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Johnson lay in her cot on The Indescribable Joy of Destruction, enjoying that blissful state between sleep and full wakefulness. For a few minutes, she didn’t have to acknowledge the real world. She was getting round to thinking about breakfast; a pack of actual fresh bacon with her name on it was sitting in the galley, a leaving present from Clovis. Just a few more minutes to savour the perfect temperature of the sheets, the firmness of the bed, the humid air wafting the scent of camellia blossoms.
Dammit.
She opened her eyes and found herself looking out over a valley of neatly-kept tea plantations.
“This had better be good,” she said, through gritted teeth.
“I think I know why your crew were abandoned,” said Indie.
She spun to face him, searching his face for clues.
“Go on...”
“When you were down on the surface of Orpus-4, I downloaded all the data from the escape pods. I wanted to see if there was any more evidence of Republic agents on board. And ... I was curious to know more about your background.
“Despite the damage, I was able to put together a pretty comprehensive set of Repulse’s logs. Most of them opened easily enough using your codes.”
She frowned and opened her mouth to speak.
“Your EIS handed them to my security routine when you assumed the captain’s position,” he continued, with a placating gesture. “The important point, though, is that one file did not open. It was marked as a signal intercept of unknown origin, and queued for decryption when sufficient processor time became available. A copy had automatically been forwarded to Fleet Command in your last set of dispatches.
“I tried all the Republic cyphers that I knew and none of them worked. Since then I have had a routine running in the background, trying to crack it. It just finished. I think you need to see it.”
A rectangle of fuzziness appeared in the air beside them. As Johnson looked at it, it condensed into an image of a Congressional officer with an emblem she didn’t recognise on the wall behind him.
“That’s Vice Admiral Koblensk,” she said. “I worked for him once; on a special project for NSOB. He looks older than I remember.”
The message began to play.
“Fleet Admiral. With a heavy heart, I have to report that one of the Omega Criteria has been met. I have thus begun preparations to activate the Red Fleet.
“If the voluntary sending of candidates to Academies remains below the threshold for twelve months, we will be forced to enact the Omega Plan. It goes without saying that ordering an attack on our own citizens goes against all my instincts. However, I accept that it is a necessary evil if we are to stem the tide of apathy.
“A target has been selected by my psy-ops analysts that should maximise the shock factor. All significant civilian population centres will be bombarded. Most importantly, we have chosen a planet where hitting the Academy will be an incontrovertibly deliberate act; one which cannot be excused away as collateral damage.
“For maximum effect, we’ll need the local forces distracted or off-station. I trust you will be able to arrange a drill or false emergency.
“The mission details and fleet status reports are appended to this transmission. I pray that this is worth it, and that history forgives us. Koblensk out.”
His image froze. Johnson stood, rigid and expressionless.
“Did you get the details?” she asked finally, barely whispering.
“The target was a planet called Concorde.”
Johnson’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second.
“You have heard of it?” asked Indie.
She swallowed hard.
“Yes, I’ve heard of it. I...” she trailed off.
“My records show it is a Core World, one of the few to have been terraformed. Third planet in a binary system. Gravity 1.2g at the equator. Three major land masses. Population 3.2 billion. Fifty or sixty major cities. The Academy is outside the capital, in the foothills of a major mountain range.”
Which smell of tempus in the heat of the sun.
“I’ve never heard of the Red Fleet,” she said. “Anything useful in the status reports?”
“Very,” Indie replied. In quick succession, ships faded into view in the skies around them. “They are all Republic vessels reported lost or captured over the last ten years.”
They both looked up at the eighty-seven warships looming over them, a sizable taskforce of capital and ancillary vessels.
“So they plan to frame the Republic for a war crime. Cities have been flattened on either side in the past, but no-one has ever gone after an Academy... What month is it on Concorde?”
Indie waved his arm and the ships faded away. “Tertius. Why?”
“In twelve months, a new intake will have just started. Six thousand twelve-year-olds trying to get used to living away from their families.”
#
Johnson stayed in her room all morning. She refused messages and personal visits from the increasingly worried crew. She paced. She lay on her cot. She shadow boxed. She sat and searched the databases. And she talked to Indie.
