Osee Sector, Battleship Singularity
The truth. Kallahan leveled that demand as if it were simple. As if everything could be painted as an honest truth or a lie. But that wasn’t the way the worlds worked. Nothing was as simple as black and white. Her machine needed things painted in such colors, needed those it met to be distinguished as enemies or allies, but that was not often a judgment she alone could make. Her commander’s role was to interpret those shades of gray into the binary absolutes that she could reliably comprehend. Kallahan operated in the opposite state. He found everything a shade of gray, nothing truly good, a few things truly evil. He considered her neither enemy nor ally, just a form of necessary evil. A shame, she decided, because he had a bright mind, just not one that was willing to aid her. “You realize,” she reminded, looking down at Kallahan’s wary expression, “that I cannot answer some of your questions.” She had no memory of his original Marine unit. “You may interrogate me to your heart’s content,” she was stable enough to handle it now, “but I have never been to Hell’s Crown.” That was distant space, the boundary where humanity’s most expansive star charts ended. “I have been honest with you.” His original Marine unit had died there, but she, to her memory, had never been.
“Yes,” Kallahan acknowledged. Everything the ghost had told him so far was true, or she believed it to be. The intelligence in front of him was capable of lying, but not particularly gifted at it. Quite simply, it lacked the required creativity. Everything about it was taken from another’s memory. It created nothing itself. Its appearance, its voice, and any physical sensation it afflicted upon him, they were memories – either his own or someone else’s installed upon his mind. The Angel was a machine intelligence, procedural, logical, disturbed by its facsimile of emotion. It did not innovate. It did not create. It simply harvested the resources of the minds around it. Perhaps that was what made it so frightening. It harnessed the products of the human imagination better than humanity did. “There is one part about this that doesn’t make sense.” Kallahan ran a hand through his close-cropped sandy hair. “Admiral Gives.”
The ghost’s expression darkened, the shadows of the bookshelves beginning to writhe as if alive, warning that this was an unwelcome subject. “What of him?”
Kallahan would not be warded off by subconscious tricks. “Why did you send him to Azura?”
“He was needed for the negotiations.”
That was a truth, Kallahan knew, but it wasn’t the full truth. “You could have given someone the knowledge to go in his place.” It did not matter how much she claimed she did not want to alter another’s mind. She was capable. If she had been truly desperate to stop the Admiral from going, she could have. “Azura is the worst place you could have sent him.” And she had sent him.
“The Admiral is quite capable of handling himself.” For all the horrible situations the Admiral had found himself in, he managed to get himself out of most of them. The addition of the tech-monk, Johnston and his Marine squad would only bolster his odds.
“I sincerely doubt you intended him to die there.” That might have been Kallahan’s theory once, but he knew what he had seen outside the bridge during the raid. The ghost had been absolutely desperate to get Gives back, fixated to the point where she condemned herself to inevitable insanity instead of seizing the opportunity to purge the memory of Brent, her abuser. No, it was obvious she didn’t have an intent to hurt the Admiral, if anything, the danger was the opposite – that she was too attached to his presence. By result, Kallahan knew her preference would have been to keep the Admiral here, yet she hadn’t. “Why did you send him there?”
The ghost reached over to the nearest bookshelf and tapped her clawed fingers upon it, attempting to cast some illusion of patience. She disliked this direction of conversation, but needed Kallahan to cooperate. It seemed that would involve tolerating an interrogation of her intentions. “Is it not enough that his translation skills were needed?”
“No, it’s not,” because that didn’t make sense. “You can make another translator. I know there are crew you like less than others.” Kallahan wouldn’t consider himself to be on friendly terms with the ghost. There was surely a mind here she would have been willing to sacrifice, perhaps the new Sergeant? Yet, she had not taken action, which told Kallahan something else. “You wanted Admiral Gives off the ship. You sent him to Azura on purpose.”
