System Failure

by Joe Zieja

  “Technically, whatever you told them to do,” Deet said. “All the orders for the operation of the ship are supposed to originate with you.”

  Rogers stopped. “Oh my god. You mean this is my fault?”

  “I’m learning a bit about causality,” Deet said, “and I’m not sure you could say that any of this is your ‘fault,’ exactly. However, since you have the power to order everyone to take a nap, for example, and are not doing so, you are perpetuating this giant, churning waste of manpower and resources.”

  Suddenly Rogers felt like a wizard who had discovered a fountain of power. All this time he’d felt so useless, such a slave to the whims of the galaxy, the Jupiterians, and the machinations of the Meridan political machine. Yet here he was, in the direct center of a bureaucratic tornado, able to calm the winds with just a few words from his own mouth.

  “Everyone stop!” Rogers yelled. “Stop what you are doing!”

  Everyone stopped what they were doing. The entire mass of people on the command deck looked at Rogers, their mouths agape and their arms halfway to their heads in a salute that most realized Rogers couldn’t return. Many of them just left their arms hanging midair.

  “Listen to me very carefully,” Rogers said. “I want each of you to take a moment and consider what you are doing right now. If it is not immediately necessary to the war effort, you are to return to your quarters and, um . . .”

  “Tell them to take a nap,” Deet said, in a very un-robot-like whisper.

  “. . . take a nap!” Rogers yelled. Why did he feel all shaky? “Yes, that’s right. I want everyone well rested when we move out in a few minutes. So, if you feel like what you are doing is even moderately useless, you are to cease, desist, and nap.”

  Instantly, like Rogers had just turned on the lights in a room full of roaches, nearly everyone on the command deck walked—sprinted, actually—away. Doors slammed. One person even collapsed in a heap on the floor in the middle of the command deck, snoring peacefully.

  In all of the time he’d been the commander of the Flagship, Rogers didn’t think he’d ever achieved anything so beautiful as this one moment.

  Even better, it cleared the view to the bridge, where the Viking was standing, apparently waiting for him. It was a glorious sight. He hadn’t been able to see much of her lately, what with all of the preparations for a decisive space battle going on, and they certainly hadn’t had time to finish their date.

  Something about the way the Viking was looking at him made him doubt that it was going get any better. In fact, she was repeatedly pounding a fist into an open palm, looking at him with narrow eyes. That meant things were either about to get way worse, or—Rogers felt himself blushing—way better in ways that he hadn’t yet expected.

  “Hey there,” he said.

  “Hey,” the Viking said, not moving. She continued to pound her fist against her hand. “I had a funny conversation today that I thought I’d talk to you about.”

  “Oh yeah?” Rogers said, his instincts telling him to make sure he stood more than an arm’s length away. He briefly thought about putting Deet in between them, but Deet could be used as a weapon if the Viking so chose. “With who?”

  “The Personnel commander.”

  “Someone runs that squadron?” Rogers said, genuinely surprised. He kept inviting whoever it was to meetings, but they never seemed to show up. That and for six solid months nobody on the ship was assigned to any position they were competent at, thanks to the droids, so Rogers figured nobody actually ran it.

  “Someone does,” the Viking said. “She’s actually a good friend of mine.”

  Rogers frowned. If she was a good friend of the Viking, why didn’t Commander Whoever-She-Was ever answer any of his messages? He understood, however, that this was the least of his worries at the moment.

  “She told me that somebody put in a request to have me transferred from heading up the marine detachment to being a secretary.”

  “Oh really?” Rogers said, his voice squeaking. He hadn’t counted on the Viking being friends with anyone, never mind being friends with the commander of the Personnel squadron. This was supposed to have been a surprise, revealed after they’d taken care of the Galaxy Eater. In hindsight, though, considering how dangerous their mission was, he should have done it sooner. The whole point was to keep the Viking out of harm’s way after all. Maybe that’s what she was so mad about.

