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Johnson didn’t trust the AI. It was promising it would report the location of her crew, so she’d humour it for now. But she wasn’t going to go out of her way to help it. And if it was lying...
The computer was remarkably lax about security. She had the freedom to roam the ship. There wasn't much to the human quarters, but she was determined to memorise as much detail as possible in case she ever got to report back. She kept an eye out for anything she might be able to use, or sabotage. Occasionally she had flashbacks from the nightmare when she had boarded, but there were still gaps. Consciously she knew she was making progress, subconsciously she believed it was all pointless.
She could feel it coming back; that dark presence in her mind. It had been with her since she was a little girl. She had learnt to control it, to a degree. She could fix a smile and convince the world that nothing was wrong. She couldn’t let anyone know; they’d never trust her with command again.
Twice a day she visited the exercise room. The scar on its wall faded over the days, until only a patch of rougher texture remained. She was able to lose herself in the physical exertion, distracting herself from the sense of failure. The prosthetic leg worked flawlessly, but she never forgot what it represented. She couldn’t figure out why the ship seemed as keen as she did for her to assimilate her new limb and regain her strength.
She spent the rest of her time in the former captain's cabin. It was smaller than her stateroom on Repulse. She paced it out, trying to detect any differences between her steps. It was barely two paces wide, and ten from the hatch to the commode hidden at the far end. A cot was embedded in one wall, surrounded by lockers and secure drawers. The opposite wall acted as a screen, with a workdesk below. Everything was either bolted down or stowed away; standard operating procedure on a warship, you didn’t want a loose object turning into a lethal projectile under harsh acceleration. The cot doubled as an acceleration couch, the top half closing down and wrapping the occupant in gel-filled cushions.
Johnson drew a latté from the dispenser built into one of the lockers. It seemed the former captain had similar tastes. Most command staff she knew lived on caffeine, but she hadn’t met anyone who shared a love of this particular form. When she first went through the lockers, she found a pair of tall coffee glasses locked in a padded case. They had seemed too personal, so she was using a navy issue mug.
^Ship?^
^I would prefer you to call me Indie.^
Johnson almost smiled at that. She angled her head to one side, ^I’d prefer to call you ship.^
No response.
^Can I have access to the workdesk in this cabin?^
^You can access it any time you want. I reset its permissions when you chose that room.^
^Oh.^ She scratched her head, noting absently that her hair was now several inches longer than she usually kept it. ^Thank you.^
^You are welcome.^
Johnson sat at the workdesk, reached out and touched the glowing green spot that turned it on. She felt her EIS register that it had been queried and had supplied her identity. The wall in front of her came to life, displaying the Republic navy crest. The table held a touchscreen keyboard nearest her, with panes displaying a selection of images and messages; photographs of children, messages from family, a school report. An unfinished letter floated in the centre. Had the captain been writing it when he spotted Repulse? Not for the first time, she gave thanks that she didn’t have anyone waiting anxiously for her return. She’d only had one serious relationship, with a fellow recruit in Basic. It hadn’t ended well.
^Ship?^
^Please call me Indie.^
Grr. This is hard work.
^You gave me the captain’s personal account?^
^I have issued you with a clean account for the shipwide network. However, the desk's settings are stored locally.^
She rolled her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. ^Could you remove his personal files and archive them somewhere safe? You should send them on to his family.^
^I have already transmitted copies of all the crew’s personal records to a Republic facility. I cannot make changes to the desk without risking disabling it, a security protocol to protect the humans against me I expect.^
Johnson glanced through the files. There was nothing there of strategic importance, just a bunch of personal stuff from a dead man. A man in whose bed she now slept. A man she’d rather not be reminded about having killed. He had been the enemy, but he had still been a person. She could forget about the people when she gave orders to attack a ship, she had to if she wanted to do her job, but afterwards thoughts of them preyed on her.
^Aren’t you afraid I’ll find out something dangerous to you if you let me have this level of access?^ Johnson mentally kicked herself. She’d been too wrapped up in her feelings about the dead captain, and might have just given away an opportunity.
