by G J Ogden
“Are you okay, Captain?” came the voice of the computer. It spoke in its usual cheery tone, which was at odds with the concerned nature of the question.
“I’m fine, computer,” replied Sterling, using the sheet to mop up the sweat on his face and neck before sliding his feet over the side of the bed.
“Your neural activity was especially high during the moments before you awoke,” the computer continued. “My analysis suggests that you were suffering another one of your nightmares.”
Sterling smiled. The quirky AI was persistent, though oddly well-intentioned. “If you’re about to suggest contacting Graves, or giving me a psychoanalysis yourself, then save it,” Sterling replied. “I’m fine.”
“Perhaps a nice cup of tea then?” the computer added. “My studies of various Earth-based cultures suggest that the British, in particular, find that drinking tea helps to sooth frayed nerves.”
This time Sterling laughed. “When the hell do you have time to study Earth-based cultures?” he asked.
“I am a gen-fourteen AI, Captain. I was the first of my kind,” the computer replied, sounding a little affronted. “In a ship this size, performing the functions required of me occupies less than ten per cent of my processing capacity,” the computer then added, far more cheerfully. “As such, I find myself with a great deal of time to think.”
“I thought we talked about you and thinking,” Sterling said, walking over to the compact head in his quarters and running the cold tap. He splashed the icy water over his face and neck, which were still hot and sticky.
“If you would prefer that I cease my activities then of course I will,” the computer replied, now choosing to mimic a despondent tone.
Sterling raised an eyebrow and peered at himself in the mirror. He didn’t know whether the computer was intentionally trying to manipulate him, or was just playing around with different vocal inflections.
“So long as you do what I need of you, I don’t care what you do with the other ninety percent of your time,” Sterling replied. He then grabbed a towel and patted his face dry. “Though I suggest you spend some of it thinking about how we can find James Colicos,” he added, tossing the towel in the sink, “and how we can defeat the alien assholes that threaten humanity.”
“Thank you, Captain, I will give it some thought,” replied the computer. “By the way, Commander Mercedes Banks is approaching your door. You forgot to activate your neural link after you woke up, and she is no doubt concerned.”
Sterling straightened up and frowned. “Why would she be concerned?” he said. Then he thought better of asking the AI such a question and quickly withdrew it. “On second thoughts, don’t answer that and just open the door.”
“As you wish, Captain,” replied the computer. The door then swooshed open to reveal Commander Banks outside. Her hand was reaching for the door buzzer.
“Well, that was spooky as hell,” Banks said, gingerly removing her hand from the buzzer, which she hadn’t managed to press before the door had opened. “I know we have a neural connection, but I didn’t know you were psychic too.”
“I have the computer keep track of you,” said Sterling, stepping out of the rest room. “Just to check on whether you’re up to no good.”
Banks stepped inside and the door swooshed shut behind her. “I’m sure there are regulations against that, sir,” she said, smiling. Then she noticed the state of Sterling’s bed, with the sheets twisted into a mangled pile in the center. She frowned then her eyes looked Sterling up and down, noting that he was still in his bed clothes. “Rough night?” she said, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re as bad as the damned computer,” Sterling replied, shaking his head. “I’m fine.” Then he realized that he had yet to undertake his usual morning routine of fifty push-ups. “Though, seeing as you’re here, you can make yourself useful if you like?”
This appeared to intrigue Banks. “I’m sure that sort of thing is against regulations too…” she said, with a playful smirk.
Sterling rolled his eyes. “Actually, it’s not,” he said, just to be pedantic. He then dropped into a plank position, which just caused Banks’ eyebrows to raise even further up her forehead. “I’m finding fifty push-ups to be too easy these days,” he said, still holding his position. “I don’t want to increase the number, as it takes too long. So how about you increase the weight instead and sit on my back?”
Banks folded her arms. “You know, I may not look it, but because of my muscle density, I’m probably a lot heavier than you are.”
“Well, this will be a challenge then, won’t it?” replied Sterling, undeterred. “Now sit down, Commander.”
