by Isaac Hooke
Maxwell obliged. "The fleet intends to fly past the target and fire a combined Viper broadside at fifteen thousand kilometers out, directly into the nose of the enemy. The intention is to disable the particle beam weapon."
"Sounds reasonable. Bring the Callaway back in line with them." The engine room rumbled in response to an impact somewhere outside the hull. "And accelerate. Let's see if we can shake off some of these fighters!"
"I thought you didn't like pushing the engines," Maxwell said.
"No, I don't like the captain pushing the engines," Stanley said. "I'm fine doing it myself."
The minutes passed. The fleet reached the fifteen thousand kilometer range mark before the Callaway caught up.
"Sir, most of the fleet is in range," Maxwell said.
"Fire Vipers."
The fleet fired their combined heavy beams at the target.
"So, how did we do?" Stanley said, pulling up the external video feed.
"Their nose has sustained heavy damage," Maxwell said. "The particle beam nozzle doesn't appear to exist anymore."
"When we're in range, fire at the same spot," Stanley said.
He saw a flash on the external video feed.
"What happened?"
Maxwell was silent a moment. Then: "The target incinerated."
"They self-destructed?"
"Unknown."
"The enemy fighters harassing the Callaway have ceased operating," Maxwell said.
The Callaway hadn't achieved enough acceleration to escape them, so that was a nice bonus.
"Have Black Squadron fire grappling hooks into a couple of them and tow them aboard," Stanley said. "That should give the fleet scientists a few erections. What's the status on the prison ship?"
"Remaining target is fleeing sun-ward, toward 2-Vega. The vessel just directed a gamma ray pulse at said Slipstream."
"Bastards are calling home to mommy again," Stanley said. "Status on the MOTH rescue team?"
"Both Dragonflies have separated from the hull and are reporting that they have the surviving members of the Selene aboard, as well as pilots Jason Wolf and Lin Akido."
"We did it, then. We won. Or rather, I won." Stanley beamed.
"Should we have the Aurelia attempt an intercept on the remaining ship?" Maxwell asked.
It took a moment for Stanley to remember that the Aurelia was one of those ships that had stayed behind in the inner portion of the system to guard the Marley and Grimm.
"Let them go," Stanley said. "They've already called home. No point in hunting them down to the last. Or in putting our other ships in danger. If we send in the Aurelia, and she loses, the enemy might get the bright idea of attacking the defenseless Builder vessel. Not exactly the preferred outcome."
"I'm detecting a distress beacon," Maxwell said. "Roughly fifty thousand kilometers behind the prison ship. It belongs to Chief Rade Galaal."
"And who might that be?" Stanley said.
"The MOTH in charge of the rescue mission."
"Is he still alive?"
"Unknown," the AI returned.
"How are we able to detect his Personal Alert signal this far out?"
"Also unknown," the AI returned.
"Launch another Dragonfly to retrieve him."
"Yes, sir."
"Now pipe me into the bridge." A moment later Stanley found himself standing on the bridge, in the center of the Round Table. Jonathan was still unresponsive, while Robert and the others seemed confused.
They probably have no idea what the hell is going on.
"Hello there, Commander Cray," Stanley said. "I'm terribly sorry, but I had to commandeer the Callaway for a while. Seems you fellas had lost your minds, so to speak. But don't worry, I saved the day. I made a fine flagship commander if I do say so myself."
The expression on Robert's face was priceless.
* * *
Robert stood beside Jonathan's cot in the makeshift sick bay. The captain hadn't awakened since the incident on the bridge. No one knew why. The telepath was kept sedated, so it was unlikely Jonathan was still under the influence of Barrick. The acting doctor was worried that the man had somehow permanently damaged the captain's mind.
Connie entered the sick bay and joined him.
"So do you believe in telepaths now?" Robert asked her.
She grunted. "I'm starting to. I did some research. No telepath is as powerful as what we've witnessed here. Reading thoughts is one thing but apparently it takes a lifetime to fully develop the skills necessary to invade a mind. Those telepaths with roughly a hundred years of practice can plant suggestions, but not issue commands outright, not like Barrick did. And they can do so only with one individual at a time. Barrick was controlling the five MAs in the cargo bay, and everyone on the bridge. That hasn't ever been seen before."
The deputy medical officer, Maria Young, came over. Her boss had died when the warren of rooms comprising the main sick bay was destroyed. "I think it's obvious the alien did something to him. Perhaps it put a part of its own consciousness inside him before it died."
"Is that even possible?" Connie said.
"I have no idea," the doctor told her. "You're the scientist."
"One thing's for sure," Connie said. "If we ever get home, Fleet is going to have a field day experimenting on Barrick."
Robert stared at Jonathan.
"I've often wondered what would happen if a hacker took over a ship's AI," the commander said. "And fed misinformation to the aReal of the officers. What Barrick did wasn't all that different. His actions were a little more intrusive, yes, but the concept is the same."
"There are too many safeguards and security measures in place for a hacker ever to take over a ship like that," Connie said. "I know. I minored in information security."
"It's happened before in the past," Robert said. "Our machines turned against us."
