by Mack Meijers
So much for wanting to be myself. I never really got to know that person.
End Record
Warfare in space is killing other painters on the collective canvas of our universe.
— Masters At Arms Anonymous
Chapter 13
Mode Record
Time for a break. Exhausted. I started out early, this morning - as far as there is such a thing still in these days of endless nights. Headed out, making my way along the route I started on yesterday, picking up the battery packs I had already dropped off, so far so good. Unfortunately, while I had counted on being able to use one of the main elevator shafts to navigate the more central sections of the ship, the rest of the trip was not that easy.
I should have known, now that I think of it, but with no power those shafts are useless. Not because you can't use the tubes without power, but because they block the shafts. You can't move them, no way. I know, I tried. Looked everywhere for manual overrides, and broke a finger trying to open up a control panel. Never knew I could scream like that.
At least it was just pain. Not fear. Here in the dark, memories come back from books I used to read, stories I was rather far too young at the time to really understand. Monsters, aliens and mutations in the dark. Mum caught me a few times, reading in the middle of the night. While firm, she was quite understanding, both she and dad were avid readers as well. Except that time where she actually had a look at what I was hiding underneath the covers. Furious, I guess I was lucky that day, dad was out on a campaign.
I had expected to drive myself crazy. Imagination is a powerful thing. And dangerous, if you let it cross the boundaries of cognitive behaviour. Part of me insists that reading those stories made me immune to a rather natural, instinctive and imaginative fear. I know everything that monsters could every come up with, right? Not that it's working though, I know from dad's own diary that such things don't exist. We killed them all, both the good and the bad. He once fought to save a remnant colony of beings not quite human, driven out of their home by the Polities in their ever continuing expansion. It's a mission I know he failed. I wasn't allowed to listen to his recordings, a Link is one of the most private things anyone can have, but I did. And while because of that I do know there is nothing in the dark, I also found other things to give me nightmares of a very different kind.
Either way, that idea was a no go, wasted hours trying to find other shafts in the hope of them not being blocked. To no avail. My only recourse is once again to either find safe corridors, there's still plasma leaks and my suit gives out radiation alerts all over the place, or once again through the maintenance conduits. Which I am pretty sure is going to be damn hard, with these battery packs. Maybe if I knew my way around the ship, but all I can do really comes down to trial and error.
If only the ship's network was online, I could simply pull up a map. Or even better, ask the A.I. to simply guide me to where I need to be. Dreams, wishful thinking gets you nowhere when chaos reigns. So dad would tell me. The man has a point. So I mark every step I take, every bulkhead I pass, every door that allows me to pass through.
Suffice to say I found myself facing an expedition, instead of a trip. One that would probably take me several days, if I finished it. That will be for another time though, I found the wireless signal I picked up days ago while wandering about madly. Even better, I found the source of it. It was a bit of a puzzle, these Link devices are quite sensitive, I ended up crawling around allowing myself to be guided by the indicator of signal strength. I am good. Well, patient anyway.
I'll admit it was frustrating. Losing signal wasn't the worst of it, the real problem was that inside the belly of the ship the signal doesn't just present itself as some nice sphere of connectivity. Oh no, shafts and conduits, passages and security doors, they all have their effect on how the signal travels, and how strong it is depending on the environment of the ship. At one point I just lost it, the signal, but when I moved barely a few meters on beyond a bulkhead it was still there. If I had gone back at that point, instead of just stubbornly pushing forward I doubt I would be here right now.
And where that is, I have no idea. I've never been in this area of the ship. Wish I could close my eyes, hard to fight the urge, but every time I drift off I find myself looking down in front of me.
Was hard getting here, took ages but for some reason I just had that signal in my mind. I had to get through. Finally figured out a way to trick one of the security doors in thinking there was sufficient pressure on both sides. Trial and error, it does teach you things. After that, I felt a lot better. Also worse, it's hard to explain.
I can't continue, at least not towards the core, and right now I need to regain some of my strength. So here I sit, floating over what used to the ceiling. Looking down.
I'm not alone anymore.
End Record
Warfare in space is accepting to always be at the mercy of another.
— Masters At Arms Anonymous
Chapter 14
Mode Record
Short night, bits and pieces of sleeping and waking. For the both of us. Strange, it's hard to communicate. Watching him is most of what I do. Not that he is freaking me out, or anything like that. I just can't stop checking up on him. Every time I woke I floated down to get close and briefly watch over him. Breathing, awake or asleep. And floating back again, to watch some more. At times I tried to give him some water, not easy. For neither of us. There is pressure, but the air is foul, it tastes of soot and metal. I keep my suit closed most of the time, managed to find a rebreather for him. He's in armour, but without his visor.