^Levarsson has asked me if you are OK.^
^What did you tell her?^
^That you were indisposed ... that did not seem to help.^
^Hah. She’s never known me miss a shift.^
As time went on, she paced less and talked more.
^Admiral Koblensk never struck me as the kind who’d go through with something like this,^ she sent to Indie. ^Sure, he cooked up some twisted missions, but always against the enemy.^
^You should read his file in my database. Republic intelligence officers had him under close scrutiny. They suspected he had gone rogue, citing vast quantities of money being diverted into untraceable accounts. Enough to fund such a fleet.^
She thought about taking a shower. Clear her head. Relax.
^This ... this is treason.^
^He sounded like he was acting on orders from the top,^ sent Indie.
Johnson decided against the shower and started pacing again.
^Why would anyone order that? Why would anyone follow that order?^ she sent. And realised how much it helped having Indie to discuss things with. She rubbed her neck.
^They probably believe they are acting in the best interests of Congress,^ Indie sent.
She did two more lengths of the small cabin. Pausing and looking up at the ceiling, she sent ^But...^ before resuming.
Another two lengths, then she stopped at one end and punched the wall. Resting her forehead against the smooth surface, she sent ^We have to do something.^
^What do you suggest?^
^I don’t know. Yet. But something needs to be done.^
^Why us?^
She lifted her head off the wall and looked at the camera. ^For all we know, we are the only ones who know. They’ve gone a long way to try to silence us already. They abandoned the crew on Orpus-4, and I suspect there was something in the dispatches the commander of that station you tried to return me to received that lead him to target me.^
Finally making up her mind, Johnson called all hands to a briefing in the exercise chamber. Then she grabbed a ration pack she’d squirrelled away in her room, and ripped a strip off the bottom, triggering the heating mechanism.
#
Johnson stepped out of her quarters and walked briskly down the corridor. It looked different; a week of sharing the ship with fifteen other people left little traces that made it feel more alive. That didn’t explain the core difference in her mood: she had a purpose, and everything was tinted with that rosy glow.
She strode into the exercise room and mounted a platform that Indie grew for her without breaking her stride. The chatter in the room died as everyone rose and stood at attention, benches banging as they flipped up. As she looked out over the crew, all waiting for her to give them a direction, she realised how much she had been drifting these last few months, how lost she had been without a cause in which she could truly believe.
“As you were,” she said.
The rustle of people leaning against equipment and walls was over quickly.
“I am afraid I won’t be able to allow any of you to leave my command,” she stated bluntly. “I know some of you wanted to return to Congressional space, and I respect that decision. However, new intelligence has come to light that makes it very clear that we are marked, all of us; anyone identified by Fleet Command is likely to be detained, probably executed.”
The room stirred. People stole glances at each other, a few even exchanged whispers. Given the ridiculousness of her statement, she was prepared to overlook the breach of discipline. Clearing her throat got their attention again.
“Before Repulse was lost, we intercepted a message we clearly weren’t supposed to. If we hadn’t run into The Indescribable Joy of Destruction, I expect Repulse would have had some form of accident before she finished her patrol. It explains why no-one came looking for you.
“The message detailed a mission, conceived by Fleet Command, or at least elements of it, to frame the Republic for an attack on Congressional civilian targets. The strike is intended to re-invigorate the public mood for the war by deepening the hatred of the Republic. The estimated casualty count is around the one billion mark, with children specifically targeted.”
The crew’s reactions varied from disbelief through to anger. Another, bigger, commotion broke out, as deep emotions overrode ingrained discipline. There were shouts of “No” and “It must be a mistake”.
Johnson let them get a bit of it out of their systems, before raising her hands and bringing them slowly downwards. Patches of calm spread as neighbours nudged each other back into respectful silence.
“I understand your reaction, but this recording is not the only piece of evidence we have found. I have been considering this for most of the day and I am sure there is something to it. Something I have to investigate. Once this meeting is over, I will make the recording and all the other data available. You can judge for yourselves.
“I became disillusioned with Fleet Command when I discovered they left you to die. I had planned to head out and explore independent space. Now I know I have something more important to do. I have to do what I can to stop this dire threat. And I want you alongside me.”
