She cut off as she recognized the man standing in the doorway. It was the Keeper, Hartwin Schreiber, and his face showed a weary kind of understanding. “I know, Admiral. I apologize.” He paused for a moment, and a hint of uncharacteristic uncertainty touched his expression. “I’m sorry, Admiral. I heard, and … I’m sorry.”
The condolences held little comfort for her, though Susan could recognize the sincerity behind the words. She forced her grief down further, as if packing it away inside a chest she could open later. There was obviously something else to be done. “Thank you, Keeper Schreiber, but I am hardly the only one who lost someone today. Is there something you wanted to speak with me about?”
Schreiber winced slightly, and Susan knew that her words had been delivered in a tone a touch too cold. Yet he seemed unwilling to retreat. “Yes, Admiral, there is something. I’m sorry, again, that it could not wait, but I believe you would find it important.” He glanced around the chamber, as if weighing it with his gaze. “The power has been restored here. Am I correct?”
Susan nodded. “Chief Kowalski finished those arrangements before the battle. After making sure the defenses were taken care of, clearly.” She looked around, wondering what the Keeper might have found that he would think was important at a time like this. “Did he contact you?”
“He did, Admiral.” Susan’s attention snapped back to him. The words had been filled with concern, a serious kind of worry that she had seldom heard from him. “I must admit that I did not relish looking for the information he requested. Elder Miller has been after me for days for information that I cannot imagine he would need, especially now. That man …” His words trailed off, and shook his head like a dog ridding itself of water. “No matter. When I did look, Admiral, I found something. I know what this place is.”
Despite his urgent tone, Susan sighed. There had been a time when it might have been a pleasant distraction, but now it seemed … pointless. “And did you find out why it was so heavily protected, Keeper? I must imagine that it cost your ancestors some effort to arrange things this way.”
“For good reason, Admiral Delacourt.” Schreiber spread his arms. “This is the heart of the Concord, after all, practically the reason she was built. This is the OMNI battle system.”
Susan frowned. “What? Is that an acronym?”
A flicker of a grin crossed the Keeper’s face, and for a moment he seemed much younger than he had. “Indeed it is. I have heard that the military is quite fond of them.” He turned and gestured to the sign imprinted above the doorway. “I trust you can tell what it stands for: the Operations Management Neural Interface. It was one of the most revolutionary command and control systems of its age. Only three examples were created, located aboard each of the three ships of this class.” The Keeper leaned in closer. “You can use that system, Admiral. It may be exactly the tool you’re looking for.”
The man spoke with such urgency that Susan felt almost sorry to disappoint him. A part of her was tempted to allow his optimism to go unchecked, but some honest portion of her mind looked askance at the idea. “I’m sure it was an effective system at the time, Keeper, but it was likely surpassed by advances in communication and computation since then.” She looked around the room, feeling the mystery drain from it. “I’m afraid that there will not be any magical weapon here.”
Obstinacy shone in the Keeper’s expression. “No. You don’t understand. The OMNI was more than just some silly little construct or a display plot. It was a method of organization that—” He stopped, clearly recognizing her skepticism. “Enough, then. Let me show you.”
Schreiber stepped toward the entrance of the room and started to tug at some of the panels there. “The OMNI was designed in a time when the units of the Known Worlds were more … doubtful … than they are now. Their loyalties were not as clear-cut. A commander was often lucky simply to be able to communicate consistently with his fellow officers. The delays, the miscommunications, and above all, the constant threat of mutiny or military coup led them to design something to keep the line of command undisputable, even in the chaos of war.”
