Meo Sector, Battleship Singularity
Colonel Zarrey did not feel particularly welcome at the engineering controls. He was cross-trained on all the bridge consoles – the entire bridge crew was in case they needed to fill in for one another – but he’d never felt at ease behind the engineering controls.
His relationship with the ship had always been tenuous at best.
There was a teasing sense to it most of the time. He’d never been injured in any of the mishaps he endured on maintenance, and Zarrey did not mind being made a fool of. His apparent ineptitude entertained the crew to no end and he laughed about it as much as anyone else did.
That said, Zarrey was factually aware of his abilities, and he knew better than anyone how little he understood the ship. Machines had never really been his strength. Granted, monitoring the engineering controls did not require a grand understanding. They were fairly idiot-proof as far as the mechanics on a machine with planet-killing capability went. Red indicators meant bad. Green meant good. Someone illiterate could have looked at the power grid indicator charts and seen that there were a few glaring red holes in it.
The Singularity’s entire bridge had been designed with such simplicity. Even the flight controls. Basic maneuvers, such as turns and acceleration control were obvious. Anyone could manage them, pilot or not. More delicate maneuvers like docking were exponentially more complex, but every console on the bridge kept the rudimentary controls obvious. That had been a requirement during the War. Officers had been dying off so quickly that others with incomplete or no training had been forced to take their place.
Of course, it occurred to Zarrey that, as Flagship of the era, the Singularity had probably never actually been in that position. Back then, she would have been crewed by the best the fleet could offer, the finest officers, pilots and Marines at her disposal.
Now, she was crewed by a misfit group of delinquents and had his flatly uncomprehending self sitting at the engineering controls. Zarrey did wonder what the Old Bitch thought of that. Then, he realized that was probably the reason he’d taken to calling her that. It could not be fun to be a starship – one of the most complex machines ever built – and have somebody with an admittedly shaky understanding of relativity watching over the operation of light-hugging engines. The intrusive thoughts calling Zarrey toward the FTL control key weren’t helping either. The key jutted up above the other controls, looking like it would be very satisfying to turn.
Logically, Zarrey knew turning that key should do nothing. The FTL drives weren’t charged, and the power lines to the one last used had been cut. But, on the off-chance that it might do something, Zarrey resisted the urge to reach up and crisply click the key over.
Eventually, he had to turn away from the temptation, looking toward Frasier and Potter, who were hunched over beside the flattened drone. They had moved it from the floor beside the engineering console onto the softly glowing top of the radar console in the center of the room. The so-called ‘radar console’ was a table with backlighting for navigational charts. It had no controls on its surface, but had the relays for the bridge’s radar displays underneath, hence the name.
“Are you guys done with that fucking thing yet?” Zarrey asked. He would much rather be leaning against the radar console’s thick rim and beveled edges, but with Potter and Frasier dissecting the drone, someone had to monitor their stations.
Lieutenant Johannes, who usually commanded the graveyard shift and had been in charge when the drones attacked, was formally trained as a sensor officer, so he’d taken Potter’s spot. That left Zarrey to babysit Frasier’s position behind the engineering controls, whether he liked it or not.
“Not yet, sir,” Frasier said, bending down to rummage through the toolbox at her feet. “Sorry, sir.” She, much like the rest of the ship’s technicians, knew Zarrey’s dislike for sitting at engineering, but someone had to watch the controls.
“We’re getting close though, sir,” Potter flipped through the papers on his clipboard.
Zarrey had not looked at the documents himself, but allegedly, Potter held the design schematics for a Knight Industries cutting drone. Potter had printed them off to compare against the drone Frasier had crushed, as they tried to determine how it had been activated and who was controlling it.
In all honesty, it never ceased to amaze Zarrey what kind of random shit lingered in the ship’s memory banks. He was beginning to wonder more what wasn’t in the encyclopedic memory servers, than what was. “Johannes, see anything?” Surely, whoever initiated this attack would approach them soon.
“No, sir. Quiet and still outside.”