When I finally managed to get in heres, it was a bit spooky. In the dark, all I had was that wireless signal and my Link continuously trying to connect but failing to do so. Unauthorised protocol, whatever that means. What got to me was sensing something. Hard to put in words. Very similar to this feeling you get, thinking someone or something has you at the centre of attention. Something which curiously enough tends to be accurate, it's a strange thing of human connectivity that can't really be explained by anyone other than quantum theorists. And nobody understands those.
All I know is that for the first time I knew I was not alone. Inside.
Endless rows of equipment, boxes and frames filled with gear. Along one of the walls a line of installations, more frames with wired circles over squares of steel, all empty until my light fell on one that wasn't. A shape, a man much larger than what should be. Floating, hanging in a barely reflecting contraption, arms and legs stretched out, as if pinned to a wheel. Like some technological incarnation of ancient Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man, imprisoned in a pit of darkness and despair.
For the first time since all of this began, I finally and completely lost myself. I don't know how long I floated there, there was no passing of time. Nothing happened. I forgot what I was doing, where I was going. For a moment I didn't even know who I was. Wonder what he thought of that, and of me.
Most likely he wasn't thinking at all. He was barely alive. But his mind was reaching, just knew, somehow.
He's not doing well. From what I can piece together he must have been doing framework testing on freshly manufactured armour diagnostics. That's what those installations are for, why those are even on this ship is beyond me, maybe there was more than meets the eye to this Courier. When the power went out, he must have found himself locked down, tied up, unable to do much of anything. Best I can tell he is dehydrated, and starving. But he's also coughing up his lungs. Softly, but I can hear something rasping when he breathes, and when he coughs it's like there's something quietly tearing up inside.
I managed to disconnect him from that awful contraption, took me hours, and found a way to connect the armour to one of the battery packs I was still carrying. Fortunately. That did the trick, little lights at his collar. I'm guessing it was switched to being powered by that installation, internal reactor down. Which is a problem, I remember that from when dad brought his out. Armour needs to b
e brought online with an external source of power, once it has booted up the reactor takes over. I'm hoping that with the thing active it will also kick in gear for diagnostics on the person inside, and let its built in medical provisions help him. We'll see, right now all I can do is wait and watch for signs of needs or wants.
It is a bit strange. Of all the things I considered, this was not one of them. I recognise the marks on his collar, he's a Master at Arms, like dad. The most senior officer present, always, not of rank but of experience and a mandate that goes far beyond that of the Services. When one of them shows up, everybody listens. They stand separate from rank, as mum once said they are very much like the knights from my old bed time stories. Driven by the needs of the many, charged with what she called securing the big picture, always there for the few. Life by means of an oath and code older than humanity itself. Knights, but all too often warriors.
Wished for getting rescued by dad, instead here is one like him, of his kind. But not him. I feel relieved and angry at the same time. And here I am, as if I'm suddenly like mum, taking care of someone, other than my own. I should have gone back to my little house in storage, I need to eat. Yet I'm still here. Attending to someone on the brink of death, hoping he will make it, and at the same time angry because he is not who I want him to be. Madness. As if I'm some little kid again.
Activating his armour finished hours ago. I can tell it is working, and going by the occasional grunts and hisses I'm hoping it has been working on him. There's little more I can do than trying to feed him water, looking at him when he tries to blink and just being around. So hungry, I can't leave though, I need to take him with me. Back home. If he is not able to move by himself I'll find a way, doesn't matter. But I will get him home. Everything we need is there.
Hopefully he will get better, and be able to move on his own.
I wonder what his name is, where he is from. What he was doing here. And if he can help. I'm sure he can. Those like my dad always can.
Just have to let them.
So cold here. We really need to move, and there's something here that makes the air burn inside.
End Record
Warfare in space is probably going to be pointless once cats develop opponable thumbs.
— Masters At Arms Anonymous
Chapter 15
Mode Record
My armoured patient turns out to indeed be the ship's Master At Arms. He can't really speak, there's something wrong with his lungs. Breathing hurts him a lot, I can tell, he's constantly labouring for air. Even now with the reactor online and his visor active its apparent. It is equally clear that he ignores it, at least the pain. The few sounds that do come out make me think there's damage to his vocal cords, or worse, something really wrong inside his lungs. Not that I have any real way of knowing, going by assumptions rather than deduction here.
He has accepted more water, swallowing slowly from the tube. I can't offer him any food however, I just don't have any, it's all at home. I'm not sure if he sleeps at times, or whether he loses consciousness. Wish I knew what I was doing.
We have some sort of communication going though. Somehow he has managed to allow my Link to connect to his suit's wireless, as a result his sub vocalisations get through to me as text. Full of errors, not surprised there, but we're managing.
His name is Dante, I'm too afraid to ask whether he knows my dad.
He's not a handsome man, even in his efforts to deny the pain he oozes a cold and analytical mind that gets in the way of looking at him as a person. Cruel thing to say maybe, but I can't really put it any other way. I don't have a lot to tell him, he's observant enough to have figured out a lot of things before I got the chance to tell my story. He cut me off when I tried, driving questions home of communications, conditions and survivors. I'm sure he wasn't happy with my answers, it hardly showed though.