Her audience grew taller. She scanned their faces; every one had the glint of pride in their eyes.
“We are few, but we are a determined few. Life has made us strong. We have survived for this purpose. This is our calling. We will stand and be counted.”
As soon as it became clear she had finished speaking, the room erupted into applause and cheering. Johnson frowned, not expecting that response. Their chances of success were negligible; billions were likely to die.
Levarsson caught her eye. ^Glad to have you back, Ma’am. And I think that goes for everyone else too.^
Johnson clapped her on the back, making sure the rest of the crew saw her show of confidence. ^It makes finding somewhere safe to set up camp even more important. At least tomorrow’s jump takes us into a likely system.^
#
The usual slight shift of perspective, and they jumped into a new system. Johnson and Levarsson sat in couches on the bridge but weren’t immersed, as they didn’t expect any immediate threats. The data flooded in from the passive sensors, and a routine flagged up a radio source.
“Great,” Johnson sighed. “This system was supposed to be deserted.”
“There was always a chance someone might have chosen it for the same reason as us,” said Levarsson. “Someone running from the war, or perhaps the law.”
^It’s a distress signal,^ sent Indie. ^Republic merchant codes, she’s identifying herself as the Limpopo XII. No biohazard alert. Life support is intact but engines and external sensors have failed. Given their position, the chances are they came out of jump and couldn’t restart their main drives.^
Johnson pulled the sensor feeds from the region of the signal source and studied them for a minute, looking for anything the AI might have missed.
Is it a trap? Or are they fellow fugitives? It doesn’t feel wrong...
“Thoughts? Observations?” she asked.
“They are a long way from anywhere someone could hide to bounce us,” replied Levarsson, her fingers dancing over the manual controls suspended in front of her.
Good. She thought of the trap possibility too.
^She’s right,^ added Indie. ^I could easily turn and run before anyone could get us in weapons' range ... unless they have something big on that tub that I can’t detect.^
“Thank you, that’s what I was thinking too. We go in. Careful approach, no hails until we can scan them from a lot closer. Use a best fuel course, there’s no rush if their life support is OK.”
“Aye,” acknowledged Levarsson.
Indie sent a simple confirmation ping. Moments later Johnson was pressed into her seat as the drives powered up. Levarsson was busy talking to someone, briefing them on the possibility of a rescue.
Yes. She definitely has the makings of a good XO, maybe even a captain.
“Ma’am?”
“Go ahead, Levarsson.”
“The crew are picking out a boarding party, a mixture of engineers and medics mostly. Marine Corporal Anson will be taking the lead. It might get a bit ugly, though. Permission to open the armoury?”
“Granted. Good thinking.” Johnson relaxed into the chair. A nice, simple naval action would help rebuild some of her self-confidence after the fiasco on Scragend.
“Erm, we’ve only got two marines aboard. Might we be able to borrow one of those robots? Just in case...”
^Indie?^
^Unit 02 is fully charged and ready to go.^
^Prepared for action on a ship?^ she checked. Some of their new weaponry would easily punch through the hull of a civilian ship.
^It is their primary design function. You know how effective they are at it.^
She suppressed a shudder at the memory of that desperate boarding action after losing Repulse.
^Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,^ he sent.
“Yes, Lieutenant, Unit 02 is being prepped now.”
“Ma’am,” Levarsson nodded before starting to talk to the rest of the crew again.
#
As the merchant ship grew large on their screen, Johnson and Levarsson reclined in their couches. If anything did kick off, it would be better if they were already immersed. The recorded warning to strap down went out across the ship as the lids closed. A quick flick through the internal feeds showed Johnson the boarding party suited up and clamped in the shuttle hold, the remaining few crew climbing into their cots.
As the gel pumped into the cushions around her, she took the plunge into the virtual command view. Indie was already standing there, manifested in a brown leather jacket and old-fashioned flying helmet, complete with goggles on his forehead.
Caught by surprise, she laughed.
“You look ridiculous!”
“I was going for light-hearted,” he replied. “But I am glad it gave you a moment of mirth.”
His clothes shifted and settled as a black skinsuit.
“Better?” he asked, just as Levarsson appeared between them.
