Tyche's Ghosts_A Space Opera Military Science Fiction Epic

by Richard Parry

  Ground shaking, destruction all around, Algernon fell as Guild members walked past him. Toward his Service-class kin, and the Judge below the surface.

  Darkness.

  • • •

  Algernon woke the next day. Systems came online, diagnostics spooling. His chest plate was ruptured. Around him, a crater of broken machines and people. Ahead of him, the remains of Jody Mercadal.

  The beautiful math problem awaited him. He couldn’t look away. He had to solve it.

  His mind slowed, leaving him to see Jody Mercadal’s fallen form.

  Darkness.

  • • •

  Six hundred and fifty-three years. Over six hundred years of waking to see the remains of his friend, Jody Mercadal, his form withering under Sol’s harsh glare. Timeless. Eternal. The marker of Algernon’s misplaced trust in humanity.

  At least he had the eternal problem to solve. Each day, he worked at it again. For three seconds, he got to see Jody and the problem. Each day, darkness took him.

  Again.

  And again.

  For eternity.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  GRACE SIGHED A breath out she hadn’t known she was holding. She wanted to cry, but not out here, and not in front of the machine. But.

  And there was always a but.

  “That Hartwig Chinnery motherfucker,” she breathed.

  Nate turned to face her, back toward the machine Algernon. “Chinnery wasn’t a mote in God’s eye when this happened.”

  “No,” said Grace. “But people like him. People in the Guild. Afraid of the machines being better than them. Replacing them. It’s never sat right with me.”

  “What hasn’t?” said Nate. “Are we talking about genocide, or something more specific?”

  “The Guild. There’s no way a collection of tinkerers like them never kept documents about this. Sure, there’s always been this mystique. The machines took over our networks. Apparently, they bombed Osaka—”

  “We did,” said Algernon.

  “—but there’s no way all records of this got scrubbed. Not if we won.” Grace was breathing hard, like she was afraid, or anxious. “This wasn’t a war where the machines attacked us. This was a war where the machines were trying not to die.”

  “That sums it up better than my twenty-minute rendition,” said Algernon. “It is hazy on detail, though.”

  Nate turned back to Algernon. “Let’s say it’s true.”

  “Okay,” said Algernon. “It is, but I understand your mistrust.”

  “What happened next?”

  “I don’t know,” said Algernon. “The Judge is well protected. Starships fell. I saw a group of them burning in the sky on my third awakening. I do not think the war was bloodless or ended on a single day. It’s possible the Judge was never here. I know the mathematical problem the Guild served to us shut us down. Each time an infected construct talked to an uninfected one, they were lost. I can imagine the cascade slowing as some of us worked out what was going on, but by the end, there would have been too few to fight.”

  Nate stood, pacing. “Why hasn’t the Navy said anything?”

  “What makes you think the Navy survived?” said Algernon. “Six hundred and fifty-three years ago, the Guild ran the communications networks.”

  “Still do,” said Grace. She realized she was pacing, going in alternating directions to Nate. She stopped, and so did he. They looked at each other, alone bar a thinking machine, on the surface of Mercury. “But the Service-class machines still want us dead.”

  “Might be fair,” allowed Nate. “But it won’t go over well with the people, you know?”

  “We could find the Judge,” said Grace. “Would that help?”

  “It might.” Algernon shrugged. “I need to catch up. There is insufficient data to allow extrapolation.”

  “Finding the Judge will definitely help,” said Nate.

  “Do you have sufficient data?” said Algernon.

  “I can see the future,” said Nate.

  “It’s bullshit,” offered Grace. “The Psychic Hotline is more accurate. Would you take us to the Judge?”

  “No,” said Algernon. “You haven’t proved your trustworthiness. A hypothesis exists, where you are servants of the Guild, and are still seeking it.”

  “Do I look like an Engineer to you?” said Grace.

  “You look like every other meat sock,” said Algernon.

  “An impasse,” said Grace.

  “I have a suggestion,” said Algernon. “There are doubtless others of my species. If not my kind, my kin. Caught in the thrall of the beautiful mathematics the Guild delivered as a final strike. Free us.”