Banks shrugged and unfurled her arms. “Okay, you asked for it,” she said, straddling Sterling. “But I won’t let you give up before fifty.”
“I never give up,” said Sterling. He then raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Computer, ship’s status report.”
Banks lowered herself onto Sterling and it felt like someone had just parked a shuttlecraft on his back. “Hell, how much do you weigh?” Sterling complained.
“Start working, Captain,” said Banks. “Fifty push-ups. No more, no less.”
“I’m glad you’re not my captain, slave-driver,” grumbled Sterling. He then began the first push-up as the computer relaying the usual morning updates.
“Fleet Marauder Invictus is operating at sixty-seven percent efficiency,” the computer began in its trademark, cheery voice. “G-COP engineers are proceeding with repairs. The current estimated time for completion is seventy-two hours, fourteen minutes.”
“Three more days stuck at G-COP?” Sterling said, squeezing out his fifteenth push-up. It felt like he’d already done a hundred.
“I’m afraid so, Captain,” the computer replied. “The damage to the Invictus was extensive, as is to be expected when taking on a Sa’Nerran Heavy Cruiser, solo.”
Sterling frowned, or as much of a frown as his pained facial muscles could manage under the circumstances. It sounded like the computer was admonishing him for taking on the Sa’Nerran mining vessel.
“Thanks for the observation, computer, now get on with the report,” Sterling said before dropping down for his twenty sixth push-up.
“Fleet Admiral Griffin is due to dock at G-COP within the hour, aboard the Fleet Light Cruiser Centaur,” the computer continued. “She has requested a meeting at oh nine hundred in the G-COP conference room on command level three.”
“Noted, thank you, computer,” said Sterling. He was more than two-thirds of the way through the set of fifty, but his arms felt like jelly.
“Stop stalling, Captain…” said Banks. She was clearly enjoying tormenting him. “Another twelve and we’re done.”
Sterling glowered at Banks over his shoulder then resumed his set. “Anything else, computer?” he asked, lowering his nose to the deck.
“There were no Sa’Nerran incursions into Fleet space overnight,” the computer resumed. “Relay probes detected seventeen Sa’Nerran warships in the Fleet half of the Void, close to the aperture to G-sector.”
“Damn it, we’re allowing the enemy right up to our gates,” Banks complained. Sterling would have agreed, but the effort of the workout had rendered him unable to speak.
Sterling squeezed-out his fiftieth push-up then collapsed onto the deck with Banks still on his back. His first officer rolled off him then knelt at his side, offering Sterling her hand.
“Good job, Captain,” she said, smiling. “I was worried you weren’t going to get that last one.”
Sterling took Banks’ hand then she lifted him onto his knees with infuriating ease. “Remind me never to do that again,” he said, rubbing his aching arms and chest. “You’re like the human equivalent of a neutron star.”
Banks scowled. “I’ll try not to take that personally,” she said, though it was clear she had. “Anyway, I disagree. I think we should do this more often to work on your upper body. I also think we could also add in some squats with
me on your back.”
Sterling laughed, though it came out as more of a breathless cough. “Or, I could just go to the gym?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” replied Banks, springing to her feet and helping Sterling to stand.
“Would you like me to continue with my status report, Captain?” said the computer. “Assuming you and Commander Banks are finished with your witty exchange?”
“I thought you had already finished,” Sterling replied, flexing his chest and shoulders.
“I have only one more item of note,” the computer said. “The ambassador-ship, Fleet Light Cruiser Franklin, is en route back to G-COP from Sa’Nerran space. It is expected by twelve hundred hours.”
Sterling stopped stretching and met Banks’ eyes. The news had grabbed her attention too.
“It’s returning from within Sa’Nerran space?” asked Banks.
“Yes, Commander,” the computer chirruped. “Initial reports transmitted through aperture relays indicate the mission was a success.”
“What?” Sterling hit back. “A success how?”
