A Mind Programmed

by Vox Day

  Contemplating her own role in the events that were so soon to come, she felt an almost preternatural calm inside. It was as if this was the moment for which she had been born, as if every step she had ever taken had led her to this juncture. She had been on many other assignments on behalf of the Directorate, but never one that had carried such an awesome burden or involved stakes so high. Yet until this moment, she had been enjoying it, finding pleasure in this galaxy-spanning matching of wits. It was the great game played on a larger scale than ever before in human history. She even felt a certain camaraderie for the other players, both those who must win and those who must lose. Director Karsh, Dr. G, and Captain Hull were all players of the civilized kind, especially Myranda Flare, her opposite number.

  But she felt no such kinship for the agents of House Dai Zhan. The men on both the Draco and the Rigel were men of another stripe, ruthless killers who played well outside the rules of the game. Contemplating them, she felt cold inside.

  She was called back to the bridge when the cruiser came within visible range. There was an electric air of excitement and anticipation among the men gathered there. A Marine captain, wearing full battle armor except for his helmet, was conferring with Captain Hull while Galton explained the situation to her.

  “We've sent out two drones to let us look over the ship in its entirety. Based on our observations, Rigel appears to have ejected all of its landers and emergency pods. However, we're not picking up any signs of them from the planet, which doesn't prove that they're not there, but it's mildly worrisome.”

  “That could mean quite a few survivors,” she observed. “Or quite a few corpses flying endlessly through space.”

  “We're all hoping for the latter, Miss York,” the navigator said, shaking his head.

  She felt a sudden impatience seize her. “How soon before we can board her?”

  “As soon as you're suited up and ready, Miss York.” Since the admiral's most recent directive, which both of them knew had probably been dictated by Director Karsh, Hull had been remarkably pliable. “Captain Pedrattus will be in command of the boarding party, but he has been advised of your special status.”

  “Miss York,” the Marine captain nodded. He towered over her in his battle armor, looking like a knight ready to mount his space destrier. He wasn't a handsome man and his left cheek was puckered by an old near-miss from a laser or plasma beam, but she felt her womanly instincts stirred by his presence. “We'll take care of you. We're prepared to follow your lead once we've ensured the security of the ship.”

  Hull was giving orders. “Tell the boarding party to stand by, and inform Lieutenant Tregaski,” he was speaking into a comm. He glanced back at York. “Suit up, Miss York. We'll launch the party in one point two kilosecs. Tregaski will have a laser for you if you want one.”

  “Thank you, Captain. And you, Captain Pedrattus.”

  York made a hurried trip to the hospital to talk with the doctor before going to the bay in which the shuttle was prepared for launch. She found Benbow busily packing a satchel and briefly told him what she wanted.

  “Good idea.” Benbow nodded without stopping his work. His ready acquiescence told York that Hull had briefed his senior officers on the admiral's latest order. She grinned, wondering if a woman had ever before held effective command of an Ascendancy destroyer. It didn't appear likely.

  Descending the ramp the starboard lander assigned to the mission, she ran into Les Osborn, who was wearing an armored spacesuit similar to the Marine battle armor. Osborn smiled proudly and tapped a gold sunburst on his left arm. “Been promoted, Miss York,” he announced. “I'm armament third.”

  “Well done. I see you're part of the boarding party as well.”

  “Captain said I should keep an eye on you in case those Marines got distracted.”

  “I'm glad to have you along,” York said. “I hope they've got my suit ready.”

  Tregaski and a lieutenant named Wexby were waiting in the launch bay with an eight-man party when he reached the lander area, with Osborn trailing behind. Tregaski straightened his big body as if uncertain whether or not to come to full attention, then barked, “Osborn, fall into ranks.”

  “Aye aye, sir!” The new armament third moved with alacrity to join the other enlisted men. York suppressed a smile, noting with satisfaction that all of the Navy men were armed. Despite his initial skepticism, it was readily apparent that Hull had finally come to believe in the saboteur theory. The Marines, of course, were fully prepared to fight an all-out battle inside the ship; there were eight of them including their captain and she hoped none of them would feel the need to make use of the grenades adorning their belts.

  Tregaski glanced at his wrist piece and nodded at her. “Your suit is right over there, Miss York. Wexby, help the lady into it.”

  “Thank you,” York answered. The suit was, miraculously enough, a woman's suit that was kept on the ship for emergency purposes, but it was a little large for her. So, it was easy enough to get into, but more than a little clumsy to move in. Lieutenant Wexby did what he could, tightening the fittings on the waist, thighs, and shoulders, but there was nothing he could do about her lack of height or the oversized boots. Fortunately, it wasn't armored or else she might have needed one of the Marines to pick her up and carry her in under one of their servo-powered arms.

  She glanced around. Captain Hull and Doctor Benbow were descending into the bay, both wearing their spacesuits. Benbow's was marked with a red cross in several places, including the helmet he carried under his arm. He looked grave and somber. Tregaski started to bark an order when Hull waved him to silence.

  “Let's dispense with the formalities,” he said. “If there is anyone on that ship, they know we're here.”