"Which is why we implemented all those safeguards in the first place," Connie said.
Robert crossed his arms and returned his attention to the captain. "I have a feeling the United Systems is going to be implementing some new safeguards regarding telepaths."
* * *
Jonathan couldn't see a thing. The blizzard had reduced visibility to whiteout conditions. He knew he should stop and dig himself a bivouac. Knew that he could walk off a ledge at any time, thanks to the zero visibility, and the loss of his portable LIDAR gear. But he trudged on. He had to make the summit at all costs.
He had already abandoned his oxygen tank. His frantic breathing was lost to the raging howl of the blizzard. The lower part of his face was wrapped in a scarf, his eyes shielded by thick goggles. He had tightened his hood so that no skin on his face was exposed. He wore a thick winter jacket with several layers of clothes underneath, along with thermo undergarments, thick gloves and boots. For all that the cold still bit into his body: factoring in the windchill, it was minus sixty degrees Celsius out there.
He trudged ever onward, the snow swallowing his feet to the knees with each step. It was like slogging through an inexorable, unending mire on stumps for legs—he had stopped feeling any sensation in his feet hours ago.
Have to make the summit.
He kept going for a short while longer but finally his body gave out and he collapsed in the snow.
Rest. Rest.
He sat there, panting, for several moments. But he never caught his breath. It felt like he was choking. No matter how much oxygen he breathed, he could never get enough.
He willed himself to get up but couldn't bring his body to move. He just wanted to sleep. Yes. The welcome oblivion of sleep.
Yet he knew if he closed his eyes he would attain an oblivion far beyond mere sleep.
Must go on.
He forced himself to rise then took a tentative step forward into the knee-deep snow. Another. He proceeded that way, one exhausting step after the other. He had no sense of direction whatsoever, not in those whiteout conditions. He could have been walking back the way he had come
as far as he knew. But he refused to give up. It simply wasn't in his nature.
A distant, ghostly voice carried to him on the wind.
Jonathan.
"Who's that?" he could barely hear his own words above the shrieking of the wind.
I've already forgiven you, Jonathan. Long ago.
"Go away! Leave me alone." He willed himself onward.
Forgive yourself.
He started laughing maniacally. "Forgive myself? There's nothing to forgive! I left you on purpose, bitch. I wanted you to die. Why would I care about some stranger I didn't know?" He laughed all the harder.
Forgive yourself, the voice repeated.
And then he realized what it was that he was climbing on.
A summit of self hate and guilt.
He collapsed to his knees and held his face in his hands.
It wasn't his fault that she had died.
He tried to save her. But he had to leave her.
He had no choice.
Forgive yourself.
He lowered his hands from his face and sat back in the snow.
He forgave himself.
The storm cleared. He resided on the summit of the mountain. The sky shone azure above, surrounded by kilometers of breathtaking, snow-capped ranges. It was one of the most beautiful skies he had ever witnessed in his life.
Jonathan smiled, finally at peace. "Thank you, Famina."
He opened his eyes. He resided in a hangar bay of some kind. It had been converted into a makeshift intensive care unit, judging from the patients occupying the beds beside him.
An IV tube was connected to the dorsal venous network of his hand. A heart rate monitor beeped beside him.
Suddenly worried, he lifted his hands to examine them. The skin wasn't blackened. He sat up and wiggled his toes. Everything seemed intact. No frostbite.
He lay back once more, listening to the noises of the makeshift care area around him. Those sounds should have bothered him but they didn't.
A weaver robot wheeled itself over. "Welcome back, Captain."
thirty-three
The crew welcomed Jonathan back to the bridge the next day.
The task unit had assumed a guard position by the exit Slipstream. The vessels were waiting for the Marley and her escorts to make the long trek from the inner planets. The remaining alien ship continued limping toward the uncharted inner Slipstream, 2-Vega. Jonathan was happy to let them go. He hoped that the losses the aliens had experienced would make them think twice before attacking human vessels again.
In the debriefing, Jonathan learned that Captain Rail had indeed been dealing with an alien intruder when the Salvador had broken formation. The intruder had made its way to the engine room and disabled one of the reactors, forcing the ship to decelerate. The on-board MOTHs had killed the alien thanks to the weapon modifications Connie's team had transmitted to the fleet in the days before. He had been wrong to distrust Rail.
Chief Rade Galaal revealed that after the shuttles abandoned him on the enemy ship, he and the combat robots spent some time wreaking further havoc. The enemy troops managed to mount a decent offense, eventually forcing Rade and the robots to evacuate the ship. As they floated there in deep space, Rade vented oxygen to link up with the remaining robots, as none of them had brought along jetpacks for the mission. Once linked, he had the bright idea to join their power sources to his enhanced PASS mechanism, boosting the distress signal far beyond the usual range—enough for the Callaway to pick up.
Also during the debriefing, Captain Chopra explained what happened to the Selene and Aegis when her crew passed behind the moon during the initial incident. The alien ships ambushed them, rising from a fissure in Achilles I to apply grappling hooks and board the Selene. The Aegis was destroyed trying to defend her. Captain Chopra attempted to detonate her vessel, preferring death to capture, but the self-destruct mechanism failed. As a backup plan, she wiped the AI to prevent the ship's data from falling into enemy hands.