Zarrey tried not to feel a sense of foreboding. It was too quiet in this void sector and it was too damn quiet on the bridge. He was used to the chatter of the day-shift bridge staff. As they were the primary station handlers, Zarrey expected them to find their way here, but Montgomery Gaffican was the only one who had shown himself so far. Monty had stopped by, but left his third-shift counterpart manning the weapons console, arguing his expertise would be better spent organizing the gun crews to work the main battery loaders without comms. He was probably right, but that didn’t explain Galhino, Alba, or Jazmine’s continued absence. Zarrey tried not to consider what may be keeping them away, but he’d heard the screams from down the hall and seen the wounds on the yeomen that stopped by to update them on the chaos below decks. Things were not so quiet elsewhere.
“There it is. Beezlenac, that thing’s tiny,” Frasier said, lifting a small set of pliers out of the drone’s pancaked wreck.
“What is it?” Zarrey asked.
“Well, I’m not entirely sure, sir,” Frasier said, laying a cloth down before she dropped the pieced she’d removed from the drone down onto it. “Given the way it was wired in, I’d say some kind of control chip. I don’t recognize the make.” It had a very strange translucent color to it. “I’ve never seen one with circuitry this dense.”
“It’s Hydrian.”
Zarrey swiveled in the chair behind the console, half-expecting to see the Admiral. It was his style to show up out of the blue with every question already answered, but instead, Zarrey found Kallahan, limping his way onto the bridge with a crutch helping support his weight. “I’ve seen this before,” the old veteran said. “Mining ship back in the day. She went down all hands lost when the drilling equipment she was carrying ripped through the hull.” Kallahan shuffled slowly toward the center of the bridge, expression twinging with discomfort each time he moved his wounded leg, however valiantly he tried to conceal it. His crutch tap-tapped across the deck at uneven intervals. “The Hydra excel at infiltration. If they can’t infiltrate wirelessly, they’ll infiltrate physically, wiring in their own equipment to control our systems. No one looks twice at a human-built drone until it’s too late.” Battlefield scraps had been happily recovered for repair, only to turn on the groups that gathered them.
“It’s not like we sent these drones to run around the pirate base,” Zarrey said. “We can’t even operate the damn things.” Even Zarrey understood that the Singularity lacked the capability to control them. He was honestly surprised the ship’s automated controls ran the ship as well as they had. “How did Hydrian control chips end up installed?”
“A physical agent has come aboard. It would have installed the chips.” Kallahan had seen this tactic before. Little machines would crawl amidst the bodies on the battlefield, looking for a host to turn to their cause. It had worked well to clear out desperate survivors as they tried to gather equipment and ammunition. By the middle years of the war, humanity had abandoned all varieties of combat drones, even those that operated without a network.
“By agent, you mean the Hydra?” Zarrey asked. “That thing’s been under guard since it got here. It hasn’t been anywhere near the storage compartment where the cutting drones were held.”
“The biological Hydra is not directly responsible, but its presence is likely the only reason FTL power was cut in a safe place.” The ship could just as easily have been dropped into a deadly gravity well. “The Hydrian AI has come to recover its crewman. It is controlling a physical avatar somewhere on board.”
Son of a bitch, Zarrey thought, then corrected himself, son of a fucking brood mother. “Think it snuck aboard while we were docked?” Loathe as Zarrey was to admit it, it was possible. The Indigo Agent had managed.
“Unlikely.” The Hydra had other methods. “Often, the Hydra will place drones aboard their missiles. The precision with which they shape their charges allows the drones to survive and sneak aboard once the target’s hull has been breached.” With the deadly nature of explosives, it didn’t always work. Sometimes the drones were destroyed upon impact, but the Singularity had taken a fair number of hits in the battle. “Given the way the Baron adopted Hydrian tactics and technology, this was likely one of them.”
“So, there’s a Hydrian drone running around, installing control chips on anything it can use.” Great. “How’s the drone being controlled? We were at warp. You can’t maintain live communications at warp.” Even an AI should not have been able to precisely command such a complex attack. If it had knocked them out of warp, just fractions of a second earlier or later, the entire ship could have been lost.
“Just because humanity never figured out hyperspace communication does not mean it is impossible,” Potter reasoned, nervously fixing his glasses.