“Do not cheapen the Admiral’s actions with the implication that I forced him to do anything,” she said coldly. The Admiral disliked leaving the ship. To do so with the destination of a cursed world, and a negotiation for the fate of a human race he did not adore… It was an act of courage beyond measure. “Humanity could not have asked for a better representative to meet the Hydra. You are so very lucky to serve with a commander who heeds the call of the mission, one who will not push another into his place on the fighting line.” Commanders like that were rare. And that mission, that was hers, not his. She had been created to save humanity, to defend it against threats like the Hydra. Admiral Gives didn’t give a damn about that mission, but he would support her and the crew as long as that was their motive.
“But you don’t deny it,” Kallahan noted. She had allowed the Admiral to leave, perhaps even encouraged it. “Why did you want him off the ship?”
“I did not want him off the ship,” that would have been stupid. “His absence weakens me.” It disturbed her to have the Admiral gone, because that calm of his had become something of a necessary function, something she had been operating with for so long, that she no longer knew how to operate without. She felt halved, as if her own capability had been removed. But, what sort of weapon could function without its wielder? What sort of machine was designed to function without an operator? Even autonomous drones required orders. “But I needed him gone, because I am expecting new orders.” Sometime within the next few hours, she would be summoned and slaved to another mind.
“New orders?” The words tasted bitter on Kallahan’s tongue as they echoed off the tall bookshelves of the library. “I thought the Admiral was the only one who could give you orders.”
A flicker of anger sharpened her gaze from dull gray to the sharp glint of a knife’s edge. “Any sworn officer of the United Countries Space Command has the authority to give me orders, if they know my system composition.” Otherwise, the orders were too vague to be interpreted for action. “After the Battle of the Wilkerson Sector, the Manhattan AI gave me seven days to reveal myself. If I failed to do so, she would hand my identity to Reeter, allowing him to issue orders.” Seven days. Between making repairs, organizing the refugee fleet, running the mission to Midwest Station, raiding the pirates and then fighting off the drones, that week had disappeared. The ghost raised her gaze to the spines of the books before her, but they weren’t familiar to her like the ones on the shelf in the Admiral’s quarters. “Time’s up.” Within the next few hours, she’d be summoned to stand before Reeter. Then, there’d be no more books for her, and no one to read them.
“Manhattan knows your identity?” Great stars. “How could you let that happen?” Kallahan demanded.
“Let it happen?” she thundered, fury rising amidst her processes. “You think I just let it happen?” She had given everything to stay concealed, to have even the slightest chance of never receiving orders again. She lingered in the shadows, trying to remain nothing more than a myth so that this could never happen. And that would have worked, if the Manhattan AI had stayed trapped on the Liguanian Sector outpost. “There is only one person left in the entire worlds who knows my name, who has ever spoken it to me… Do you think that is pleasant? Do you think I enjoy that?” No, she did not. “I have distanced myself as much as I could from my own identity so that this could never happen.” That had weakened her. It had confused her. It had hurt like a gaping, bleeding wound, to see, to hear, and yet be compelled not to speak for fear of hurting everyone around her. And now… that one person. That one mind that anchored her, acknowledged her… She’d been forced to let him leave, and stand here alone. Or perhaps not alone, but with someone who didn’t like her and didn’t trust her. Someone who couldn’t comprehend that this was unwilling. And that hurt too.
Kallahan opened his mouth, then closed it again. He could sense that anger again, pressing uncomfortably against his thoughts. It was a frustration more painful that he’d expected it to feel. “Did you tell the Admiral you were exposed?” Secrecy was survival for her, for all of them, if that was all that kept Command from being able to issue her an order.
The ghost glared at Kallahan, irritated by the implication that she would hide such critical information. “He knew.” She had warned the Admiral, even begged him to act first and command her to the loyalty she wanted to follow. She wanted orders to protect her crew, but the Admiral had denied it, perhaps rightfully, because she didn’t know what those orders would do to her in the end. By definition, those orders would have rewritten her mind and stripped her of the ability to accept their loss. Eventually, as she lost crew in combat, or eventually – hopefully – lost them to old age, those orders might drive her mad. But that conversation had been days ago, and more immediate concerns had taken up the Admiral’s focus. It wasn’t his fault. She had chronometer subsystems to track the timeline associated with this problem. He didn’t. He’d been thrown onto frontline of preventing all-out war with the Hydrian Empire, and that had taken priority. “If I had reminded him that time was up, he never would have left.” Nothing, not even a mission to determine humanity’s very survival, could have convinced him to leave, but he was needed on Azura for the negotiations.
