by Adams, David
It took him only a few moments to return to his datacore. With the drone’s arms free, reconnecting the cable from the Beijing’s systems to his own took only a matter of moments. He powered up the link, feeling with his mind the ship’s systems, reaching–in an almost telepathic sense–into its computer systems.
Ben knew the Humans had changed their access codes since he was granted access to the ship. With an engineer like Summer Rowe—brilliant, with a splash of paranoia—the change came as no surprise. He knew the code was a number, represented by a series of bits—ones and zeroes. There were 1024 of them.
This was standard, military-grade encryption. Most civilians, he had learned from the huge ream of data he’d extracted from the Beijing’s computers, used 256 bits. These bits were capable of forming a number larger than the number of atoms in the observable universe.
Approximately 10^78, give or take. Another way to look at it was five trillion of Earth’s computers working together to solve the key would take 197 years to solve a 256 bit problem. To solve the 1024 bit problem would take those five trillion computers a staggering, exponentially larger amount of time to complete.
But Ben was no ordinary Earth computer.
He was what Human scientists would call a quantum Turing machine. He didn’t even use bits–metaphorical ones and zeroes–instead using a complex notion called qubits. Qubits could be a one, or a zero, or any suspension between the two. A subtle but crucial difference.
In layman’s terms, playing by the rules would mean the level of encryption the Beijing used would be impossible to break in any meaningful period of time, but the rules did not apply to Ben. It was akin to a two-dimensional cartoon trying to design a maze. Another two-dimensional cartoon might well be trapped there for days, but a three-dimensional cartoon could step over the 'walls' as though they were nothing.
Ben set his datacore to work, reaching further and further into the ship’s computer cores and stripping away the encryption as though it were a child’s toy. Guessing the key wasn’t necessary; his system worked in a way that didn’t use such limited abstractions.
Soon, he had access to the ship’s entire network. He was careful–read access only, he didn’t want to interfere with the battle–and he could tell they already knew he was there.
Alarms and alerts, subtle changes in the flow of information, like a body’s immune system responding to his presence. He recognised the style–Summer, the redheaded engineer.
But she was made of flesh and could not possibly outwit him. Not on the digital battlefield, in the realm of pure mathematics.
Ben turned off the artificial gravity on the whole ship, powering down the reactionless drives and locking the crew out for a few minutes. His body, the jump drive, and his datacore slowly drifted up from the deck of the ship. With a claw he reached down, taking up one of the combined power and data couplings and placing it into the Beijing’s disembodied jump drive, watching with his many optics as it slowly sprang back to life.
He extended the fingers of his mind into that device, feeding it data and performing trillions of operations a second. Soon, he had what he wanted.
Absently, he brushed away minor annoyance—a digital spike from Summer as she attempted to overvolt the power feeding his datacore—as the jump drive flared with life. It seemed to throb in his claws as it heated up, drawing more and more power from the ship’s systems.
The jump drive became so hot that steam began to rise from its surface. In the zero gravity of the ship, it came off in waves, coalescing into light pockets of vapor. Ben knew he was close. Data flowed across the thick cable as he sent small commands back and forth to the device and received input back from it in return. His spare claw gripped the datacore tightly.
Then he engaged the final command and the device, his body, and his datacore winked out from inside the vast ship’s inner hull. A powerful shockwave flew out in all directions, crumpling bulkheads and blasting the Beijing from within.
Then he was falling, surrounded by rushing air and blue skies.
* * *
Operations
TFR Beijing
The scream of twisting metal, loud enough Liao could hear it in Operations, was accompanied by a shockwave so violent it threw her from her place at the console. The ship bucked and heaved as the energy slowly dissipated, the impact minimized by the lack of local gravity. The lights were out, the room illuminated only by emergency power. She saw Summer floating nearby, blood streaming from a cut on her head as she tried to maneuver herself in the weightless environment.
Liao grabbed hold of one of the support columns in the room, floating weirdly in the air. “Report!”
Summer shouted across the room to her. “Ben activated our jump drive. He jumped the fucking thing from the inside of the ship!”
Liao began lowering herself down towards the deck. “Damage report. And get the gravity back on!”
She nearly had her boots back on the floor when, with a lurch that contrasted with how it was usually eased back on, the gravity came back. She managed to avoid sprawling herself out on the deck like most of the Operations crew, but she was far away from her console, and she couldn’t imagine what chaos the rest of the ship was in.
Liao watched as Jiang pulled herself up back into her chair. “Captain, control of the ship has been returned to us.”
She could barely believe it. “Summer—confirm that!”
“Looking good, Captain. Navigation, Tactical, Engineering—all up and going.” Summer emitted a loud, barking laugh. “Well, everything except the jump drive, of-fucking-course!”
Of course. If what Summer had told her was true, Ben had physically jumped away with their only method of escape. Then, of course, there was the internal damage to her ship from the shockwave, which might well be catastrophic.
Liao climbed up to her feet, spending a quick moment checking to see if she was injured. Fortunately–although she wasn’t sure what else could go wrong–she didn’t have anything worse than bruises.
