeks. “Am I supposed to know who this is?”
“Took me a minute too, sir. Add about hundred pounds to him.” Suddenly, those hearty pink cheeks would become pudgy, and his whole face flush with color.
“The Baron,” Zarrey realized. “Crimson Heart’s leader was a fleet veteran.”
“Yes, sir, and not just any veteran. He was a very gifted cyber analyst by the look of his record.”
“And suddenly, I understand why he turned pirate.” Knowing he was a veteran, it made sense. “Our retirement benefits are an exceptional disappointment.” Zarrey was pleased to note that comment earned a few snickers around the bridge. “But,” he focused on Foster, “how the hell did the Baron wind up controlling Hydrian tech? He may have altered it to work better on us, but the stealth equipment and cyberattack were still Hydrian in origin.”
“I haven’t managed to answer that yet, sir, but I expect the Hydra we brought aboard may know.” Alien technology was outside Foster’s expertise. She could manage analysis and similarity comparisons to known code samples, but the reality of physically integrating and using such technology was beyond her. “That said, the Baron’s background may explain the Indigo Agent.”
“Another retiree?” Zarrey asked. Perhaps that agent had sought wealth the same way the Baron had.
“No, I believe, given the Baron’s spectacular record, Command was concerned about his capability. They sent an Indigo Agent to keep an eye on him.” That had to be common procedure for individuals that knew devastating state secrets.
“Hell of a job that did,” Zarrey grumbled. “The bastard preyed on the shipping lanes for years.”
“Well,” Foster reasoned, “if the Baron had managed to reliably subjugate a Hydrian AI, Command may have deemed his existence more of an asset than a threat. That capability has immense tactical use, now more than ever.” Perhaps Command, or some faction of it, had known all along that the Hydra would not indefinitely honor the terms of the peace treaty. “Learning how the Baron managed to control Hydrian tech was likely deemed a bigger priority than stopping the actions of his pirate clan.” Foster couldn’t say she liked that train of thought, but it was a logical one. The cost of letting the pirates prey on the trade routes was nothing in comparison to the lives that could be saved if, in the event of another War, Hydrian AI could be eliminated.
“Hmm,” Zarrey said, “that must be how Crimson Heart got so big. Usually, when pirate clans hit a critical mass and attack too many ships, Command dispatches a task force to track them down and take them out.” The Singularity had partaken in many such missions. “But Crimson Heart was very big and very active. That’s why we targeted them. If Command was purposefully ignoring them, that explains how they had so many successful raids in such a short period.” Those high-frequency strikes had guaranteed a large number of stored supplies, but also should have prompted police action.
Zarrey shook his head and sighed, “It’s funny how we’re still cleaning up Command’s messes.” Letting criminals experiment on Hydrian AI didn’t strike Zarrey as a great plan, but he’d often found Command too focused on an end objective to see those who got hurt along the way. High Command would have unquestionably prioritized tactical knowledge over the lives of freightliner crews in deep space. Simply, those crews been considered expendable.
Foster could not help the little smile that rose to her face, and Zarrey found it out of place. “That makes you happy?” he asked the blonde Lieutenant. Personally, Zarrey had always hated cleaning up Command’s problems. Corruption and carelessness seemed to have become Command’s very nature in the last few years.
“No, sir, you just remind me of Commander Fairlocke.” Foster found that welcoming. Zarrey shared his utter honesty, a trait lost in many leaders who tried too hard to be perfect. In truth, she saw and felt many familiar elements on the Singularity. Colonel Zarrey’s honest and welcoming nature had been shared by Fairlocke, but some of Admiral Gives’ habits were familiar too, like the way he’d personally greeted her when she awoke aboard. “I shouldn’t be that surprised,” she knew. “Commander Fairlocke trained here, didn’t he?”
“Aye,” Zarrey confirmed. “He did. Good man. He will be missed.” Good people were too rare in these worlds. “I hope we don’t remind you too much of your loss, Lieutenant.” He could not imagine how losing one’s entire crew would feel.