“Unknown as of this time,” the computer answered. “The report only details that contact with the Sa’Nerran rulers was achieved and that the ambassador’s peaceful overtures were received positively.”
Sterling couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “We don’t even know how to say, ‘hello’ to those alien bastards,” he argued. “How can the ambassador have communicated our intent and understood the reply?”
“Unknown, Captain,” replied the computer.
Sterling sighed and shook his head. “Well, that’s another item to add to the list when we meet Admiral Griffin later,” he said.
“Shall I meet you in the wardroom for breakfast in fifteen?” suggested Banks. Then she scrunched up her nose, as if a skunk had just sauntered into the room. “I think you may need to shower and change first,” she added, pointing to Sterling’s sweat-soaked sleeping clothes.
“Thank you for that keen observation, Commander,” replied Sterling, with a touch of snark. He then pulled off his t-shirt and used it to mop up the fresh sweat that had formed on his face from exercising. Banks folded her arms and cast her eyes critically over his body, studying him as if she were examining a painting in a gallery.
“Yes, I definitely think we still need to work on your upper body,” she said, unable to hide a smirk.
“Nice,” replied Sterling, tossing his sweaty t-shirt into Banks’ face. She hysterically clawed it off and threw it onto the bed, as if it had been a tarantula crawling on her skin. “Now, if you don’t mind, you can get out.”
“Aye, Captain,” said Banks, moving to the door. “Though I’d hurry up, I hear they have some twenty-sevens in this morning,” she added, still clearly teasing him.
“I’m not falling for that again,” said Sterling, moving back into the rest room and opening the shower room door.
Banks shrugged. “Suit yourself, Captain,” she said, nonchalantly. “I’ll perhaps see if they can save you one, though I’m not making any promises.”
The door swooshed open and Banks stepped outside, but she held on to the frame to prevent the door from closing again.
“Or, maybe I’ll just eat your one myself,” Banks added, coolly. Then before Sterling could answer, Commander Banks had slid her hand off the door and was gone.
Sterling laughed. “I’m not falling for it,” he said out loud to himself. Then he shook his head and sighed. “Who the hell am I kidding?” he added, practically tearing off his pants, while trying to turn on the shower at the same time.
Chapter 21
People are like music
Sterling slumped down into the chair opposite Commander Banks, looking like a man who’d just lost his job. It had taken twice as long as usual for him to shower and get dressed on account of the stiffness that had set in to his chest and shoulder muscles. While he was quietly proud of his ability to do fifty push-ups with the lean, yet unfeasibly solid mass of Mercedes Banks on his back, the activity had also taken its toll. The need to return salutes and pleasantries to the rest of the crew en route to the wardroom meant that by the time he reached the serving hatch, all the number twenty-sevens had gone.
“It’s not that bad,” said Banks. There was already an empty meal tray in front of her, and another unopened one to its side. “The thirteen is pretty good, I hear.”
“I’d rather eat your socks after a full duty shift,” replied Sterling, grumpily.
“Let’s hope it never comes to that,” said Banks, smiling.
Banks then lifted the unopened meal tray off the table, revealing another one stacked beneath it. Sterling’s eyes narrowed as his first officer slid the lower tray across the table then looked at him expectantly. Sterling felt a sense of anticipation rising inside him then lifted the corner of the foil and peeked underneath. A smile beamed across his face as he saw the familiar form of his beloved grilled ham and cheese.
“Someone’s bucking for a promotion, I think,” said Sterling, unable to contain his glee. “But thanks, Mercedes. You’re one in a million.”
“A compliment!” Banks said, reveling in her victory. “Wonders never cease.”
One of the wardroom staff arrived to replace the coffee jug on the table. The man then offered to process Sterling’s meal tray and he readily accepted. Now that he’d sat down, Sterling’s weary body didn’t feel like standing up again any time soon.
“Where are the others?” he asked, adding some creamer to his coffee and peering around the wardroom.
