by G J Ogden
Ernest Clairborne was the United Governments Secretary of War. He was the most senior official in charge of the executive department of Fleet. Sterling had never met the man, but by all accounts, he was firm and fair. He was, however, also a politician and had already made concessions to the increasingly vocal number of United Governments senators who were pushing for a negotiated peace with the Sa’Nerra.
“It was the esteemed Admiral’s son we met on the way here,” replied Sterling. “He wanted to arrange an interview with me.”
Griffin wafted her hand dismissively. “Vernon Wessel doesn’t deserve to be captain of a garbage scow, never mind a cruiser,” she barked.
The Admiral’s contempt for the Wessel family was plain to see, and Sterling couldn’t help but smile. There wasn’t much about Admiral Griffin that he found endearing, but her obvious hatred of the Wessels was one of them.
“Fob him off for as long as you can, Captain,” Griffin continued, oblivious to the smirk on Sterling’s face. “But ultimately you must comply.”
The smile fell off Sterling face faster than a drunk falling off a barstool. “You want me to comply with Wessel’s request for an interview?” Sterling replied, taking a recklessly stern tone with Fleet’s most senior commander.
Griffin scowled. “Are your ears still ringing from the tram crash, Captain, or did I mis-speak?”
“No, sir, I heard you clearly,” answered Sterling, realizing that he’d inadvertently poked the angry bear. “I’m just surprised you want me to co-operate, considering that Wessel no doubt plans to probe me about the Void Recon Unit. I already get the feeling he knows more about what we’re doing than he’s letting on.”
Griffin sighed again, but it was a disgruntled sigh, rather than an act borne out of weariness.
“After McQueen outed the Omega Taskforce, I was compelled to support the formation of the SIB to avoid suspicion,” the Admiral said. As usual she was speaking more plainly with her Omega officers than she would allow herself to do with other senior Fleet personnel. “However, your hunch is correct, Captain,” Griffin continued, becoming increasingly angrier as she went on. “Our actions over the last year have not gone unnoticed, but the Omega Taskforce has never been more necessary than it is now, even if it is a taskforce of one.”
“I understand, Admiral, you can count on us,” Sterling replied, feeling it important to give his full assurance unreservedly, without being prompted for it.
“I know I can, Captain,” said Griffin, coming dangerously close to sounding proud of him. “And I also know that you can handle Wessel.” Her eyes then became as sharp as a scalpel. “But tread carefully, Captain. Suspicion and fear are poor stablemates. Wessel lacks the intelligence or courage to prosecute his mission without bias or the required robustness. And I suspect Wessel’s appointment by his obstinate father is a direct attempt to pry into my affairs.”
Sterling had already got that impression loud and clear just from his brief encounter with Vernon Wessel in the corridor outside Griffin’s office.
“I understand, Admiral,” Sterling replied. “We’ll be on our guard, as always.”
Admiral Griffin then opened a cupboard in her desk and picked out a bottle of Calvados. Sterling recognized the teardrop-shaped container straight away. The Admiral then placed three tulip-shaped glasses on the table and begin to pour a healthy measure of the liquor into each one.
“Fortunately, your recent actions have earned you a considerable amount of capital, both in the eyes of Fleet and the public,” Griffin said. She slid a glass in front of Banks, then another in front of Sterling.
“It makes a change to be saving lives, rather than taking them,” said Sterling, taking a sip of Calvados.
“I couldn’t give a damn about the people on that tram,” replied Griffin. Her tone instantly chilled the room by several degrees. “However, your acts of heroism mean that neither of you are currently under suspicion, at least not by the top hierarchy of the UG. Considering that the ‘Emissaries of the Sa’Nerra’ were both part of my unit, that is capital we sorely need right now.”
Sterling nodded. Wessel’s comment about Lana McQueen and Clinton Crow had not gone unnoticed by him, either. The two Sa’Nerran emissaries had both been members of the Void Recon Unit, which put the crew of the Invictus directly under the microscope. However, the act of saving the people on the tram and killing the self-proclaimed ‘aides to the emissaries’ had raised Sterling and Banks above suspicion, at least temporarily.
