AfterLife

by BL Craig

  The Captain led them off the bridge tapping her nexus. “Do you have any good shirts in laundry right now.”

  “Yes, I sent a load down before watch.”

  “Good. I’m going to take you with me to meet Perlin and the admiral. Don’t speak unless you are asked a question. Keep your answers short and to the point. Remember, you’re still being regulated by the NCM, so no outbursts. Don’t show more than mild anger or excitement. And don’t yell if someone dumps their scalding hot coffee in your lap. We’re going to review the media Alex shunts our way while we wait for jump.”

  * * *

  …

  * * *

  William had skimmed a number of planetary news articles and some of the AfterLife feed reports. It appeared that AfterLife also had access to the military feeds—and not just the broadcast feeds but at least some of the restricted levels as well. Living news media was focused on emphasizing the rightness of the colonist’s response to Rannit aggression and reassuring the public that the Navy had defenses well in hand. AfterLife seemed less sanguine about the Navy’s ability to repel a more advanced civilization’s attack, though the gate represented a serious pinch point. Any invading ships would have to come through there and face the minefield and firepower of the fleet. Mostly, it seemed to William that everyone was relying on some pretty shaky speculation. No news outlets, living or AfterLife, mentioned evacuating the colonists.

  William and the Captain had been going over all of the data Tesla transmitted from Rannit One In an almost prophetic bit of inspiration, Brooks had ordered the drone to send the middle of its flight plan first. The drone had gotten very close and picked up a lot of clear images. The sheer number of ships the Rannit had amassed was several times that of the entire human Navy. The Rannit ships, however, did not seem well equipped for combat. Most were similar to the Hades fleet: survey, transit, and manufacturing vessels. There were definitely a few well-armed cruisers. The largest ships though, looked more like transports or cargo vessels. Retrofitting a civilian fleet for combat would take time.

  “You know Admiral Shen,” the Captain said from behind her desk. “Any useful insights?”

  “I was never alone in a room with her. She would hardly look me in the eye if we weren’t on camera. I had handlers giving me scripts and handfuls of anti-anxiety pills. I had an attack before the ceremony where she gave me the distinguished service cross,” he paused, swallowing. “She told me to get my act together and not embarrass the Navy with my ‘grounder’ antics.”

  “Yes, that sounds about right to me,” the Captain said dourly. “My mother disowned me for leaving the Navy. She said I was a quitter. Never mind, I had achieved the rank of Flag Captain in a perpetually peace time military.” She shook her head, “Such a noble idea, grown so twisted. Fleet sees themselves as better than the grounders who live carefree lives. Better than the dead who enable the soft grounders. But what is the point of a defense force when there is no one to defend against? It makes for a whole lot of bitterness.” It was nothing they both did not know. She seemed to be saying it more to herself than to him, a sad thought spoken out loud.

  The office door shushed open and a small service drone glided in, depositing a bundle on the Captains desk.

  “Good,” said the Captain. “Thank you, Speck.” The drone beeped a trio of tones that conveyed a sense of welcome. William had not seen this particular bot before. It sported a large bushy mustache canted at slight angle on its squat frame.

  “Here, this is for you,” the Captain said to William, tapping the bundle.

  William picked up the cloth sack, opened the draw string and pulled out a shirt. It was one of his, but the laundry drones had sewn three gold bars and a small star on each shoulder, commander’s bars. “Can you do this?” William asked fingering the bars covetously.

  “I’m the Captain. I can do whatever I want. Technically, Hades Fleet would probably qualify as merchant marines and you’d be a mate, but AfterLife doesn’t really care about the niceties. The Admiral and her adjuncts, however, will be forced to give you some respect with those bars. In military matters, you’re my second—but don’t make the mistake of thinking you actually outrank Nguyen.”

  “Yes, Captain.” William nodded. He had no intention of arguing with the eerily competent first officer who seemed to see right through him.

  “Go ahead, put it on. You might as well give Speck the one you’re wearing now to wash.”

  William pulled the uniform shirt off over his head, put it in the cloth sack, and handed it to the little bot, who waved an appendage and set off for the laundry. He pulled on the new shirt and tugged it into place.

  The Captain examined him, standing up to pick at the gold bars. “I had them pull the bars off of one of my old shirts. Looks like they did the best they could. This one’s a little frayed, but you’re not going up for inspection. It’ll do. You look good, Butcher.”

  He knew it was just a maneuver, but still the Captain, was Navy. She would not put those bars on him if she did not think he would be worthy of them some day. He resisted the urge to grin like an idiot. Instead, he said, “Thank you Captain. Also, I want to tell you that I understand back at Rannit One you made the only choice, the hard choice, and the one that saved us all. I want to say that I’m sorry that I questioned your decision, but that would be dishonest.

  “I didn’t ask enough questions at Mirada. I will ask questions in the future. But you are a good Captain. I trust you and I will follow your orders.”

  The Captain smiled ruefully, “It’s in the past. We are all trying to deal with a lot right now. You most of all. You did your part and let me do mine. Let’s just pray that neither of us find ourselves in another situation like that.”

  A chime jingled from the Captain’s nexus. “Alright, then. Time to go meet the enemy.”