His efforts were rewarded with an open panel, and Susan stepped forward to see as a flicker of curiosity ran through her. Schreiber drew out a set of ancient headgear and gloves, something she recognized vaguely from her lessons during Directorate training. “Is that a neural/computer interface system? I thought the Directorate stopped using them years ago, when the BCI systems grew more prevalent and effective to use. The rig pilots only use them when they have to calibrate with substandard equipment.” She glanced at the words above them, and blinked. “You’re not telling me that—”
“I am, Admiral.” Schreiber’s tone was serious, and he held the headgear out to her. “The OMNI only uses the headgear to calibrate the user, as you said, but it requires my verification for the system to become active.” A crooked smile wormed its way across his face. “After all, my ancestors were the owners of the vessel, and we reserved the right to decide who commanded her. I thought it would be only fitting if I granted that command to you, as my ancestors did to them.”
Susan looked at his earnest expression and then back at the headgear. It looked a little dusty, and rather disreputable. “Surely there must be some way to test it, Keeper. You don’t think I would risk myself to put it on right now.” Anger had started to flare through her. “Why do you think this will make any difference? This system is an old relic, something that the Directorate buried and forgot about. What could it possibly do now that—?”
“System online.”
The quiet voice reverberated throughout the room, and they both froze. Susan looked at Schreiber and saw his face go pale. His hands shook as he took a step back, and Susan turned to see what had struck him so profoundly.
At the center of the room, there stood a man. He was dressed in an ancient Directorate uniform, one that had been abandoned centuries ago. His resemblance to Schreiber was clear, but where the Keeper was old and bookish, this man was hardened. There was no gentlemanly stature in his stance, and his eyes had an almost lethal intensity to them. The air around him seemed to glow, and he turned to face them.
“The OMNI battle system has been activated. Updating system data.”
Susan stared at the figure, astonished. She hadn’t actually expected the thing to work, and certainly hadn’t expected it to show up wearing a uniform. When she looked at the Keeper, she found him staring at the image, his face still pale and his mouth working silently. “Keeper Schreiber? What is going on? I thought you said it would need to calibrate first.”
“I—I don’t know, Admiral.” The Keeper drew in a breath. “It must be Arland Schreiber. He was the one who designed the system, but I have no idea how much time this process will take to—”
“System data now accurate. Processing data. Querying formation units. Compass located. Download commencing.”
Susan stiffened. “Keeper, if this thing sends out any emissions, it might endanger the fleet. We need to shut it off now.”
Schreiber nodded, but even as he was moving for the controls, the panels closed tight. Susan’s eyes widened and she turned back to find the image directing a stern glance at her.
“Continued operation essential. Command authority has been delegated. Accessing personnel files. Accessing unit operational data. Accessing historical records. Software upgrade commencing.”
The litany of reports was delivered in that same unemotional tone, and Susan felt a shiver run up her spine. Whatever it was doing, it had to be pulling large amounts of data from the Keeper’s ship. There was no way the Directorate would ignore such a high-volume transmission, not when it was looking for her ships. Her hand began to stray toward her sidearm, and she looked for a vulnerable spot she could use to shut the whole system down.
Then the voice stopped. When it began again, she felt another shiver run through her as it addressed her directly. “Command authority has been passed to Admiral Susan Delacourt of the Wayfa
rer Defense Force by Keeper of Records Hartwin Schreiber, dated seven months before system reactivation. Medical records downloaded. Personnel jacket downloaded. DNA signature and anatomical scans imprinted. Psychological evaluations uploaded. Neural interface calibration required.” The image closed its eyes. When it opened them again, the tone shifted from that of an unemotional computer to a voice that held all of the authority of command that Susan had ever hoped to project. “Admiral Delacourt. Welcome to your command.”
Susan watched the image carefully, uncertain how to respond. The system did not wait for an answer, however, looking around the compartment with an air of wistfulness. “The OMNI system was developed for use in the hour of our greatest need. Without it, we would have been overwhelmed by the marauders attacking from the Wild.” The image turned his attention back to her, and his voice filled with a determination that was as fierce as his expression. “Your responsibility, Admiral, will be to use this system to face your own desperate needs and defend the lives of those you hold dear. It will demand much of you, but it is my hope that it will grant you victory … and that you will use it with more honor than I have. Good luck, and may the Lord guide you.”
