by Ryk Brown
“I got that impression.”
Nathan noticed the troubled expression on Miss Bindi’s face. “Something troubles you?”
“Actually, it is that emotion that troubles me. It was not just on the face of the major, but on everyone at the briefing, military and civilians alike.”
“They were all proud of him.”
“Is that all it was?” she postulated as they turned the corner, “Or was it more?”
“I’m afraid I’m not following you.”
“I just wonder if pride is part of your people’s motivation?”
“Of course it is,” Nathan admitted. “You see something wrong with that?”
“In business school, we were taught that pride clouds one’s judgment, causing them to make poor decisions. Given the task at hand, and the risks involved, would you not consider that worrisome?”
“Not in the slightest,” Nathan replied with confidence. “These people are trained to think clearly in the fog of war. And while it is true that many will succumb to that fog, those who do not are the ones who will lead.”
“I always thought it was due to their charisma,” Miss Bindi chuckled.
“In politics, perhaps,” Nathan replied, remembering his father. Nearing his destination, he stopped and turned to her. “I get the feeling there is something else,” he told her.
“Miss Batista worries that you may be acting in haste, for emotional reasons.”
“I see.” Nathan thought for a moment. “Precisely which emotional reasons?”
“Pressure, pride, vengeance; pick one.”
“I expect I feel all three,” Nathan admitted, “as well as others. But it would worry me more if I did not feel them. A brave man recognizes his emotions and doubts, and the way in which they affect him, yet finds a way to compensate for those effects and carry on.”
“Then, you do have doubts?”
“Often more than I care to admit,” Nathan replied, “but they serve to keep my ego in check; to remind me that I am neither infallible, nor invincible. They cause me to listen to the advice of my peers as well as my subordinates, and constantly weigh them against my own instincts. You see, Miss Bindi, the most dangerous thing in the universe is a man with a gun and a belief that his purpose is so just that he must answer to no one. I assure you, I am not such a man.”
“I was not implying that you were,” Miss Bindi insisted. “Our concerns were just that your emotions might prevent you from retreating prior to achieving your goals, if such a retreat becomes warranted.”
Nathan sighed again, becoming somewhat annoyed at her line of inquiry. “Rest assured, should our goal appear unachievable, or the price of victory too high, I will withdraw,” he told her. “Better to live to fight another day,” he added, as he continued onto the bridge, leaving her standing in the corridor.
“Captain,” the Ghatazhak guard greeted politely.
Nathan paused, looking at the sergeant. “Now, was that so hard?”
“Actually, it was incredibly difficult,” the sergeant said, a slight grin on his face.
Nathan smiled, continuing toward his command chair.
“The shuttle carrying General Telles and Major Montrose has landed on Orswella,” the tactical officer reported.
“Very well,” Nathan replied, taking his seat. “Mister Sheehan, you’re clear to break orbit and jump us to Rakuen.”
“Aye, sir,” Loki replied.
“If you’d like, you can take a few hours off to spend with your daughter,” Nathan suggested.
“Don’t we have to jump to SilTek, first?” Loki wondered.
“I believe your backup crew can handle that.”
“Do I get a few hours off as well?” Josh wondered.
“Not that you deserve it, but yes,” Nathan joked.
“Hot damn!” Josh exclaimed as he began leaving orbit.
“Plotting a jump back to Rakuen,” Loki replied, smiling.
Cameron entered the bridge, coming up from behind. “What did Miss Bindi want?” she asked as she approached Nathan.
“To remind me of my responsibilities to the rest of the Alliance.”
“Doesn’t she know that’s my job?” Cameron joked.
“Apparently not.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That I’m a basket case like everyone else, but since I know it, it’s okay.”
“Oh, I’m sure that made her feel a lot better.”
* * *
Major Doran Montrose sat in his office at the makeshift training base on Orswella, staring at the old patch in his hand. Like most military patches, its design was simple. A golden bird of prey with wings spread wide, clutching an arrow in one talon and a lightning bolt in the other. The bird hovered in front of a green planet, with a lone star hanging over him.
It was nothing more than a piece of cloth, stitched by an automated machine that spit out thousands of them, but it meant the world to him. His entire adult life had been spent in the service of his world, just as his father’s, uncle’s, and his long-lost brother’s. A simple piece of cloth, but it identified those who bore it as men of honor, duty, and sacrifice.
That patch had not come easily, nor had it been retained without ongoing effort. The Corinari had endured four wars. The first had erupted long before his grandfather was born. A civil war over details so minor they had been lost to history for centuries. The second, his father’s war, had been against a malfunctioning AI bent on their extermination. His war, the one against the reign of Caius Ta’Akar, had been the reason he and his brother had enlisted. It was also the only war the Corinari had lost. But they had survived and remained a military power for decades, albeit only as a matter of gracious compromise by their conquerors, in order to salvage their conquest before there was nothing left worth acquiring. And finally, the Corinari’s biggest triumph since the AI wars: the defeat of the Takaran Empire and the liberation of their world.
