Meo Sector, Battleship Singularity
A brief, uncertain quiet hung in the room. The Hydra lay upon the carpet, a navy-blue oriental rug that matched the upholstery of the sofa and reading chairs. The biological drone was unmoving save the slight bubbles frothing from its mouth and the uneven rasp of its breath. The waxy look of its green, scaly hide appeared almost fake, like the wax sculpture of a lizard compared to a real one. Realistically, Admiral Gives knew that was because a Hydra’s skin wasn’t made of scales like a reptile on any of humanity’s worlds. The Hydra had evolved in an alien biome, not a world terraformed and populated to humanity’s familiar tastes.
It was striking to be in the presence of something so completely alien. In humanity’s experience, worlds often followed similar paths of evolution. Perhaps that meant they had been terraformed by earlier renditions of space-faring cultures, or perhaps that was simply the most efficient way to evolve. Only a handful of worlds developed anything totally unfamiliar. Those biomes were protected under human law, yet had never sprouted anything more intelligent than a cat. In the days of colonial expansion, many planets had been found nearly habitable, and some mining, some added heat, and the introduction of water vapor alongside select species could make the world comfortable to humans. Even with those alterations, however, it was rare for the entire world to be habitable. Certain latitudes – the poles or the equator – could support agriculture, and that determined where colonies would be built. Other parts of the planet were often too hot or too cold, but humanity proved itself capable of adapting to a wide range of environments. The Hydra had too, but in different ways.
The sight of the Hydra frothing at the mouth did not concern the Admiral. Not really. Hydra were hardy. They were tolerant of many different atmospheric conditions – low and high pressures, pollutants, and could endure wider varieties of gaseous mixture than a human. Their weakness, if they had one, was temperature. Humans were hot-blooded, bodies working to heat and cool themselves. Hydra were more akin to cold-blooded, more like reptiles or insects than mammals. The cold didn’t kill them, just put them into a deep hibernation, immobilizing them, while it gave humanity something of an advantage in icy environments. Those cold-weather colonies were the only worlds where humanity had held their own in terrestrial combat. The Hydra were a far deadlier species, hand-to-claw. Space combat, battleship-to-battleship, had been humanity’s saving grace in the War – an even playing field.
As if, no, likely reading his thoughts, the ghost’s armored form stepped up beside him. “Do you want me to track down that little scoutship?” she asked. “They’re quite small. A glancing hit with a defensive battery, and issue would be resolved.”
It wasn’t often that she appeared like this. When she did, Admiral Gives often did his best to ignore it. “Don’t tempt me,” he told her, too familiar with the slight smirk upon her pale lips. Times like this, there was a confident air to her, an invitation in the depths of her silver gaze.
“Why not?” she wondered. The situation would be a lot simpler if Swordbreaker sank before making it back to the Hydrian Armada.
A lesser commander might have fallen for this temptation, for it seemed a simple solution, and it was not often that one of the most powerful machines in the worlds offered to simply erase a problem. The ghost sought revenge on Swordbreaker, and wanted to be unleashed upon that target. In this moment, she, as a machine, very much wanted to be used. But it was never that simple. The Admiral knew that machine better than she herself did, and the odds of catching Swordbreaker were low. Too low to even risk it, even if he would rather wash his hands of the entire situation. “No chance.”
The ghost pouted. “You barely even considered it.”
“Oh, I considered it,” the Admiral said. “Fully.” In a straight fight, she would have demolished Swordbreaker with a flick. He knew it. She knew it. But this wasn’t a straight fight. A scoutship’s forte was stealth, and if it managed to stealth away, knowing they had been trying to hunt it, it was over. Peace would be entirely forfeit, and humanity could not take that chance. “You’re as bad as the Marines.” They were always looking for a fight. The ghost was gentler in some ways, always very protective of those around her, but she had a temper on her. Encouraging someone to use her power sharpened it to a deadly point. The ghost knew she achieved more with a tactician at her side. She had been through enough battles to know that, and the Admiral was quite well aware of it too. “Don’t get any ideas.”