“The Secretary of War even wants to give both of you a damned medal,” Admiral Griffin added, with an almost witch-like cackle.
“I’m down for receiving a medal,” said Banks before taking a sip of Calvados. Her face then scrunched up as if she’d been forced to drink her own urine.
“Don’t let it go to your head, Commander Banks,” said Griffin, casting a steely eye over to Sterling’s first officer. “Besides, the medal ceremony will have to wait. I need you both back out in the Void, looking for clues to the location of this Sa’Nerran super-weapon. I can’t imagine the senators still insisting on peace when they discover what those alien bastards are really planning.”
Sterling placed his half-finished glass down on the table and sat up in the chair. He was eager to get back out into space, and equally eager to learn what their next assignment was.
“Standing orders are that no Fleet ships shall enter the Void, but currently the Void Recon Unit is still exempt from that order,” Griffin went on. She slid an encrypted data chip across the table to Sterling. “Your orders in full are on there. It will self-wipe five minutes after you access it, so do so with a clear head, Captain.” Sterling took the chip and sealed it inside the breast pocket of his tunic. “Head back to the planet where you found that super-weapon and deploy the probes that I’m having loaded onto the Invictus. This chip will also update your navigational charts. The system has been designated Omega Four for simplicity.”
Sterling nodded. “That’s a lot easier to remember than system void quebec two, sierra two, dash… whatever the hell it was called,” he commented.
“Drop an aperture relay inside the ring system,” Griffin added while topping up her glass. “The probes will route their transmissions back through that relay. With any luck, the Sa’Nerra have abandoned the system and won’t return to it, but don’t take that for granted.”
“What should we do about Captain McQueen and Lieutenant Commander Crow, Admiral?” asked Banks. She had pushed her glass of calvados away from her, as if it were a vial of poison.
“Whoever those people are now, they are not Lana McQueen and Clinton Crow, is that clear, Commander?” Griffin snapped back. The forcefulness of the Admiral’s response caught Banks off guard, and she instantly straightened to attention. “And I don’t care what they call themselves, they’re traitors, is that understood? They are both Sa’Nerran, plain and simple.”
“I understand perfectly, Admiral,” replied Banks, respectfully.
“The UG is using this as an opportunity to start a dialogue with the Sa’Nerra,” Griffin went on, revealing the reason for her frustration and sudden outburst. “They’ve already sent an ambassador ship to the edge of Sector-G in quadrant one. Once its mission is cleared through the war council, that ship will enter the Void and look to make contact with MAUL and McQueen.”
Sterling snorted a laugh. “But that’s a damned suicide mission,” he said, feeling a wave of despair wash over him. “The Sa’Nerra aren’t interested in dialogue or peace.”
“I know that Captain,” replied Griffin with a scolding tone, “which is why I also need you to do something else while you’re out in the Void.” Sterling sucked in a deep breath and composed himself, hoping that the admiral had some better news for them. “Fleet and UG scientists have stepped up their research into the Sa’Nerran neural control technology, but the truth is they’re getting nowhere fast,” Griffin continued. “They understand the technology, but the secret to understanding this weap
on lies in the software, not the hardware. It’s a puzzle I have no confidence they can unravel.”
Sterling scowled. “Are you suggesting that there’s someone in the Void who might be able to make sense of it?” he asked.
“Very good, Captain, yes,” replied Griffin, sounding genuinely impressed by Sterling’s intuition. “His name is James Colicos.”
Sterling and Banks shot startled looks at each other. Everyone knew the name James Colicos. He was the man credited with developing neural technology to the level that everyone was now accustomed to. The ability to integrate neural technology at birth was also solely down to Colicos’ work. As a scientist, he was as famous as Einstein or Hawking.
“Unless you’re also loading a resurrection device onto the Invictus, I think it’s going to be hard to find him, Admiral,” replied Sterling. “Colicos died more than thirty years ago.”
Griffin picked up her glass and drained the contents in one before setting it down on the table with such force that Sterling thought it would smash.
“He’s not dead,” Griffin said. Sterling could almost taste the bitterness in her words. “He was expelled from the Fleet Science Division and exiled to the Void. His last reported location was on The Oasis Colony, which is where you need to go to find him and bring him back.” Sterling was stunned and momentarily lost for words. “He might be a little… reticent to return, however.”