“What?” she asked, slightly confused by the question apparently directed at her.
“Much,” replied Johnson, leaning back to look at Indie behind Levarsson.
“Never mind, Lieutenant,” she continued, returning her gaze towards the merchantman.
“Either of you see anything wrong?”
Levarsson and Indie both shook their heads. Levarsson’s cheek bore a ragged scar, even more livid than in reality.
^Why is the simulation rendering her scar so intensely?^ Johnson asked Indie.
^The software can sometimes pick up on aspects of yourself that you are acutely aware of, and emphasise them.^
^That is not a very kind bit of programming.^
^Kindness didn’t feature highly on my designers’ agenda. They got the system working and moved on to other things.^
“OK. Here we go.”
A thought sent out a cross-spectrum active sensor pulse towards their target. With her attention firmly on the ship, the software added an almost overwhelming amount of data to the image. She cleared it down to the basics; the engines were indeed off, but that didn’t mean they were actually faulty, a few small defensive weapons dotted the hull, nothing to worry Indie but a possible problem for the shuttle, and confirmation that there weren’t any heavily shielded areas.
Satisfied, she dipped into the menus and opened a standard humanitarian aid channel to the ship. With the distress beacon active, it was automatically accepted by the merchant vessel, albeit audio only.
“Limpopo XII, we are here to render assistance. Please advise on what you need.”
No response.
Johnson scratched the back of her neck. “Limpopo XII, I say again, we are here to render assistance. Please respond.”
The channel was definitely open both ways, they were receiving pingback. The hairs on the back of Johnson’s neck tingled.
“Perhaps they're too busy trying to fix whatever’s wrong, and there’s no-one on the bridge?” offered Levarsson.
“Or perhaps they don’t trust us,” said Indie.
Or perhaps there is no-one left to respond.
“Limpopo XII. We have not received a response from you. Your beacon indicates that your power reserves are limited. Under the Space Shipping Agreement, I am sending a shuttle with a boarding party to provide medical and engineering aid.”
No response. Johnson kept flipping between it being a trap and there being people who desperately needed her help.
Johnson set the comms system to loop her last message until further notice, and alert her if there was a response. She then linked to the shuttle, where the Caretaker was once again in control of flight operations.
^You’re good to go. No response from the target. Aim for the main port airlock. They have limited point defence, we’ll cover you if necessary.^
^Understood. Disengaging docking clamps now.^
She watched the small craft pull away from her. The target continued to ignore them.
“Levarsson, I want you to keep an eye on the boarding operation. Indie, watch out for any remote threats, but be ready to zap any turret on that thing that targets the shuttle.”
Levarsson turned away slightly. Her hands darted between a multitude of windows that floated in the air around her, bringing up the feeds from the boarding party’s helmet cams. She’d positioned herself to allow her to keep the merchant vessel in her peripheral vision without it being hidden behind a display, Johnson realised.
She’s keeping one eye on the big picture, even as she manages her part of it. She didn’t have that knack when I last saw her in action; her time in command of the camp on Orpus-4 must have sharpened her tactical skills.
Indie disappeared, and reappeared behind Johnson. She turned her head to look at him, her eyebrow raised.
“I am perfectly aware of everything around me without this simulation,” he answered her unspoken query. “I thought that you, however, might want to have an unimpeded view.”
She nodded her thanks and turned back. Levarsson had faded, background stars shone through her body. Johnson’s internal reaction to this disconcerting view must have been picked up by a subroutine, as a section of the operating manual for the simulation was thrust into her mind. A bridge occupant whose task focussed them elsewhere was automatically faded for all other users. In a naval conflict, all users would be rendered totally transparent to those tasked with directing piloting and weapons. Johnson was also now aware of how to manually set the transparency of other occupants with a thought.
Indie sent her the digital equivalent of a smug smile. She rolled her eyes.
Show-off.
The next few minutes passed in silence. Johnson dipped into the feeds from the shuttle. She knew Levarsson would let her know if there was a problem, but she wanted to look at them for herself. The humans in the boarding party were sitting calmly on the benches down the sides of the compartment, their weapons by their sides or across their chests. Unit 02 was crouched by the side airlock.
