Coasting

by Mack Meijers

  He says he sees a drive in me I'm not aware of, a strength I can't admit to because I've allowed my life to be determined by my job. Everyone has one, but everyone also has a role to play. The secret apparently is that our role is never one for just ourselves, but always for someone else. His role is now to make way, so I can make a stand and survive. He wants me to keep him in mind, to make him proud.

  And he knew my father, he knew I am his daughter. Says he that in his passing he will let him know. Maybe weird, but something inside me tells me it's not something said to merely comfort. There's an honesty in it that surprises, and considering what they are, these Masters At Arms, maybe it's actually true. I'd like that.

  Didn't know the man, just saw the suit and judged him. To me he was just a tool. He says he saw that, accepted it. That I was only just beginning to find my own way now, my response one of a child's drive towards independence, even if tainted by decisions made more of hormones than of the heart. Even so, every step was one that was required. What a poet, though he has a point. He also knew that given the chance we would become a team. And a team is about synergy. The whole is bigger than the mere sum of parts.

  There's bits and pieces of garbled text. Not sure if he was trying to say something there, or whether it was just the pain finding its way out, clearing those up didn't work. I think he wants to me connect the armour's wireless to the ship's network core. I'm less sure about what he means with his mention of 1G. Maybe something about restoring gravity? Or ship propulsion?

  No idea what the word streaker means, and why it's so important.

  I feel ashamed. Yet somehow I also feel fine. Somehow he has managed to make it so. He's challenging me even now, like dad always did except now I'm listening. I know I have to take that on. And I will. Whatever that choice may turn out to be.

  Saving his messages to my Link's local storage. Whatever may happen, someone needs to know this man was here, he made a difference. For me, for anyone else I may still find. His name was Dante, he was a Master At Arms. He was a man with a human heart and a well skilled soul.

  End Record

  Warfare in space is always worrying about the next Skynet.

  — Masters At Arms Anonymous

  Chapter 17

  Mode Record

  I'm in armour now. A completely different outlook on the world, a change in perspective that transforms my perception of everything around me. I am stronger, faster, but more importantly I'm much more aware of everything around me. Not just what I have in my sight, I mean everything. I can sense weak spots in the ship's structural integrity, I know when I can push debris and torn panels aside, and when not, the suit's systems give me an unprecedented insight in my environment. I don't have to pull myself ahead anymore like a demented monkey, I guide myself with the power of my thoughts, opening doors instinctively, rushing through while constantly scanning around.

  It also tells me of myself though, and some things I am not pleased to find out. Radiation poisoning, malnutrition, fractured bones and torn muscles. But the armour is working on it, healing me, I'm fortunate the damage I have incurred is within its capability to repair. Another week under these circumstances and it would have been a mere delay of the inevitable. Without armour, I would simply have ended, painfully and very slowly. Maybe this is something the people in Medical knew of themselves, perhaps that is what they decided, to not wait for that. But to let it end. Not a choice I could make, probably.

  Sometimes I swear the armour speaks to me, most of the time though it feels like there is something very much like an understanding, unspoken, between us. Like the accord I once saw between my father and that comrade of his visiting. Armour has a mind of its own, not as an A.I. but still, at times firm and insistent, but also comforting and warm. It's hard to explain.

  It is an amazing experience, one I am still adjusting to. But I love it. Well, I do now. I most certainly did not enjoy getting in it and letting it hook me up. That was not easy, extremely painful even. Systems connecting to my body, and my mind. Moments of lights blinding me from behind my eyes, next colours as well as brief interludes of grey. Awkward moments of the suit scanning its occupant. The plumbing adjusting to another gender, an experience in its own right, but one I would not care to repeat that quickly.

  There is one issue with the armour however. As an experimental unit its reactor is not the type that is supposed to be in the production model. From time to time I will need to give it a jolt from a battery pack, in order to restart it once it cycles off. It's a type of reactor only intended for diagnostics and development testing, but at least I can be sure that the suit will keep me well aware of its cycle timers. It is that smart, and more so.

  I'm not just in armour now. I am this unit. Together we are armour. It sounds so weird, I suppose only dad would be able to understand. When I think of when he would bring out his armour, getting in and later out as if it was easy. Honestly, I don't know how you did it dad.

  I now get that it was a part of him though. Hard not to, I'm experiencing what he must have felt a thousand times stronger, I'm just starting to explore, and I was never trained for this. Unlike him.

  I gave Dante the burial I think he would have wanted, making my way with him in my arms to that giant tear in the ship's hull where on a previous occasion I fooled myself in thinking the light was that of others. But instead that of a distant sun. From mum and dad I know some of the legends surrounding these Masters At Arms, for instance that of how the death of the last Master will mean the final dimming of the suns that give life, that each sun represents a Master's inner spark. So I took him there, and gently set him on a way towards that distant sun.