Alas, their hard-won freedom had been short-lived. In one of the biggest political errors in Corinairan history, their leaders had disbanded the Corinari in favor of trusting an alliance of worlds to protect them. A mere seven years later, that mistake had cost them their freedom yet again.
Doran had held onto this patch, the one taken from one of his deceased brother’s uniforms. It had been the last thing he’d tossed into his bag when he and his family were forced to evacuate their homeworld, yet it had come to be the most important thing he possessed.
Many had asked Doran why he chose to follow yet another alliance when the first had failed them. His answer was always that history shows there is strength in numbers, and that one world cannot hope to stand alone against the evils of humanity.
Doran took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he rose, picking up the box of patches from his desk and heading down the corridor.
Doran exited the building, stepping into the waning sunlight of an Orswellan sunset. Above him, the lights of the stadium that had housed them for the last few weeks were just beginning to flicker to life. Before him stood eight hundred men, each of them well past their youth, but fit and ready for combat nonetheless. These men had wives and children…some waiting for them back on the Mystic Empress, some on Rakuen, and some right here on Orswella. Others had been forced to leave their loved ones behind on Corinair and knew not their fate. Yet all of these men, each with so much to lose and so little to personally gain, stood assembled before him, eager to answer the call they prayed was coming.
Rumors had abounded since the day they had begun their refresher training. The introduction of new weapons and new armor hinted at what was to come. In fact, Doran doubted that a single man among them had not already figured out why they had been training so hard lately. But they had yet to hear it from their own commander’s mouth.
How can I lead these fine men? Doran asked himse
lf. What qualifies me above others? Every one of them had bled and sweat as he had, and hundreds of them were just as qualified, if not more so. His second, Sergeant Major Denton Crawley, was a natural-born leader and had fought in more ground battles than Doran. After all, most of Doran’s time in the Corinari had been spent as the crew chief of an airship, not on the battlefield. Even his time in the Alliance had been in the relative comfort of first the Aurora, then the Celestia. Granted, both ships had seen their share of combat during his time aboard, but nothing like they were about to face in the coming hours.
Doran stepped up onto the small podium, turned toward his men, and then tapped the side of his comm-set to tie it into those worn by every man assembled before him. He then dropped the box in front of him, allowing it to plop on the ground, causing the lid to pop off and patches to spill out for all to see. “Today, we are Alliance Marines. Tomorrow, we will return to our homeworld and liberate our people as Corinari.”
In unison, all eight hundred gathered before him chanted, “HUP, HUP, HUP!”
* * *
Aiden exited his cabin, beginning his long trek to the bridge. His new ship, an ancient Orochi carrier ship converted into a missile frigate and then upgraded to a missile gunship, was now a formidable weapons platform, especially now that his crew was properly trained. But for the life of him, he couldn’t understand why his cabin was so far from his primary duty station. The accommodations were good enough: a bed, a desk, a nice chair—he even had his own head. It was definitely better than the shared spaces on his previous gunship.
Unfortunately, the size of his crew had grown as well. What started as six had become eight, then twelve, and finally sixteen. He had a hard enough time remembering people’s names, which was why he usually gave his crew nicknames. Now, it was damned near impossible. Were it not for the names stitched on their uniforms, he would be completely lost.
It all made for a disconnect between him and his crew, one that he didn’t much care for. He liked being friends with those he led. Now, he couldn’t really be friends with any of them for fear of showing favoritism. At least the majority of his bridge crew were familiar faces.
To make matters even more challenging, the crew was a mix of Rakuens, Nerameseans, Cetians, and Terrans. Tiny cliques of two or three had already formed among the crew, each group sticking to their own kind. Aiden supposed it was only natural. People felt more comfortable around those of their own ilk. It was nothing personal—except for the grudge between the Rakuens and Nerameseans. It was just the way it was.
The fact that his XO was probably younger than most of the crew didn’t help matters. Ledge was much like Aiden, in the sense that he would rather be liked than respected. He was smart, but he was even younger than Aiden and looked it. Then again, even Captain Scott looked younger than most of the people he commanded.
Aiden had resigned himself to the fact that it would take time for his crew to accept Ledge as their executive officer, as well as Aiden as their captain. Still, he had been forced to pull rank on several occasions during their countless training drills, especially with the Rakuens, who felt a unique sense of pride and ownership for the Orochi. To the rest of the crew, it was just a ship, and an ancient one at that. To the Rakuens, it was one of two classes of ships that had enabled their hard-fought victory against the Nerameseans so long ago.
Aiden climbed up the short stepladder that led from the ship’s main deck to its redesigned command deck. The original version had been nothing more than a cockpit with four stations. The new version was considerably larger, with a single helm station front and center, and tactical, sensor, and communications stations spread evenly around the perimeter of the compact bridge.
The best part was the command chair. Situated in the center of the compartment, it was flanked on either side by small consoles and raised a step above the rest of the deck. This allowed its occupant an unobstructed view through the forward and side windows encircling the forward half of the compact but efficiently designed space.