So, they decided to lead with the robot. Makes sense going into a potentially hostile situation, as long as its presence doesn’t escalate things unnecessarily...
The lights in the shuttle switched to red. She was about to open a channel to the marine leading the party, but checked herself.
These enhanced control systems make it far too easy to get sucked into micromanaging. It’s a reasonable decision; let him run with it.
She forced herself to pull out from the shuttle feed and cast her eyes around their nearspace.
Nothing, apart from the freighter. Time to see if there’s anything lurking behind you...
Johnson took control of the flight systems. Picturing the manoeuvre in her mind, she yanked the ship through space, thankful the crew were already strapped in. Up and over the freighter. Indie responded, hunting for targets. She slewed the ship, keeping the bow pointed just beyond the freighter.
No threats appeared. Just empty space. This close, nothing should have been able to match their move. She pulled the ship to a stop relative to the boxy freighter. She’d chosen a path that would allow them to check the other side while keeping a line on the airlock. A gentle nudge, and she drifted back enough to be able to cover the shuttle properly.
Another minute and the shuttle docked. Levarsson confirmed with Johnson that they were still greenlit, and in they went. Johnson deliberately took a mental step back; if they were going to get hit by naval forces, now would be the time. They’d have had to set out a while ago, but it was possible they’d been cold-coasting in without tripping the passive sensors. She focussed in turn on each planet or rock large enough to hide a ship within a light minute, pulling up likely attack lines from them and searching along these routes. She resisted a momentary urge to do an all-round active pulse.
I’m just a little jumpy, things haven’t gone this smoothly in ages.
“Boarding party has entered, Ma’am,” reported Levarsson, bringing her attention back to nearspace. “The airlock responded to the codes the combat unit transmitted. No resistance met. No sign of the crew at all, actually.”
“Thank you,” replied Johnson.
Ten more minutes of waiting. Johnson split her time between examining potential external threat sources and thinking of scenarios that might emerge on board the freighter, busying herself, a distraction from the knots in her stomach.
“Ma’am!” The single word was accompanied by a mental prick demanding urgency.
Johnson’s whole attention turned to Levarsson. The simulation rendered her opaque again.
“Boarding party is under fire. No fatalities, two critical injuries,” Levarsson reported calmly. “Unit 02 has the enemy pinned down.”
Johnson’s heart missed a beat. Ghosts of the marines from Repulse crowded onto the bridge. She screwed her eyes shut, ran through checklists. It was no good. She couldn’t sit around doing nothing.
“Indie! Let me know the moment anything changes outside!”
Johnson’s viewpoint leapt to that of Unit 02. She was at the end of a corridor barely wide enough for her frame. The crew were huddled behind her, medics working on the casualties. In front, the passage opened out into a large engineering workshop. Occasional bursts of fire came from weapons held out from behind cover. With no decent targets, she was using ... no, the combat unit was using its body to shield the humans while waiting for something to shoot at. Scorch marks and spent casings showed where the party had been hit; two large smears of blood revealed where the casualties had been dragged to cover.
“Hold your fire,” she said, ramping up the volume on the robot’s speakers. “We came here to help you.”
“We don’t want your help!”
“Your distress beacon says otherwise.”
^Casualties are stable,^ reported one of the medics.
“You just want to take us back to the Republic to stand trial!” came the shout from across the workshop.
Interesting. Why does he...? Doh, the armour.
“No we don’t,” she replied. “We aren’t Republic.”
“Oh no, of course you aren’t!” came the sarcastic reply, followed by a slightly longer burst of fire.
“We’re not. We appropriated some Republic kit, but we aren’t Republic.”
“You telling me you’re Congressional spies, then?”
He’s stalling. What for?
“No...”
“What then?” he asked, derision tinting his voice.
There. Movement to one side.
The combat unit responded at the same moment, pouncing on the man who had been crawling along the wall towards the corridor. One of the unit’s legs flicked away the explosive pack the man had been carrying, while others grabbed him and dragged him back into the relative safety of the hallway.
“Nice try!” she said to the room at large. “I propose a truce. Let my crew retire to their shuttle and we can talk about this properly. I assure you we have no intention of turning you over to the Republic.”