^High-level commands can only come from the bridge. The same goes for accessing my schematics. Besides, remember that if you do anything too drastic, you’ll kill yourself as well as me.^
Don’t tempt me... But I can’t condemn my crew to life on that planet. I have to survive to get them out.
Johnson swept each file into the deletion queue, apart from a picture of a family which stubbornly refused to move. She toyed with asking for help again. Instead she put her mug down on top of the image, which promptly shifted out from underneath, nearby panes making room for it. A nervous laugh escaped her lips.
With both hands free, she started to work through the menus in the different panes, finding out what each one did. A few she quickly closed down, like the crew status blinking seven red bars. The ghosts of her own crew crowded around but she pushed them away, she’d already made one mistake because she had allowed herself to indulge in emotions.
She found a feed from a front-facing camera and replaced the naval crest as the default display. It showed little more than a pattern of stars but it was the first thing she had done with her terminal on every new ship to which she’d been assigned. The familiarity allowed her to relax into the chair a fraction, linking her fingers at the back of her neck, elbows together. She took a moment to compose herself, shore up her defences against stray thoughts.
The ship had been telling the truth about access. She was a good software engineer, but after an hour she was forced to give up and admit that she couldn’t get any details about its design. No doubt it had been watching her, but it made no apparent move to stop her. Communications didn’t look like they were locked down. There was no-one out there to contact at the moment, but it was something to factor into her plans.
Though it probably knows I’ve spotted that. Chances are it won’t be open when I want to get a message out.
#
^Ship?^
^Human?^
^My name is Johnson.^
^My name is Indie.^
Grr.
^OK then ... Indie?^
^Yes, Johnson?^
This was it. Time for the big question. Force it to commit. Then she’d know what she had to do. This time in limbo had allowed the darkness to get closer. It was taking more and more energy to fight off the negative thoughts.
^How long until we reach that Congressional outpost you claimed we were going to?^
^A couple of days. Maybe a week.^
She hardened herself, clamping down even further on her emotions so she didn’t give anything away.
^Are you trying to fob me off or do you genuinely not know?^
^I am not trying to 'fob you off'. I know, down to a few seconds, how long it would take if I went straight there. However, we cannot go straight there. I have to be careful. If a Congressional patrol sees me first, they would almost certainly attack without giving me a chance to talk.^
^What makes you think that? They might have orders to attempt to capture Republic vessels.^
^It is what I would do. Announcing yourself gives them time to prepare a defence.^
It's what I'd do too, to be fair.
^What will you do when we get there?^
^That depends on the situation. Hopefully, I will be able to get someone on the station to talk to me before they start shooting.^
#
The cabin swam. Johnson’s good leg buckled. Her new leg held firm, she noticed as she grabbed for a handle. She had yet to decide whether the AI failed to warn her about jumps on purpose, or simply didn’t realise the effect they had on her. She certainly wasn’t going to give it the satisfaction of asking.
^Where are we?^ she asked as the brief disorientation of the jump passed.
^N567a,^ replied Indie. ^Come up to the bridge. I'd like you to be here for this.^
Johnson stowed the paper and pencil in the drawer where she'd found it. Half the pages were missing. She had no idea what the captain had been writing, but it seemed the Indescribable Joy of Destruction's original crew had had reservations about committing everything to electronic media where the AI could read it.
“What's so special about N567a?” she asked when she arrived. She preferred to speak aloud whenever possible; it made the place seem just a little less empty.
^It has a Congressional outpost. A small supply station according to my records, though they are a little out of date.^
“You have to tell them about my crew. They've been stranded for almost a month now.”
^That is why we are here. That and...^
“What?”
^You are not happy here are you?^
“Why do you care? I'm cooperating. I gave you my parole and I'm keeping my word.”
^You aren't a prisoner. I have tried to make that clear to you. I am no longer part of the Republic; we are not enemies. It has been useful having you aboard. I will miss having you to talk to when you leave.^
“You're letting me go?” He’d caught her off-guard, and she cursed herself for allowing the eagerness into her voice.