From what he is able to tell me, he was indeed testing a new armour unit. Something new and advanced, scheduled for delivery to a manufacturing facility somewhere along our way. A new model, equipped with a stasis generator designed to increase chances of survival in the event of severe injuries, keeping the occupant alive until medical assistance can be provided. I know the concept, it's a horrible piece of technology. Granted, technology in the Republic is more advanced than in the Polities, or anywhere else among the human territories, but still. Stasis is fine for something not alive. Put a person inside and it cuts him off from time, a near zero state of metabolism. The big problem is that somehow the mind knows, don't ask me how, all I know is that people coming out of stasis go mental. Most only for a while, some never make it out. Sensory deprivation is what it looks like the most, maybe there are things about our mind that stand separate from the biology of our brain. Who knows.
One thing is clear though, he is cagy with information. Experimental unit, fine. I know the price tag, it's part of the reports I was working on, horribly expensive. Prohibitively so even. But there was no mention of any testing program like this anywhere in the briefing material, I'm pretty sure the manufacturing blueprints should not even be on this ship. Right now I couldn't care less though. Such thoughts are like looking at at album from a different life.
At least I am not alone anymore. I can team us up, he's got the necessary skills to assist me. If and when he regains his strength we can start planning. As cold as he is, the man is a professional. A killer yes, but one highly trained and educated in much more than just the art of taking lives. He's going to come in very handy. First things first though, right now there is nothing I can do but wait, watch and try to help where I can.
I considered making my way to Medical, try and get an autodoc from there, his armour has much better functionality integrated though. The perks of being a killer.
Unfair, I know. Still a part of me that insists my memories are not tainted by my own decisions, and acting up.
Since we managed to sort out a means to communicate, well, since he did, it feels as if it less cold here now. Not a lot, but noticeable. My Link tells me that's hogwash, in fact the temperature has dropped a little further. But hey, what does it know without being linked to the ship's A.I., right? It's not a fancy standalone type, leave everything you should know floating in a cloud? Don't be surprised that you end up dumb when things break down.
I know what I feel, and how I feel, and that matters.
It's going to be one more night at least until we can move. Or at least he tells me to get some sleep and that he should soon be able to move, just like dad, telling me to rest and leaving no room for any argument whatsoever. Even in text mode his words come through just the same way those of dad always did. Except back then I refused them, mostly. Since all of this began, a lot has changed.
Wonder what dad would think of this. Well, of me. Here and now. Not his little girl, I stopped being that when I ran out, at least I think so. But here under these circumstances. I barely know what I'm doing, drifting hard and only marginally effective, as he would say. No understanding of my environment, or of how it works. But I'm still here. Still going. Trying.
I'm going to listen for a change, and get a bit of rest. Don't know whether I will really be able to sleep, somehow I am connected to this man, noticing when he's in pain or when he wants to say something, or needs something. Strange, but I'll try.
Hungry though, could eat a horse, if such an extinct animal could even be found - fun expression though. I told him we'd really have to move after getting a little more rest, or I might just get tempted to cut him up. He dared me to try, and told me to sleep lightly. Guess he's got a sense of humour. I feel safe though, far safer than before.
I don't have to say much, neither does he. An accord of understanding. Something that finally makes sense.
End Record
Warfare in space is where silence always ends up ruling over all.
— Masters At Arms Anonymous
Chapter 16
Mode Record
I woke up alone again.
Later on I noticed a set of text messages from him in my Link's inbox. Not sure what to say, part of me wants to curl up and cry. Another part wants to just hug this man, even in death. All of me wants to hug mum and dad, tell them I am sorry.
A lot of it was garbled, tried to clear it up as much as possible. He must have been in so much pain, but he thanked me for taking on what I could, not that he thought I knew what I was doing, but it helped, he says. It goes on describing how he weighed the options and available data. He knew his symptoms, metal burn. It's what happens when plasma fires cause the molecular bonds in certain types of metal to break, leading to air born contaminants that have a catastrophic effect on soft tissues in the human body. It accumulates while it burns the cells. Treatment is possible, but not by means of autodoc or built in diagnostics of his armour. He knew he was going to die. And he knew that very soon his armour would take over, deciding to put him in stasis. He made his own choice, he says. The protocol his armour was to follow, was not one that would benefit him at all, while costing me great opportunity of choice and survival.
He has used his suit systems to transfer command protocols to me. His armour is now mine. No restrictions. He says I have to survive, no matter what, the armour will be an extremely valuable instrument under these circumstances. All he asks is to send his body out to the stars, stating that we are all made from stardust, and to blow him a kiss goodbye. I misjudged this man so completely. What was cold, was professionalism and complete dedication. This man was one of the exceptions to the rule, this tough and sensitive closet romantic.