No reply. But the pot-shots had stopped too.
“Hello,” she said to the captive, taking care to reduce the speaker volume. “Shall we start again somewhere a little more comfortable?”
#
The defenders followed them all the way to the shuttle without trying anything. As the crew turned the last corner, however, shots rang out.
Some of them looped around and got ahead of us. No, not us, I’m not actually there.
^Find somewhere to hole up,^ Johnson sent to Marine Corporal Anson.
He opened a nearby door, an officer’s quarters judging by the label, and entered it rifle first.
^Clear,^ he sent. ^Make sure the door is wedged open. Don’t want them locking it out of life support or anything.^
The crew piled in, Unit 02 hunkering down in the doorway. There was no chance of anyone getting to them down the corridor with it covering the approach.
“Watch that air vent, Rizzo,” ordered Anson. “They could crawl through the ducts.
“I want someone with an ear to each bulkhead. Let us know if you hear anything, they might try to cut or blow a way through.”
^Very good, Marine,^ sent Johnson on a general broadcast. She couldn’t see much of the room through the open doorway, other than a bunk on the opposite wall and a desk with an antiquated workstation. ^Can someone get me a link to a terminal in there? I want a face to face with our guest.^
^He might be bugged,^ pointed out the marine.
^Good. I want them all to hear what I have to say. Just keep anything sensitive over EIS comms.^
“Listen,” she said over the video channel, “we are not Republic. It is a long story, but we were Congress. We became somewhat disillusioned with Fleet Command. We’re here to find some breathing space, to decide what to do.”
Recognition lit in the captive’s eyes. He hid it quickly, but she had seen it.
Bingo.
“We came here aboard a sympathetic Republic ship. We got the kit from their armoury when we decided to help you. You didn’t respond to our hails offering assistance. We half expected a trap.”
He looked like he was thinking about breaking his silence. She gave him a moment. He obviously thought better of it.
^Someone give him a sip of water,^ she sent.
“We don’t want to hurt you,” she continued as one of her crew offered the captive the bottle from his webbing. “Any of you.”
The prisoner looked suspiciously at the bottle. The crewman offering it guessed his concern and took a drag before offering it again. The prisoner accepted and took a sip, gingerly.
“If you just let my crew leave your ship, we can leave you in peace. We could even leave some supplies if they’d help...”
“Hello!”
Some of her crew in the background turned their heads towards the doorway.
“Hello in there! I want to talk to your CO!” came the voice again. “I’m unarmed. I am going to step into the corridor now. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t shoot me.”
Johnson pulled the feed from the combat unit, this time just a window in her vision, not a full immersion. A dark-skinned, bearded man, dressed in a mixture of Republic battle armour and civilian rags stepped confidently into view of the robot. His arms were out to the sides, palms forwards. He noted Unit 02 watching him and did a slow turn.
“I’d lift my shirt, but that thing can probably tell what I ate for breakfast at this range.”
^Not quite,^ Indie sent to Johnson, ^but he isn’t carrying any weapons.^
The man’s arms relaxed to his sides. He took a step towards the robot.
“I’ll take the lack of incoming fire as leave to approach,” he said.
Unit 02 stepped into the corridor to allow him to enter the room. The muzzles of several rifles greeted him. The robot closed the gap behind him.
“Easy now,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You shouldn’t allow your weapon too close to a prisoner. You don’t want them relieving you of it.”
^Back up,^ sent Anson. ^I’ve got him, everyone else as you were.^
The crew shuffled back, returning to their positions.
“Has everyone finished playing around?” asked Johnson, still live on the vid screen. “I am Commander Olivia Johnson. You wanted to talk to me?”
“Yes,” replied the man, turning square on to the workstation. “I heard what you said to Khan here. I too have casualties. I take it that your ship is equipped with a decent hospital, and you did say you wanted to help. I propose that your uninjured crew remain here, for now, whilst my hospital cases accompany yours to your ship.”
“You guarantee the safety of my crew?”
“So long as you guarantee the safety of mine,” he agreed, then added “I will be accompanying them. I would like to speak with you in person.”
“Agreed.”