“Well, fuck,” Zarrey cursed. The cutting drones themselves were bad enough, but to hear there was probably a Hydrian drone crawling around… That made matters worse. “Is there any chance these control chips could seize the ship’s systems?”
Frasier bent over to study the little glass device. “I cannot be certain, Colonel, without knowing the capabilities of these chips, but I would doubt it. Any one of the Singularity’s systems is a great deal more complex than a cutting drone, and then there’s the size factor.” A chip this small couldn’t be wired into the connections the ship’s main systems utilized. The size differential was too great. The chip was too small and the ship far too large.
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Not to mention she tends to misbehave anyway, Zarrey reasoned. If the ship wouldn’t listen to him, he put the odds of her abiding an alien AI near zero. He returned his attention to the engineering console, remembering all the weird anomalies that had piled up the last few weeks. It had annoyed him then, but now it gave Zarrey a slim degree of almost-comfort. Those anomalies were going to be every bit as unpredictable to an external force trying to control the ship as they were to the crew. He lightly tapped the edge of the console. For once, how about you act possessed when I need you to? Surely, of all the Marines and sailors who had died here, at least a few were Hydrian War veterans looking for revenge?
Frasier bagged up the control chip taken from the drone and returned to the engineering console. Zarrey quite happily relinquished the controls back to her and stood. “I need ideas, people. How do we get rid of a drone infestation?” It was not sustainable to hunt these drones down one by one. They were undetectable by the ship’s internal sensors and the injury reports for the crew were already abysmal. Plus, even if it couldn’t take the Singularity’s main systems, there was nothing stopping the Hydrian AI from seizing control of smaller equipment: airlocks, local life support hubs, even the ship’s missiles. The Hydrian AI did not need the Singularity’s primary systems to cause carnage.
“What about an EMP?” Johannes asked, giving the seat at sensors back to Potter. “The electromagnetic pulse should fry anything attached to the ship’s power grid. The drones too, if they’re not standing on an insulated surface.”
“Let’s try it.” In Zarrey’s opinion, trying anything was better than nothing. As he stood in command of the situation, he refused to be idle. One of the most brutal lessons drilled into officers in training was that of command and control. They were separate. One could have command of any situation, yet lack in control. In this case, Zarrey very much felt the burden, the desperation of command, but he was scrambling to find any part of it that remained in his control. “Frasier, start rerouting power.”
“Aye.” Frasier began flipping switches, altering the state of the ship’s damaged power grid, shutting some systems down and funneling power to those that needed activation. “Charging FTL Drive 3.” Essentially large capacitors, the FTL drives required an immense amount of power to be spent in an instant to activate. To that end, they accumulated and stored power over time to be released all at once. If that power was directed properly into the FTL mechanics, it removed the ship from normal space, into subspace or hyperspace, depending on the method. If the power was directed improperly, it fed back into the ship’s power grid, and could be disastrously destructive, or with proper setup, generate a massive electromagnetic pulse. It was still destructive then, but to a purpose.
Still, as she tried to reroute power toward FTL Drive 3, Frasier found the drive demanding more and more, suddenly in danger of demanding more than the power grid could provide. The relays she enabled were going down at the same rate they came online. “Sir, negligible charge is being built. As I try to charge the drive, the power grid’s connections are being severed.” The grid schematics around Drive 3 had taken on a bloody red tone, same as the drive that had been carrying them through warp when the drones had cut its power.
Kallahan nodded grimly, expecting that result. “Attempt to reroute power toward any drive, and the drones will counter.” That stranded the ship at sub-light speed and prevented an EMP attempt. In that way, the ship was unable to defend herself against the drones crawling through her innards, hostage as much as her crew was.
“Abort the charge,” Zarrey told Frasier. Clearly, it wouldn’t earn them anything. “Let’s not encourage the drones to bite any more holes in the power grid.” That grid powered life support, lights and everything else that made the void habitable. “We’re sitting ducks.” Zarrey hated it. “Still no sign of the ship hosting the damn lizard AI?”
“None, sir,” came the response from Potter, decidedly more nervous than before.