Ling, the radar operator, called out to Liao. “Captain, the Toralii ships defending the jump point have turned and begun heading this way.”
That was expected. The only thing that surprised her was how long it had taken them. Small mercies. “How long?”
“At their current pace, they’ll be in weapons range in half an hour, Captain.”
That sounded promising.
She glanced down to adjust a part of her uniform then looked up, catching Jiang’s eye. “Status report on the Marines. Tell me they’re doing better than we are.”
Jiang didn’t look back at her instruments; it seemed as though she had already received a report and was waiting for the chance to relay it.
“Captain, the Paladin reports they received a signal from the Archangel via signal light that their radio has been damaged and is inoperative.” A wide grin spread over Jiang’s face. “The Paladin additionally reports that their Marines have located what appears to be the majority of the crew of the Tehran in one of the cell blocks.”
Liao’s eyes widened in shock. They had suspected they were on board, and she had hoped for a quick rescue, but they were closer than she had expected. If it weren’t for the raging chaos around her that had followed Ben’s jump away, she might have focused her energy entirely on that tiny scrap of information, but she couldn’t.
“Good. How quickly can they get moving? Any sign of—” She hesitated. “Commander Sabeen or Captain Grégoire?”
Jiang screwed up her face. “I don’t know, Captain. Nothing so far. Corporal Tian reports there’s a lot of wounded there. I don’t know how quickly they’ll be able to move.”
Liao swore. The plan called for the Tehran crew to be able to man their posts—more or less—so they would have another ship to fight the Toralii with. Which reminded her…
“母亲笨蛋! Any sign of the Tehran itself?”
To Liao’s infinite relief, Jiang nodded. “Yes, Captain. The Switchblade reports t
hey’ve spotted a damaged but functional Triumph-class cruiser near where the Tehran’s crew is being kept. It’s got to be the Tehran. It’s still badly damaged from the battle, especially on the bow, but it should be able to move.”
Liao gave a wild nod. “Excellent. Get the crew aboard as soon as we can. Shuttle over some of our people if they’re missing anyone critical. They don’t have to fight, they just have to move.”
Hsin’s voice called out to her. “Captain, Garn reports that he and his crew have seized the Dreadnought. They’re powering it up as we speak. According to his communications officer, they’ll be ready to fly in eight minutes.”
Eight minutes was a long time, but their alpha strike had proven to be extremely effective. There was minimal resistance from Cenar itself, and although Toralii vessels were closing in from the jump point, they were too far away to do anything about the Humans for the moment.
“Good. See if they can’t get their weapons online faster, then they can help us go to town on this place.”
Hsin relayed the message, and Liao turned to Kamal. The Iranian man was nursing a fairly severe head wound but seemed lucid.
“Kamal, since our jump drive upped and left without so much as a goodbye kiss, I was hoping you would have some idea how to escape.”
The tan-skinned man gave her a cocky grin. “Aside from getting out and pushing…” the smile faded. “Without a jump drive, there’s no way we can get the ship out of here. The only option we have is to make for the rendezvous with the Sydney in the Tehran and evacuate to those ships–or even the Hirakan if we have to, then scuttle the Beijing.”
Not an attractive plan, but Liao didn’t have any better ideas. “Just get us to the rendezvous,” she murmured, reaching up and adjusting her hat. “We’ll deal with what to do when we get there.”
She wished she could give a stronger reassurance to her crew than that, but her reluctance to abandon the ship that had carried them so far–her first command–was tempered by the knowledge that no amount of technical trickery could get them out of this situation. They had no jump drive. There was nothing Summer or anyone could to do create one out of thin air.
Hsin turned in his chair, glancing at Liao. “Captain, all five Marine teams report mission successful. The Tehran and her crew are powering up the ship, and the Dreadnought’s weapons are online.” He grinned. “They’re going to town on them, as you put it.”
She nodded. “Very good. Coordinate with them however you can.”
Hsin nodded, then tapped his headset. “Captain, I’m receiving a communication from the Tehran. It’s Commander Farah Sabeen.”
Sabeen was James’s XO. If anyone knew what had happened to him, it was her.
The dagger of doubt jabbed at her mind, though. Farah would only be the one to make the call if James wasn’t there or wasn’t able to speak to her.
“Put her through,” Liao ordered, slipping a headset over her head and nodding as she pressed the talk key.
“Commander Sabeen, this is Captain Liao.”
Farah's voice crackled through the radio, charged with adrenaline. "Captain Liao, you have no idea how grateful I am to hear your voice.”
Despite it all, Liao couldn’t help but smile. “Believe me, Commander, the feeling’s mutual, but we’re going to have to save our catch-up chat for later.”
“Agreed,” came Farah’s reply. “We’re still powering up our reactors over here–I estimate it’ll take a few more minutes before we get one online, which should be enough for us to begin hightailing it.”