  “Aye aye, Captain!”

  Hull looked at York and amusement flashed momentarily across his square face. “Give us a little warning next time, Miss York, and we'll find something a little more comfortable for you.”

  Lieutenant Tregaski turned out to be a man of many talents. To her surprise, Tregaski boarded the launch first and disappeared into the pilot's compartment up front.

  York was assigned a place with Captain Hull, Benbow, and Captain Pedrattus in a small compartment immediately above the forward armament wells. It held several small ports which, at the moment, looked out into the interior of the starboard bay in which the launch was nestled.

  Lieutenant Wexby, a big man with the massively ridged facial bones and cupped earlobes of an inhabitant of the Sartan worlds, sat aft in the rear compartment with the crewmen and the Marine platoon. Hull shut the door to block off the rear compartment and spoke into a seat mike. “You're clear to launch, Lieutenant.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.” The lieutenant's muffled voice came through a speaker embedded in the forward bulkhead. A muted roaring filled the compartment and was soon followed by a slight lurching sensation. Miraculously, it seemed, she saw the destroyer through the side port, floating like a sleek steel killer whale in the depths of space. With the pale yellow light of Gelhart glinting on its snoutlike bridge, Draco presented a formidable appearance. Then, as it disappeared from view, an even bigger, more deadly metal beast came within sight. Rigel.

  Hull glanced at Pedrattus and back at York. “It's time to speak bluntly. The Shiva compartment on Rigel lies forward, immediately under the navigation bridge, and is accessible only from the bridge. I don't want any unnecessary eyes in that part of the ship. Captain, it will be your primary responsibility to ensure no one from this ship, or any of the survivors, passes lock A Six Zero Two.”

  The Marine nodded. “I'll position two of my men there as soon as we enter. The other five will search the ship.

  “Doc may have to get at some of the dead beyond that point,” he pointed out. “If there are any.”

  Hull grimaced at the thought. “It's possible. We'll deal with that situation if it arises.”

  “You and I, Captain, will have to see the compartment to ensure the dev
ice wasn't jettisoned with the launches.”

  “I suppose,” Hull answered. He flicked a button on the seat mike. “Wexby?”

  “Captain!” The lieutenant's voice came through like a bullhorn.

  “The boarding party will aft of lock A Six Zero Two,” he instructed. “The marines will secure it. Under no circumstances will anyone, including any survivors, be permitted past that point.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” the lieutenant repeated.

  Hull closed the switch and leaned back, his eyes on York's face. “What shall we do with the survivors, get them back to Draco right away and give us a chance to look around unimpeded?”

  “That's reasonable,” she agreed. “I can't imagine they will attempt resistance at this point, not with the Marines.”

  “I've arranged for a temporary medical quarantine. That's standard procedure and it won't make them suspicious so long as the examinations begin promptly and it doesn't last more than two or three hours.”

  “Since they'll see the doctor with us, I'm sure that's a reasonable assumption.”

  Tregaski's voice broke from the speaker. “Thirty decasecs to docking. Rigel's AI has accepted our transponder and will open its primary bay to us.”

  “Still no human contact?”

  “No, Captain.”

  Hull nodded and pressed a different button on his comm. “Draco, this is Hull. We dock in thirty, repeat, three zero decaseconds. Activate the laser sight for number two nuclear turret, as ordered.”

  “Turret two standing by,” a muted voice answered immediately. “Sighted and locked.”

  Hull glanced toward York as he continued. “Should the boarding party come under attack, you are ordered to destroy any vehicle attempting to exit Rigel, including this launch, without regard for friend or foe, until you hear from me again. Acknowledge.”

  “Acknowledged, Captain.”

  “Carry on, Carmichael.” Hull flicked off the switch without removing his eyes from York's face. His eyes were hard and speculative.

  “A wise precaution,” York commented. She turned to look portside at the rapidly approaching cruiser and hoped none of the survivors proved to be temperamental.

  “Stand by for retro,” Tregaski cautioned. York braced herself. As the exhaust was rechanneled through forward-pointing tubes, she felt the force gradually build up, a steady push that caused her to lean toward the bulkhead separating her from the pilot's compartment.

  “She's opened her bay. Stand by for docking.”

  York stared through the port. After a few moments, the blackness of space gave way to a mass of grey metal interspersed with bright blue lights. Obviously the cruiser had been slumbering, she wasn't entirely dead. Shortly afterward she felt the launch come to a rest on the metal flooring of the bay as the engines momentarily roared before falling silent. It was a smooth landing; Tregaski was clearly a skilled pilot.

  “We're in, Captain,” the lieutenant informed them unnecessarily.

  “Bravo zulu, Lieutenant,” Hull praised him. He turned to York and Pedrattus, who had already slammed his helmet down and was rising from his seat. “Miss York, in the circumstances, I hope you won't object to our custom of 'Marines First'.”

  She smiled and pulled her own helmet down. “Not in the slightest, Captain.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “They slept on the abyss without a surge–

  The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,

  The moon, their mistress, had expir'd before;

  The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,

  And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need

  Of aid from them—She was the Universe.”