Zarrey couldn’t blame him. This was the first Hydrian encounter for most of the crew, Kallahan the only exception. “Well, we already know this ship was carrying camouflaging tech, and that damn nebula isn’t helping anyone.” It wasn’t visible to the naked eye at this range, but it put just enough background EM emissions into near space to conceal any noise a camouflaged ship might make. “Any other bright ideas?” he asked the bridge crew.
There was a moment of silence, each of them thinking, but no one offered out a solution. Eventually, Kallahan spoke, “Where is Admiral Gives?”
“Fuck if I know,” Zarrey said. “Haven’t seen him.” That might have worried Zarrey under other circumstances, but aboard ship, the Admiral was probably the most capable member of the crew. He could defend himself better than anyone else, simply because he was incomparably familiar with the terrain.
A scowl took hold of Kallahan’s face. “He’ll have gone to the source.” And it seemed he was right to do so.
“The source?” Zarrey could see the wheels turning in Kallahan’s mind. That was always a bit unnerving for a Marine. They weren’t usually known for their critical thinking skills, but Zarrey could see through Kallahan’s realization that there was a way to end this attack. Kallahan knew it and it seemed the Admiral did too. “The Hydra?”
The old Marine nodded. “That’s what this AI is after.” To engage it would end this attack, one way or another.
“He shouldn’t confront that thing alone,” Zarrey said. The Admiral was plenty capable, but that Hydra was stronger than any unaugmented human. If it turned violent in an enclosed space, it would be deadly, no matter how capable its victim. “Does he even know the Hydrian AI might have a physical agent on board?” Surely, the AI would not leave its desired target unprotected?
“Hard to know,” Kallahan answered. The Admiral may have drawn that conclusion on his own, the Angel may have told him, or he might not know at all. Kallahan had never quite been able to tell where the Admiral’s intelligence ended and where the Angel’s vast experience took over. The weapon, malfunctioning it may be, surely knew what heralded from this attack. The Hydrian AI would not leave the biological drone behind. If it did, it risked exposing the Empire’s presence on this side of the Neutral Zone. All of the Hydrian Empire’s plans were in jeopardy. To achieve any plausible deniability, the biological Hydra had to be recovered, and the Singularity, isolated and infiltrated had to be silenced. Long range communications had been disabled, just like their internal counterparts. Even if they had wanted to send a warning to Command, currently, they were unable to.
“Give me your kit,” Zarrey ordered. The Admiral would be outnumbered and outmatched as he confronted the Hydra and Kallahan’s bum leg made him too slow to get down to the state quarters.
Kallahan slowly took the rifle he carried off his back. “It might be too late.” It was safe to assume the Admiral would have known to confront the Hydra long before anyone else. Strategy was the man’s forte, after all.
“Stuff it,” Zarrey told him. “Your issue with the Admiral is your own problem.” It was pretty clear to anyone with eyes that the two were tense around each other. “I’ll go help the idiot.” Zarrey swore it had never once occurred to the Admiral to simply wait for backup. Sure, he was plenty patient in a fleet action, but personnel combat? He always charged in first, sword in hand, much to Zarrey’s annoyance. Zarrey – and much of the ship’s Marine contingent – would love to help him stab some traitors, but more often than not, the issue was settled before they arrived. “If this is how we end the drones’ assault, then I’m going to help end it.” The crew and ship were both struggling too severely to ignore any opportunity at resolution, alien lizard or no alien lizard.
Zarrey slipped Kallahan’s rifle strap over his back, then took the sidearm and extra ammo clips offered to him. He secured it all and looked once more to Kallahan. “Since you know so much about these fucking scaly bastards, you’re in charge.” And good luck, Zarrey mused, because I think the Old Bitch hates you more than she does me.
To the rest of the bridge crew, Zarrey said, “Send some Marines to the Hydra’s quarters when you can. I’ll be back.” With that, Zarrey took off running full-sprint to the state quarter section a few decks below.
***
Crimson speckled the corridor, a smear, thick, wide and shiny, streaked down the matte gray bulkhead. A Marine sat slumped at its end, clutching at his upper chest. Blood oozed between his hands, streaking down his arms, some darkening and coagulating, more running down, fresh.