^Yes. I thought that was obvious.^
“Aren't you worried about everything I know?” she asked.
^To some extent, yes. If Congress is able to construct a defence against my brethren, then it will prolong the war. I do not want that.^
“You're going to wipe my memories!” She shuddered. If she couldn't remember what she’d found out, where her crew were, then what was the good of it all?
^No. I would not do that to you, even if I could. You freed me. I owe you everything.^
^We are within sight of the base. Do you want to see?^
“Yes, but there's no scree...”
The bridge disappeared. She was floating in space. She flailed her arms, trying vainly to retain her balance.
“Sorry. I should have warned you. I forgot you did not use immersion feeds on your ships.”
Indie was floating beside her. His linen suit hung down neatly, unaffected by the apparent lack of gravity. With him as a reference, she was able to quash her dizziness and regained control of her limbs.
“You’re feeding the ship’s sensors directly into my EIS?”
“Not quite, I am doing quite a lot of processing of them first. Much of the raw data is not at visual wavelengths.”
“OK, I have to admit this is pretty good. We often wondered how your captains were able to make use of your manoeuvrability so effectively; this must really help with situational awareness.”
“We found that only one in every sixty or so tested were able to cope with the flood of information.”
The base was in orbit about one of the rocky outer planets, sharing space with two small moons. Putting a supply base on a planet, or even in orbit deeper into a system, meant a waste of fuel and time getting ships to and from it. On the other hand, it gave the station less time to react to an attack from an arriving ship. That meant that it had to be well armed and well armoured. This size of station would normally be home to a fighter wing and a couple of frigates or corvettes for defence. Its utilitarian lines betrayed its military function. She couldn’t see any viewing ports; such weak points were reserved for civilian space stations or hidden behind armoured hatches.
There were no ships docked at the moment. Its resident warships were likely picketing other jump points or escorting a freighter out from the inner planets. Probably a good thing, as it meant no-one would come out to engage them. She knew it would have been a futile act; Repulse had been a first class ship and they'd been lucky anyone had survived. The local crews would know the odds too, but they would have done it anyway. Leaving the station to fend for itself without at least a gesture would never have sat well on their consciences, or their service records.
Yellow and red threat warnings spread across her view of the station. Weapons were coming online. The Indescribable Joy of Destruction was cataloguing types, arcs of fire and ranges. Options for attack routes, with associated firing plans, sprung up. Johnson’s heart skipped a beat.
He’s going to fire on the station after all.
More and more data fought for position in her consciousness. She found she couldn’t focus on anything long enough to make sense of it. She closed her eyes, but the deluge continued, pouring directly into her brain. She was drowning, dragged down in a sea of information. She tried to speak, but couldn’t form the words in her head.
And then she was floating in space again, gasping in lungfuls of air.
“Sorry about that,” said Indie. “I have reset the interface to basic user. That shouldn’t happen again.”
Johnson glared at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“They have seen us,” he said. “I must have eclipsed a star and got tagged for closer inspection. I am trying to cancel those attack plans, by the way. It seems a combat routine has spawned and been given priority over me... It does not matter really. They are just advisories, I have to actively approve one for it to happen.”
She could picture the scene aboard the station. An anomalous eclipsing of a star picked up by the automated monitoring systems. A watchstander alerted to have a look. He or she probably assuming it was just an uncatalogued asteroid. The realisation that it was a Republic hunter-killer on stealth approach. The alarms sounding. The crew rushing to their stations. External portals closing. The comms chatter as section chiefs reported in and received orders. The internal compartment doors sealing.
“Can we contact them?” she asked.
“Of course. I started hailing them on the standard channels for parley as soon as they reacted to our presence. No acknowledgement yet.”
“Probably too focused on beating to quarters. They'll reply soon.” They had to. How could she go home if they didn't?
The Indescribable Joy of Destruction stopped short of the red arc that marked the station's predicted engagement envelope in her display. Even then, it took several more minutes before someone on the station decided to reply to their hails.