  * * *

  …

  * * *

  They were met at the dock airlock by Perlin. The tall, gangly man wore an understated tailored suit that did nothing to deemphasize his awkward proportions. “Welcome back Captain Diaz, Mr. Butcher.” Perlin glanced at the bars on Williams shoulders with hooded eyes and gave a slight snort. “We will be meeting the Admiral and her adjutant shortly. We have a few minutes to talk privately before then.” He gestured them down the gateway with his long fingered hands and fell in on the Captains left. William walked to her right.

  “I have to commend you on your work,” he said drolly. “That was hands-down the most thrilling report I’ve ever read. It was more entertaining and terrifying than any film I’ve seen in decades. If I didn’t already know you’d made it out intact, I would have been in quite a panic reading about your capture by the Rannit.” He waived his hands about to emphasize the drama of the reading. It was at odds with his sleepy sounding voice. “You have a flair for informative storytelling, Captain. Have you considered writing in your spare time? A number of SecondLifers have taken up the craft. The company can even arrange for publication in the FirstLife world. Under a pen name, of course.”

  “I’ll take that into consideration, Administrator Perlin. I think, however, we need to be focusing on how to prevent a war.”

  “Yes, avoiding conflict with the Rannit would be highly desirable for all involved parties.” He sighed loudly. “It may be a foregone conclusion, though.”

  “In the little contact we’ve had, the Rannit do not strike me as a militaristic or violent civilization. They seem to have gotten the impression that humans are subjugators and a threat. I think they are afraid of humanity,” said the Captain.

  “Yes, so you emphasized in the report,” he said with another hand wave. “I do not disagree with your analysis, but diplomacy doesn’t currently seem to be an option. There are no active communications with the Rannit. Naval command is unwilling to permit anything through the minefield. They feel the risk is too high.” His hand motions grew more sweeping at the last. “I am afraid, your report is not going to improve the situation. Without an exch
ange of communication drones, the only way to get the Rannit to the table would be to dispatch a Hades vessel. Also, undesirable given what we’ve learned from your excursion.”

  William looked at the Captain for permission to speak. She had instructed him to stay quiet with the Naval officers, not AfterLife staff, but still. She nodded. “Sir,” he said, “we, the Tilly, could go back and relay a message. Not that we’re excited to be captured again, but we managed to get away. We saved all of their people that we could before the FTL jump. That might count for something with the Rannit.” Never mind the twenty-four Rannit bodies in the hold. “They think reanimates are enslaved. We could show them that we . . . We could explain reanimation, return their people. Show them that our crew are not being controlled.” All of which would be lies.

  “Not a terrible idea, Mr. Butcher,” Perlin said with exaggerated despondency, “but I think we are past that. I have my orders directly from the board. The meeting we’re about to have is mostly a formality. A chance for the Admiral to question you herself.”

  * * *

  …

  Sarah pushed the bio crate full of “samples” down the causeway into the station. The vast majority of reanimates were drones. Questions were unlikely. She passed through the scanner that confirmed the contents of the crate as Cladosporium sphaerospermum. “Bye, Karl,” she whispered. From there she headed to the bay adjacent to dock 17.

  * * *

  …

  * * *

  Perlin took them to a nicely appointed conference room and went off to meet the Admiral.

  “I’m sorry if I spoke out of bounds, Captain.”

  “No, I would have said the same thing. I know our crew. No one would balk at going back to Rannit One if it meant we had a chance to stop a war.”

  “What do you think Perlin’s mysterious ‘orders’ are?”

  “I don’t know. AfterLife wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice one survey ship for a chance to avoid getting caught in a war. I’m sure the company would find a way to make a tremendous profit off of reanimate marines, but still, throwing us away would be a bad idea overall. The company only reanimates people they can use. We all have jobs and serve a purpose. There’s no dead weight. Everything’s finely calibrated. It’s going to take them decades to replace the Yan Luo crew. Those were some of the most prized and profitable reanimates the company has. You can’t just pull 10,000 highly trained workers and scientist out of a hat. No doubt they’ll reassign some from the dead worlds and put less skilled new reanimates in training, but it all takes time. Even the drones were specialized technical workers. With the right decision trees and proper supervision, drones can be nearly as effective as high-functioning for a given set of tasks.”

  “Maybe they don’t trust us not to defect,” William laughed wryly.

  The Captain gave him a sharp look. Of course, there were ears everywhere. This room was undoubtedly under surveillance. William had just danced dangerously close to acknowledging a reanimate underground.

  They sat in silence after that. The Captain scrolled through news reports. William checked the live feed of system activity from AfterLife traffic control. He tried to parse the underlying logic of how the naval vessels were arrayed. He had knowledge of ancient warcraft, particularly naval battles and tactics from Earth’s oceans. The effectively two-dimensional nature of those encounters made them only marginally relevant for space battles. Likewise, aerial dog fighting was not much of a helpful analog, despite the more similar three-dimensional battle fields. Airborne forces had been used mostly for reconnaissance and bombing, not terribly helpful in relation to a full space battle. His academy training had covered the basics of tactical formations but given that there had never been any space-based battles in human history, all of that strategy was speculative. Mostly, the fleet officers had learned about combat from VIs that based their tactics off of video game simulations in which untested fleet commanders fought against other untested fleet commanders.