The ghost only smiled, not so innocent. Not many could resist the draw of the power she possessed. Few would even bother to try. “You’re telling me I can’t seduce you?”
“I’m telling you that you will have to try harder.” He was not blind. He knew what that armor of hers represented: a machine ready for war. He recognized it in its black and blood-red symbolism. It was meant to be familiar to him, meant to reflect a familiar power.
A laugh escaped the ghost. “You don’t want to make a deal with the Demon?” she asked, releasing her grip on the shaft of the harpoon in her hands. It vanished the moment she did so, nothing more than a holographic projection. In truth, little of what she’d done here had been anything more than a projection. Trapping Swordbreaker’s AI avatar had been the work of the magnetic field projector, but the view of it – throwing the harpoon and impaling the enemy AI was just a trick of the light, a hologram. But holograms served a purpose, keeping organic minds aware of who was winning the fight between machines. It was little more than a show, but it was a communication as well, informing allies which machine won and which lost.
“I already made a deal with the Demon,” the Admiral reminded. His life in exchange for power. That was the root of all commanding officers’ oaths. Most didn’t mean it. He did.
“I suppose that’s true,” she acknowledged. “And you would be less fun if you folded to my every whim like wet paper.” Power was an intoxicating thing. Some became lost within it, losing sight of its purpose until only the desire to maintain such power remained. That kind of danger was far from a concern with him though. He would align their objectives properly, without her tendency toward a brutal, violent solution. She could win a battle, had been built toward those ends, but he was capable of winning a war – or preventing one. She wanted immediate violence, but he refused it for good reason. “Just forget to call if you need me. Blood pact and all.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s ‘Yes, Madame Demon,’ to you,” she corrected.
“I’m not calling you that.” The Admiral looked once more at the Hydra sprawled on the ground, claws limp and barbed tail draped across its lower limbs. “I do have a job for you, though.”
“Of course,” she said, more than willing.
“Find out why Swordbreaker crossed the Neutral Zone.” It had been by intention, knowingly risking all-out war. But why? If Swordbreaker was willing to negotiate to keep the peace, and the AI had enslaved itself to Crimson Heart to prevent knowledge of its trespassing from being known by the greater powers of humanity, why risk it at all? “I need to plan the away mission, so I’ll leave the interrogation to you.” He could not be in two places at once, and while the ghost couldn’t plan the mission to hand off Rowin, she was more than capable of interrogating the Hydra. Likely, she would do better than the Admiral, no matter how fluent he was in Hydrian. Fact remained he was human, and the Hydra would not respect his authority. The ghost, wielding power akin to a Hydrian Queen, had authority and more. “Just try not to kill the lizard.”
“No promises.” She glanced over the Hydra’s limp form, knocked unconscious by the telepathic pressure she’d applied to its fragile mind. Answers would be no challenge. Every moment the Hydra had stayed aboard ship, its mind became clearer to her, more familiar and easier to navigate – opening itself the way a drone always did to a Queen. It was a disgusting instinct, but a helpful one in this situation. Resist as it might, the Hydra’s own evolution demanded it lend itself to her will.
Admiral Gives turned his attention to the blond Marine by the door. Kneeling down to check Yankovich’s pulse and the state of his wounds, the young Marine was, at the least, still alive. Though perhaps, young was an unfair term. Yankovich was far from the youngest crewman aboard ship. He had been in the Marines somewhere near a decade – long enough to rank up, and that didn’t happen without re-upping and signing a new service contract. Many Marines served as a Cadet for the entirety of their first contract, and those that mustered out never gained any higher rank. Marines had one of the highest turnover rates in the armed services. Command didn’t bother courting them to stay. Marines were considered easy to replace, expendable in most cases. Yankovich had been one of the minority that stayed in the fleet once his initial contract was up, so it was unfair to call him young. He was a fairly experienced soldier, but from the Admiral’s perspective they all seemed young. None of them had seen even a fraction of what he had, and perhaps that was for the best.
