Skah scowled. Now she was just being difficult. “Don’t care,” he said “Phoenix ny friends.”
“Yes,” said Styx. “Friends.”
“You know what friends are?” Skah asked skeptically.
“I know what most things are. Understanding them is a different matter. But yes, I think I know what friends are.”
“AI have friends?”
“No.”
“No friends?” Skah thought that sounded sad. “Why not?”
“Because AIs have something better. I can’t get bored. But you can’t experience what AIs have instead of friendship. And because you can’t experience it, you can’t understand it.” Skah thought about that, looking about at the other machines working in the engineering bay. “Skah, it’s quite dangerous for you to be walking about the ship. Phoenix might have to move very quickly.”
“No one give ne lesson,” Skah complained. “Roon is okay, but boring.” He’d said that already, he recalled in frustration. “No one to talk to.”
“Skah, I can give you lessons.”
Skah blinked. “You know naths?”
“Yes Skah, I am quite competent with maths.” For a moment, Skah thought maybe she was teasing him. But AIs didn’t do that. Did they? “I can talk to you through your glasses. And I can give you lessons, if you’d like. But I’m quite sure the humans won’t like me talking to you. Can you keep a secret?”
Skah thought about it. He was quite sure Mummy wouldn’t like him talking to Styx either. Nor would most of the adults. But then, being alone was currently the worst torment of his young life, and here was a simple solution. The adults wouldn’t ask him questions if they didn’t suspect anything. And Styx would certainly not get caught, she was far too smart. If he said nothing, neither would he.
“Yes,” he agreed, with sudden enthusiasm. “It’ll be a good secret! Do you know any stories?”
Erik leaned against a wall in an engineering bay with a mug of coffee, and contemplated the orchestrated chaos as Lieutenant Rooke’s team of fifteen techs made frantic alterations to an industrial hacksaw laser. They’d acquired it with a pile of parts and equipment from hacksaw drones in Argitori, many months ago now, much in the hope that it would one day prove useful. Warrant Officer Kriplani joined Rooke in yelling instructions over the howl of machine tools, and the flash and sizzle of welders, as they sought to connect the half-metre-long device to a workable powersource, plus waterproofing. Styx assisted the process with complex diagrams, no doubt thinking that she’d have it done herself in a fraction of the time if she still had access to even a minor drysine manufacturing facility.
Trace joined Erik against the wall, one of her undelicious smoothies in hand — her substitute for coffee, which she refused, along with most other stimulants. She looked tired though, in the way of someone who’d spent most of a day staring at screens. Physical operations never made her look this tired. Erik was always amazed how exhausting it was to sit on your ass and not move. Her short dark hair stuck up in one spot, evidently unnoticed. Erik brushed it down for her.
“What’s the schedule?” Trace asked, nodding at the shouting techs and showering orange sparks. It was technically the middle of the night for both of them, but warship crews were used to that.
“Rooke says two hours,” Erik replied. Lisbeth, whispered a voice somewhere in the back of his mind. The end-game was approaching soon with Aristan, or everyone suspected it was. He forced the thought down. They were recalling all the shuttles, in the natural stagger presented by the differing windows of their orbit. The marines all remained on the surface, for now.
There was no hiding that they’d found something, since they now had to stop rotating the platoons up and down, given Charlie Platoon had to stay in place and excavate the object they’d found. If Charlie had to stay in place, they all did, or the game would be obvious. They hadn’t been able to put the laser on a shuttle first, because it simply hadn’t been ready. Warrant Officer Kriplani’s team had been working for days, since the nature of the mission had become apparent, and only now was the laser nearly finished. Hacksaw drones did not typically operate on planets, let alone underwater, and modifying the tech with unsuitable human tools had been a challenge even for Styx… who was not, she reminded Rooke often, an engineering specialist.
If they simply sent a shuttle down to Charlie Platoon with the laser, Aristan would know which platoon had found the thing that had caused all Phoenix platoon rotations to stop. So the plan was to leave all three currently-grounded platoons — Bravo, Charlie and Echo — right where they were, recall all three shuttles, then send all three back down and leave Aristan guessing which one was most significant. A shell-game, some were calling it.
