Gabe watched as the technicians made the final connections to Eagro’s rig. They had been fastidious about checking and double checking each step, but now, finally, they were ready.
At least, he hoped they were. He looked at the nearest technician. “Are we going to start the powerup sequence?”
“Yes, Captain.” The technician hesitated. “All nonessential personnel are required to be outside the bay while we begin.”
“I’m essential, as far as you know.” Gabe smiled. Most of the time, he was willing to go along with the rules, but the Lord knew he had been waiting long enough now. “Get started.”
For a heartbeat, the technician still hesitated, as if wondering whether to challenge Gabe on the orders. Then he turned and nodded to one of his fellow technicians, and an evacuation alert pulsed over the bay intercoms.
Gabe watched as most of the rest of the Wayfarers in the bay made their way out of the area, some occasionally looking back at where Eagro’s rig slumped. He caught Derek looking in his direction and gave the other pilot a half-hearted wave. Derek responded in kind and then tried to catch up to where Nakani was stalking out.
In moments, the bay was empty. As the doors shut, Gabe turned back to Eagro’s rig. He watched as the machinery that the technicians had installed hummed to life.
It took several moments before Eagro’s rig began to show signs of life. They were fitful and hesitant at first, mostly just twitches as the rig’s control impulses misfired. Gabe was reminded, unpleasantly, of some of the zombie movies he had seen as an adolescent. The way Eagro’s rig seemed to jerk and flinch reminded him of that over-exaggerated clumsiness. Hopefully, the stranger had not already perished.
A flood of sparks suddenly shot from Eagro’s severed arm, sending a spray of light across the rig bay. The handful of remaining technicians shouted in alarm, and a few of them ran to check on the nearby machinery. Gabe saw one of them frantically adjusting something on a nearby display, and the sparks cut off.
The rig continued to jerk and twitch, however. Gabe saw lights flickering behind the lenses in the stranger’s head, signs that the main interface and sensors were starting to be restored. He fixed his gaze on that spot, hoping that Eagro would recognize him, even without his CTR.
He was rewarded a moment later when the rig finally appeared to finish powering on. The jerks and twitches diminished; the lights behind the rig’s eyes stayed on. Gabe watched as Eagro’s head turn to the left, and then back to the right. Its gaze seemed to settle on Gabe’s own CTR, still standing in another part of the rig bay.
Then Gabe heard that same warbling voice, this time from an intercom that was located just in front of him. “Gaebril, Waeferr?”
Gabe broke into a wide grin. He’d wondered if the strangers’ rigs had external speakers; in case they had not, the techs had wired up a receiver that could translate any transmissions from the rig as it came online. He waved to the rig and spoke up as clearly as he could.
“Eagro, it’s me. I’m Gabriel.”
The rig’s gaze moved down. It drew its head back slightly. “Gaberil? Dende estemos? Tuv estes fuered du tuv madura.”
Gabe nodded, though he had only a small idea of what the stranger was saying. “I’m here. We are at our home. We are safe.”
“Saefe.” Eagro looked around the rig bay. Their gaze settled on the nearby technician, who was still busily monitoring their machines. His rig twitched, as if he had tried to power up another system. “Home. Saefe.”
“Yes, safe.” Gabe nodded in an exaggerated way, hoping the message was getting across. “We saved you. The enemy is gone.”
“Atanaas.” Eagro’s rig began something like a nod, but paused as another shower of sparks shot from its leg. The craft seemed to wince, slightly. “Ae sado danado. Pudo ablar conmi kasa? Conmi home?”
Gabe sighed. It was obviously going to be harder than he had hoped to communicate with the stranger. He shook his head. “I don’t understand you. I’m sorry.”
“Hrnn.” The stranger seemed as frustrated as Gabe felt. Then the intercom emitted a terrible, earsplitting series of squeals and static.
Gabe clapped his hands over his ears and looked at the techs. They were doing the same, at least until one of them slapped at a control. The noise cut off, and the technicians relaxed. “Sorry, sir. Looks like he was trying to transmit some kind of file.”
“A file?” Gabe looked back at Eagro, his mind going back to the way Nakani had tried to work with the strangers. When words hadn’t worked, the mercenary had tried to fall back on simpler things. Demonstrating via actions. If Eagro had tried something similar… “Can we open it? Understand what he’s sending?”
“I…think so, sir.” The technician frowned. “It’s in an old format, one that we barely have any records of. I guess the Concord probably has a lot more of those archives than we do, cause I sure haven’t seen it on the rest of the computer network.” He tapped a few keys. “The display should show it now, sir.”
“Thanks.” Gabriel stepped over to the display and watched as the file played out. It was a simple animation, one that showed a crude sketch of both a Wayfarer CTR and Eagro’s broken rig flying through space together. They arrived at another sketch that looked like the horrible, claw-like ship that had launched the attack against the Imperious. Eagro’s home base.