The Admiral watched Yankovich’s chest subtly rise and fall beneath the white bandages. “How are the rest of the crew?” he asked, knowing the armored figure lingering behind him would know.
“Lots of injuries. Some severe,” the ghost answered. A cook had been brought to the medical bay and placed on life support, third-degree burns across his back. Another engineer had been bedridden, hand so badly wounded he might not be able to use it again, even if it did not need to be amputated. There were others. Too many others. “But,” she continued, “the attacks have stopped.” The Hydrian AI had upheld its end of the bargain, and in the midst of attacking the crew, the drones had been shut down, the end of the violence had been abrupt, the AI uncaring once a deal had been struck.
The ghost could have listed off the names of the injured and the extent of their injuries, no doubt, but that information was useless to him now. He had other priorities. “Are you able to help locate the drones?” Those drones would have to be accounted for and physically decommissioned before they could be activated again by a hostile AI.
“No, the drones are too small.” She could perceive them in moments, but it was not a physical perception, just a sense of dread, a knowledge that something was wrong. The drones were below her awareness, like the bacteria in an infection, invisible without the aid of a magnifying glass. “I need the crew to sight them. If they are actively damaging something, or in high enough volume to disrupt airflow for the life support systems, I can perceive them, but otherwise… It’s unreliable.” If she had been able to pinpoint the drones and known of their activity, the situation would never have gotten so far. The crew would never have been endangered.
That answer did not surprise the Admiral in the slightest. The ghost would not have allowed any harm to come to the crew, had she any choice. What concerned him was the mention of any group of drones large enough to noticeably choke the flow of air through the ducts that routed air for recirculation. “Swordbreaker grouped the drones together that densely?”
“Only in one instance.” The result had not prompted Swordbreaker to do so again. The ghost’s direct interference had ended a dozen drones – a risk, but a necessary one. Some drones had begun targeting the neurofibers as a result. That disruption pained the ghost, but it also divided attention between attacking the fibers and attacking the crew.
As far as the Admiral was concerned, there was only one reason Swordbreaker might have grouped the drones so densely: the identification of a high-value target. Often, that constituted a ship’s command structure, or an asset with critical skills. “Who was targeted? The XO?”
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The ghost did not answer immediately, looking for an out, it seemed. By the way she averted the gaze of this armored and confident form, the Admiral knew what she wouldn’t say. “Smith.” Because I spoke to her, he knew. Damn the stars. “I should have known better.” The drones must have observed their conversation. He should have been more careful. His every movement was studied by his adversaries. Even aboard ship, where everything was usually safe, a conversation could have consequences. If rumor circulated that he had an apparent affection for anyone, and that rumor was overheard by the wrong person… Those consequences could be deadly. Especially for someone like Ensign Smith.
“She’s fine,” the ghost told him. “She was not injured.” Admittedly, it had been close. “Chief Ty and Cadet Santino helped defend her.” Those two had shown impeccable bravery in those moments.
“I made a mistake and you know it.” There was a reason Admiral Gives held himself at a distance from the crew, a reason he never indulged Zarrey’s insistence that they ‘hang out’. Zarrey had been his right-hand man for fifteen years. The XO never took it personally, but certainly wondered, as did other members of the ship’s senior staff. The Admiral did not dislike them, but he knew what happened to those that he had any connection to. Their lives were traded as bargaining chips to get to him, killed when he couldn’t or wouldn’t make the sacrifice demanded of him, but their blood was on his hands, and the Admiral had no illusions about that. “I am meant to maintain my distance.” He, as the Fleet Admiral, was too much of a target, especially now, with Manhattan after his head.
“That is unfair to you.”