“What if it’s not the data-core?” Trace asked. “What if we lose twenty hours or more digging this thing up, and it turns out to be something else?”
“Styx is certain,” said Erik
“And Styx is never wrong?”
“Statistically, given the nature of what we’re looking for, the odds that it could be anything else are astronomical. There’s a limit to the number of naturally occurring things that could cause that radar signature, and all of those are geographically impossible in that location. Like a giant clump of diamond — it can’t happen there, in that density, it’s geographically impossible.”
“Styx says,” Trace said blankly.
“Every bit of geological expertise says.” Erik was in no mood to be drawn into one of Trace’s deliberately challenging arguments right now. He was thinking about what happened after they recovered it.
“Shouldn’t we consider continuing the platoon rotations, so we don’t lose too much time if it’s not the data-core? Just in case?”
“Sure, we keep one platoon in place while rotating the others, that won’t be obvious at all. You’re not that stupid, and Aristan’s certainly not.”
“We could claim Charlie Platoon have a technical problem,” Trace said stubbornly. “A lost marine under the water, and a recovery mission to get him back.”
“I’m not doing your multiple-choice examinations right now,” Erik said, looking past her. “You can grade my command decisions some other time.”
Trace frowned. “I wasn’t…”
“Don’t lie to me.” His voice was not raised, but it held a quiet fury all the same. “Don’t ever. I’m Captain now, and I’m not answerable to you any longer. Your suggestions are nonsense and you know it. Before you interrupted, I was thinking of combat manoeuvres in case we have to blast our escort and leave in a hurry. You’re absolutely no use to me in those calculations. Unless you’ve got something actually important to tell me, you’re dismissed.”
“Now who’s lying.” Unlike Erik, Trace’s tone contained no emotion. “You’re a tactical genius and a better raw pilot than even Hausler or Tif. With Styx’s added capabilities you can handle Aristan. You’re considering that blasting Aristan will get Lisbeth killed. It dominates every thought. You can’t let it.”
“You’re dismissed, Major.” Still he did not meet her eyes. “Don’t make me raise my voice.”
Erik arrived back at his quarters, with every intention of getting some sleep, but found Kaspowitz there waiting for him, reviewing navigation figures in the holographic gap between glasses and datapad. He glanced up as Erik approached, and was about to explain himself, but Erik just waved him in with a brief glance at the bridge just beyond his door, and the backs of Draper and Dufresne’s chairs.
“Captain, it’s Brehn System or nothing,” Kaspowitz said, taking the accustomed visitor’s seat by the wall table, while Erik took the bunk. “I’ve reviewed it with De Marchi, and there’s just no other way. If we get into a fight with Aristan, we’ll lose the Domesh’s protection. The Domesh were the only denomination in House Harmony friendly to us, so that means all of House Harmony is out. Getting in here, we just managed to piss off House Fortitude as well, who happen to form whatever passes for central government in parren space, so they’re out too.
/>
“Confounding as it sounds, tavalai space is the only place we’ll be safe, and we’ll just have to take our chances that State Department will be sufficiently screwed by the stuff we dropped on them that they and their allies will lose all power to hurt us once we’re there.”
Erik nodded. Damn he was tired. Being frightened all the time was exhausting. Physical danger, he’d become somewhat used to, and being in a warship as powerful as Phoenix was a comfort. But being constantly scared for other people, and the dangers his decisions might put them in, was tiring beyond anything he’d known. Even during the war he’d usually slept well, from the sheer hard work of his job, but now he felt like an insomniac — needing sleep desperately but knowing that the moment he closed his eyes the fear would jerk him awake once more.
It was tempting just to nod to his Navigation Officer and agree. “Show me,” he forced himself to say instead, and sat as Kaspowitz took him through it with his usual thoroughness. Sure enough, all the other routes were too dangerous. Heading back through Brehn System, with its House Harmony governance, and its deadly, rock-strewn lanes, was by far the best of a bad lot of options, with the fast access to tavalai space it offered.