“Dare I ask why, Admiral?” Sterling said since Griffin had left the reason for the man’s exile hanging in mid-air.
Griffin locked her eyes on Sterling and rested her forearms onto her majestic office desk. She was clearly reluctant to provide any more details, but also well-accustomed to Sterling’s slightly pushy ways.
“Colicos is a genius, brilliant beyond words, but he is also an alcoholic, drug-abusing womanizer, and a low-life, lying asshole,” Griffin began, not holding back. She then reclined in her chair and let out another sigh, though this time it was one borne out of weariness. “However, the main reason he’ll be relucent to come with you is that I was the one who had him kicked him out in disgrace and exiled to the Void.”
Chapter 6
A rude awakening
Sterling opened his eyes then shot bolt upright in bed, his t-shirt and sheets soaked in sweat and heart pounding. The painfully-bright ceiling lights inside his quarters then forced him to shield his eyes with his hand and squint in order to dim their brilliance.
“Computer, I asked you to wake me gently at oh-six-hundred, not grill me like a ham and cheese,” complained Sterling. The light tiles built into the ceiling in his quarters were shining with such intensity that they appeared on the verge of overloading.
“Apologies, Captain. I thought that replicating the electromagnetic spectrum of Earth’s daylight would be the most pleasing way to wake you,” the computer answered.
“I told you before, you’re a computer, you don’t think,” said Sterling, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His heart rate had already returned to normal, and the image of Commander Ariel Gunn’s headless body was slipping into the dark recesses of his mind. He shook his head, wondering why his subconscious kept dragging him back to his Omega Directive test on the Hammer. Sterling did not regret the choice he had made that day. He’d shot Ariel Gunn in order to save the ship. He’d do it again without giving it a second thought. However, it wasn’t his waking mind that seemed to be the problem.
“I think you were having your usual nightmare again,” the computer said, with a haughtiness that Admiral Griffin would have been proud off.
“Yes, well it happens,” said Sterling, dismissively. “And, no, I don’t want you to alert Commander Graves, or offer me any of your sage silicon-based wisdom.”
“As you wish, Captain, through my recent upgrades do enable me to perform human psychoanalysis,” the computer went on, cheerfully. “Would you like me to psychoanalyze you, Captain?”
Sterling snorted a laugh then got up and flexed his arms and legs, ready to embark on his usual morning routine of fifty press-ups. “I don’t think you really need me to answer that question, do you?” he said, dropping down to a plank position.
“I assume then that you would prefer me to give you the usual ship’s status report?” the computer said. Its synthesized voice was still cheerful, though Sterling thought it sounded a little offended too. He quickly dismissed this as just his imagination.
“That would be acceptable, computer, thank you,” replied Sterling, beginning his set.
“Fleet Marauder Invictus is operating at ninety-seven percent efficiency, all systems nominal. We remain docked at F-COP,” the computer began, cheerily. “F-COP security reports no further incidents involving Sa’Nerran operatives. The tram system has been restored to full functionality. The last Fleet status update was forty-seven minutes ago. There were twelve engagements overnight. Three Sa’Nerran Skirmishers and two Light Cruisers were destroyed. Two Fleet losses. Fleet Destroyer Juliet and Fleet Frigate Coyote. Fleet Heavy Cruiser Rampart is reported missing. Fleet has received no contact for the last six hours.”
Sterling stopped at his forty-sixth push-up and remained in a plank position.
“The Rampart is missing?” Sterling asked. The Rampart was a powerful ship and at only four years old, it was also one of the newer vessels in its size-class.
“Affirmative, Captain. Fleet Heavy Cruiser Rampart engaged a taskforce of Sa’Nerran Skirmishers that was holding position outside the aperture to G-sector. It surged into the Void to engage the strike force then contact was lost at zero, four, twenty-one zulu.”
Sterling sighed then finished the last of his fifty push-ups, but continued to add another ten in quick succession so that he ended his set with his muscles burning.