The Admiral pointedly ignored the softness in the ghost’s silver eyes. “It is not meant to be fair to me.” It was meant to keep others safe. That was the price of command.
“You know I’ll look after her.” Smith would be safe here – as safe as the ghost’s considerable power would make her, and it didn’t hurt to have the rest of the crew looking out for her either. Smith was popular, and she had earned that attention of her own accord, a welcome and positive presence valued by nearly every member of the crew.
As he took a knee to try and regain his dwindling strength, the Admiral kept a hand on Yankovich’s slowly shifting chest, ensuring the young Marine continued breathing. “I know.” Admiral Gives was well aware that the ghost looked after everyone, “But I should have been more careful.” He could not afford to let his guard down, could not afford to show favor to anyone.
A moment of silence fell. The ghost shifted her posture, looking for another topic of conversation. Any other topic of conversation. Admiral Gives was calm. He did not resent her for the loneliness his authority granted him. He could have, if he chose to, given that she’d placed him in that position, but he never blamed her for anything. Perhaps that was why she found it so troubling. And yet, she said nothing, could say nothing. Not without receiving that same old lecture about how she wasn’t supposed to get attached to anyone.
She hated that stupid lecture. The Hydrian bylaws that separated machines and organics existed for a reason. She understood that, but she still hated the lecture that reminded her of it.
Admiral Gives focused his again on Yankovich, checking the fit of his bandages before trying to lift the Marine once more. His shoulder protested the action, stabbed in his struggle against Swordbreaker’s avatar, but he managed, barely, to half-carry, half-drag Yankovich toward the door. He could plainly see the shimmer of concern in the ghost’s eyes, following the struggle his latest injury brought him, but he ignored it. “Let me know what you find out from the Hydra.”
“Aye,” she said, simply.
With that, the Admiral dragged Yankovich back out past the door, and sealed it behind them. Moving the man that far – just twenty feet – was a bigger struggle than the Admiral cared to admit. Yankovich needed treatment, and soon, but Admiral Gives was in no condition to carry him that far, not with a bad shoulder. He could feel it and the cuts on his arms throbbing. They were clean wounds. Given the healing accelerants from the medical bay, they would heal quickly, but that did not help him now. Right now, he was stuck with a badly wounded Marine in hexagonal corridor with plain, undecorated metal walls. At least three handsets studded the bulkheads within sight, but with internal comms down, not one of them worked.
In the end, the thunder of approaching footsteps was a relief. The Admiral took a knee beside Yankovich once more, utterly exhausted, as Zarrey rounded the corner, sprinting full-tilt down the corridor. A rifle was slung over his back, and a sidearm was holstered on his hip.
He thudded to a stop in front of the Admiral and took in the ship commander’s wounds: a set of claw-like cuts sliced through his jacket and into his arm. His shoulder was bloodied, and then there was Yankovich’s bandaged body. “Well,” Zarrey surmised, “You look like shit.”
Admiral Gives did not disagree. He certainly didn’t feel great.
“The Hydra still alive?” Zarrey asked, jumping to what felt like the most prominent question.
“For now,” the Admiral answered, on the basis that they needed it. “I have negotiated an end to the drones’ attack.”
Zarrey could tell by the ice in the Admiral’s voice that this wasn’t over. It was far from over. That frost tempered his expressions with the strength of steel. “What were the terms?”
“We are to present the Hydra to an ambassador of the Empire in twelve hours.” Or else.
Twelve hours wasn’t a lot of time to make repairs, but Zarrey sensed that wasn’t the issue. There was something more. “Where’s the hand-off occurring?”
Admiral Gives forced himself back to his feet, unbothered by Zarrey’s six-foot stature continuing to tower over him. “Azura.”
Zarrey felt his mouth go dry. “Azura?” Great stars, why? He stared at the Admiral’s unfailingly stoic façade, uncertain he had heard that right. “The Azura at the center of the Quarantine Zone? That Azura?”