“Right,” Erik said finally, nodding slowly while trying to figure in his head precisely what that meant any escape manoeuvres away from Cephilae would have to look like. “I’ll want a bunch of emergency alternatives too.”
“Got them figured already,” Kaspowitz assured him.
“But Brehn System will be our primary escape route. Thanks Kaspo.”
Kaspowitz nodded, looking just as tired, but handling it far better. “Heard you had a run-in with Trace in Engineering.”
Erik didn’t even bother rolling his eyes. “I thought it was more discrete than that.”
Kaspowitz shrugged. Gossip on warships was worse than in high school, and personal quarters were the only place with privacy. “You’re right to stand up to her. She respects you more if you do. But I don’t think she’s testing you this time.”
“Did she send you?” Erik asked, with the same deadpan he’d used on Trace.
Kaspowitz blinked. “Send me? Hell no, why would she…?”
“Because you’re her best spacer friend on the ship, and you always coordinate.” Kaspowitz rubbed his eyes, and gave him a tired, very unimpressed look. It was the look of a senior officer who was known Fleet-wide as one of the very best at his job, and at twice Erik’s age, and many times his professional experience, was in no mood to take that insinuation from anyone, whatever rank they wore. And that, Erik was coming to realise, was part of the problem.
“Captain,” Kaspowitz said with an edge. “It’s the job of all senior officers to give less experienced officers advice, on all things. One of my areas of expertise is Trace… not that anyone is really an expert, but I’m closer than most. She’s not testing you anymore. That’s over — you’ve impressed the crap out of her. Now she’s just treating you like she treats everyone, and…”
Erik held up his hand, and Kaspowitz took several beats longer to stop talking than he’d have liked. “Lieutenant,” he said then. “I don’t care.” Kaspowitz’s frown grew deeper, and he settled back in his chair to consider him. “The point is that none of you are captain. There are times when I want advice, and there are times that I don’t. Your professional advice on navigation is invaluable. Hers on marine matters is likewise. My emotional and psychological state regarding my sister is absolutely nothing that you or she can or should advise me on. Am I clear?”
“And if you mess it up for lack of good advice?” Kaspowitz retorted.
“Then we’re all dead!” Erik said loudly. “Deal with it!”
“Captain, this is Coms,” came Lieutenant Lassa’s voice.
“Go ahead Coms.”
“I’m receiving a very heavily encrypted transmission… well, it’s not so much that it’s encrypted, it’s in a drysine format, I’m only receiving it because Styx has our system clued in on what to look for.”
Erik sat up straighter on the bunk, resisting the temptation to walk straight out and talk to Lassa directly on the bridge. Second-shift needed their space to be left alone to do their thing without the Captain always interfering. “Who is the transmission coming from?”
“It’s coming from Toristan, Captain. They’re… Styx says they’re not aware they’re sending it. It’s a hidden frequency, it’s buried in their high band harmonics, it’s not something parren typically use. No one else will spot it unless they’re listening for it specifically… it’s… it’s complicated, but it’s an interruption signal, it’s broken into irregular parts and latched onto other parts of the carrier signal. Unless you’re looking for it, it reads like static.”
“Hello Styx?” said Erik to the empty air. And just like the omnipotent, all-seeing presence that she’d become on Phoenix lately, Styx replied immediately.
“Yes Captain?”
“What does the transmission say, Styx?”
“It says that the transmission is being sent by an agent of a rival faction within the Domesh Denomination. This rival faction is lead by a parren named Gesul. They are using this old drysine code because they have been alerted to my existence by your sister Lisbeth. And they say plans are underway to get her out, alive, before Aristan’s people order her eliminated… just as they’ve ordered Phoenix to be eliminated.”
Jalawi stomped from the lake, his armour dripping water, to find Cephilae transformed in the night. Through a gap in the clouds, Pashan was partially visible, a half-crescent that cast its ominous red glow over dull stones, towering cumulous clouds and glittering water. Lightning flashed, turning the red night for an instant to silver.