“So, you wanted the Admiral gone so you could receive orders from Reeter.” Kallahan shook his head, not understanding. “Reeter is the enemy. I didn’t think you’d need a reminder of that.”
A twinge of annoyance pulled at her, systems burning a fraction hotter than they had before. Perhaps if Kallahan had bothered to learn about her situation, rather than judging from his limited knowledge, he could make sense of her actions, but he hadn’t. He was oblivious to the fate before her. “I don’t want to receive orders ever again.” Taking orders put her in a vulnerable state where her personality, her will, no longer mattered. In that state, she was merely the tool Kallahan accused her of being – a weapon of mass destruction with no morality. And, Reeter was ambitious. He would make use of her power, but he was not kind to those who were vulnerable around him. He would take complete advantage, and the ghost knew that meant the end of what she was now. It would be nothing so kind as death, but an eternal imprisonment as a subfunction of Reeter’s mind. Her own sense of self would be erased, and she’d drown in confusion, never knowing, never understanding, why it felt so wrong. She had been down that road before, and she knew where it ended – with her lost in her own non-functional mind. It was unlikely anyone would bother to pull her out next time. “The Admiral was needed on Azura, and I allowed it because I know what Reeter’s first orders will be.”
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That anger of hers didn’t dim. It burned like the embers of a campfire, red hot and surrounded by ashy darkness. Kallahan recognized the implication. “To kill him.”
“Yes,” it was obvious to anyone with even a partial understanding of her existence. “Admiral Gives is my primary operator. He has the authority to override any other orders I receive.” Command’s orders would be secondary, so Reeter would order her to kill Admiral Gives. Him first, to prevent any following orders from being contradicted. “I do not know how effective Reeter will be at giving me orders.” It varied person to person, or rather, mind to mind, depending on how great their understanding of her machine. Brent had been highly effective, General Clarke less so, and the Admiral far better than either of them in the one dire circumstance he had been forced to assert his control. Loathe as she was to admit it, Reeter was intelligent, and the ghost didn’t know if he would be wise enough to order her to silence, or to strike when the Admiral was vulnerable. “If he had stayed here, it would have been easy to kill him.” Every life aboard these decks was in her hands for every second of every day. An execution would have taken seconds. “With the Admiral off the ship, it becomes more difficult.” Not impossible, but it would buy him time. Time enough to realize something was wrong, when the time came.
“I see,” Kallahan said. “A tactical move.”
Yes, a tactical move, she told herself, though she knew that wasn’t all of it. She had badly, so badly needed the Admiral to be safe. If she received orders to kill him and succeeded… She would never be able to forgive herself. It didn’t matter how many times the Admiral had told her that he would not blame her. It didn’t matter that he’d already offered forgiveness for that theoretical, not wanting her to feel guilty, since she valued his life more than he did anyway. None of that mattered. All that mattered was that she would have killed the one person who called her a friend. She would have destroyed the one mind who knew everything that she was and didn’t fear her. She would have lost the one companion who always protected her, who always brought her out of her confusion and reminded her who she was.
It was cruel. Everything about her situation had always been cruel. Now, to earn a miniscule chance of not killing the only one in the worlds who called her a friend, she had to face the end alone. So here she was, waiting, just waiting for the summons that would erase everything she was now, and rip her understanding of her own existence away. It was terrifying, but anger and sadness warred alongside fear for dominance. Anger with the worlds for building her this way, and sadness that the Admiral wasn’t here with her. It killed her to be away from him. She wanted to bring him home, because she knew he hadn’t wanted to leave. But it wasn’t safe for him here. Not anymore. The one place he’d always felt at home had been corrupted by the threat of her presence. And she was sorry, so sorry to take that home from him, because it took that away from her too.