  “I could have it done sooner, if you want,” Rogers said. “I just thought—”

  “No,” the Viking said. “You didn’t.”

  Normally Rogers would have expected a punch in the face. The Viking had said, however, that she wanted to stop having that as her only option when communicating with Rogers. It appeared that she was sincere in her efforts, because instead of causing Rogers any physical harm, she simply turned and walked away. Rogers watched her go, frowning. What was that all about? He thought she would have been happy. And now that he thought about it, he preferred getting hit in the face to whatever had just happened.

  “Well, that seemed suboptimal,” Deet said.

  “Yeah,” Rogers said. “Yeah, it was.

  Rogers could really have used some nondroid advice right now. He wondered how Mailn was doing.

  • • •

  “Sjana,” Cynthia begged, “think about this for a second. We don’t have any information about what exactly Rogers did to the pirates. Honestly, it just sounds like one of his schemes gone bad. He’s really not that good of a commander. Or a pilot. Or a fighter. Or anything really. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation, or at least a funny joke, about all of this.”

  Since discovering that Rogers had basically been the single cataclysmic factor that had brought down the entire pirate infrastructure, Sjana had been less than rational. Cynthia wasn’t used to seeing her like that; her wife typically laughed off most troublesome situations, even when the consequences had been dire. Now, however, she had leapt into plans for revenge with reckless abandon. Sjana was ready to sacrifice humanity if it meant putting a torpedo down Rogers’ throat.

  “Time and time again I’ve risked my neck for these people,” Sjana said. She hadn’t gotten up from her pilot’s seat in hours, even though the computer could do most of the navigating. They’d run into small pockets of Jupiterian resistance, but the sailing had been smooth so far. “I brought them into my home—”

  “And basically gouged them at the negotiating table.”

  “—and treated them like family. And in return, their boss wipes most of my friends off the face of the galaxy?”

  Cynthia sighed. Sjana’s order of events was a bit mismatched, since the decimation of the pirates had occurred several months earlier, and Rogers had recruited the pirates only a short while ago, but Cynthia understood how these things could get confused when someone was emotional. Except Sjana was never emotional.

  “This isn’t like you, Sjana,” Cynthia said. “I mean, I understand honor among thieves and all that, but you’ve lost friends before. Why was this any different?”

  Sjana shot a glance over her shoulder, grimacing, but didn’t respond. Hideko, who had remained mostly silent, coughed from his copilot’s seat.

  “What?” Cynthia asked. “What is it? Am I missing something here? Sjana, I have friends on that ship. You can’t just blow them up.”

  “Hideko,” Sjana said. “Are you almost ready?”

  “We’ve been ready for an hour and a half,” Hideko said. “Cap, are you sure about this? Can’t it wait?”

  “I’ve already explained this,” Sjana said. “If we don’t do this now, we might not get a chance. He might get killed in the battle, or we might get killed in the battle, or maybe he’ll trick and kill all of us like he did with your brothers and sisters. Do you not remember any of this?”

  The bridge was silent for a while. Hideko had been receptive to the idea of revenge, but clearly seemed to have reservations about the timing.

  “Of course I remember,” Hidek
o said. “But we’re pirates. There’s a certain level of risk we all accepted when we got into the field. Do you regret it? Look, Cap, I know she was important to you, but . . .”

  Sjana silenced him with a glance.

  She? Cynthia thought. Who the hell was “she”?

  Cynthia looked at the back of Sjana’s head, wondering. A feeling that she wouldn’t describe as positive bubbled up inside.

  “Fine,” Sjana said. “A compromise. What are pirates if they’re not able to make a good deal or two?”

  “That’s more like it,” Hideko said. “What are you thinking, Captain?”

  “We ambush them, explain that we won’t help them do anything else without Rogers in custody on our ship, and board them. The Flagship will come through first, so we’ll block the exit point, destroy the escort, and pin them down until they deliver Rogers. It’ll be easy.”