“Keller and Graves decided to try out the wardroom on G-COP,” replied Banks. She had torn the foil off her second meal tray and was working her way through some sort of fried rice dish. “Shade has been and gone, as usual. As for Razor, I honestly don’t know.”
The wardroom staff member who had taken Sterling’s number twenty-seven for processing then returned and slid the tray in front of him. Sterling thanked the man then peeled back the foil, savoring the smell of artificial cheese and lab-engineered ham. The aches and pains in his body immediately bled away.
“Computer, locate Lieutenant Katreena Razor,” said Sterling, while picking up the sandwich.
“Lieutenant Katreena Razor is in crawlspace fourteen-alpha, deck four, forward section,” the computer replied.
“What the hell is she doing in there?” said Sterling, with his mouth full of grilled ham and cheese. He hadn’t actually intended the question for the computer, but his ship’s AI answered anyway.
“She is tuning the power distribution network for the new plasma rail cannons,” the computer replied. “Prior to this, Lieutenant Razor recalibrated the life-support systems, increasing energy efficiency by four per cent, and increased the output of the main fusion reactors by three percent.” There was a pause before the computer added, “With my assistance, of course.” Sterling thought he detected a hint of pride in the AI’s voice.
Banks then blew out a long, low whistle. “Has she slept or eaten any time in between these feats of engineering genius?” she asked.
“Lieutenant Razor sleeps on average four hours per night and generally visits the wardroom at oh six hundred and at nineteen hundred hours,” the computer answered.
“She must be a damned robot,” said Banks, throwing down her fork and moving on to eating a stack of fruit biscuits.
“My father only slept a few hours per day,” said Sterling, dropping the crusts of his grilled ham and cheese back onto the tray. “Or so I was told, anyway. I don’t really remember much.” Suddenly, like a snake striking at its prey, Commander Banks grabbed the crusts from Sterling’s tray and dropped them onto her own. “Don’t you have enough food already?” Sterling wondered. How much Banks ate and the speed with which she could put it all away never ceased to amaze him.
“I’m hungry,” Banks said, with a shrug. She was then silent for a few seconds, though Sterling could tell that she was working up to asking a difficult question. “Do you miss them?” Ba
nks then said, regarding Sterling with a quizzical eye. “Your folks, I mean?”
This time it was Sterling who shrugged. “I didn’t really know them,” he said. “People are like music to me. When you’re listing to music, it surrounds you and fills you, and it’s all you can think about. But when it’s gone the memory of it fades into the background. The tune might come into your head again every once in a while, but you don’t miss it. Something else fills that void instead.”
Banks scowled at Sterling then picked up her coffee cup and hovered it just in front of her lips. Sterling could again practically see the cogs working in her mind, as she chewed over how to respond.
“So, when I walk out of here and we go our separate ways, you don’t think about me at all?” Banks asked. “Or anyone else? It’s like we don’t exist, or are just a distant memory.”
“Something like that,” replied Sterling. He realized how cold and detached that sounded, though it was the truth.
“Well, I’ll try not to take that personally,” said Banks, taking a long, indignant slurp from the coffee cup.
Sterling was suddenly reminded of his dream about Ariel Gunn and his Omega Directive test on the Hammer. As usual, he’d forgotten about the dream almost as soon as he’d woken up, but his conversation with Banks had caused the memory of his dead friend to resurface, like a familiar tune. Sterling toyed with the some of the remaining food on his tray trying to understand the reason why that incident kept returning to him as he slept.
Do I really not give a damn about anyone? He asked himself. It was, strangely enough, a question he had never asked himself before. And what does it matter if I don’t… he continued, still toying with some of the snacks on his tray.
“Everyone on this ship could be dead in a few days, including me,” Sterling then said out loud to Banks, who was still studying him with interest. “It’s better not to form attachments. It’s better to wake up each morning and expect that each face you see that day might not be there tomorrow.”
Banks continued to watch and listen with interest, though her expression gave nothing away. If she was shocked by Sterling’s statement or agreed with it, or downright didn’t care either way, he couldn’t tell.