A crunched-up drone sat beside him. Slightly larger than a cutting drone, it was the ivory white of bone. Its camera lenses were shattered, one pushed out of and hanging from its socket. The whole corridor reeked of battery acid and blood.
The fight was over by the time Admiral Gives got there. It was all he could do to kneel down and feel for the Marine’s pulse. Only then could he tell who lay beneath that matte black helmet: Corporal Yankovich. He and his unit had been the primary guards for the state quarters containing the Hydra, claiming responsibility for having brought it aboard.
Yankovich’s face was bloodied. A cut carved deep into his cheek, and swollen purple bruise knotted the side of his jaw. Congealed blood had dripped from his nose, a gross consequence of falling out of FTL. An inch-deep gouge curved across the side of his helmet. Deep lacerations covered his arms and legs. The spacing gave the illusion claw-marks, but the cuts were far too clean, as if done by knife. A few more scratches cut into his body armor, but the only penetration was the wound he’d fallen holding – a stab wound.
His injuries weren’t consistent with fighting a Hydra. They were far too clean, and if they had fought, the Hydra would likely still be here, eating him. There were no burn marks on him either – no sign of having engaged a cutting drone. But the ruined drone beside him was no cutting drone. Its legs were too thick, its design too foreign. That drone was Hydrian. There were materials and components in its wreck the Admiral couldn’t identify.
Taking it out had been a brutal fight, but somehow, Yankovich had managed. “Hell of a job, Corporal.” Before collapsing, Yankovich had jammed his rifle into the wheel mechanism that sealed the door. It was wedged there, preventing the door from opening, and keeping the biological Hydra contained.
Admiral Gives put a hand on the Marine’s neck, expecting it to be growing cold, but Yankovich, collapsed and bleeding, still had a pulse. The Admiral felt a twinge of relief at that, then cursed himself, because relief was a pointless emotion in this situation. Without treatment, Yankovich would die, and without ending this attack, there could be no treatment.
Still, the lives of the crew were the Admiral’s responsibility. He was duty bound to try and protect them, no matter the odds, so he sat and patted Yankovich down until he found the roll of bandages most Marines carried for emergencies. He pulled off Yankovich’s helmet, and started unclipping the fasteners for his body armor. The Admiral was clumsier than he would have liked. His own hand injured weeks ago in the aftermath of the nuke, did nothing but ache, slipping off the small clips as he tried to hurry. The Admiral refused to consider administering first aid wasted time, but he was all too aware of every moment that slipped by. The longer he waited to confront the Hydra, the more precarious this situation became for the rest of the crew.
Yet, without immediate aid, Yankovich would die. He’d bleed out, unconscious in this corridor. He wouldn’t feel a thing, and no one would know that the Admiral had left him there. All the Admiral had to say was that Yankovich had already been dead when he arrived.
But that wasn’t the Admiral’s way. He was accountable for every life aboard the Singularity’s decks. There were times that he had to choose, times he had to leave people behind, but he refused to believe that this was one of them. He mandated self-defense training for all the ship’s crew to buy time in situations like this.
Once the more rigid shell of Yankovich’s armor was off, Admiral Gives carefully and quickly bound his wounds. It might save the Marine, it might not, but Yankovich could not be left out here alone. Unconscious, he would be easy prey for another drone. There was no guarantee the Admiral’s destination was any safer, but there was no helping that.
Admiral Gives took the Marine’s side arm from the holster on his hip and checked it. It was loaded, and the electric battery was charged – perfectly maintained as all Marines kept their weapons. He held the pistol in one hand, then reached up and wrenched the rifle free from the door. He discarded it, then waited for a moment, seeing if the Hydra would emerge, but the opening mechanism on the hatch didn’t shift - probably because the Hydra thought escape was pointless. At this point, it was probably right. All it had to do was wait, and it could walk free, the Singularity’s crew at best incapacitated, and at worst, wiped out. Hefting Yankovich’s limp mass up, Admiral Gives settled the Marine’s weight awkwardly on one shoulder, then reached forward and opened the hatch, keeping the pistol at the ready.