If it was the same ship, it had definitely seen better days. Chunks of it looked to be missing, and the vicious-looking spikes were mixed with stumps where some of them had been severed. Clearly, the enemy had been at work there, too.
Gabe looked back at Eagro, and then at the techs. “Can you help me send something back to him in the same format?”
“Yes, sir. It might take a while.”
Given his usual artistic talents, that statement was already optimistic. Still, as Gabe looked up at the shattered rig, he felt a burst of enthusiasm for the task ahead. It might take some time, but the Wayfarers were going to be one step closer to having an ally in their fight.
Susan watched as the forces of the Directorate moved.
An outsider might not have noticed the difference, but to Susan it was as plain as day. Ajax had always been the lead of the formation, but Antiphus and Odysseus changed how they were arranged around it. Before, all three ships had been in the same wedge that the Deliverance-class cruisers had used. Now Odysseus took up position a little higher above Ajax, while Antiphus shifted a little lower. It was a standard Directorate formation, one that allowed the ships to employ their weapons at optimal efficiency.
As those three ships moved, they also began to push forward, their heavy armor providing the fleet with a vanguard that could survive a steady assault. As they moved, rigs peeled away from the launch bays on Penance and Concord, sweeping out to replace the CTRs that were currently on patrol. These newcomers were not the familiar CTRs, AWORs or RSRs that the Wayfarers used. They were the standard WGCs used by the Directorate in the majority of their combat forces. Mobile, but lightly armored, they would still make an invaluable defense screen, especially as the CTRs recovered from the recent battles.
A signal reached her command station a moment later. It was from the Ajax and carried a fresh command code. “Captain Wong, reporting. All assets are online.”
“Good to hear, Captain.” Susan nodded slowly, noting the way the watchstanders on the bridge stiffened when they heard the Directorate officer’s voice. She might have been able to persuade the Council of Elders to accept Wong’s offer, but it would still be a long time before many of the Wayfarers could trust their former enemies. “Please continue to take up your positions in the formation. Notify me if there are any issues.”
“As ordered, sir.”
She watched the craft carefully, knowing that she was just as wary of those ships as the Wayfarers. Wong, she could believe, would follow his sense of honor and change his allegiance, but it was a bit much to expect the same out of every one of the Directorate crews onboard those ships.
Then again, each of those ships had been installed with a self-destruct mechanism, one that could be activated from the Concord. If the flagship died, the signal would be triggered automatically as well. She had been careful to let Wong know that fact before she passed on the news that they would join the fleet’s defenses. He accepted the implicit warning with fairly good grace, though Hummel had been comparatively less than happy about it.
There had been a handful of suggestions to rearm the mercenary pilots as well, but even Captain Wong hadn’t been enthusiastic about that possibility. She had defused that particular problem by pointing out that the work the SARs were doing remained critical to the fleet’s rescue operations, and that they would have required substantial downtime to convert back into combat rigs. The grumbling from the former mercenaries onboard the Penance had nearly been audible all the way on the flagship, but she had ignored the majority of it.
For now, she was more concerned with keeping the fleet on course and watching for the next move from the enemy. The longer they delayed, the more resources that she could put to use against them, but she had no idea if they were expecting reinforcements. Part of her just wanted to lure in the Wild Colony ships and finish things, but she knew it would be a better idea to wait until Gabriel had finished working on the stranger’s rig they had recovered. The strangers’ help would more than balance out whatever tricks the enemy still had to play.
It would give Hartwinn time to figure out the problems with OMNI as well, though she held out little hope on that front. The Keeper had already retreated back to the Compass, both to secure the personality core that carried Arland Schreiber and to consult with the rest of the Ancestors. He had not been encouraging the last time they spoke, but she had no choice but to rely on him to convince those constructs to help her utilize the tools their descendants had left her.
“Admiral, we’re picking up indications of the enemy units.”
She looked up in surprise. Were they really trying again so quickly? “Where?”
“At extreme range, sir.” The watchstander tapped a few keys on their console. “On the edge of area Echo Ten. Just barely in range of our sensors. They look like scouting units based on their emissions.”
Susan frowned. It was obviously a bait of some kind. The enemy had plenty of stealth capability, and they knew exactly where the Wayfarer fleet was, thanks to their infiltrators. There was no reason for them to keep track of her ships with their own sensors, and even if they needed to do so, they would have been able to avoid detection at that range.
Or could they? She sat back in her chair, thinking over the possibilities. The last time they had depended on their spies, it had not gone well for them. True, they had nearly killed Gabriel and had taken a few of the CTRs and SARs, but their losses in escorts and rigs had been more than enough to offset their gains. Perhaps these scouts were a sign that whoever was in command could no longer depend on their agents to provide sufficient intelligence. Perhaps it even indicated that her efforts to track down Mr. Grey had compromised his ability to betray her movements.
Still, she couldn’t dismiss the possibility of another ambush. Even with Captain Wong’s forces joining her own, she did not have enough to let herself get caught in another trap. She considered those flickering contacts, her eyes narrow. If they were trying to bait her, what would they expect her to do?