“I find it rather comforting,” she admitted. Not everything had changed, and that stability was reassuring. “But truthfully, I didn’t know the Commander all that well.” She’d been a mere Lieutenant, and had not served on the Gargantia’s bridge crew. “But he would always come by the computer room on the rounds.” In that, she’d known him in passing. “I actually think I’ve probably spoken with Admiral Gives more by now.”
“Yeah, sorry, he’s a bit more of an asshole.” That’s why I’m still stuck with the bridge watch, Zarrey thought. “Fairlocke was definitely a better conversationalist.”
“Maybe, but I see why Fairlocke admired him so much.” Their styles of command were very similar, and there was no question that Fairlocke had modeled his habits after Admiral Gives, though Fairlocke’s demeanor had certainly been more like Zarrey.
“Heh,” Zarrey almost chuckled. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to kiss ass or not, Lieutenant, but you found the details on the Baron, so write up a report. You can hand it to the Admiral personally.” No one else should take any credit for work. He handed back her data pad. “Lieutenant,” he wondered, “did Fairlocke ever say why he left the Singularity?”
“No, sir,” Foster said, beginning to gather up her equipment once more.
“Figures. Fairlocke was too nice.” The Gargantia’s noble commander had been too respectful to say a word. “Admiral Gives threw him off the ship. I believe his exact words were, ‘Get the fuck off my ship before I stake you to the hull.’” Zarrey still shuddered at the memory. “I think that was the angriest I’ve ever seen the Admiral.”
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Foster paused as she wound up one of the cords she’d dumped on the radar console. “I thought Admiral Gives helped Fairlocke get command of the Gargantia.” For such a young commander, a brand-new Keeper-class ship had been a fine accomplishment.
“He may have, but that wasn’t the reason he trained Fairlocke.” Zarrey knew enough of the Admiral to realize that the man never acted without intention. Training Fairlocke had not been a service to the young man, it had been a service to the ship. “Fairlocke was trained to be the Admiral’s successor. He was supposed to take over the Singularity, but I think he refused.” In Zarrey’s mind, that was the only explanation. There could be no other justification for why Fairlocke had been thrown off the ship so suddenly. Admiral Gives was fiercely protective of the ship, even if mute in most other regards. If Fairlocke had refused to inherit command after years of training and study, that very well could have invoked wrath. “What I can’t figure out is why.” Why would Fairlocke, who had been a loyal, well-liked member of the crew, refuse to take over the ship?
Lieutenant Foster stood there for a long moment as she tried to process this conversation. In an instant, she could tell that Zarrey had a reason for asking this question. Intent shone in his eyes, but she could also feel that it wasn’t centered on her, nor was it hostile. Zarrey was too honest for that. But, if this wasn’t a mutiny in the making, then what was it? “I’m afraid I don’t know, Colonel,” she said.
“Come on,” Zarrey said warmly, “I drank enough with Fairlocke to know he couldn’t hold his liquor. I’m sure he let something slip at some point.” Surely, the Gargantia’s crew had wondered? After all, the Singularity’s crew was known for adopting wayward strays, not producing fine command staff. “There had to be some rumor? Maybe he realized the Admiral was something of a jerk and didn’t want to inherit that legacy?”
“It had nothing to do with the Admiral, sir.” Foster knew that. “Fairlocke held him in exceptionally high regard,” such high regard that he would tell stories of his training to the Gargantia’s senior staff, and they had filtered it down to the lower crew. Every member of the Gargantia’s crew had inherited some respect for the Fleet Admiral, even in a time when the fleet at large had scorned Admiral Gives. “He spoke highly of you as well, Colonel.” Fairlocke had passed down some truly wild stories of the Colonel’s exploits, and having met him, Foster now believed every single one. “The only thing Fairlocke ever said was that this ship was cursed.”
“Cursed?” Zarrey echoed.
“Yes, sir. He wouldn’t really comment on it, but Fairlocke believed the Singularity was cursed.”