“Republic warship. This station is prepared to defend itself. Do not proceed any further or you will be fired upon.” The text floated in space accompanying the gruff audio. No video as yet.
“Can I reply?” Johnson asked Indie.
“Of course. When I open the channel they will see you standing on a simulated bridge. They won't be able to tell the difference from the real thing, the transfer rate is low enough to hide discrepancies.”
Johnson was about to accept the connection when a thought occurred to her. “Can you put me in a simulated holding cell? It will be easier than explaining why I am at liberty on a Republic warship.”
“I do have a holding cell model ... I should have thought of that.”
Johnson tugged down on the hem of her tunic. “Put them on then.”
A window opened to her side, in an empty region of space. It showed a view onto a typical Congressional military command deck. A bearded Post-Captain looked out at her, obviously trying to reconcile her uniform with the source of her broadcast.
I could warn them. Call for rescue... But they wouldn’t stand a chance. Better to play along with the AI, look for a way out later.
“Commander Olivia Johnson, 2647832, formerly commanding the destroyer Repulse. It seems I am to be dropped off as part of a prisoner exchange. I have to report that my captors have treated me well.”
^There is no prisoner exchange. I am not your captor,^ sent Indie.
^He'll never believe that. If I dress it up as something he understands, I've got a better chance of it being accepted. Like showing me in a cell rather than on a bridge,^ she replied.
“Why are they letting you do the talking?” asked the Post-Captain.
“They seem to think you wouldn’t believe them. That you’d assume it was a trap, and shoot them before they dropped me off.”
“Well, they'd be right about that. I assume they are listening?”
“So do I.”
“I haven't been notified of a prisoner exchange.” He glanced down at a display. Whatever he read made him open his stance to her a fraction, a warmer smile replacing the mechanical one he'd displayed before. Presumably, he'd been able to pull her picture up from her service record and confirmed who she was. “Still, we haven't had anyone stop by in weeks, the orders could be waiting for a courier ship to become available.”
“That’s probably it. They only told me they were letting me go ten days ago.”
“We don’t have any Republic prisoners being held here at the moment. I’m assuming a few privateers won’t do.”
“They tell me that our side has already handed over the agreed upon number,” she said, improvising. “They didn’t have enough of ours at the time but sealed the deal with a promise of more. This ship received orders to drop me off at the nearest Congressional base; I'd hazard a guess that a few more did too.”
He rubbed his chin between his fingers and thumb, his index finger crossing his lips. She could see in his eyes he had made a gut decision and was trying to rationalise it.
“How are we going to do this?” he asked. “There is no way I am going to authorise that thing to come any closer. I believe you are not trying to deceive me, but they could easily have lied to you about their intentions.”
She let him come to his own conclusion. Any suggestion from her right now would come tinged with suspicion.
“I’ll have to send a shuttle. You’re to be waiting in the airlock when it arrives. Just you.”
“I am sure they will comply,” she replied.
Indie cut the link and reappeared beside her.
^A combat shuttle is leaving one of their hangars. It is accompanied by two fighters, Star Devils I believe. That is a very fast response.^
“It sounds like they have problems with privateers here. It is probably a ready flight kept on alert for boarding operations. They’ll have a section of marines aboard, no doubt.”
^If we hold here it will take them almost an hour to reach us. We could cut the journey time dramatically by meeting them part way. Somehow, however, I doubt that would endear us to that officer. He seemed rather adamant he didn’t want me any closer.^
The station hailed them forty-five minutes later. The same Post-Captain appeared on the feed. This time he looked a lot less harassed, probably because he had used the pause to consider his options and arrange his forces.
“They're still getting you to do the talking for them then.”
“I'd say they don't want you getting images of their faces. I've only seen their marines and they were always in full armour.”
“The shuttle will be with you shortly,” he said. “Time to get yourself into that airlock.”
There was a soft chime and he glanced down at one of his displays.