Her first option was to send out scouts of her own. Either RSRs or WGCs could easily close with those distant contacts, perhaps even draw them into a skirmish of some kind. They could also be ambushed as Gabriel had, leading to heavy losses.
A second choice would be to push forward aggressively with her cruisers and escorts. They would have plenty of firepower to clear out the rigs, and more than enough to handle the enemy’s escorts in turn. Yet they would also be much slower; the rigs would see them coming and pull back, drawing them away from the rest of the fleet. If there was enough of a gap, the enemy could strike behind them a second time.
Third, she could ignore the enemy and keep her rigs and ships in close to one another, refusing to make contact. That choice would keep her ships safe, but it would also allow the enemy the chance to line up precision bombardment of her fleet. Their missiles were not invincible, but she would run a higher risk of some of them getting through. The civilians were still mourning the casualties that they had already taken. How much more could they endure before unrest swamped her crews?
As she pondered that question, she cast her eyes over the rest of the fleet. They landed on the Compass, where she knew the Keeper was still busy with his own tasks. Gabriel had seemed confident that the enemy was focused on that ship, and the Concord as well. Hartwinn had been just as definite about it as well, and their most recent strikes at the fleet had been directed at those two ships clearly. Before that, they had tried to kill Gabriel. After that, they had tried to kill him again, as if angry that he had stopped their attempts.
It was a pattern of sorts. While they hadn’t killed Gabriel, they had crippled his rig. He was out of whatever the next fight would be. Which meant, if the pattern held, they weren’t going to try to trap a portion of the rigs, or wear down her ships. They would come for the Concord and the Compass.
She nodded slowly. It was her turn to try to trap them now, as long as she could make the bait tempting enough. “All military craft, come to ready status, but do so quietly. Available rig units are to prepare for launch, but do not leave your ships. Expect imminent combat action.”
A watchstander spoke up, his voice hesitant. “Admiral, what are your orders for the civilians?”
“Nothing.” She let the surprise hang in the air for a moment. “They are to maintain their spacing, but we will not give them any special warning. No signals are to reach the civilians that anything has changed at all.”
There was a murmur of incredulity, but Commander Mesic glared the watchstanders back to silence. She tried her best not to let it bother her. It could have been seen as an irresponsible move, but she still didn’t know which vessels would have been infiltrated by the enemy. Any of the civilian ships might harbor a spy, which made them a liability. The last thing she wanted was to give the game away early; if she did, then her next move would be all the more foolish.
Susan turned her attention to the vanguard of her fleet, where Wong and the others were still forging the way ahead. “Captain Wong, accelerate towards Echo Ten. Do not break contact with the fleet, but I want you to make it look as if you have pushed out and away from us.”
“As if we are overeager?” Wong’s voice turned slightly amused. “May I remind you, Admiral, that many of our weapons are still damaged or deactivated?”
“I remember, Captain.” She smiled slightly. “I will send the Penance along with you to round out your numbers, if it helps.”
“Yes, the unarmed mercenary ship.” It was easy to picture him shaking his head. “Do you have any other requests?”
Susan fixed her eyes on the distant contacts. “Try to act as if you were our own cruisers and rigs. I want them to think that the Deliverance-class vessels are leaving the fleet. The escort craft will push forward as well, to act as backup for you.”
“I see.” Wong stayed silent for a moment, and Susan knew he was thinking through the same scenario that she had. It did not take him long to realize what she was doing. “A dangerous gambit, Admiral.”
“Perhaps. We will have to see. Admiral Delacourt, out.” She leaned back and watched as her ships moved into position. If she could lure the enemy out of hiding, it was possible that they would be vulnerable to a strike, one that could rob them of their strength. Perhaps it would even convince them to run, leaving the Wayfarers free to journey on their own. Even better, she might do it without endangering the man she loved.
All in all, it had all the makings of a very satisfying day.
Gabe heard the soft warble of alert status sirens echo through the rig bay and ignored it. A very large part of him itched to run for his rig, but he knew too well that it was in no shape for another fight. A handful of technicians had been working to attach a new arm, but there was no way that everything was ready to be calibrated yet.
Instead, despite what his instincts were telling him to do, he stayed right where he was. At least if he managed to get something across the Eagro he would have done something useful.
Not that it was looking like he was going to achieve that success any time soon.
“Okay, look. Here is our fleet.” He moved an image of the Concord, along with the rest of the ships, to their relative position in the star system. Then he added a crude approximation of Eagro’s own ship, which blinked in and out of existence. “Where is your ship?”
There was a moment of delay. The technicians had been fairly certain that their interface was flawless, but it was clear Eagro was just as frustrated as Gabe was. Perhaps he was heaving whatever his equivalent of a sigh before he sent back the next series of images.
When those images arrived, however, it was Gabe’s turn to repress his irritation. The strangers’ ship was a firm image, not blinking, but it was missing the planets that might have provided a reference for the craft’s position. Instead, it was now surrounded by several crude images of what looked like escort craft, and tiny representations of the rigs Eagro’s people used.