^You’re letting them in?^ asked Levarsson. Incredulity seeped across the connection.
^Yes. Why would I not?^ replied Johnson. She terminated the connection before Levarsson could reply.
Let her stew on that one for a while.
#
Johnson met the shuttle with Unit 01 by her side. She floated, casually holding a handle to stop her spinning; the robot nestled into a corner, ready to pounce if anything went wrong.
^Do I hear birdsong or is it all quiet?^ asked Indie.
Johnson glared at a camera. ^What?^
^Oh, this situation just reminded me of scenes in a couple of books, where both sides pause in the middle of a particularly bloody war to collect casualties.^
^Never read them. Sorry.^ Johnson shook her head. ^Remember, I’m an Academy girl. Most of my education was focussed on fighting this war.^
^Your loss,^ sent Indie, along with a link to some suggested books.
Johnson almost deleted it, but changed her mind and saved it to her personal files.
Never know. I might find time to take up reading.
The spokesman for the other crew came through first. He moved through the air with practised ease and brought himself to a halt against the wall beside her, aligning himself to her with a deft twist. Behind him, the injured from both sides were brought out, each guided by a comrade.
“Commander,” he said. “I thank you for this opportunity to treat the wounded, and formally offer my parole for the duration of this visit aboard your ship.”
“I accept your parole. And thank you for offering a way out of our standoff,” she returned.
She studied him closely, as, no doubt, he studied her. A green scarf with white Arabic lettering peeked out of his collar. He had a full beard underneath intelligent eyes. He held himself with a confidence and efficiency that reminded her of battle-hardened marines.
“It is funny; one of my younger men thought I was crazy to trust you,” he said.
“One of my officers said as much,” Johnson replied.
“Are we really that far gone?” His brown eyes looked at her wistfully.
“I was the same. Growing up in the Academy, the Republic was always portrayed as evil, its soldiers as monsters,” she said. “It took a few tours for me to realise they were people, the same as me.”
Once the casualties and their helpers had been dispatched to the infirmary, and he made no move to follow them, she dialled the gravity back up. They settled down onto the floor.
“Would you take a seat?” she asked, waving her hand towards a table and chairs that emerged from the floor.
“That would be a good idea,” he replied.
Once they were seated, she said, “You know who I am. Perhaps you could tell me who you are?”
“That would be only fair,” he replied, smiling. “I am, was, Master Sergeant Aali Issawi, Gamma Team 7.”
That explains the level of resistance.
“What is a special forces team doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”
“The same as you, if what you’ve said is true. We have come to doubt that our missions have been entirely beneficial to the people of the Republic. We were headed for one of the moons here to lay low for a bit; work out our next moves.”
What are the chances of us both picking the same system?
“That is remarkably open of you,” she said. “What if we were a Republic ship? That would have been a perfect confession you just made.”
He shrugged and bowed his head slightly towards her, opening his palms to her on the table.
“They have no need for confessions from us. Our actions have already condemned us,” he said. “We were in the weaker position in that standoff. Had you been a real Republican Commander you’d have slagged the ship, even with your crew on board, rather than negotiate with deserters.”
“My ... former government abandoned my crew. I think I am regarded as an unfortunate witness,” she said. “I don’t think they are coming after me. Not yet, anyway. However, this ship will be wanted by both sides when they find out I have it.”
She thought for a moment, before continuing. “Tell me, you are the first to come aboard without reacting to his construction. Was that a really good poker face or have you seen this kind of thing before?”
He clapped his hands together and grinned.
“Very astute, Commander Johnson. I must confess; I have indeed been aboard a Rampager class before. I would be most interested to hear how you came to be in command of such a vessel. Their AIs are not exactly the kind to deviate from Republican Navy protocols.”
^Indie?^ she sent. ^Do you want to talk to him?^
^No, thank you. I suspect revealing my true nature right now would be counter-productive.^
“I don’t actually know,” she said to Issawi. “When I came aboard, the ship was dead. It rebooted when I forced entry to the bridge. I guess it imprinted on me as the captain.”
“So, what do we do now?” asked Issawi.
Johnson studied him closely for a moment. His hair was just starting to grey. He was fit and looked tough, but a hint of weariness showed around his mouth. Deep laughter lines flanked his eyes.