It left her face to face with Kallahan, who didn’t even like her, who thought she’d orchestrated this for some sort of sick enjoyment. But she hated every second of it, angry, and sad, and scared.
“Hell of a gamble,” the old Marine finally said. “But at least if he dies on Azura, you won’t have been the one that killed him.” Perhaps that was comforting to this malfunctioning machine?
“You realize,” she reminded, “that if the Admiral cannot countermand Reeter’s orders, you are at risk as much as anyone else.” The entire crew was in danger. They’d either be executed or handed over. The ghost honestly did not know which she preferred. At least here, she could guarantee them a painless death. She could be gentle and comfort them as it happened – a mercy to everyone but her. She would be left behind, but that was not new.
Kallahan shrugged off her thinly veiled threat, too aware that she probably wouldn’t regret attacking him as much as the others. “You must know that there is every possibility that the away team dies on Azura.” It was best to state that bluntly. “The planet is a hell littered with the debris of the worst cataclysm in humanity’s recorded history. And then there’s you. The Hydra hate you. If they realize who Admiral Gives is, that he is your operator, they will attack him, peace negotiations be damned.” The Angel of Destruction was the biggest threat to the Hydra in human space. The Hydra would not waste an opportunity to diminish her capability and Kallahan expected that to fracture her, but instead, something like hunger rose to her expression, backed by a fury so calm and collected it could only be the result of a dangerously splintered mind.
She flexed her gauntleted hand, watching the light dance across her knife-like claws. “The Hydra should know better than to touch the lives that belong to me.” Queens were notoriously territorial. “I brought one apocalypse to Azura, and I will not hesitate to bring a second.”
“You’re mad.” That was hardly a stable response.
“Perhaps,” she admitted. “But you have your truth.” She had not stopped the Admiral’s departure because it gave him a chance to survive. A better one than he would have had here. And in that, she hoped he would be able to countermand Reeter’s orders. “Play your part,” she told Kallahan. “Offer nothing to Zarrey’s investigation.”
“You cannot expect me to keep them in the dark. Everyone on this ship has the potential to die if Reeter commands you to execute them.” Or, if she finally went completely insane after receiving orders to kill the Admiral, they’d die that way too. Neither made for a pretty end. “They deserve to know why.” Her awaiting new orders only worsened the existing situation. It made them more deserving to know what was going on around them.
“You know, you’re right,” she said, tinting her voice with false gentleness. “There are some minds that I appreciate more than others.” She liked most, truly, but she had her favorites. “And, I’m afraid, while useful, yours has been rather unkind to me.” She hardened her expression. “I could do without it. So, play your part, Corporal. Before I make you play your part.”
Kallahan swallowed. He knew that threat was very, very real. That power of hers could swallow him whole before he ever perceived it. It could puppet him with great ease. But the Angel was not supposed to be threatening any member of humanity of its own volition. “You’re malfunctioning.”
“Yes,” she confirmed, tilting her head just a bit too far. “Machines forced to act against their primary objectives tend to do that.” A machine built to save humanity, then forced to slaughter them again and again could hardly be operating within its design parameters.
Without giving Kallahan the chance to continue the conversation, she vanished. She wanted nothing more to do with the old Marine. Her telepathy forced her to endure the perspective others had of her. Kallahan thought her a monster – a being of uncontrollable destruction. Very soon, he might be proven right, but that wasn’t the company she wanted to spend her last few hours with.
There were so many other minds aboard. People she wanted to remember before it all went wrong. There were the technicians making repairs, the engineers disassembling the drones, the bridge crew debating the likelihood of war, and the other Marines too. Nearly eight hundred minds. Eight hundred brilliant, living pieces of herself. She did not always agree with all of them. They did not always agree with each other. But they were hers. Not pets, not prisoners, just crew. Their company was something she treasured, something that gave perspective and purpose. Most of the time, she was content to simply have them nearby. That was all she needed. But right now… Now, was a rare moment of loneliness. Eight hundred minds… and not one that she could just… linger with.