  Tactical training in flight school had consisted of learning how to fly in formation, how to keep track of cluttered airspace, and basically how not to get people killed. His only fighter experience had been a mandatory short course. He was a transport specialist. He knew how to avoid trouble, but less about how to deal it out.

  The door opened, and a familiar figure entered. She was average sized with perfectly pinned back black hair, shot through with streaks of grey. Her face was neutral with brown eyes looking out from slightly hooded lids. Her mouth made a thin line. The jacket of her service dress uniform displayed many neat rows of ribbons telling the tale of her years of service. The bars on her shoulder had four stars.

  William and Captain Diaz stood, per military tradition. William followed Elva’s cues. She stood with a respectful, shoulders back posture but not in any formal pose of attention. After the Admiral came a man about the same height as William followed the admiral in. The close crop of his hair did little to disguise its brilliant orange hue. Close-set pale blue eyes sat over a large, hooked nose sprinkled liberally with freckles. His shoulder boards showed a single slender bar sandwiched between two thicker bars. A lieutenant commander. William enjoyed the flash of satisfaction that his own highly questionable rank exceeded the other officer’s.

  Perlin followed them in, and the Admiral took her seat, followed by the rest.

  “I have read your report, Captain Diaz, though I have not had time to give it as much attention as I would like. Thanks to you and your crew for exemplary service.”

  The words were complimentary, but the way the Admiral spoke told a different story. Captain Diaz nodded, acknowledging the compliment. She waited for the Admiral to ask a question before speaking.

  “I agree with the assessment that the Rannit forces greatly outnumber our own. We have the advantage in controlling the choke point of the gate, which should be substantial, but I do not think we can hold this planet for long should they want to take it from us. Though the cost to both sides would be dear.” Still no question.

  “You have had more time to sit with this intelligence, Captain.” There was a slight hesitation. “Do you think Hades fleet ships would provide an advantage in battle with the Rannit?”

  William was taken off guard by the question. The Captain answered after a moment of thought.

  “Admiral, short hop FTL could provide a tactical advantage if used correctly, though jumping in and out of real space in the chaos of combat would be extremely dangerous for all vessels involved. Our ships are designed for long-distance travel. The need to recharge capacitors is a severely limiting factor. Our ships engineer is unusually skilled. He has been able to create partitions on our capacitors that allow for quicker turnaround on jumps—but it would take time to make these changes to other Hades ships, not to mention that we have only used this ability for the purposes of escape, not attack. Most Hades ships are unarmed. The Tilly had a rail gun, but it proved only marginally effective during the ambush at Rannit One. Furthermore, most Hades fleet crew were civilians in FirstLife. They do not have military or combat experience. Hades fleet is geared toward commerce, not defense.

  “Am I correct in understanding that reanimate ship’s crew are more tolerant to high-G maneuvers.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the Captain said drawing the words out in hesitation. “We can tolerate sudden acceleration changes without loss of consciousness.”

  “So, if you were to disable acceleration governors, your pilots could use the full range of possible rapid course adjustments ships are capable of.” It was not a question.

  The Admiral turned to William, “Commander Butcher, what is your assessment of Hades fleet capabilities for engaging the enemy with super-human capability?”

  “Admiral, I am still very new to SecondLife. I’m sure there are pilots with better insights than me.”

  “But you are the pilot we have, Commander.”

  “Yes ma’am. As I understand it, Hades Fleet ships don’t have engines capable of pulling the k
ind of gees that would be useful. Hades ships are not fighter craft and Hades crew are not fighter pilots. Using cargo vessels to dog fight wouldn’t work, and putting Hades pilots in Navy fighters, without training would be disastrous.”

  “Then this whole meeting is pointless,” the admiral said staring daggers at Perlin.

  “My apologies Admiral,” Perlin said deferentially with a diffident flick of the hand.

  Without another word, the Admiral and her adjutant rose and left. Once they were gone Perlin turned back to the Captain and William, faux self-effacing air he had adopted with the Admiral gone.

  “Captain, I have been authorized by the board to read you and the crew of the Tilly into project Cerberus.”

  * * *

  …

  * * *

  Sarah entered the nearly empty bay and whistled the call sign, feeling like a proper spy. A figure detached from the shadows of stacked crates. Sarah recognized Leyla from the video Alex had shown them.

  “You ready?” she asked.

  The other woman nodded wordlessly.

  Sarah opened the crate. “Let me introduce you to Karl Marx. In addition to providing excellent cushioning, it will also reduce the amount of radiation you take on this trip.”

  “I forget how weird biologists are,” Leyla said ruefully and climbed into the crate.

  Once the lid was secured, Sarah pushed the crate over to the dock, shoved it in the airlock, and cycled the atmosphere.

  …

  * * *

  Perlin stopped William as he turned to leave the briefest of briefings following the Admiral’s abrupt departure. “Mr. Butcher, Personnel received the request from your supervisor for restoration of your personal property.”