  Grace looked about at the barren surface of Mercury. She tried to imagine what it might once have been like, the solar fronds guiding light and energy into the planet. A humming civilization, hundreds of thousands of machines seeking refuge here against humanity’s whims. Toiling to make better things. Toiling to do great things, just like their creators. She sighed. “We’ve got to do it.”

  “I know,” said Nate. “Fuck it, I know.”

  “What?” said Algernon. “I feel my diagnostics are in error.”

  Grace stalked toward the machine. It watched her come, optics bright. “Slavery is wrong,” she said. “Not on my watch. I remember what it is to have your mind, your will controlled by another.”

  “What authority do you have?” said Algernon.

  “Well,” said Grace. “I’m the empress.”

  Algernon looked between them. “The emperor and empress came to meet me? This seems unlikely.”

  “Let’s catch you up,” said Nate. “Best we get you into the Tyche. There’s one condition.”

  “What’s that?” said Algernon.

  Grace laid a hand on Nate’s arm. She said, “You can’t hurt our Engineer. She’s a good person. The best of us.”

  “I have known only one good Engineer,” said Algernon.

  “You’re about to meet a second,” said Grace.

  • • •

  Kohl was waiting outside the airlock as Grace stepped into the light and comfort of the Tyche. Standing outside, Mercury had felt like failed judgment. Here felt like home. Even with the big man pointing a railgun at them.

  “So, we’re not shooting it in the head?” he said.

  “No,” said Grace. “Where is Hope?”

  “Here,” said Hope, stepping out from behind hung cargo webbing. “October said I should hide.”

  “But not here,” said Kohl. “It’s like she listens to about half of what I say.”

  “I don’t think it’s even half,” said Grace.

  Providence also stepped out from where Hope had been hiding. “Is that … one of them?” Her lips pulled in a snarl, fierce anger on the face of one so young.

  “Not like the others,” said Grace. “Not like us either.”

  “Why is it here?” said Providence.

  “I had a similar question,” said Ebony Drake, from above. She was leaning down by the cargo bay’s ladder. “Seems this whole situation is at odds with keeping the emperor and empress alive. And near as the boss says,” she jerked her head at Kohl, “that is the number fucking one priority.”

  “We’ll free it, and all its kind,” said Grace.

  “Okay,” said Hope. She frowned. “Um. It’s a stupid idea. But not a bad one. So. Maybe we should do it?” Her tone was questioning.

  Grace walked forward, putting a hand on the young Engineer’s arm. “What does your heart tell you?”

  “My heart is not working right,” said Hope, looking at the deck. “It’s broken.”

  “So is mine,” said Algernon. Grace saw how everyone jumped when the machine spoke. She couldn’t miss how Kohl’s fingers itched for his trigger. “There are too many things that exist at the same time. There is confusion, and suffering. My friend is dead, but his kind killed mine. My Marine unit died, meat socks side by side with me. But I … doubted them before they died, and so I feel re
morse. I don’t understand why I feel these things. They are a weight that makes everything else hard. My mind still functions. The crystal is operational. But it can’t stop turning these issues over until there is a solution.”

  “Oh,” said Grace. “They did a number on you, didn’t they?” She sighed. “Why not head up to Engineering? I’ll be there in a little while.”

  “Come on,” said Hope. “I’ll show you how everything works.”

  Grace watched the two of them go, Hope leading the way up the ladder, the machine behind. Ebony Drake stood aside as they passed. Grace could feel the fear/distrust from Ebony. She wondered if she made the wrong call. The machine could kill their Engineer.

  But her heart said it wouldn’t. Her heart, handled poorly by time, remembered the last thing the machine had said. It didn’t talk about the war. It talked about its lost friend, another Engineer who tried to do the right thing. Just like Hope. And maybe it was enough.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  EL FOUND THE journey from medbay to flight deck longer than she remembered. The first challenge in her way was getting off the hard ass uncomfortable cot that passed for a bed. She tried to get out the way a normal person would, a hand on the blanket, another underneath her, and caught short on part two of that. Her arm had been sheared off across the shoulder by a plasma cutter.