  —from “Darkness” by Lord Byron

  THEY WAITED in tense silence as the Marines fanned out into the bay beneath them. They listened on the open comm channel to brief bursts of crackling conversation that struck York as being akin to a foreign language. But even when she couldn't understand their military slang, the men's voices were cool and professional, with none of the excitement that comes with combat. More importantly, no explosions or weapons fire punctuated their communications.

  “Contact!” one Marine shouted. Hull stopped his pacing and whirled about towards the port, as if his eyes could somehow bore a hole to wherever the meeting was taking place. “Captain, I have three, repeat, three friendlies in sight. No weapons, no suits.”

  “Roger that, Bravo Two.” Pedrattus sounded as if he was out for an afternoon stroll. “I have your visual feed and your location. Keep them there and I'll be with you in two decasecs.

  York looked expectantly at Hull, but the captain held up his hand. For a long, uncomfortable moment, there was nothing from the Marines, as presumably they were speaking with the Rigel crewmen. Finally, Pedrattus came back online.

  “Captain Hull, I believe it is safe for you and the, uh, consultant to join us. I've been speaking with Quartermaster Chief Albert Barngate, Lee Chun, maintenance first, and Jarrett Shumway, maintenance second.”

  “Roger, Captain,” Hull responded. “How many survivors? Who is senior?”

  The Marine captain response was delayed as he relayed Hull's questions. “The quartermaster is the senior petty officer surviving. Nine, repeat, nine survivors.”

  York shook her head. Benbow put his hands to his head. Hull's helmet dropped nearly to his chest. It was a disaster almost beyond imagining. All three of them very well knew Rigel's crew complement. A Shiva-class cruiser carried 33 officers, 27 Chief Petty Officers, and 345 enlisted men. And it now appeared that 396 of them had not survived the incident, whatever it had been.

  York stepped down from the launch's ramp behind Captain Hull, her helmet down since the bay's atmosphere had been restored while they waited. The air inside the ship was warm and breathable, but still to the point of seeming lifeless. In the unearthly silence, it was like standing in a giant steel tomb.

  Doctor Benbow followed, carrying his medical satchel. Next came Wexby, followed by Osborn, the latter remaining unobtrusively in the rear. The rest of the Navy personnel remained on the launch with Lieutenant Tregaski, their weapons ready. Captain Hull was taking no chances.

  For a moment the men were all quiet and somber. They knew they were entering what had already served as a death trap for hundreds of men.

  “No signs of damage or weapons discharge inside or out.” Wexby broke the silence.

  “I'd noticed,” Hull commented noncommittally.

  York was beginning to reach the same conclusion. There was no damage to be seen and the Marines had reported none. That indicated that her original suspicion, one that she'd harbored from the time she'd boarded the Draco, was likely correct. The attack, assuming that it had been intentional, had been on the ship's atmosphere.

  But the conclusion raised as many questions as it answered. In space, a ship's atmosphere was a known point of vulnerability. There were multiple levels of containment and defense. How was it possible to overrride all of them without triggering any alarms or anyone noticing?

  They walked slowly down the corridors, seeing no signs of life, or for that matter, death. Benbow was peering at his device; clearly the same thought had struck him and she suspected he was analyzing the atmosphere for any suspicious trace elements.

  They turned a corner and saw four armored Marines looming over three men wearing blue Navy coveralls that were stained and worn. The survivors were varying degrees of unshaven and all three of them looked haggard.

  Glancing at Hull, York noted that his square face was totally devoid of expression, as if he had erased every emotion within him. Only his jaw muscles gave him away; they were corded and set. As the gap between them and the Rigel crewmen narrowed, the man speaking with the Marine captain drew his body up straighter. York saw that he was somewhat taller than the others, slender, and he moved with the easy grace of a veteran spaceman accustomed to varying gravities. The man, presumably Quartermaster Chief Barngate, barked something under his breath, and his two com
panions straightened, attempting some semblance of military bearing. Coming closer, she saw that the rearmost man appeared to be Dai Zhani.

  What were the odds, she commented wryly to herself.

  The Marines parted before Hull's approach. The taller man stood at attention and saluted briskly. “Quartermaster Chief Albert Barngate reporting, Captain.”

  Hull returned the salute. “I'm told you are the senior officer surviving?” he asked bleakly.

  “I'm sorry to say so, Captain.” He did a double-take upon noticing York before motioning toward his companions. “This is Lee Chun and Jarrett Shumway. The others are in their bunks, sleeping.”

  “Where are the others, the dead?”

  “We spaced them three days after… after the accident.”

  As Barngate spoke, York covertly studied his companions. Lee Chun was slender and poised despite his soiled clothes and grimy hands. His expression gave nothing away. Around forty, he reminded her of Char Wong. In contrast, Jarrett Shumway was a burly man, with a heavy, sullen face and dark eyes that kept straying towards her suited form. In fairness, she reminded herself, it had probably been months since he'd last seen a woman. He plainly was more than willing to let Barngate do the talking.