  There are others of this ship on that way, one day they will all arrive there. Maybe something of them will find its way into the light that shines here. New stardust to give life. Who knows. Mythology, a powerful thing, but often also a thing of beauty and inspiration. It's when we humans put it to use that matters spiral out of control.

  I've been thinking a lot of my dad, and his kind, like Dante. They have always been around, one way or the other. Even before our species made its way to the stars. Before our Republic was born, when we were still slaves and expendable resources for the games and exploits of the Corporate Worlds, there were Masters then too. Though in those days their affiliation was with the Realm, the oldest Polity of all. First among equals of what we know as the Common Worlds. Hardly of common people these days, just another domain filled with pyramids of power. Before that, so dad told me once, they were an order in alliance with the Nassavi, bankers and builders of worlds among the stars. Until those found themselves overreaching, deciding to withdraw from the public stage of the affairs of man. Masters At Arms, their origins are hidden behind the many veils of history, just always there. In one form or the other.

  Dad told me once that they were a legacy, one begun by those we call the Shepherds, a species we never met, who we only know by their works. Most of the habitable worlds in this galaxy carry their signature of planetary engineering. I can't remember the rest of what he told me that day, part of me wishes someone would have shaken me out of my stubborn complacency. My life, my choices, but I could and should have listened to my parents. If only to exchange ideas, perspectives, and to understand their experiences in order to better make choices of my own.

  I said my goodbye to Dante. Part of him is with me either way. I can sense it. Not that I'm seeing ghosts or anything like that, but the armour knew him, and as it is getting to know me so I get to know the both of them. In a way, I'm getting to know my dad all over again.

  It's easier now that I've gotten over myself.

  In spite of all the energy I feel, I know I need to stick to a useful rhythm. And a sense of purpose. Back here in my little house in storage, taking a moment is both easy and hard. I'm going to sleep, for a while.

  Once that is done, it is time to head to the core. Dante gave me a mission, and I will see it through. There was something important h
e was trying to tell me, information I need to know.

  Not a clue, but I will find out.

  End Record

  Warfare in space is just another human instrument of organised myth building. You're the tool.

  — Masters At Arms Anonymous

  Chapter 18

  Mode Record

  No more expeditions, just trips back and forth. Armour makes life a lot easier, well, survival at least. On my way to the core I was able to explore quite a bit, corridors and quarters, but even more so myself. It's strange how a piece of technology can broaden your perspective so much, on so many things. Then again, this is not just technology. There is an intimacy which you can't have with something that's just an advanced form of metal skin.

  Reconnaissance, but with mixed results. I have seen more signs of evacuation, but also places where nobody had any chance at all. Thanks to my new abilities I've been able to also explore the port side of the ship further, branching out from my route and returning on it every now and then. No information in my systems on what hit us, or what possibly could have caused this kind of damage. But it really is extensive. The next best guess from scans is that something exploded next to us, warping space, causing it to implode on itself and tearing us apart in the process, almost on the side. The results of that are quite obvious now. This ship will never be able to manoeuvre on its own again. It's reactor is gone, engines shattered and twisted. The superstructure, where the bridge used to be, is nothing but a torn jungle of metal now, plasma fires have reduced it to something out of a nightmare.

  The most disturbing of it all is how close the ship got to collapsing in on itself. There's a lot of it missing, not just segments of hull, or areas open to space. There are entire sections missing of the ship. Almost as if someone took a bite out of it. Or sucked one out of it. At least that is what it looks like.

  Worries me, I have to admit that. I know of nothing that can do such a thing. I doubt this was something those Corporate ships did. Nobody has this kind of weaponry. If any human faction had this capability, we would be long extinct. Let's be honest.

  The core of the ship is intact, only just barely however. Whatever tore away at the ship until it was just meters from the last armoured ring, before disappearing. Every part of the ship has sustained damage in one way or the other, structural integrity is a severe concern in most sections. Home is one of the more stable ones, but there too I will have to find ways to take measures. If only Engineering was not open to space, of all the sections left it is definitely the most stable area. Point of concern though is the contamination from the capacitors losing containment, but it would be possible to close off that section. Useless debate either way though, Engineering is not an option. There is no way for me to close it off from space and pressurises it. Well, the second part I could do, with a little luck, the first part is just a dream. Wishful thinking.

  Storage is it, home. It felt like that already anyway. Mum would be proud, I finally built something I can look back to when I go somewhere, a place where I can return to. A little house of bubble wrap and containers where I can be myself without being busy.

  With my systems giving me a complete overview, it's hard not to take a moment to think of all those that died. Projections on my visor show me calculations on survival ratios, likely causes of death, it's a cold display of data. But it is information, what you do with it, that's what matters.

  And I can only really do one thing, deal with what such loss of life means to me, inside. Anything else, is a case of doing what I can to survive. In a way, those who died have gone home already, just a different one. I'm still here, and frankly I think I've only just begun to really grow up.