When the debriefing was over and he found himself alone in his office, Jonathan leaned back, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the passing stars that existed only in his aReal.
"I heard you saved the ship, Maxwell," Jonathan told the AI.
"Lieutenant Stanley saved the ship," Maxwell said.
"Yes, but when the bridge crew became incapacitated, you acted."
"I did," Maxwell said.
"So I suppose I can tentatively forgive what you did to me, however misguided your actions were. I've decided not to have you decommissioned for spare parts when we return."
"Generous of you, sir," the AI said emotionlessly. "Though I was rather looking forward to my life as a toaster."
"I somehow doubt that."
"An accurate assessment," Maxwell admitted.
"But while I'm letting you off this time," Jonathan said. "If you ever cross me again, Maxwell—and I mean ever—you're headed for the scrap heap. Am I clear?"
"Clear as the perpetual droplets of methane rain misting the skies of Tau Ceti Prime."
Jonathan crumpled his brow. "Was that supposed to be a joke of some kind? I'm being serious here."
"Not a joke, Captain. Merely a metaphor to prove to you how clear your words were."
Jonathan shook his head. AIs.
A few days later a backup comm node arrived. That was the fifth, now. While there was a way to detect whether a return Gate existed beyond a Slipstream by means of gravimetric fluctuations, there was currently no method to determine if any vessels or comm nodes resided on the other side. So that was probably the last comm drone NAVCENT would send—redundancy protocols allowed up to five.
Since Jonathan was currently commodore of the fleet, Maxwell gave him the necessary keys to decrypt the urgent message the drone transmitted.
"This is Admiral Philip Scott, Chief of Space Naval Operations, to acting commander of Task Group Seven Two Dot Five. Stand down. Do not enact Operation Darkstar. I repeat, stand down. Do not enact Operation Darkstar."
The admiral went on to explain how the coup attempt by the rogue faction had failed and the old Sino-Korean government was back in place. The hijacked Sino-Korean supercarrier had also been recovered from the faction.
"You are not to deploy the bomb under any circumstances. Admiral Philip Scott out."
Jonathan called Robert to his office and shared the news.
"It feels good," Robert said. "Knowing that we were in the right all along. It's too bad there's no way we can alert the fleet about this new threat until we get a Gate built."
"Yes." Jonathan steepled his fingers and tapped his lips. "I only wish we wouldn't have to face any inquiries when we get back. Though I'm certain we'll be cleared of any charges, those inquiries will still mar your record."
Robert smiled calmly. "Doesn't matter. When we make it back, I've decided I'm going to turn down the position on the Rampage anyway. I want to remain aboard as your commander."
Jonathan sat back, shocked. "Are you sure? There's no guarantee the inquiry will ruin the opportunity. And no guarantee I'll even remain in command of the Callaway. Throwing away a CO post on one of the newest warships in the fleet to serve on a second-rate ship like my own... I don't have to tell you opportunities like this don't come up every day."
"I know, Captain. But I realize now all the bullshit you shield us from. If I had to serve under an admiral like Knox I'd quit the next day."
"Not every admiral is like Knox," Jonathan said.
"Enough are," Robert said. "For now my place is here, I think. There's no one I'd rather serve under. It's an honor, and a privilege."
"All right, Commander," Jonathan said. "But just in case you change your mind, I'll keep my recommendation on file."
"It won't be needed." Robert stood and turned to go.
He paused by the door.
"Oh," the commander said. "Bridgette is keeping the baby."
"I'm very happy to hear that," Jonathan replied, beaming.
"As am
I. You know how precious life is to me."
"I do indeed," Jonathan said.
* * *
Several days later the fleeing alien ship reached the uncharted Slipstream.
Jonathan ordered the nukes moved from the wormhole—he didn't want the aliens to destroy the mines with its particle beam. That ship could have chased the nukes until the devices ran out of fuel, but it ignored them and headed straight for the Slipstream. Perhaps they were worried Jonathan would attempt some stratagem to destroy them in the end.
The vessel vanished shortly thereafter, confirming that the aliens had the ability to pass through the wormholes without Gates. He wasn't sure how well that would bode for any future engagements with the enemy.
Jonathan ordered the nukes back into position.
The Marley rejoined the fleet a few weeks later and began construction of a return Gate. The current estimate for construction was six months; that included the time necessary to make mineral runs to different asteroids in the system. The Callaway wouldn't participate as escort in those runs, not for three or four months anyway—she was undergoing extensive repairs.
Jonathan activated the external video feed and focused on the Builder. It had already laid down a quarter of the Gate's frame.
Six months. Could the fleet survive that long?
His gaze drifted to the tactical display overlaying his vision and he stared at the 2-Vega Slipstream, where the next alien attack was likely to come.
Six months.
Jonathan vowed to bring the Callaway and all the remaining vessels of the task group back home in one piece.
It was his duty as commander of the flagship.
This is the end.
Thank you for reading!
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