  “Oh,” Cynthia said, the pieces finally falling into place in her head. “Well that sounds reasonable then. We’ll just ambush the command ship, convince them to hand over the literal leader of the battle fleet, and then assume that everyone else is just going to go about their business.”

  “You don’t understand,” Sjana said.

  “Actually, I think I do,” Cynthia said, turning and leaving the bridge, her face hot. Of course she understood; she wasn’t an idiot. Cynthia had been naive to think that Sjana had spent the better part of the last two years waiting around, twiddling her thumbs, but it still burned. Someone very important to her had been in the fight with Rogers, and Cynthia could do the rest of the deductions herself. As she retreated back to the safety of her room, she looked at the pile of belongings she’d brought with her and thought about the crew back on the Flagship, now likely augmented by members of all the other systems. And here she was, chasing her wife on a pirate ship. She felt like a lovesick idiot.

  Speaking of lovesick idiots, Cynthia wondered how Keffoule was doing.

  • • •

  Sitting at her desk in her stateroom, Alandra stared at the number she’d written on a scratch pad. One point six one. A few weeks ago, she’d thought that number was everything. Now it just seemed like a couple of digits on a piece of paper.

  The golden ratio just wasn’t something that one questioned, Alandra thought, but she couldn’t deny that doubt had begun to slowly creep in. Little facts that had eluded her attention before now bubbled to the surface in rapid succession. Facts about her, facts about Rogers, facts about the state of the galaxy. Alandra wasn’t accustomed to feeling lost and confused, but those were the only two adjectives that accurately described her current state of mind.

  Despite her expectations that a semipermanent, non-hostage-situation tenure on the Flagship would warm Rogers to her and allow them to grow closer, there had been no indication whatsoever that this was happening. If anything, Rogers seemed to get more terse and irritable by the day. The burdens of command weren’t unfamiliar to Alandra, but she’d thought Rogers was made of sterner stuff than to crack under all the pressure. In times of great stress, Alandra had been strict, direct, even curt. But she’d never been grumpy. That was just beneath someone of his high status.

  Then again, this was the first time Alandra had really been able to see Rogers in his own element, in command, in charge. She’d initially assumed that he would sweep in and start fixing things like she’d heard of in all of the intelligence reports that had initially caused her to fall in love with him. He’d deftly exposed McSchmidt the spy, defended the fleet against a droid takeover, and discovered the Jupiterian uprising just in time to defeat Zergan. Captain Rogers, in her mind, was a legendary fleet commander.

  Now he seemed . . .

  “Goddamn it!” Rogers was yelling outside her stateroom. Rapid footsteps traced their way across her hearing, heading from the in-line toward the bridge. “Why did no one tell me that we were almost coming out of Un-Space at the destination? I wasn’t napping for that long.”

  . . . Now he seemed not.

  Then, of course, there was General Krell. Something about that man both appalled and interested her. He’d done nothing but support and compliment her since the moment they’d met. And he had a very nice wolfish grin that Alandra found endearing.

  But when it came to their compatibility, the golden ratio didn’t play a part at all! It was totally random. Completely unpredictable. Unmathematical.

  And also perhaps a little thrilling.

  Alandra sighed, tracing her fingers across her desk. This was no time to be musing over romantic pursuits, she told herself. There was a war going on. She had flown across a system boundary and nearly caused a war of her own to pursue Rogers. He was her destiny! He just had to see it.

  But he didn’t seem to be seeing it. And if she was honest with herself, she might be starting to unsee it too.

  “Am I just being a little girl?” she muttered to herself.

  “Yes,” Xan said. “I do feel that there is a certain element of girlishness being displayed here, Grand Marshal.”

  Alandra sucked in a breath. No matter how long they’d worked together, sometimes it was just so easy to forget that the unobtrusive New Neptunian was in the room with her. But he was always in the room with her. It seemed silly of her to forget it.

  “I wasn’t asking you.”