It was looking like he would never figure out how to communicate with whatever was inside the rig. For extremely basic concepts, the images worked, but for the rest, it seemed like every picture was somehow misinterpreted. Gabe sat back and covered his eyes for a moment.
A clicking sound brought him out of his sulk. It came from behind him, forcing him to twist around in his seat to see. His father was walking towards him. Clark Miller gave him a jaunty wave and then looked up at Eagro’s rig. “So, this is our guest, is it?”
“Indeed, it is.” Gab levered himself out of the chair and then gestured to his father. “Eagro, this is my father, Clark Miller. He is also the Speaker of the Way.”
Eagro’s warbling voice echoed through the rig bay. “Tuv pathre? Speker duv la Wae?”
Gabe sighed again, his frustration still bubbling near the surface. “Yes, I think. Does pathre mean father, I guess?”
“I believe so, Gabriel.” Clark studied the machine, a curious look in his eye. “Do we know what this Eagro looks like?”
Gabe shook his head. “No. I haven’t been able to get that question across. All he responds is with an image of his rig.”
“I see.” His father smiled slightly and then bowed. “Greeting, Eagro. My name is Clark Miller. Thank you for saving my son.”
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
“Honda, eldere. Ma dan muchev gusten conokertuv. Mae yamen Eagro, duv la Brecis Rotis.”
“Interesting.” Clark took a step closer, his eyes still fixed on the rig. He poked at the assembled machinery with his cane. “I suppose this is what is keeping him active? And allows us to hear him?”
“Yeah. I still don’t know why he hasn’t exited his rig.” Gabe winced as Clark prodded at the machines, but his father had managed to avoid hitting anything crucial so far. “Some of the technicians have theorized that he might not be able to survive the atmosphere.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Clark tilted his head and examined the rig again. “His machine is humanoid, like ours. Did he express surprise at what you looked like?”
Gabe frowned, thinking back. “No. He seemed to take it in stride.”
“So either he has spied on enough of our communications to know, or he is human as well.” Clark smiled. “Gabriel, show me an image of yourself on the screen.”
Suspicious, Gabe moved to the controls. After a moment, a passable photo of himself appeared.
Clark waved it away, however. “No, I mean all of you. Not just your face.”
Gabe widened the view, showing an image of himself from the rig bay cameras. His father nodded. “Eagro, this is Gabriel.” Then he turned to Gabe. “Now show an image of me.”
Still nonplussed, Gabe continued to work the controls until an image of his father appeared. Clark nodded a second time. “Eagro, this is Clark Miller, with a cane.”
He then carefully steadied himself and tossed the cane to the side. “Eagro, this is Clark Miller, with no cane.”
Then he pointed at the rig. “Eagro, show me Eagro.”
A moment later, the display updated, showing the shattered rig. It was incredibly detailed, far more accurate than Gabe had expected it to be. Even when he was attached to his own rig, he didn’t quite believe that he would have been able to identify all the different areas of damage so accurately.
Clark shook his head. “Eagro, show me Eagro with no rig.” He gestured to the machinery, and then to his cane, still lying on the floor.
There was a long pause. Gabe looked from his father to the screen and back. Clark was waiting patiently, as if he had all the time in the world, while the alarms continued to beat the air in the background.
Then the screen flickered. Something about the way it updated seemed uncertain. It showed a man with his eyes closed in something resembling a life support cradle. Both the man’s legs were missing, as was one arm, but the rest of him seemed whole. There was a recognizable BCI unit attached, but there was a disturbing amount of detail lacking from the man’s features. It was blurry, as if the details were not quite as well remembered.
Clark nodded for a third time, slowly. “I thought so.” He glanced at Gabe, who was staring at the screen with his mouth open. “Are you aware of the origin of rig technology, Gabriel?”
A little taken aback by the non-sequitur, Gabe nodded, still staring at the image on the screen. It went abruptly blank. “Yeah. They were developed as weapons way back when Earth was still intact. The first ones were barely EVA suits with armor and weapons strapped on, for satellite interception and orbital attacks.”
“Until the development of the BCI systems allowed for the accurate control of larger versions, yes.” Clark’s eyes sparkled for a moment. “And are you familiar with what those BCI systems were created to do?”
He came within a breath of the trap before he saw it. “Let me guess. It wasn’t supposed to be used for combat?”
His father grinned widely. “Well done, Gabriel. I always have had faith in your ability to learn.” He stopped and gestured the outer hatch of the rig bay. “The BCI system was not, in fact, developed by a military corporation at all, though Earth’s militaries did not hesitate to adopt those systems for their own use. As a point of interest, the BCI was meant to be used primarily as a medical device.”
Gabe blinked. “A medical device?” He stared back up at Eagro’s rig, realization dawning. “Is that why they can fit in such small rigs? And why they seem so much more used to them?”