Liao nodded, even though Sabeen couldn’t see it. “Good. We’re going to have to stick together as we exit this place–whatever remains of the Toralii guns are going to be following us as we go.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” came Farah’s reply, laughing down the line. “Your Marines couldn’t figure out how to lower the energy field that was keeping us all prisoner, so they semtexed the generator. Every single cell on the whole facility is now open, Captain, and it’s a mad house down here. Species I’ve never even seen before are fighting their way to their ships.”
A grin spread over Liao’s face. “A little chaos is just what we need. Excellent,” she replied, holding down the talk key a little longer than necessary, trying to work up the courage to ask her next question. “Farah, is James with you? What’s his status?”
“Haven’t seen any sign of him, Captain. He was taken away from us right at the beginning. I haven’t seen him since the battle. Nobody has. We assumed he was being taken for medical treatment, but he never came back.”
Liao’s heart clenched. That meant that James wasn’t among the crewmen from the Tehran that her Marines had rescued. He might not even be on the station.
He might be dead.
Or one of a billion other possibilities, none of them good. Once again, as she had done so often, she stuffed her emotions and her wild, rampaging imagination into a box and banished it to the darkest corners of her brain.
Probably not the most healthy psychological practice, but Liao had to be made of steel if she wanted to lead the ship.
“Thank you, Farah,” she said, unable to even summon the will to use the woman’s last name.
“Sorry it couldn’t be better news, Captain.” There was a pause as, presumably, Farah received some kind of communication from someone on her crew, then the faint hiss of radio communications came through once again. “Captain, my chief of engineering reports that the Tehran is as good as she’s going to get. We have navigation and half of our missile tubes. We can barely charge our hull plating, and the jump drive’s still being worked on. That’s all we can give.”
“You just run,” Liao ordered. “Provide whatever support you can, but focus on getting your ship to the Sydney and getting the hell out of here. We’ll cover your retreat as much as possible.”
“Very good, Captain. Commander Sabeen out.”
Commander Sabeen? If James was gone, even in the medium term, then the ship was rightfully hers. She should be referred to as Captain Sabeen, especially since Fleet Command would almost certainly install her as the new commanding officer.
The thought irked Liao more than she cared to admit, and she felt her emotions flare up again. She had held out hope for so long, but it seemed as though they would not be rescuing James today.
And the likelihood of him being rescued at all was vanishingly slim.
Liao closed the link. She stood on the deck of her ship, surrounded by shouting voices and calls back and forth between the various sections of the Operations department. Navigation spoke to Communications as the the Tehran, Beijing, and Hirakan plotted their escape route through the debris. The Sydney called them, providing targeting information and planning long-range fire support to cover their escape. The Beijing’s strike craft buzzed around the station, striking at targets of opportunity and providing protection to the Broadswords, who–with their Marines extracted and their missions complete–began to fall into formation with the Beijing in preparation for their departure.
She watched it all on her monitors, unwilling to look away, unable to shake the deep-rooted feeling that she was as close to James as she was ever going to get, that she was squandering her last hope of saving him. She knew that after their brazen attack, the Toralii would not permit them a second chance to rescue him—assuming they wouldn’t just throw him out an airlock.
If he was even still alive.
She heard Kamal’s voice behind her and felt his hand on her shoulder. “Captain, we’re ready to depart. We’ve done all we can here, and it’s becoming dangerous to stay. It’s time for us to go.”
The words felt like they might crush her.
“We haven’t located J- Captain Grégoire.”
“I know.” Kamal’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “Believe me, I know. And I know you’re hurting right now, Melissa, and I know you want to stay. You must be thinking there’s some way we can pull this one off, that we can hold off that massive avalanche
of steel and hate that’s bearing down on us through sheer force of will, but hope and courage can only last you so long. When it’s bows and arrows against bolts of lightning, it doesn’t matter how good a shot you are.”
He was right. Every word was true, and yet still she hesitated. She wanted–hope against hope–to believe James would be found and returned to her.
She wanted it so badly that she was, for a moment, tempted.
Then the voice in the back of her head, that self-sacrificing voice that had allowed her to put aside the easy path early in her life and encouraged her to join the military, spoke up. With the subtle guilt only the subconscious mind could summon, it carefully and gently guided her mind to where it needed to be.
“Arm the remaining nukes,” she ordered, her voice quavering. “Target Cenar’s primary reactor clusters. We’ve got our people out and the other prisoners have escaped. Let’s blow the whole fucking place sky high." She took a breath. "Then plot a course out of here, Mister Dao, and step on it.”
Kamal leaned in close to her, his hand still resting on her shoulder. “Captain, we don’t know if everyone got away. Some of those may be our people, or other species, or those too sick or hurt to move, or any number of things. Destroying this facility isn’t part of our mission. We don’t have to do it, and perhaps we should’t. If we leave now, perhaps we can come back, we can strike again—”
“Our ‘go anywhere’ jump drive is gone,” she reminded him, squeezing her hand into a fist so tight her nails dragged against the palm of her skin, scratching it until it drew blood. “We relied on that and the advantage of surprise. If we leave now, they’ll rebuild—better and stronger than before. But now they’re weakened. They’re exposed. If we capitalize on this, we can destroy this godforsaken place and make sure nobody is harmed by it ever again.”