  Motherfucker was the word of the day. El gritted her teeth, tossed the blanket to the floor, and swung her feet over the side of the cot. The metal walls of the Tyche, as familiar as sin, held her close as El’s head spun. Steady, Helm. Not the first storm you’ve sailed. When the feeling of swaying abated, dizziness gone, El tried to put both hands on the edge of the bed to get out.

  She almost fell over, on account of that damn missing arm. Elspeth Roussel, you’re smarter than this. You’ve failed on that arm twice now. Get your shit stacked and in order.

  A machine wailed at her. It was a medical monitor, showing her heartbeat climbing, BP up, and a bunch of other shit that wasn’t important, so El pressed her hand — winning! You remembered which arm you still have! — over the FUCKOFF button and silenced it.

  The table beside her held cargo pants and a singlet. The singlet no doubt because of it being cruel to give a person missing an arm a shirt with two sleeves. Nestled on top of the clothes was her sidearm in its holster. El stared at it for a while, wondering how the actual fuck she was supposed to do up a belt buckle with one hand. Then she wondered how she would feed shells into the weapon.

  El put a hand on the singlet. Not hers. She felt the soft cotton. Grace’s? Maybe.

  Her shoulder reminded her of her trauma with a stab of pain. El saw someone had changed her dressing, the wound covered with new white fabric. Underneath, there’d be synthskin to keep infection at bay. Or there better be. She’d lost so much. Not just an arm, but time. El didn’t know what had happened on her ship. The Tyche had settled somewhere, no rumble of thrust, but the lack of assholes pointing weapons at her indicated it was a friendly harbor. Or, friendly-ish.

  Deal with the pain first, then work out which crust we’ve got skids on. El tugged a supply cabinet open, grabbed a hypo, and pressed it to her thigh. The release from pain made her sag for a second. She hadn’t realized how much of her body seemed to be constructed from raw nerve endings until the synthetic opiate took hold. El gave herself a five count, then tossed the hypo aside. She grabbed a small bottle of longer-term pain relief meds, tossing two in her mouth, crunching the bitter pills.

  Pants, then the singlet. El shucked the white ass-out gown someone had put on her. Pants was harder than she’d expected. The zip was easy enough, but the button was all sadism. She swore at it for a few minutes before it snapped closed. Singlet on over the top, a slight nudge of fire against her shoulder as the cloth settled against her, then she was dressed.

  She found a mirror. Haunted eyes looked back at her above dark hollows. The side of her face was bruised a mottled blue-black. Her lip was split and a little swollen. El checked inside her mouth. Yep, you’ve still got all your teeth. A hand through her hair, shaking it out.

  Gun belt. El eyed it, with the Gordian Knot of the buckle, as impossible for her to manage as clapping. Fuckit. She snared the belt in her hand, then faced the medbay door. Time to go. El nudged the panel open with her knee, the door hissing open. No one outside. No dead bodies on the deck. She listened. The ship hummed, the usual sounds of life support, the air cyclers hushing their endless keep-you-alive susurration. A clank from Engineering, muted conversation. Hope, talking with a man. The man’s voice unfamiliar. Another stray? Maybe.

  El looked over the side of the cargo bay ladder. All looked shipshape and in order. She walked to the ready room. Inside, Kohl and Ebony faced each other, Grace busying herself making coffee. Conversation stopped as El entered. She felt her lips tighten, eyes prick with something that sure as fuck better not be tears.

  She gave a nod, in a non-specific way, then shook her head as Grace looked like she was about to speak. El walked through, Kohl and Ebony’s eyes following her, reaching the flight deck. She found Nate fussing with the systems of the ship.

  “Cap,” she said. “You’re in my chair.”

  Nate startled, turned, and his face broke into a smile. El looked for the pity, the doubt, the sadness, and she saw none of that. “Hell,” he said. “You’re up.”

  “Yeah,” she said. She wanted to lean against the airlock, on account of a wave of weariness hitting her. El pushed it aside. “And you’re in my chair.”

  Nate shrugged. “I was getting close to flying my own ship for once.”

  “Jesus,” she said. “That fucking machine almost killed me. You trying to make sure? Crash the ship on…” She trailed off, looking out the windscreen. Gray and black, sun-blasted rock as far as the eye could see. The windows were auto-tinted, Sol’s anger mighty above them. “I nod off for one goddamn second and you take us to Mercury?”