“It is likely, yes.” Clark took a few hobbling steps and bent carefully to retrieve his cane. “You see, some parts of the Known Worlds had a curious tradition for a few years. They would give BCIs to anyone who had suffered a debilitating accident. Those who were paralyzed, or who had suffered a debilitating disease, were given the chance to operate various machines, using them almost like their new bodies.”
He paused and smiled. “One advocate of such things was Duvaid Queagros. Do you remember him?”
The name was unfamiliar for a moment. Then the memory returned in a flash. “The guy who scouted this area. The one that kept falsifying records.”
“One and the same.” Clark looked up at the stranger’s rig. Eagro seemed to be listening, but the display was blank now. “I spent some time looking into the man, researching his history. The records aboard the Compass were helpful once I convinced Hartwinn to allow me access. His Ancestors had actually met him, you know.”
The connections lined up in Gabe’s mind. “So Duvaid and his allies escaped into this part of space. They severed ties with the Known Worlds, and these people are his descendants?”
“I would believe so.” Clark settled his cane against the floor with a definitive clacking sound. “Among Duvaid’s supporters, the ones who took to their permanent BCI connections were called the Shattered Wings. I wonder if these Brecis Rotis carry on their legacy.”
Eagro’s rig stirred. It seemed uncertain. “Duvaid Queagros. Dan dond escuchee ese namb?”
Gabe gazed up at the rig, feeling a brief chill. Eagro had recognized the name. His father’s ideas were becoming more and more realistic. “How can they have done this? We know what happens to people who have BCI implants. Human beings aren’t meant to live this way. It isn’t…natural.”
Clark laughed. He spread his arms to take in the ship around them. “Natural! What part of our current situation is ‘natural’, Gabriel?” The Speaker waved his cane at him. “Not even this poor tool is entirely natural. Our forefathers saw those mechanical assistances as simply another tool, no more dangerous or threatening than a combat rig directed by the same system. Besides, they didn’t use implants, except in the most desperate of cases—and many of those who utilized these devices would not have lived for long outside of them. Why would they fear having their minds trapped in the circuits of their BCI, if they would never leave the machines, anyway?”
The words quieted Gabe’s initial reaction. Uncomfortable as he was with the idea, he knew truth when he heard it. “You’re right.” He looked back at Eagro, feeling a rush of excitement. “So we can still be allies?”
“Yes, I believe so.” Then Clark smiled. “But I think that now that you have made your introductions, it might be better for you to join the Admiral. The fleet is preparing for something, and I can keep Eagro company while you are away. On with you, now.”
Gabe started for the exit for the rig bay, his father shooing him on with his cane. He paused halfway out the door to look back and saw his father still speaking with Eagro. Images flashed on the display, and Gabe shook his head. Perhaps he should have relied a bit more on the Speaker to begin with; after all, it was in the title, wasn’t it?
He left the rig bay behind and started for the bridge. If he couldn’t speak to Eagro, and couldn’t fly, at the very least he could be there for Susan. Maybe he would even do some good there.
The soft tone of an alert pulsed through Mr. Grey’s skull.
It was not, of course, a pleasant sensation; it was not meant to be. The pain was not nearly as severe as the agony caused by the Contact’s voice, but it was enough to rouse him from his slumber.
He blinked at the inside of his chamber, groggily assessing the situation. The alert had been set to wake him when he had arrived in the appropriate position. A quick check of his position via the subspace network showed that to be the case. Obviously, the heretics had failed to discover him, thus far, or he would have awakened to a very different alarm.
The casket rocked gently around him as it moved into place. He smiled grimly as he detached himself from the equipment that had sustained him for the trip. In mere moments, he would be placed onboard a shuttle completely crewed by a collection of his Resources, all of whom were more trustworthy and reliable than his former associates aboard the Bountiful Joy. From there, they would proceed to their final mission target, and the first step along the path that led to his ascension.
Mr. Grey ran through a rapid inventory of those Resources, making sure that none of them had wandered off or deviated from expectations. His experience with the Verdes had left him slightly uncertain, and he wanted everything about the next strike to be perfect.
Fortunately, it seemed that whatever malady had caused the corruption in those Resources had not spread to this specialized group. Four of them were simple, standardized modifications, just enough to allow him explicit control and direction. They were the ones flying the shuttle, though they likely had very little conscious appreciation of what they were doing. While they gave off an approximation of normal behavior, their personalities were only a shell to keep others from discovering the single-minded focus they now enjoyed towards furthering the Cause.
The other six Resources onboard the shuttle were very, very different. Each of them had enjoyed his specific and absolute attention for a time. They had been selected for a variety of physical characteristics and personality traits, all of which had made them extremely well suited for the modifications that he had shared with them. In a way, Mr. Grey envied him. No Agent of his stature ever enjoyed such enhancement; the delicacy and mental demands of their work precluded such measures. To have such a simple and complete devotion to violence on behalf of the Cause would be a blessing, but one he would always be denied.