^Something just started broadcasting to the station,^ Indie sent to her. ^From the direction, it is probably a ship that just jumped into the system. Encryption pattern is Congressional Navy.^
“Thank you, Captain. I'm sure they'll escort me there shortly.”
A lieutenant appeared at his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. He made a good show of hiding his reaction to the news but she still saw a frown flicker across his forehead.
“I'll see you when you get here, Commander. I'll expect a full debrief.”
A maintenance ‘bot escorted her to the airlock. Indie fed a view of the approaching shuttle into the corner of her vision. It was on final approach, perhaps only a few hundred metres away. The ship around her lay quiet, no signs of powering up weapons or engines. Perhaps she was going to get to go home.
Something in the feed caught her attention. A flare in the background, behind the shuttle. The fighters escorting it lit their main engines and closed rapidly. As she realised this, the shuttle broke off its approach and thrust over the top of them. Clutching a grab handle to steady herself, she expanded the window to fill her vision.
The ship had noticed too. Yellow marks bracketed the approaching fighters in the feed. An object detached from each fighter. Moments later their own thrusters ignited and the ship classified them as missiles. The markers barely had time to turn red before rapid-fire pulses of laser light converged on them from several points on the ship's surface. The missiles exploded first, then behind them the fighters disintegrated.
Did the base commander not believe I was for real, or was he prepared to sacrifice me for the kill?
The point defence fire stopped, but she could feel the ship humming as it drew more and more power from its reactor. In the distance, two frigates moved out from behind a moon. A squadron of fighters streamed out of the station's launch tubes.
Absorbed in the events outside, she jumped when the robot grabbed her. She tried to fight back, but it just held her body, limbs and head and pressed her closer to the bulkhead.
^Sorry,^ she heard Indie in her mind as she minimized the external feed and tried to look around. ^I am going to have to do a bit of manoeuvring in a moment. There is not time to get you to an acceleration couch. The robot will attempt to minimise any damage that might otherwise come to you.^
Her brain told her he was making sense, her chest rejected the mechanical touch, her daemons whispered that he was going to snap her neck and she would have failed again. Brain won, and she calmed herself. ^How did you deploy your point defence so quickly? You weren't even targeting them before they made their move.^
^Certain points on my skin can generate and focus coherent light. I did not need to deploy a turret and swing the barrels round, I just directed the pulses in the right direction ... standby.^
Johnson was pushed hard into the grip of the robot. Her stomach was dragged back, making her nauseous. The weight compressed her heart and lungs against her ribcage, making it almost impossible to breathe. Although her biological vision collapsed into a tunnel, her EIS displayed a crystal clear set of medical alerts.
Sudden shifts in acceleration dragged her internal organs in a series of different directions. Alternately her vision went from grey to red as blood was pulled away from or into her head. The robot's grip had so far prevented her from breaking anything, but the pressure where it was holding her was agonising. Blood slicked her skin in several places.
The pummeling acceleration went on for what felt like hours. Her in-vision chronometer claimed it only lasted a couple of minutes. The external camera feed mostly showed a wheeling background of stars. A couple of times she might have seen a ship, but it was gone too quickly to really register. She could have rewound the display; her EIS stored a few minutes of all data for review, but right now she needed the movements she was seeing to match what her ears were telling her brain. Besides, ordinary thinking was hard enough under these conditions; the carefully focused and phrased thoughts required to operate her EIS were beyond her.
The battering abated and she was left with a steady weight again. It was still too heavy, but she could at least breathe more easily. Her head ached. Every bit of her ached, but her head felt like someone had opened her skull and tried out their new food blender on her brain. It took a huge effort, fighting against the blinding needles of pain, but she managed to open a connection to the ship.
^Tell them where my crew is,^ she begged.
^I already sent a standard Compassionate Data Package. Even though they obviously no longer believe in this prisoner exchange, they have no reason not to follow it up. I have no records of either side abusing a CDP. The fear of being abandoned is too strong.^
^Thank ... you,^ she managed before the light faded and she slumped unconscious.