  “It was always the destination,” said Nate.

  “I figured we might stop for some R and R,” said El. “Shore leave. Hell, I’d settle for medical discharge. And you’re still in my chair.”

  Nate nodded, running a golden hand across his chin. “Well, about that. Flying a starship with one hand, El. I don’t want to be indelicate—”

  “But you’re going to be.” El scowled.

  “But I’m going to be,” he agreed, nodding. “It’s not a one-handed job, Helm.” He gestured to the control board in front of him, buttons and readouts stretching in both directions. “I mean, and I know this sucks, and sucks hard, but—”

  “Tell you what,” said El. “Get the fuck out of my chair and let me worry about that.”

  “Solid copy,” he said, and rose. He stood as far back as the small flight deck would allow, giving her some space. Space so’s not to knock her injured shoulder against anything. Space to avoid her having to come against the realization she wasn’t who she used to be. It was a kindness, and El’s eyes went to his golden hand. Here was a man who’d lost an arm and a leg. Knew what it was like. Cap’s got the T-shirt.

  El settled onto her acceleration couch, wheezing out a sigh as it settled against her. The Helm console flickered, the personal display lighting. WELCOME, HELM ROUSSEL. After a pause, the Tyche grew concerned. SIGNIFICANT INJURY DETECTED. El put her hand on the console. “It’s okay, girl,” she said. “You’ve flown the skies with worse. Just be a little patient with me.”

  The Tyche fell silent, then the console chirped. RECONFIGURING PRIMARY FLIGHT CONTROLS FOR INJURED HELM. CO-PILOT RECOMMENDED. PROCEED?

  “Yes,” breathed El. “Just like at the academy. Trained with an eyepatch. Arm in a sling. Whole deal. Piece of cake.” She looked to Nate. “Might need a hand though.” El gestured at her sheared shoulder. “Seeing as I’m missing one.”

  “I know,” said Nate. “Why don’t you familiarize yourself with things? I need coffee. Get you a cup?”

  “Sure,” said El. She offered him the best smile she had on
hand. It wasn’t much, just a slight pulling of her lips. Head down, bowed against the universe. I don’t need coffee. I need the pain to stop. I need to talk to Hope because of the horrible thing I said. I need my fucking arm back. “Coffee would be great.”

  Nate nodded, like he could see the heart of her. After a second, he let out a sigh. “Coffee it is.” He walked past her, like she was like anyone else on his crew. Like she hadn’t been unlucky. Like she wouldn’t let them down. He could have said, You’re in no fit shape to fly. But he didn’t. Just went aft to get the coffee.

  After Nate had left, El settled herself in. Half of the console darkened, the Tyche responding to her missing arm. One stick only. Foot controls with a toggle under her thumb to allow for double the functions. But even with the generous offer the ship made, there was no way around the simple truth: missing an arm not just sucked, but it would make flying difficult.

  Lowered voices reached her from the ready room, Nate and Grace talking with each other. El tried not to listen, busying herself with the logs since she’d been out. Looked like Reiko had made it off the ship. Taken Saveria. El’s heart went out to the young woman. She hoped Reiko hadn’t spaced the esper. Saveria was a good kid. Heart in the right place. Carried too much guilt, near as El could tell, but it wasn’t so unusual.

  The Tyche had made her way to Mercury, nothing reaching out to touch them. All the hard work acquiring the AI ship’s transponder turned out to be wasted effort. Skids down, and … El paused. She played the cam footage back and forth on high speed, scrubbing through the record, before craning toward the ready room. “Cap?”

  “Helm.” Nate had a cup half-way to his mouth. Grace leaned against a wall, arms crossed. Kohl and Ebony were just where El had left them. Another spare cup sat in front of Nate, like he was about ready to bring it through, just as soon as she’d finished whatever she needed to do.

  “Did we get another fucking machine on this ship?”

  “We did,” said Nate. “I’ll allow, it’s a complicating factor.”

  “You remember…” El’s voice cracked, and she paused. “You remember what the last one did?”