“Yes.” There would be no avoiding it now, the Admiral knew. The deal was struck and the terms set. “The Hydra cannot fortify it, nor will Command interrupt us there.”
“Because no one, not even you, is bold enough to go there,” Zarrey argued. “It’s madness.”
“Nonetheless, it is our destination. Take Corporal Yankovich to medical. I will wait here for a new guard.”
“Fuck that,” Zarrey said. “You carry, I guard.” It would be stupid to leave the Admiral here alone.
Admiral Gives moved only slightly, indicating to the punctures on his shoulder. Even on the thick black fabric of his uniform jacket, Zarrey could see it was stained. He was bleeding, not at an alarming rate, but at one that made the depth of the would clear. The injury would make it difficult to sustain Yankovich’s weight. “Fine,” Zarrey snapped, and gathered the young Marine into a fireman’s carry. Zarrey was bigger than Yankovich, and as a trained Marine himself, did physical training with the ship’s Marine contingent. Yankovich’s weight was no issue for him. “I’ll start gathering the senior staff,” he told the Admiral, noting the pistol and rifle nearby – probably Yankovich’s – but perfectly acceptable for guard duty. “The Marines should be here soon.” Zarrey had sent for them before leaving the bridge. “If they find you dead, I’ll be pissed.”
***
Without internal comms, it took a while to gather the ship’s senior staff into one location. By the time they managed, the ship was already in route, and where they stood, occupying a mere fraction of the war room, a number of the senior staff were in uproar.
“Are you mental?” Maria Galhino demanded, a uniform jacket thrown over her silk pajamas. She, like a vast portion of the crew had been caught unaware by the drones, and hadn’t found time to return to her quarters and properly dress herself.
Probably, the Admiral acknowledged. “The choices were limited.”
“Azura is a death world,” Galhino reminded from where she stood in front of one of the room’s currently dormant screens. “Every fleet sailor knows that. It’s cursed.” And she, a notorious skeptic truly believed that. “You want to land there?”
Want is a very strong word, the Admiral mused.
“Cut him a break, Galhino,” Zarrey interjected, slouching against one of the drawing boards, kicking a loose protective tube containing astral charts between his feet. “The drones stopped their attack.” The crew had been spared. “We’re lucky no one died.”
“Extremely,” the ship’s doctor cut in, gnawing on an unlit cigarette between his words. “But plasma torches are not the most effective weapon. They cauterize any wound they create. That said, I cannot guarantee a full recovery for the worst injuries,” Macintosh looked to the Admiral. “Burns like that take a long time to heal.” With his injured hand, burned badly in the fuel-fed fires that had ravaged the ship after the nuke, Admiral Gives surely knew that. “There will be physical therapy involved.” In any other situation, those injuries would have resulted in a fleet discharge, the end of one’s military service. But the Singularity’s crew no longer had that option available to them. “It was close. Negotiating an immediate end to the drones’ attack saved lives, however inconvenient the terms may now be.” The crew may have been able to fend off the drones otherwise, but not without a heavy cost.
“This will detour us.” In fact, it already was. “The fleet needs food,” Ripley reminded.
“We have to return to them.”
“There’s no choice,” Kallahan grumbled, leaning upon a crutch. Not a member of the ship’s senior staff, he had inserted himself in this meeting, given his experience with the Hydra, and no one had complained. “We’re hostage until we can determine all the drones have been disabled.” Any deviation from their course to Azura would be met with force. “And we are on the brink of war with the Hydrian Empire. There is no higher priority than preventing that by any means possible.” Even if it left people to starve.
Ripley looked imploringly to the Admiral, wordlessly reminding him of the Badger’s innocent cargo, children that stood to lose everything if the Singularity did not return in time, never mind all that was left of his family. Admiral Gives did not care for the reminder of either. It could mean little against te odds of potential extinction. “The Hydrian situation has priority.” The fleet would have to wait.