Zarrey furrowed his brows for a moment, lips drawing into a thin line as he thought something through, then he burst abruptly into laughter. “Well, of course she is.” Most of the crew knew that before they ever set foot aboard. “They call her the Bloody Singularity for a reason.” Nothing about her history had been pretty. “There aren’t that many theological churches in the worlds, but most of them think she’s the ship of the damned, and we’re lost souls for sailing with her.” Zarrey scratched at the old pink scar on his chin and looked up to the radar screens. They were still showing a blank return in this empty sector. “The entire Frontier calls this ship the Night Demon. Her previous commanding officer was a notorious psychopath, and the jury is still out on the current one. So yeah, it’s pretty certain that she’s cursed. Never figured Fairlocke would get scared off by that, though.” That seemed a stupid reason to refuse a command.
“Actually, sir,” Foster said, carefully watching Zarrey’s reaction, “Since you brought it up, I believe there may be some merit to his claim.” Immediately, she saw Zarrey’s expression change from amusement to sincere interest. “I noticed it during the raid, but as I familiarized myself with the central computer’s code, it became even more apparent that it was acting well outside its design envelope.”
Zarrey contemplated that for a moment, glancing over to Galhino, who had suddenly become very interested in something on her console. He could almost see the gears turning behind the sensor officer’s curly hair. “I’m not sure I understand your insinuation, Lieutenant,” he said, returning his attention to Foster.
“No human ship has ever been designed to engage in cyberwarfare. A few more recent designs are capable, the Zeus-class Olympia in particular, but the Singularity, for lack of better terms, is very antiquated in that regard. She was designed not to be reliant on computer networking, which is why I’m not sure how we managed to survive the cyberattack. The Singularity’s computers were not equipped with antivirus programs, yet in response to the cyberattack, developed them. I’ve never seen anything like it.” Foster noted Zarrey’s glazed look, and remembered that technology wasn’t his strong suit. “To put it in perspective, sir, when the Hydrian virus infected us, this ship had no immune system to fend it off. It couldn’t even realize it had been infected. We ended up totally paralyzed. Yet, within minutes, the automated systems not only realized they were being attacked, but also managed to fend the virus off and repair themselves. Now, I’d say the Singularity is boasting antivirus programs more complete than any I’ve ever seen. I’m under no illusion they’d fend off the Eran AI, but they’re excellent protection against the Hydra.”
Zarrey frowned and scratched harder at the old scar on his chin. “So these antivirus systems just came out of nowhere?”
“Not nowhere, sir. It appears that the computer itself created them, though I’m not entirely certain how. I’m still analyzing the code. It’s truly fascinating.” It certainly wasn’t something Foster had expected from an aging dreadnaught. “I’m still unraveling all the changes that were made to the automated systems.”
All the more reason not to use them, Zarrey thought. This was a little too odd for his tastes, no matter how much the result had been in their favor. “Is it possible that some outside force has influenced the changes made to the automated systems?” Not that long ago, Ensign Alba had theorized that Command might be influencing the ship through the Black Box. Zarrey had yet to figure out how to test that theory.
“I’m not sure how you mean, sir.” Foster had been taken aback by the computer systems unexpected capability, but, “The only forces in the region were the pirates, the Hydra and later on, the Cassiopeia Coalition. The pirates would not have aided us, and there’s no trace of Hydrian code left. Hydrian code is structured differently than human script, so it would be clear if any remained. I can’t speak for the Cassiopeia Coalition, but it’s worth noting this might be the first time a human ship has documented a victory against a Hydrian cyberattack. Even if the Coalition had the motive to, they would likely have been incapable of aiding us. As I said, the central computer was operating well outside its design envelope.”
“Another impossibility made possible,” just like the jump to Midwest Station. Zarrey didn’t like the feel of it. “Something is not right.” He could just feel it, and it seemed Foster could feel it too. But, perhaps, the one who had realized it first was Fairlocke. Is this why you left? Zarrey asked his memory.