  “Yes, Grand Marshal.”

  Could she investigate this a bit? Learning a little bit about Krell couldn’t hurt, could it? But there was a war going on. She’d have to task someone else to gather information.

  “Xan,” Alandra said slowly, “do you think it’s possible to find some intelligence reports on General Krell for me?”

  Xan was silent for a long moment, his face expressionless. Of course he knew what that meant. Alandra wondered if he would say anything about it. Then, abruptly, he turned on his heel, gathered up his datapad, and moved swiftly toward the door.

  “Grand Marshal,” he said as he exited the room, presumably to carry out her orders, “I believe there is a difference between intelligence and knowledge. I hope that you discover it someday.”

  Well, that wasn’t the way she’d expected him to react. Xan had been rather strange lately. Stranger than usual, anyway.

  Alandra sighed. Poor Rogers. How would he function without her? How was he dealing with all of this now? She wondered how Rogers was doing.

  • • •

  “Great,” Rogers said, entering the bridge and waving away the three people who seemed to want to talk to him. “The pirates are already here. Send them a message and we’ll—”

  “Multiple target locks!” called out one of the defense technicians.

  “Fighters on attack vector!” called another.

  “What?” Rogers yelled, sitting down in his chair. “What’s going on?”

  “Sir, it looks like the pirates are firing on us!”

  “Sir, the Galaxy Eater isn’t anywhere on our scopes. It’s not here!”

  “Sir, a large Jupiterian force has just come out of Un-Space and is vectoring on our position!”

  “Sir, your coffee is cold!”

  “All of this is literally the exact opposite of what is supposed to be happening!” Rogers screamed.

  And all of a sudden, Rogers didn’t give a flying fuck how anyone else was doing.

  Honestly, You Should Have Seen This Coming

  The speed with which things began blowing up was nothing short of astonishing. Rogers could barely start screaming ordersI before all of the radios came alive with people reporting in, delivering damage reports, and complaining about bad positioning. Un-Space gateways could only be occupied by so much mass at any given time without causing ships to crash into each other, and the Flagship had been the first to come through, with its contingent of Meridan ships close behind. Exit from Un-Space was traditionally the most vulnerable time for any force, and the combined attack from the Jupiterians and the pirates had found them at the worst possible moment.

  The first voice he heard over the radio he r
ecognized as Sjana Devingo’s. She did not sound happy, and it didn’t take him long to figure out why.

  “Look familiar, Rogers? Betrayal and total annihilation? Is this what it was like when you destroyed the Garliali and the Purveyors of Vitriol?”

  Rogers’ stomach sank. He was sure he’d been careful about all of that. Plus, the reports from the incident were all supposed to be buried in military records. If they’d awarded him some kind of undercover status, surely they wouldn’t go around blabbing about it to the pirates themselves.

  “I get that you’re upset,” Rogers said as calmly as he could muster, “but I feel like there are greater priorities that we should be addressing right now.”

  “We’re not here to cripple the war effort, Rogers. We want you.”

  “Oh,” Rogers said. “Great. That’s perfect. Oh, and by the way, this seems to be an elaborate trap set by the Jupiterians, as many of them are converging on our location as we speak and there doesn’t seem to be a Galaxy Eater anywhere in this sector. Is all of this information not important to you all?”

  “I don’t need a lecture from you on priorities!” Sjana called over the radio. “You killed all of my friends!”

  He’d barely been able to get a sense of what was going on before the pirates had picked off the few escort ships around the Flagship and started making de-shielding runs on the Flagship itself. Fighters that were launching from the hangars were getting spaced sooner than they could start any effective defense pattern. The Flagship’s native defenses were, from what Rogers could tell, doing a fair job, but they wouldn’t last long. And when the Jupiterian fleet crossed into their engagement envelopes, this would end very quickly.

  “Where the hell is everyone else?” Rogers yelled. From what he could tell, only a small portion of their ships were here. Had they abandoned him like the pirates had?