With that, the image faded. As he disappeared, Susan heard the device which Schreiber held begin to hum. She glanced at it for a moment, wondering if she shouldn’t shoot it anyway, and then she met Schreiber’s eyes. He was still pale, but his expression had firmed—reflecting, if not quite achieving, the determination his ancestor had shown—and he held the headgear up to her.
For a moment, Susan hesitated. Then she stepped forward and let the Keeper settle the thing on her head. It would be easier to shut down from the inside, and if the calibration process didn’t last very long, perhaps it would prevent the thing from revealing the fleet’s position. In any case, she needed to get back up to the bridge to find out what had happened—
The headgear hummed, her scalp tingled, and suddenly the chamber was gone.
Susan looked around at the bridge of the Concord in shock. She was standing in the center of the bridge, right in front of the main plot. The crew was busy at their stations, taking reports of damage and analyzing their situation. Commander Mesic stood with one of his officers to one side of the main display, speaking in low tones about something. His voice was serious, but then he saw her and startled. “Admiral?” He looked over at the doors to the bridge, and then back. “When did you get here?”
She looked back at him, unsure of what had happened herself. “I—” The bridge officers were noticing her arrival now. Startled whispers and murmured warnings spread like a ripple through the command deck as they all turned their attention to her. Susan attempted to banish the surprise from her face. How had she gotten here? “I just wanted a report from you about the Penance. Have we made contact with them yet?”
Mesic seemed a bit concerned, but he straightened to attention with a professional air. “No, sir, we have not. Communications is still trying to find an effective frequency that the Directorate would not be monitoring, but even if we succeeded, it isn’t likely that Colonel Mccalister would locate the same frequency. Our only hope is that they manage to find the rendezvous point as planned.”
Susan nodded. “Of course. I wish we could contact the colonel directly, but if that remains impossible—”
Transfer complete.
The Concord’s command deck was gone. Susan looked around in shock at the command deck of an old Hoplite-class Guard cruiser. Far smaller than that of the Concord, she could see that the ship had had been modified in a way that set it apart from the models she had visited. There were more command stations and the deck plan was a bit more cramped; the nonstandard paint that streaked red across the bulkheads was another change. None of the officers wore anything resembling a Guard uniform; some were even wearing manacles.
Yet what caught her attention was the fact that Colonel Mccalister was standing two meters in front of her, an expression of complete and utter surprise on his face. He reached out, slowly, as they stared at one another, and he grabbed hold of a nearby mercenary. “Grovesly, do you see Admiral Delacourt standing right there?”
The mercenary looked at Susan and blinked in surprise. His answer was slow, but it drew the attention of every person on the bridge. “Yes, Colonel. She’s right there.”
Susan looked about her, composure gone, even as the officers on the Penance’s bridge turned with muttered oaths. She didn’t know if she could trust her senses now; obviously the headgear was active on a level far beyond mere calibration, whatever the fool Keeper had thought. Striving for some sort of professional dignity, Susan turned her gaze back to Mccalister and smiled. “Colonel Mccalister, I would appreciate a report on your situation.” She paused and glanced at their main display, marking the position of the three ships and their relation to where her fleet was hidden—as well as, she forced herself to admit, their relative position to Gabriel’s last-known course. “And after that, Colonel, I believe I have some instructions for you.”
The colonel jerked a nod, his face still locked in an expression of stunned disbelief. Susan felt her own sense of desperation lift, and she motioned for him to accompany her off the bridge. “If you please then, Colonel. We have a lot to take care of today.”
“Atanaas?”
The warbling voice woke Gabriel from the half-unconscious daze he had fallen into. His course had not changed for the past four hours and his body had started to feel the effects of his long trip, even though most of him remained blissfully unaware of anything outside the BCI. He had left a distress beacon on, echoing his signal across the local background static, but aside from that, he’d been left to battle the unrelenting boredom and despair he faced.