  Hard to admit, I have a lot of knowledge from university courses. Experience from work. But I don't really know a lot. Never really listened to anything, at best I filed information. At least here I have begun to listen. So here I am.

  On my own though, that is fully clear, no other survivors. And there is no way to restore the A.I., it's beyond my capabilities, even with the armour's added usefulness and information. Never knew this, but our A.I. technology is in part organic. It simply died, cut off from the rest of itself. I don't know if A.I.'s can feel, but if it could, it would have been like choking while locked up in your own skull. Or like someone cutting pieces off without being able to scream. Not something you'd wish on anyone, under any circumstances.

  The network is active, local to the core at least. Thank the heavens for those battery packs. Though it took quite a lot more than I had imagined, there was no feasible way of making a serialised connection, had to hook up every node with its own pack. All in all it took me a lot longer than I had expected, multiple trips back and forth. Even though that goes a lot quicker now, it's still hardly efficient.

  The armour has managed to link with the core's local network, thereby giving me access to the information stored within. I'm still using my Link as well, hard to just toss it away. It has become a part of me, even though it has its limitations. I guess going over everything so often ever since things happened here, it's leaving a mark of its own.

  I am tired though, very tired. As I understand it, the suit working on my body does come at a price. And well, I have been busy quite a lot today. The armour gives me strength, and an endurance not entirely my own. But the mind cannot ignore what the body tells it, and one of those messages is pretty damn simple, I'm healing and that requires energy.

  So tomorrow is another day, one step at a time.

  End Record

  Warfare in space is hell beyond the Thin Blue Line.

  — Masters At Arms Anonymous

  Chapter 19

  Mode Record

  I know now what Dante was trying to tell me. What he was trying to point out. And it's hitting hard. Harder than anything else I have experienced ever since the ship died. It's making me sick, even with the armour trying its best I've still had to throw up twice. I think I at least understand why it took dad so much longer to actually be himself again, after he was lost that year. so long ago.

  This is what Dante wanted to make sure I would check on. Any ability to control velocity and course of the ship and any means to restore communications. Any means.

  Streakers. Wanderers. Ghosts. There is a myriad of names for them in our languages. And nobody ever speaks of them. Never. Ship's crews only think of them, in nightmares. I had never heard of the terms. I always thought ships died, or they didn't, in which case people got rescued. All Polities have special classes of fast retrieval ships in their fleets. To save people.

  In many ways there is a simple albeit cold logic in it all. Aside of the influences of gravity potentially exercising a force on objects travelling, anything that moves in space will keep moving if there is no force applied to stop it moving on a chosen vector equal to the force exercised to get it travelling on that vector in the first place. There, I said it.

  The ship can't stop. It will never stop. It will continue to keep moving along the course the events have thrown it on. Ghosts. Alive or not, it does not matter.

  There is no rescue, there can never be one.

  Not after this amount of time. Rescue depends on observation. If there is nobody else who sees and remembers what course you were thrown on, the chances of scanning all possible directions throughout the heavens are infinitely slim of yielding a positive result. The more time passes, the smaller the odds.

  Dad's ship was a ghost for nearly nine months. It was only because of an exchange of data with the Republic's opponents in those days that recordings showed enough of a trace to find survivors of that battle. Both sides. It's why even among human factions such data sometimes changes hands. The very idea of such ghosts is too much for anyone for long. He was gone for a year. It was another one before he would speak again in public, or hug me and mum.

  There is no way to manoeuvre the ship, no way to even control velocity. And by now we're some 20 degrees out of the ecliptic of this system.

 
; There is no way to establish communications. The ship's superstructure is gone. Anything I might be able to find will at best only be able to send out an omnidirectional signal at far below the threshold of C, the speed of light

  There is nothing in this solar system that would contain a record of events and our course. Those Corporate ships were wrecks, each on its own course into oblivion. Wanderers of the void.

  I'm alone. And I will die here. Alone. Nothing I do here matters.

  End Record

  Warfare in space is where speed becomes kinetic currency. And a trap.

  — Masters At Arms Anonymous

  Chapter 20

  Mode Record

  The past weeks have been hard, though I have not noticed much of them. I've spent a lot of time wandering around. Mostly gathering the remains of the dead, talking to them. Sometimes speaking with them. A distinction desperation, at times despair.

  Maybe even madness. Going over my logs, it is entirely possible. I listened to a few, but could not bear it any further, erased them.

  I've been spending a lot of time at Medical, thinking about the people there and their decisions. Alone, and together. At least they had each other, for a while.

  I'm still dreaming, mostly of mum and dad. Not memories, but conversations. The past few days they have been more clear than in the weeks before. And Dante, always present. Silent, but at least he's there.

  Streaker.

  A ghost.