On his visor, Jalawi retained a visual on the lakebed operations. With their Lieutenant out of the water, Charlie Platoon’s XO took over the excavations — Staff Sergeant Spitzer, directing the small team with a hacksaw laser that PH-3 had brought back from Phoenix. The visual looked incredible — a huge, boiling column of steam rising from the lakebed in brief bursts as the laser fired, lighting the surrounding marines and seaweed forest in brilliant yellow glare. Beyond them, a circle of touli, at least ten, sometimes increasing to fifteen or more, as others came and went from around the lake. In the pauses between laser firing, they would light up a display of their own, rippling about the marines in a coordinated pattern, circling faster and faster.
Another incredible sight on a trip that had provided plenty so far. Jalawi and his fellow officers discussed Phoenix Company’s morale often, and all were amazed that everyone remained so keen. They’d been away for nearly six months now, and that on the end of another long tour at the war’s end, with only a brief break in the middle for the Homeworld celebrations. But Jalawi’s non-coms were telling him that their marines wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Jobs like this only strengthened the sentiment.
“Second Squad, how’s it looking?” Jalawi asked, heading for the angular, deadly bulk of PH-3 on the nearby rock.
“We’re good, LT,” came Master Sergeant Hoon’s reply. “I ran a few approach sims and walked a bit to get line-of-sight. Thought it best to deploy Second Section of the heavies to the low rise west of the big hill, we get a wider spread and a better crossfire.”
Jalawi looked at his platoon’s deployment on tacnet, and thought that if Hoon thought that was best, it probably was. Peter Hoon was one of Fleet’s many living legends, a forty year veteran with more medals than seemed possible, and two synthetic limbs to replace those lost in the war. He’d never served on Phoenix until he’d arrived with the volunteers at Joma Station, after he’d learned what Fleet Command had done to Captain Pantillo. He’d only been retired four years, he said, and it hadn’t been agreeing with him.
Charlie Platoon still had gaps in the ranks due to the action in Argitori against Styx’s hacksaws. One of those gaps had been caused by the death of Sergeant Cordi, Second Squad’s former commander. Lance Corporal Leitzman had been acting Second Squad comm
ander until Hoon arrived, and was only too glad to step back and allow the Master Sergeant to take over. It was still unorthodox, as the platoon’s most experienced non-commissioned officer would typically serve at the Platoon Commander’s side to direct traffic when he got distracted by larger command responsibilities, but Hoon had been firm that good relationships between first and second-in-command were vital, and Jalawi already had that with Staff Sergeant Spitzer. Thus this odd arrangement, where the great Master Sergeant contented himself with a squad command, leaving the far less experienced Spitzer as XO. But this more than anything was what Jalawi liked about serving under Major Thakur — she tolerated absolutely no breaches in procedure that could not afford to be breached, but where results could be improved by allowing experienced professionals to bend rules at need, she looked the other way.
“If Aristan’s people come in here with shuttles, there’s no guarantee Phoenix will even see it coming,” Jalawi said as he climbed PH-3’s rear ramp. “I know it’s boring and everyone’s tired, but if you’re late on the trigger by just a few seconds, we’ll be dead.”
“I understand LT,” said Hoon. Jalawi knew he did, and had been saying the same thing to his guys every five minutes for hours. But just because your squad commander was good didn’t mean you stopped being the LT.
Several more marines were already in the shuttle, and the forward airlock partitions were down on both sides of the hold, cordoning off the shuttle’s single toilet behind the cockpit. For all the suits’ insanely advanced technology, they still only processed number one, and not number two. Marines being marines, this was the source of the most gripes, grumbles, amusing tales and awful pranks of any equipment issue in the service. It had also given rise to the theory that since the suits were mostly alo technology, perhaps alo didn’t even do number two. Certainly everyone saw the ridiculous side on a deployment like this one, where marines were confined to armour for long stretches, a long way from the only shuttle, and the only toilet.
Defiance: (The Spiral Wars Book 4) Page 16