So when the voice reached him, still immersed in an ocean of static, Gabe had trouble believing it was not some hallucination or dream. He moved his head only slightly; most of his controls had shut down, one after another, to keep his remaining life support and other critical systems functional. Even his sensors had started to go, leaving him in a gloomy, faded twilight. His communications array, one of the few working systems remaining, responded to his prompting. “Eagro? Is that you out there, you freak?”
In retrospect, referring to an unknown threat as a freak was probably a mistake, but Gabe was beyond caring. His answer was another signal, this time harsher. “Atanaas? Mae nomre aes Iyador. Ken ais vu?”
Gabe sighed as his rig spun enough for the slender rig to come into view. This time, the thing wasn’t alone; three others hovered in space behind it, and it was close enough for him to make it out, despite his failing sensors. “My name is Gabriel, of the Wayfarer Defense Force. Gabriel. Wayfarer. Like I told Eagro.”
“Waeferer!” The slender rig turned to look back at its companions, and then returned its strange gaze to Gabe’s ruined rig. “Ducaid Eagro. Lae aibae kon Eagro?”
“Eagro was the last one of you that met me. Why don’t you find him and ask him, if you doubt me?” Gabe coughed, and had the uncanny sensation that the conversation was using up part of his dwindling energy. “I’m hurting here. Can you help me?”
There was a pause as the slender rig conferred with its friends. Then it turned back to him with a delicate gesture. “Sua cascara aes ruta. Aibla duspasiae. Sae muerae?”
Gabe let some of his frustration bleed into his voice. “I can’t understand you. I’m dying.” The words caught in his throat; he hadn’t yet admitted the true extent of his situation to himself. “If you do not help me, I will be dead. Please.”
The leader of the rigs glanced back at its companions, and two of them suddenly jerked into motion. They vanished into the void while the remaining two turned their attention back to him. The leader drifted forward, its movements cautious and tense. It seemed ready to dodge—or to fire its weapons—at the slightest hint of an ambush. Gabe felt the tentative touch of a tetherdrive slowing his spin and braking his velocity.
Unfortunately, the deceleration forced some of his limbs
to shift in ways that the interface didn’t like. Pain shot through him, and he cried out before he could clamp down on his control. The slender rig hopped to one side, and the contact vanished. Its weapon tracked him for a moment while Gabe fought for the ability to speak. When he got the words out, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Lord that the stranger hadn’t opened fire immediately. “S—sorry. It hurt.”
“Urt.” The slender rig considered the word for a moment. “Sae doli? Sua cascara sae doli?”
Taking another gamble, Gabe nodded. “Yes. Doli. Doli a lot.” He ratcheted his fingers open and closed to demonstrate the wounds to that part of his rig alone, and the slender rig nodded in apparent comprehension. Then, in a movement that made Gabe nearly stop breathing, it reached forward to lay a cautious hand on his shoulder.
The moment of contact was strange. He felt the other rig’s touch by the pressure it put on him, but rig BCI systems were not meant to interpret contact. If he had to guess, the other rig tried to give him a reassuring squeeze before drawing back. Then the tetherdrive touched him again, and his rig slowed. Gabe gritted his teeth and tried not to scream as the pain twisted through his gut.
His speed dropped, and then his course changed. Gabe watched as the rigs started to use their tetherdrives in tandem, latching on to him like they were horses drawing a cart. Maybe he’d actually gotten through to them. Would they get him to help in time? His breath hissed in and out as he fought the pain and tried to think. Would they know where Susan and the rest of the fleet were hiding? Had anyone even gotten out of that fight alive?
Then the rigs came to a sudden, jerking stop. Gabe couldn’t stop himself from crying out this time as the motion caused a bolt of pain that stabbed in from half a dozen injuries. He sobbed and tried to stay conscious as the slender rigs brought their weapons up, searching the darkness ahead. Neither of them seemed inclined to leave him, but they seemed equally concerned about the danger they apparently sensed.
Broken Halo (Wayfarers) Page 19