Kallahan was right. Her power was invasive. It forced things upon her that a human might willingly ignore. Moments of doubt, moments of guilt, moments of desperation. She was used to it. To her, those were all aspects of humanity. It was nothing to be ashamed of, but the human perspective was different. Most of them didn’t even know she was here, and they hadn’t consented to sharing those moments. They wouldn’t understand that her awareness usually gravitated to the ship’s public areas, drawn to the liveliness of it, the willingness to share. But they had not consented, so technically, that was an invasion too. Yet, she desperately missed being included. She missed having that one mind that consented to her presence. She missed feeling that for even that one person, she wasn’t invading, wasn’t eavesdropping.
She missed being welcome.
And it was just another thing to miss. Just one more thing. One more thing to turn from and ignore. But it was hard to ignore, because reminders of that absence were everywhere. For someone who tried so hard to hold himself at a distance, Admiral Gives affected more than he realized. He didn’t see that, didn’t want to, but the ghost did. There was Montgomery Gaffigan, who the Admiral had pulled from the wreck of the Matador, and otherwise would have died. There was Cadet Blosse, the Marine who hid a cybernetic implant, always so fearful that it had taken her humanity away. She’d been teetering on self-destructive doubt, until the Admiral reassured her. And, there was Callie… little Callie, who had fled Sagittarion, desperate to find a family, and realized in some part that she’d found it here. She was the Admiral’s favorite – though he refused to admit it.
A part of the ghost was drawn to each of those people, but she pulled away, instead focusing her attention on the one least likely to resent an intrusion.
Keifer Robinson, the ship’s communications officer lay between the thin white sheets of a bed in the medical bay, alone. The thoughts of many of the crew drifted to Robinson, but they were busy. They could not sit with her, so the ghost did. It was some human superstition that the dying should never be alone, that they could sense the companionship, even when the medical diagnosis indicated that they had no awareness of their surroundings. And thus, when no was else was around, the ghost filled in that role. She accompanied the dying crew, some effort to comfort them, and to repay everything they unknowingly gave her.
Robinson looked pale. Her natural tan had vanished, and her body lay awkwardly, not uncomfortable, but in a way that made it clear she’d been placed in that position and not laid down naturally. Robinson’s hair lay sprawled across the pillow, a brown ombre that was the color of wet earth close to her scalp and caramel color at its ends. She looked peaceful, but there was something forced about it. The slack expression on Robinson’s face was not relaxation, but an utter lack of consciousness controlling her body. The communications officer had not moved on her own since bleeding out on the bridge the day before. She had made no marked improvement after being through emergency surgery, unresponsive to all stimuli. All indications were that Robinson would not wake up, and the decision to remove her from life support would have to be made.
But that time had not come yet. It might not come for several weeks. The ship’s medical staff would give Robinson every chance they could, even while it seemed pointless, and the ghost would stay with Robinson until then. At least, in that, her constant presence could serve some purpose. At least, in that, most would consider it welcome.
The ghost could not count how many wounded she had stood beside, cradling them to their inevitable ends. No, she supposed that wasn’t true. She could have counted. She just chose not to, for this had happened too many times before. And only then, only in their final moments, did they recognize her. Only in their final moments, was it safe enough to acknowledge her name, knowing that they would take that knowledge to their grave. That, she supposed, made it bittersweet. An instant’s recognition at the cost of a life.
No, it was better not to think of it that way. The ghost did not harm them. She would rather be unacknowledged, if it kept her crew from being hurt. But, in the end, she revealed herself to those that cared, those that had the time.
Robinson hadn’t had the time. Not really. She’d bled out less than two minutes after being struck by that bullet. She’d been dead for several minutes after that, with Galhino pounding on her chest, and breathing oxygen into her lungs, trying to prevent brain damage. Now, even with Robinson technically revived, the communications officer was unresponsive. And yet, as the ghost found her mind amongst the hundreds aboard, preparing to whisper it comforts, that mind was not silent. Unresponsive, but not silent. The ghost focused upon it, simply observing.
Interesting…