Aiden really like his bridge. He hated that he no longer piloted his own ship, but he loved that command chair. In it, he truly felt like a ship’s captain. Funny thing was, he had never aspired to be in command. All he had ever wanted was to fly. In the atmosphere, in space, it didn’t matter. Flying was fun, but now that he had gotten a taste of being captain, he found he liked it.
The transition from pilot-in-command to captain had been a difficult one. Having to verbalize what he wanted to happen in the form of commands was quite different than simply doing it himself. The mere act of instructing a helmsman as to what maneuvers to fly was foreign to him. Over countless hours of drills and exercises, however, he had grown accustomed to his new responsibilities and was even beginning to feel comfortable…for the most part.
Aiden stepped up to the communications station at the aft of the bridge. “What’s the message?” he asked Tati.
“I don’t know,” his communications officer replied, handing him a data pad. “Your eyes only.”
Aiden pressed his finger against the reader at the bottom of the pad, identifying himself to the device so as to display the message. As he read, his eyes widened.
“Uh oh,” Tati commented, noticing her captain’s expression.
“What is it?” Ali asked from the sensor station.
“Looks like play time is over,” Aiden replied. “How many are off ship?” he asked Tati.
“As far as I know, just the XO and the cheng. They went down to Orswella to pick up supplies.”
“Tell them to grab what they need and get back ASAP,” Aiden instructed. “It’s time to go to work.”
* * *
Nathan plopped down on the couch in his quarters, exhausted from a day of last-minute meetings as they prepared for what he hoped would be their final assault on the Dusahn. It had been a whirlwind of a month, with more changes taking place on the Aurora than he could ever remember.
Nathan removed his comm-set and leaned back, closing his eyes for a moment. His mind raced with a thousand details. He had finally reached the point where he remembered every detail of what the Aurora could do, and now, that had all changed.
“Captain?” Aurora’s voice called from the overhead speakers.
Nathan sighed. “Aurora?”
“Yes, Captain. Do you have a moment?”
“What is it?” Nathan replied, his eyes still closed.
“I have a question.”
“Go ahead,” he instructed.
“Why did you adjust my voice to sound similar to Captain Taylor’s?”
Nathan opened his eyes, surprised by his AI’s question. “I don’t know. I suppose because Captain Taylor tends to be my anchor.”
“I assume you mean she helps you to remain grounded,” Aurora surmised.
“Something like that. Why do you ask?”
“Part of my function is to anticipate your needs. To do so, it is important that I know everything possible about you.”
“You mean like how I do things?”
“Yes, but also how you think, your approach to problem-solving, your interaction with others. I have studied all of your action reports and logs, as well as all battle telemetry and video records.”
“Then you should have your answers,” Nathan concluded.
“What I have are more questions,” Aurora admitted. “In particular, about how you sometimes come to your decisions. As best I can tell, unless there is some additional historical data that I do not yet have access to, you seem to guess a lot.”
Nathan smiled. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“I do not understand.”
“I’m joking,” Nathan told her, sitting up. “I tend to follow hunches.”
“There are two definitions for the word. I assume it has nothing to do with the position of your shoulders.”
Nathan smiled again. “C
orrect.”
“So, you are making decisions based on intuition rather than on known facts.”
“More often than not, yes,” Nathan admitted. “Is that a problem?”
“No, but it does make my job a bit more difficult. I am supposed to imprint your tactics and preferences on my matrix. However, I’m not sure an AI can develop ‘intuition’.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”
“I do not worry.”
“Of course,” Nathan said, leaning back and closing his eyes again.
“Captain Taylor, on the other hand, is much easier to anticipate,” Aurora continued. “It is obvious that her decisions are based on available facts, and guided by protocols and procedures.”
“Yeah, she’d make a great AI,” Nathan joked. “Don’t tell her I said that,” he added, raising his hand for emphasis.
“I do not share private conversations with third parties unless instructed to do so by all participants.”
“Good to know,” Nathan replied, putting his hand back down.
“I am not certain how I am going to properly serve as your AI,” Aurora admitted. “Do you always follow your intuition?”
Nathan opened his eyes and sat up again. “Not always. Sometimes I follow procedure.”
“Not often, according to the records I’ve examined.”
Nathan chuckled, rising to his feet and heading to his bedroom. “Now you sound like Cam.” He stopped suddenly as an idea came to him. “You know, since you already sound like her, maybe you can just act like she would. Can you imprint her tactics and preferences onto your matrix?”
“It is possible,” Aurora admitted. “However, it is not standard protocol. Perhaps I can find a way to merge the two personalities.”
“Now that’s a scary thought,” Nathan said as he entered his bedroom. “Is there anything else?”
“Only that it is zero hundred hours ship time. You now have eighteen hours until mission zero.”
“Thank you, Aurora,” Nathan replied as he plopped down on his bed.