It sufficed to say that each of the Resources currently restrained and sedated within the shuttle’s cargo bay could depopulate an entire heretic vessel by themselves. Six together would be more than capable to handle whatever forces he encountered aboard the Compass. He almost hoped that resistance was strong, so that he could appreciate their unique capabilities in person.
Mr. Grey set aside such thoughts and concentrated on the work at hand. It took a handful of moments to free himself from the remainder of the equipment inside the casket. A simple button press cracked the seal enough for him to push the casket the rest of the way open. He stepped out into the cargo bay of the shuttle and breathed the recycled air deeply. The scent of opportunity wafted through the air to him, and his smile grew.
With a rush of excitement, he reached out to the Contact, communicating through the material of subspace despite the vast distances that separated them.
PHASE two beginning ANTICIPATE SUCCESS within three HOURS of current TIME diversion MAY BEGIN
He waited, knowing that attempting to check in with the rest of his Resources would be futile. Any communication from the Contact would override any lesser concerns, and he had no intention of allowing his Resources to assume that he had been eliminated or cut off mid-transmission. Some of them had very specific instructions to follow should that event come to pass, and the chaos and destruction they would wreak, while pleasing, would likely disrupt his other work.
AGENT GREY DIVERSIONARY ACTIONS ARE CURRENT. ENEMY RESPONSE HAS BEEN PREDICTABLE. PROCEED WITH MISSION.
The unexpected news took Mr. Grey by surprise, a feeling he most certainly did not enjoy. He ran through an immediate inventory of the Resources that he had scattered throughout the heretic fleet. The many civilian models he found easily, exactly where he would have expected them. They nested in quiet anticipation, infesting the bowels of nearly thirty different craft.
Yet the ones who had infiltrated the heretic warships were disturbingly close by, completely at odds with the reports he had received from the Contact. Perhaps the subspace transmissions were somehow deceptive?
He made his way forward, pushing past one blank-eyed Resource in order to reach the cockpit. Once there, he ran through a basic, passive scan of the surrounding heretic vessels. As he did so, a seed of doubt began to be planted within him. How could he see such a possible threat, and the Contact be deceived? The Contact was supposed to represent something far closer to perfection than Mr. Grey could ever achieve. It had failed occasionally, but the blame had mostly been the unexpected resistance of the Device, and Mr. Grey’s own mistakes.
The results of the scan came back, and Mr. Grey put such blasphemous thoughts aside. At least three of the heretic cruisers were still present within the fleet, standing guard right where they could intercept him if needed. In fact, only the three captured Directorate ships were pushing forward. His eyes widened slightly, and he immediately sent an emergency transmission to the Contact, hoping that his thoughts would reach them in time.
NEGATIVE NEGATIVE NEGATIVE heretics not DECEIVED repeat ENEMY IS STILL present operation IN JEOPARDY.
The response came immediately, burning through his mind.
EXPLAIN.
It took a moment for him to compose himself enough to send the information. The strain of communicating through the subspace connection was agonizing. At one point, he had to abandon the realm of mere words entirely, sending the actual images along. It was impossible to avoid contaminating things with his emotional state, of course; as humiliating as it was for the Contact to be bombarded with his frustration, fear, and rage, it would have been far, far worse for the heretics to manage another reversal of fortune.
There was another of those curious silences after Mr. Grey’s transmission was complete. Had it been a lesser being on the other end of the subspace connection, he might have imagined it recoiling in horror or surprise, perhaps even being confused or uncertain. The Contact was beyond such paltry things, however. Even musing on such possibilities was a shallow form of heresy.
When the Contact’s voice came back, it seemed…different somehow. As if some part of it was distracted or diminished.
POSTPONE mission UNTIL NEW ORDERS ARRIVE. The HERETICS ARE TOO CLOSE TO discovery OF ASSOCIATED ASSETS. ASSIGNED resources MUST BE RE-ASSESED. COORDINATE AND communicate NEXT OPPORTUNITY TO SECURE OBJECTIVE.
Mr. Grey felt a sudden disquiet. Without his former haven aboard the Bountiful Joy, he would need to find sanctuary aboard another ship in the heretic fleet. Such things were normally easy to secure, especially with his Resources spread throughout several ships, but he had other complications to worry about. The modified Resources within the cargo bay would only last for so long; even sedated, their metabolisms and psychologies had been twisted enough that they would never remain stable. Without them, it was unlikely that his mission would succeed.
His eyes went back to the shuttle’s display. It showed the Archive, still swimming through the void, unknowing and uncaring. The Cause had desired to take that ship for generations. It was the birthright of the Cause, and any Agent would sacrifice anything to see it under the control of a people that deserved it again. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it belonged to the Cause—even more than that, he was certain that it was destined to be his.
Yet it was clear the Contact would not be assisting him now. Their assets were too few, too damaged, to risk outright. It would want to wait, to continue to build up more Resources. Perhaps it would even compel him to ascend another Resource to the post of Agent, to compete with him for the glory of completing the mission. The possibility of some unknown fool getting the credit for his hard work set his teeth on edge.