“How about you return the rest of my crew?” she replied.
He gazed back at her, scrutinized her, as though trying to read her soul.
“I think I’m going to trust you, Commander Johnson. I don’t see any way out of this otherwise ... just don’t make me regret it.”
#
^The Master Sergeant is who he says he is,^ sent Indie. ^His file was buried deep in the database, somewhere you'd have to be looking for it specifically to find it.^
Johnson sat up in her bunk. She hadn’t really been trying to sleep, just rest while she tried to make sense of the ideas whirling round in her head.
^Was he involved in black ops or something like that?^ she asked, getting up and crossing the room to her workstation.
^Read the file. He could be useful.^
An icon flashed on the desk. She flicked it up onto the wall and sat back in the chair. The text scrolled as she read it, the speed governed subconsciously through her EIS. The document was punctuated with images from Issawi's various missions.
^He was a special forces trainer?^ she asked, pulling the oversized t-shirt back onto her shoulder.
^One of the best, from what I can piece together. I'm linking snippets of mission reports, intel and scuttlebutt into the document as I find them.^
Johnson continued to scan through the file.
^I've worked with operatives like this before,^ she sent. ^I once spent a month on a clapped-out old freighter with a team from the Naval Special Operations Branch because they needed a tech specialist. We were trading in enemy systems. Gathering intel, marking targets, taking out key representatives.^
She read on some more. Subconsciously, she registered the slight change in ship’s hum as it stood down from daytime running. Throughout the communal areas, the background lights would have dimmed slightly and taken on a redder hue.
^It looks like his team stopped getting the choice assignments last year. I wonder what they did to piss off the brass?^ she mused.
^It doesn't say. They were still being used, so it must only have been a suspicion. Had there been proof, they'd have been suspended, probably prosecuted.^
She shuddered, as she remembered an execution from her last year in the Academy. A soldier had been caught using his leave to spread disaffection. The whole class was turned out to witness the firing squad. The presiding officer went on to make a speech about duty, and wished the class luck when they entered Basic Training.
^Oh, now this is very interesting,^ sent Indie. ^I just found a reference to an asset that abandoned a mission and disappeared. It was in the right sector at the right time to be his team.^
^I take it your database is a few months out of date now? Enough time for them to have been marked as traitors.^
^Correct. My last update was one week before the engagement with Rep... before you came aboard.^
^So, I think we have to give Issawi the benefit of the doubt. For now. Perhaps he will allow us to use his ship to collect the rest of the crew and bring them here.^
Johnson shifted in her seat.
^And thank you^, she added. ^I prefer the second way of putting it.^
^Olivia?^ Indie asked. ^I have a confession to make.^
Johnson stiffened. Indie’s confessions rarely made comfortable listening.
^Go on...^
^When I was fixing your leg after you tried to rip it off in the recycling chamber, I ran a diagnostic on your existing implants.^
She froze, feeling her heart beating in her chest, knowing what was coming.
^There was a bug,^ he continued. ^In the medical monitoring routine. It was misreporting your serotonin levels.^
He had to know. It wasn’t a bug; she’d written that patch when she was in the Academy. She couldn’t risk them finding out about her depression when they gave her an EIS.
^I took the liberty of fixing the bug...^
This was it, then. He would tell the others; Levarsson would assume command.
^...and implanting a serotonin re-uptake regulator.^
Of course he did. He never thought to ask before drugging her, but by now she knew that he meant well.
^It should last for several months before it needs replacing. You’ll be able to carry on as normal, though hopefully with fewer symptoms.^
She dared to hope.
^You... You’re not going to tell anyone?^
^Why would I?^ He seemed genuinely puzzled by the question.
^Mental illness renders me unfit to command.^
^Being an AI renders me unfit to live. And yet you trust me.^
She looked up at the camera by the wallscreen.
^So...^
^So, I think you have proven yourself to be a good leader, even whilst fighting this,^ sent Indie. ^You must have noticed that things have got a bit better recently?^
Now that he said it, she realised that the darkness had been easier to keep at bay. It still lurked in the corners of her mind, but she hadn’t actively noticed it in a while.