“The automated systems aren’t the only anomaly I noticed, Colonel.” Foster had been wary to mention it, fearing how strange it sounded. “The central computer’s search functions were behaving oddly too.” Tapping the metal case of her data pad, she continued, “This personnel record was one of the very first it produced, but I discarded it because I didn’t recognize the Baron. Yet, the computer spat it out a second time during the search query. That’s why I paused to study it. It’s like the computer didn’t want me to miss it.” And rightfully so, she knew now. “To be honest, I feel the computer helped me more than it should have been able to.”
“Facial recognition software exists,” Zarrey reasoned, not altogether certain why he bothered.
“It does,” Foster agreed. “But near as I can tell, the Singularity doesn’t possess it. Facial recognition requires training. It can take years for a program to be truly effective. We were still working on the Gargantia’s, and the software, even trained, isn’t overly reliable. I’m not sure it would have recognized the Baron, given the drastic changes in body mass.”
“That’s a very scientific way of saying he got fat.” Zarrey wasn’t that surprised either. Given how successful his pirate clan had been, the Baron must have lived like a king. “Thank you for your honesty, Lieutenant.” Foster had proven herself an asset, and would no doubt continue to be one. “I wish I had answers for you, but I don’t. We’re looking into it.” Zarrey was beginning to wonder if a rational explanation existed, or if simply ‘cursed’ was as good as it would get. “Go get yourself some grub,” he instructed Foster. “The Admiral will want your report in the morning. Then we’ll have more work for you, I’m sure.”
“Yes, sir. No problem.” Foster stooped over to scoop all over her equipment up. “I prefer to be busy.” It kept her mind off the Gargantia.
“And stop by supply,” Zarrey called as she left. “Letts can find some sort of bag for your equipment.” Carrying all those cords looked exhausting.
“Aye, sir.” Foster said, abruptly realizing just how hungry she truly was. She’d been too nervous to eat before the mission, and had spent long hours after it in the confines of the computer room. It had been nearly a day since she had eaten anything.
Zarrey watched her leave, then turned immediately to Ensign Alba. “I want you to help her.” Alba was the ship’s resident whiz kid. Computers might not be his specialty, but like everything else, Zarrey was certain he would pick it up quick. “See if you can find an explanation for why the computer created new code. Even I know that isn’t normal.” There had to be a reason. Perhaps it would give them a clue to explain the ship’s other oddities. Hell, it might even point them toward whatever it was the Admiral was hiding. Admiral Gives had, after all, risked everything in activating the automated protocols during the cyberattack. But, if Zarrey knew anything about Admiral Gives, it was that he didn’t take unnecessary risks. He had taken that gamble because, despite the appearance of the situation, the odds had been in his favor. Somehow, he’d known the computer would fend off that cyberattack.
Scratching harder at the old pink scar on his chin, Zarrey knew the anomalies were piling up. It went beyond everything Foster had noted about the computer and its weird code. The mere fact that the automated protocols had issued orders for the boarding parties was a red flag. As a Marine, Zarrey was well aware of that. A safety holdover from the Hydrian War that held through the Frontier Rebellion – automated systems could not issue orders to human units. Too many automated systems had been corrupted, and their prerecorded voices had been falsified to order soldiers to their deaths. Yet, the Singularity had issued the attack orders for the strike teams. Zarrey hadn’t countermanded it because those orders had come in line with the timing of the mission plan, and once the airlock was secure, he would have proceeded without them – even if no orders had been received at all. The order to board had been a formality, confirmation that the mission should proceed as evaluated from all fronts. Still, it was another anomaly to shovel onto the pile.
Yet, it was Galhino that drew Zarrey’s attention next. Hunched over the sensor console, she’d been oddly focused. Zarrey stepped over to peek over her shoulder, quickly realizing what held her attention: the Sagittarion data. But this wasn’t the ship’s historical data that she was studying for anomalies. It was the recent surface scans. “Did you find something, Galhino?” The scan data had finished processing before the away mission to Midwest Station. To Zarrey’s knowledge, however, no one had yet looked at it.