Remorse filled him as he turned away. Though it filled him with rage, he could not defy the Contact’s command. To do so was insanity itself. Better to throw himself out an airlock than to dare betray his rightful director—
A sudden, searing wave of agony rolled across Mr. Grey. It was a transmission, using far more of the subspace channels than he had ever experienced before. The words manifested within his still-open link to the Contact, burning in the void between worlds. He knew he was screaming, hands clutched uselessly against his head, but he could not hear it. There was no room for it in his mind, not beside those new, demanding words.
!!ALL SYSTEMS REPORT STATUS IMMEDIATELY!!.
He responded without question or hesitation. Attempting to frame the proper mindset was impossible; he simply sent the sum total of his current consciousness in a single, desperate push. Whatever part of his self-preservation that remained nurtured the flimsy hope that his immediate response would salvage some portion of his independence, but such dreams were fragile beside what he had felt. A gibbering voice within him babbled it might even be impossible.
There was a single heartbeat of a pause, as if whatever intelligence behind that voice needed that moment to digest the information they had received. He thought he could hear the voice of the Contact, reporting its information as well, though he was no longer capable of parsing its content. The only thing that registered was its tone. It held a certain, petulant kind of fear that he would have said was impossible before, but now he knew better. Anything would have been terrified before such might.
Then the voice returned, and his thoughts were no longer relevant.
!!PROCEED WITH ASSIGNED MISSION. ELIMINATION OF THE DEVICE IS NOW PRIORITY ALPHA-ONE. CAPTURE OF THE ARCHIVE IS BETA-ONE. NO DELAY IS ALLOWED. REINFOCEMENTS WILL BE EN ROUTE.!!
In the silence that followed, the Contact’s voice responded, full of defiant belligerence.
MISSION LIKELY TO SACRIFICE ALL AVAILABLE ASSETS. FAILURE OF SECONDARY MISSIONS PROBABLE.
There was no pause in the response now. If anything, the voice was stronger now, intent on reminding its lesser who had primacy.
!!ALL SECONDARY OBJECTIVES ARE NOW VOID. RAMMING AUTHORIZED IF NECESSARY. THE DEVICE MUST BE DESTROYED TO STRAND THE ARCHIVE IN PLACE. ALL ASSETS ARE NOW CONSIDERED EXPENDABLE.!!
MY EXISTENCE IS NOT EXPEN—
The Contact’s voice cut off, and Mr. Grey shook like a leaf. It was like witnessing a war between giants, a battle between giants. What was he compared to these things? Had he really dreamed of a place among them? What foolishness. What nonsense.
!!SUPERVISOR 803238 IS NOW QUARANTINED INDEFINITELY. SUPERVISOR 534876 HAS BEEN GIVEN CONTROL. ACHIEVE ALL OBJECTIVES, FOR THE WILL OF THE GREATER CAUSE. CONNECTION TERMINATED.!!
There was another heartbeat of shock and terror, and then the connection broke. Mr. Grey slowly came back to himself, curled on the floor of the shuttle’s bridge, covered in the blood and vomit that he had sprayed across the deck. His shaking limbs refused to support him, and he knew, in a detached way, that his face was no longer working correctly. The voice, whatever it had been, had left him with permanent damage. Perhaps it would be remedied at the end of the mission, but he could no longer think that far ahead. Not when he had witnessed such horrors.
Slowly, carefully, he forced himself back to his feet. It took multiple tries, but he did not bother commanding his Resources to help him. They needed to be focused, and he needed to reassure himself that he remained capable of walking. The mission would require it.
His gaze went back to the Archive, which was closer now. Much closer. It was there that he would achieve victory, or die. There was no choice, not even a shadow of one. If he failed, whatever that had been would scourge his mind until nothing was left. A part of him suspected it might happen no matter what he did. In the end, he knew it would not matter.
All that he could do now was sacrifice for the Cause. It was all that would ever matter, in the end. He knew that now, if he had not before, and he would never deny it again.
Susan watched as the enemy scouting rigs withdrew. No, they weren’t just withdrawing. Every rig at the edge of their sensors simply vanished, as if they were completely wiped out of existence.
She frowned. Had they somehow figured out her plan? Why would they suddenly break off? Her eyes went back to the Compass. There weren’t any enemy combatants near it, and there weren’t any near the Concord, either. Had they given up on their strike?
At the same time, she could no longer afford to have Wong and his ships still charging after the nonexistent bait. “Captain Wong, decrease your acceleration. We’ll catch up to your formation, and you will return to being the vanguard of the fleet.”
“Acknowledged, Admiral.”
The hatch at the entrance to the bridge slid open, and she turned to see Gabriel striding through it. He gave her a smile and nodded to Commander Mesic. The sentries glanced at the commander and then stepped back to their posts. As Gabriel approached her, he spoke in a low voice. “I think we are getting through to Eagro, now. My father is working on it.”