“Lieutenant Galhino,” the Admiral began to give his orders, “prepare a briefing on what to expect on Azura’s surface. Lieutenant Colonel Pflum, I need one unit of Marines. I expect them and the rest of the away team to be trained in anti-Hydrian tactics, Corporal. As best you can in the time we have. And Chief,” he looked to Ty, who had been strangely quiet, staring at the ventilation grate beside his shoe. “Given Azura’s unique circumstance, the Marines will need an engineer to accompany them. Find me a volunteer.”
Ty nodded, but said nothing.
Admiral Gives might have questioned the man’s behavior, but he knew the drone’s sudden attack would leave scars. The crew would be uncomfortably looking over their shoulders for some time to come.
“Sir,” Kallahan spoke again, gaze heavy, “the Hydra will not willingly negotiate in our language.” They considered it lesser, the sounds of prey. “The away team will require a translator, and given the magnitude of these negotiations, the translation book isn’t enough.” There was an automated program equipped to deal with rudimentary equivalence, but it could not determine context or intent. Only a translator could do that. “Lieutenant Robinson is unable.” She was still deep in a coma. “Do you intend to go in her place?” According to the ghost, he was fluent, and Kallahan had no reason to doubt that.
The room went silent. All eyes focused upon the Admiral. Hydrian was a rare skill. Aboard ship, no one beyond himself and Robinson spoke it, so really, there was no choice. With Robinson comatose, he would have to go. “That is correct. I will fly as the away mission’s pilot and act as translator.”
“Oh, fuck,” Zarrey said.
Oh, fuck indeed, the Admiral thought. He did not want to leave the ship. He did not want to send any crew to Azura. But the situation demanded it, and Robinson’s condition required that he accompany them. “That means you will be handling ship operations in my stead, XO."
Zarrey groaned. “This is bullshit. Ship never behaves when I’m in charge.” He would much prefer their roles to be flipped, and Zarrey knew the Admiral preferred it that way too.
Admiral Gives straightened, trying not to disturb the bandages and healing accelerants placed upon his shoulder. “Colonel, your top priority is to get rid of the drone infestation within the next seven hours.”
“Seven hours?” Zarrey demanded. “There are 200 drones on the loose that we can’t detect and you want them gone in seven hours?” The ship was huge. There were too many places to hide. They’d be lucky to find them all in a month, let alone in the next seven hours.
“The drones primarily attacked crew and supply supply stores. Focus on those areas.” The cutting drones had not been interested in sabotaging the ship, outside FTL power and comms. That in itself ruled out the engineering spaces and a large portion of the ship’s volume by result. “Organize search parties and put the SAR dog to work.” Plasma torches put off fumes the search and rescue dog should have no issue sniffing out. “Those drones must be accounted for and decommissioned before we reach Azura.” Otherwise, the Hydrian AI would simply seize control of them again.
“I get that these drones can cause sabotage, not to mention spy on us, but we’ve got longer than seven hours,” Zarrey argued. “Peace will hold through the negotiations at the least.” That bought them a few extra hours.
“I do not intend to take the Singularity to Azura.” Not directly, at least.
Zarrey stopped kicking the tube at his feet. “Why the hell not?”
“Insurance.” It was as simple as that. “If I cannot negotiate a cessation of hostilities, there is a high likelihood of the Hydra double-crossing us. Exempting the Crimson Heart clan, which could be easily wiped out in its present status, Singularity is the only ship with knowledge of the Hydrian incursion. Taking her to Azura gives the Hydra the chance to ambush her.” It would be reckless.
“And if we sink, knowledge of the Hydrian incursion dies with us,” Kallahan realized. If there was a chance, any chance, that the worlds could be warned of an imminent threat, the Hydra would be more likely to accept peace.
“Indeed,” the Admiral said. “So, Colonel, you have seven hours,” and the fate of the worlds.