“Foster’s not wrong,” Galhino said, not bothering to look up as she clicked through the different bandwidths of the sensor data, trying to find one with optimal resolution. “This ship is cursed.”
“Well, yes.” Zarrey had never been particularly bothered by that. He felt the misfit and misdemeanor crew had leaned into it.
“Legally, Colonel. This ship is legally cursed. After the Frontier Rebellion, the Constancy-class design was blacklisted.” Panning around the topographical scans of Sagittarion’s surface, Galhino had focused in on one particular area: Knight Industries’ planetary shipyards. “Blacklisted tech is illegal to research or build, but the Singularity was grandfathered into legality, because she was built prior to the ban.” In fact, it could be argued that the Singularity was the very cause of that ban. If she’d never been built and never put to service in the Frontier Rebellion, the Constancy-class designs would not be blacklisted. There was nothing overly experimental with the designs. “However, while the Rebellion justified the blacklisting, it wasn’t the initial cause. The Constancy-class’ creator redacted the central government’s authority to build with his design. He gathered the evidence for the blacklisting.”
Zarrey did recall that, somewhere in the recesses of his mind. While the Frontier worlds had clamored for the Singularity’s disassembly after the Rebellion, such cries had meant little to the central government. However, when the ship’s own designer went on to testify that his design was unsuited for manufacture, and unable to serve the good of humanity, it had drawn more attention. The facts he presented were irrefutable, and the legal case, given the toll of dead on the Frontier, had reached a forgone conclusion. “Well, it’s not like the blacklisting changed anything, Galhino.” The Singularity had continued to serve the fleet for decades afterward. “No one obliged it.”
“Exactly, Colonel. No one obliged it. Don’t you remember what Callie said?” Back when she’d been brought up to brief the bridge crew on Sagittarion’s living conditions? “There’s a skeleton on Sagittarion. Another Constancy-class. Or something that looked a lot like it.”
Something that looks a lot like it. Zarrey fought off a shudder as an even less welcome memory rose to the surface. “You don’t think they’re going build an Ardor-class?”
Galhino paused. “An Ardor-class?” She’d never heard of that class, and as the sensor officer, studying ships for identification purposes was her job.
“Before your time,” Zarrey realized. “One of Command’s spooks, Doctor Seltzar, was an old rival of the Constancy-class’ original designer. He was obsessed with creating something better than his rival’s crowning achievement. Seltzar drew up plans for a heavy renovation, blacklisting be damned. He pressured Command into it, swore that with a monster like that, there’d never be another Frontier Rebellion.” Likely, he would have been right. That warship could have eradicated populated worlds with ease. “Command wanted to build it, but they needed a Constancy-class to do so.” It went without saying the Singularity had been volunteered, the only ship of her class. “But Admiral Gives refused to turn the ship over for rebuild.” Zarrey hadn’t quite understood why at the time. Those designs would have made him the most powerful man in the worlds without question. “Of course, it later turned out that Seltzar was criminally unhinged. When his design couldn’t be built, he went AWOL. There’s been rumors he’s still alive, but it hasn’t been confirmed.”
“But,” Galhino realized, “if the Singularity isn’t the only Constancy-class structure around, Seltzar’s designs could still be built. What made his plans so special?”
“It was an improvement in every way: more guns, more armor, more engines.” Nothing in the worlds could have rivalled it. “The Admiral phrased it like this: the Singularity is a battleship. She’s built to fight, but she’s capable of peace. Seltzar’s design, the Ardor-class Universal, would have been a warship. Its very existence would have demanded its strength be tested. It would have been so powerful that rebellious worlds could have been crushed like insects. The slightest disagreement would have resulted in genocide, and that’s not real peace. That’s silence earned by slaughter.” For a man like Admiral Gives to say something like that… It had lived unforgettably in Zarrey’s mind ever since. When the man directly responsible for the loss of a habitable world and its three-hundred and thirty million inhabitants said something was too deadly to exist, he was probably right. Humanity wasn’t ready to control that kind of power. “However, if Reeter knows about those plans, there’s no way he’d let that structure sit.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Even if Reeter isn’t going to use the structure to build a ship directly, he’d still harvest its materials.” The material put into even a half-finished Constancy-class could be used to strengthen entire squadrons of smaller ships. “But, looking at the scans, the structure hasn’t been disturbed. Like Callie said, it’s half-submerged and unrecognizable.” The structure was vaguely the right size to become a battleship, but had no tell-tale marks to specify what class. “That said, the material scans are reporting 92% pure Ariean shipbuilding alloy. That makes it the second-highest purity I’ve ever seen.” Second only to the Singularity.