Susan nodded, her thoughts still racing. Surely the enemy could not have realized how close they were to cooperating with the strangers, correct? What else could have made them pull back?
Gabriel’s eyes went to the tactical displays. He frowned as well. “Why are we on high alert?”
“The enemy was attempting to draw us out of position so that they could strike at us again.” She gestured. “I was planning on turning their ambush around on them, but they must have sensed something was off.”
“How, though? You’ve cut off the civilians from the command network, right?” He studied the fleet suspiciously, as if he expected the traitors in their midst to be revealed immediately. “That should have made it hard for their spies to figure out what was going on. They’d have to have direct access to a ship’s sensors otherwise.”
Susan nodded slowly. It was a possibility, but she had dismissed it. If the enemy did have that kind of access, they would likely have control of one of the civilian craft’s bridges. Since none of those craft had been turned into a suicide bomb, it seemed unlikely that the Wild Colony infiltration had gone so far.
Still, it was worth attempting to check. She reached for the controls, only for them to light up in front of her. It was hard not to frown. “Chief Kowalski. What is it?”
“Admiral, I thought I should report something. We’re seeing an awful lot of activity in OMNI’s circuits. More than usual for the typical background processes.”
“Activity?” Susan did frown, now. Her heart beat a little faster. Had the infiltrator sabotaged or infected OMNI itself? “What do you mean? I thought that the system was shut down?”
“Most of the active interfaces were severed, but OMNI has always had some level of connectivity with the system. Mostly just passive resources.” Kowalski paused. “This is coming from a different location, though. Some kind of equipment that I’m not familiar with.”
Susan’s mind flashed back to conversations with the Keeper and with Arland’s avatar. “The subspace sensors. What OMNI was using to try to track Wild Colony communications.”
“That might be it, Admiral.” Kowalski paused. “If that’s what is happening, there’s something crazy going on with it. It must be picking up something extreme for this kind of processing to be going on.”
Susan exchanged a look with Gabriel. He seemed reluctant to speak. “If there is that much subspace activity…”
“Then the enemy must still be intending to strike. Thank you, Chief Kowalski. Please contact the Keeper and find out if he can assist you.” Susan reached for the console to disconnect the transmission.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I already tried.” Kowalski’s voice seemed torn between insistence and deference. “When I opened a channel to the Compass, though, all I got was static.”
Susan paused. She exchanged another look with Gabriel. “Static? Did it seem like their communications equipment was down? Or was it being jammed?”
There was a pause before Kowalski answered. “I’m not sure, ma’am. I haven’t run into jamming a lot, but it didn’t seem like a total disconnect.”
“Thank you, Chief Kowalski. We will be in touch.” Susan disconnected before the technician could respond and then turned to Gabriel. “They are already attacking the Compass.”
Gabriel nodded, his eyes on the tactical display. “Yeah, they’d have to be close already, but how? Their stealth is good, but not… Wait, what is that shuttle doing?”
He pointed to one solitary craft, trudging its way to the Keeper’s ship. She called up the flight path and manifest with a few commands to her console. “It’s a resupply ship. Carrying food and water for the crew of the Compass.”
“The crew.” Gabriel’s voice was flat. “I didn’t see any crew and I doubt Schreiber needs an entire shuttle full of supplies right now for just himself. That’s got to be the infiltrator. They’re going to try to steal the Compass right from under our noses.”
Susan’s eyes narrowed as she tracked the shuttle. It was already too close for a rig to reach it before it settled in next to the Keeper’s ship, and a volley of plasma from a cruiser might risk hitting the Compass. “We have to warn him, but with the communications jammed, there’s no way we can.”
Gabriel was staring at the shuttle, as if he could swat it from the stars with a simple glare. “And OMNI’s still down, otherwise we could use that, right? Would it have killed Arland to design the thing to not need his personality built into it?”
She opened her mouth to agree and paused. There was that feeling again, something on the edge of her thoughts. The tension of the situation gave it an urgency that she hadn’t felt before, and a question finally bubbled up through her subconscious.
Arland Schreiber hadn’t installed his personality immediately into the OMNI; if he had, the avatar would not have had his years of experience to rely on. How had he used it before that time? There had to have been a personality to guide it, but…
Her memories flashed back to the first time she had used the OMNI. There had been something there, a neural interface that she had largely ignored afterward as being unnecessary. Then she looked back at Gabriel, and everything seemed to fall into place.
Susan bent over the console for a moment, her fingers flying as she downloaded a stored profile into the OMNI’s local databanks. Then she stood and began striding across the bridge. “Captain Miller, with me. Commander Mesic, you have the fleet until I return.”
Gabriel followed after her, jogging a bit to catch up. “Susan—Admiral—what’s going on?”
“We’re getting OMNI back, and then we’re finishing this fight, Captain.” She smiled, and felt sure that if Mr. Grey had seen it, he would have known fear. “Now hurry up. We need to get this done soon.”