“Did you know Captain McCarthy?” the computer queried. Its voice lacked its usual liveliness and instead sounded doleful. Sterling put this down to the advanced, but also quirky Gen-Fourteen AI’s recent ‘upgrades’.
“Yes, I know Ellen,” replied Sterling, stressing the word 'know'. “She hasn’t been reported dead yet, so let’s not write her off.”
“As you wish, Captain, though I calculate the probability that Captain McCarthy is still alive at seventeen point four percent,” the computer continued.
“I didn’t ask…” Sterling hit back as he stripped off and turned on the shower.
“I’m sorry, Captain,” the computer added, still sounding doleful and sympathetic.
“What the hell are you sorry for?” said Sterling, stepping underneath the steaming-hot stream of water and allowing it to wash over his face. “You don’t give a crap about Ellen McCarthy, or any other Fleet officer that got killed last night.”
The computer was momentarily silent. Ah, gotcha with that one… Sterling thought. Most Fleet captains disable the personality sub-routines in their computer cores, but Sterling enjoyed sparring with his state-of-the-art Gen-Fourteen.
“It appears that neither do you, Captain,” the computer eventually replied.
Sterling almost choked on the rapid stream of water flowing out of his shower head. Being snippy was a first for his chatty Gen-Fourteen.
“Remember who you’re talking to, computer,” said Sterling, turning off the shower and grabbing a towel. “If any other member of my crew spoke to me like that, there’d be hell to pay.”
“Apologies, Captain,” the computer answered, resuming its more typically cheery tone. “I am merely attempting to substitute the function of a close confidant. Someone who you can confide in, in order to give voice to your repressed emotions.”
Sterling laughed out loud. “I don’t have any emotions, repressed or otherwise,” he said, pulling a clean uniform out from his wardrobe. “So, you can quit with the Sigmund Freud crap and stick to ship’s status updates.”
“As you wish, Captain,” said the computer.
“Good,” replied Sterling, satisfied that he’d put the computer in its place, though he fully expected the peculiar AI to try its
luck again the next morning.
Sterling tapped his neural interface to allow neural communications, then pulled on his pants. He wondered how long it would be before Mercedes Banks popped into his head.
“Do you need me to sit on your back again?” came the voice of Commander Banks through a neural link.
Sterling smiled. “You’re late this morning, I’ve already done my requisite push-ups, plus an extra ten,” he said.
“Well, maybe tomorrow I’ll just knock on your door, rather than wait for you to unlock neural comms,” Banks hit back. “I’ve been up for an hour already. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” said Sterling, fastening the last button of his tunic.
“Did you hear about the Rampart?” Banks added, with the same sort of doleful tone that the computer had mimicked earlier. However, this wasn’t faked concern – Mercedes had served under Captain Ellen McCarthy as a lieutenant and had a deep respect for her.
“Yes, I did,” said Sterling, deciding to keep his response brief to give Banks the option to open up if she wanted to. Despite the computer claiming a role as ship’s counselor – or at least captain’s counselor – he knew that the only person Mercedes could confide in was him, and vice versa. To everyone else on the ship, the captain and first officer had to present a united front, conveying fearlessness and unflinching confidence in the mission, ship and crew. It was a lonely position to be in, though it was one that Sterling didn’t struggle with.
“If it turns out that they were captured and turned, and we’re sent after them to clean up the mess, do me a favor, will you?” said Banks.
This made Sterling stop and listen more intently. “What do you need, Mercedes?” he asked.
“If we have to neutralize Captain McCarthy, let me be the one to do it,” Banks continued. Her tone was still downcast, but it was also determined. She meant what she said.
“If it comes to it, and there’s a choice of who takes her down, I’ll leave it to you,” replied Sterling. He understood Banks’ desire to do the job herself. In her position, he’d likely have requested the same. However, for anyone other than Mercedes Banks, he would have denied the request. There was a world of difference between saying you would put a gun to someone’s head and pull the trigger, and actually doing it. Especially if the person in question was someone you knew and respected. Sterling knew that more than most, and he also knew that even for an Omega officer, it would be a tough ask. However, Mercedes Banks was tougher than most. She was as cold-hearted as he was. And in her moments of bloodlust and anger, she was maybe even colder.