“It doesn’t look like they’ve harvested it.” Zarrey could see the images over her shoulder. Nothing but litter and wastewater surrounded the skeleton.
“Exactly. It looks perfectly undisturbed, but we picked it up from orbit.” It was a very large mass of purified material. “And Callie knew about it. That means its well-known on the surface.” Quite frankly, the structure was too big to hide. “There’s no way the New Era doesn’t know that structure is there.” There was no logical reason they would ignore it. “So, I queried the records and pulled up the second most-recent scans we have.” On the console, she split the screen between the two scans, explaining, “We have detailed scans of the planetary shipyards for every visit we’ve taken to Sagittarion. Someone’s been keeping tabs on this skeleton.”
Zarrey felt himself begin to frown. The Admiral. It had to be. He’d refused to explain Callie’s mention of that structure before they headed to Sagittarion. An excuse had been fabricated to justify the entire operation, and the surface scans had enabled Admiral Gives to check the structure’s status. In the New Era’s coup, he had to have known what that abandoned structure, if it was indeed a Constancy-class, might become.
“The last two scans are identical, Colonel,” Galhino said. “The data from the scans we just processed is completely identical to the previous one. The computer says it is unaltered, but I don’t believe it. Someone pulled the data from our most recent visit and replaced it with the old. Someone doesn’t want us to know the actual status of what’s down there.
“The Admiral.” Zarrey was certain. It had to be him. “But why?” He’d had no role in that illegal build on Sagittarion, so why conceal it?
“There must be something he doesn’t want us to see,” Galhino said, looking back to Zarrey for approval on her theory.
Trying to conceal the build itself was futile. If the structure on Sagittarion eventually launched as an Ardor-class, there would be no mistaking it. And, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t seen a Constancy-class. They looked at and worked on one every day. Unless, Zarrey realized, that structure might show us something. Something we aren’t supposed to see. Admiral Gives had always been very protective of the Singularity. To some extent, that extended to the crew as well, but it went further with the ship. The Admiral wouldn’t allow non-crewmembers to work on her, even at spacedock, and if the Ardor-class fiasco was any indication, he wouldn’t allow the ship to be altered, even for renovations that should have enhanced the ship’s capabilities.
All those oddities. A turret misfire to intercept the nuke. A random error in the helm controls to dodge the orbital mass driver. An FTL mishap to place them at Midwest Station. A central computer with abnormal capability. Now, strange reports from the engineering teams regarding the ship’s structure. Cursed, Fairlocke had said. That was one word. Zarrey would simply call it weird.
Try as they might, the crew would never find anything directly wrong with the Singularity. They would never identify any altered systems or additions, because there was no point of comparison. The Singularity was a unique class of ship with a blacklisted design. A lot of the original documentation had been purged over the years, and none of the original crew remained.
But, if that build on Sagittarion truly was a Constancy-class, it provided baseline measure. If they compared the Singularity to it, any modified systems would become obvious. Yet, what could one be hiding on a ship that had been regularly inspected from bow to stern? The crew may not have the original design prints for the Singularity, but they had the engineering schematics, and had made repairs all over the ship. If something was truly strange, surely one of the few hundred engineers would have noticed?
Zarrey had suspected Admiral Gives was hiding something, and that the Singularity’s records might reveal it. Now, he had to consider the opposite. Perhaps the Singularity was hiding something and Admiral Gives knew what it was. Zarrey reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s never easy.”