by M. D. Cooper
Sean turned the data sliver in her hands, then stood, fist clenched around it. She wanted to storm into Jaimee’s cabin and demand an explanation.
But she mused, maybe you should see what’s on this first.
* * * * *
Sean slotted the data sliver into her personal terminal. Unlike the one from Average Guy, this was protected with a simple password. She looked at the blinking text, then entered, ‘Promise’.
Her screen cleared, then filled with an unmistakable face: Sera, head of the Transcend’s Hand.
“Captain Spiller,” said the recording. “You may or may not know, but the Hand needs operatives who are not our own. Assets that are entirely unconnected to the Transcend, because there are times when one of us turning up dead is…inconvenient.” Sera paused. “Every so often, we need contractors. Specialists with plausible deniability.”
“You want pirates,” said Sean, to the recording.
Sera looked off-camera for a moment. “We want pirates, pure and simple,” she said. “Captain Miravet will be waiting in this system for two days. We’ve watched you. We’ve seen what you can do and how you operate. You wouldn’t be seeing this recording if Captain Miravet saw you bend to the OG. You stood in the face of giants. Did the right thing.” She sighed. “If you want to continue to do the right thing, we’ve got work for you. That’s all.”
The recording finished.
Sean leaned back in her small cabin. Continue to do the right thing. No escape to Transcend space. No freedom from the crushing might of the OFA. Just a life of continued piracy.
She smiled. Marci would be pleased.
THE END
ABOUT RICHARD PARRY
Richard Parry worked as an international consultant in one of the world’s top tech companies, which sounds cool, but it wasn’t all cocaine parties. He lives in Wellington with the love of his life, Rae. They have a dog, Rory, who chases birds. The birds, who have the power of flight, don’t seem to mind. Richard’s online hood is: www.mondegreen.co
He’s the author of the Ezeroc Wars (Aeon 14 meets Firefly - https://www.mondegreen.co/ezeroc-wars-reading-guide/), Future Forfeit (Aeon 14 meets Neuromancer - https://www.mondegreen.co/future-forfeit-reading-guide/), and Night’s Champion (not at all like Aeon 14) series. You can check out the stories below:
Ezeroc Wars (book 1 of 6): https://www.books2read.com/TychesFlight
Future Forfeit (book 1 of 3): https://www.books2read.com/ChromedUpgrade
Night’s Champion (book 1 of 3): https://www.books2read.com/NightsFavor
DAMAGE CONTROL
BY JOE KOCSIS
FROM THE AUTHOR
I just want to thank Michael for creating this stunning and immersive universe, and for letting me write in it! This has been an amazing experience and has rekindled my love of writing, while teaching me a lot along the way.
Joe Kocsis
M. D. Cooper’s Note:
Joe’s story takes place in the weeks following the Defense of Carthage: the great battle against the Trisilieds, AST, and Orion Guard that occurred in New Canaan in the book Orion Rising.
So often, the stories in Aeon 14 are told from the perspective of the people on the front lines, or on the bridges of starships. But this tale is about the people who have to clean up afterward.
Over a hundred thousand ships were destroyed or disabled in Carthage’s nearspace, and Geoff and Malcolm are just a man and a ship’s AI trying to get the job done.
Until things go sideways, of course.
SSDD
STELLAR DATE 04.05.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: ISS SO211A
REGION: Orion Guard Debris Field, New Canaan System
“How many does this make, Malcolm?” Geoff asked the AI that operated the small tug with him. They had been out in the black for four days straight, cleaning up the aftermath of the battle of Carthage. “Fifty-two, or was it fifty-three?”
“Math is your area, Mal. But really? Fifty-eight? Was I asleep for some of those?”
Geoff had only met Mal a few days ago, when they were both assigned to this tug. Every citizen of New Canaan, human and AI, was doing their part to help the system recover. Geoff and Mal were given the option of embedding the AI but had decided against it. Mal had been a ships AI in the past, and he felt more comfortable installed in a ship than a human.
He began aligning the small tug with their latest target. The battle over Carthage had rendered entire regions of space inaccessible. Fleets were in ruins, their battered and twisted hulls continuing on their final trajectories. In areas where the wreckage was the thickest, debris was careening all over the place, striking other objects and sending them both off on new trajectories, making the entire area highly unstable.
When you have one of the largest space battles in the history of humanity, you also have the most wreckage in history. Because of this, almost everything that could fly was drawn into the recovery efforts, and many ships were pulled from storage. Which was how Malcolm and Geoff found themselves assigned to an older model tug.
Most of these were ships that had been aboard the Intrepid when she left Sol. When they arrived at New Canaan, it was decided that the shuttles would be decommissioned rather than upgraded with new tech. This meant no stasis shields, a-grav, or CriEn modules. This particular tug was only seventy-five meters bow to stern. Most of that space was given over to engines and power plants. It possessed a heavily reinforced frame and precise, yet powerful, thrusters.
“Mal, we have a ton of shit flying around this area. Keep an extra eye on scan; I don’t want to get surprised while I am moving this next piece out.” Geoff smiled as he absentmindedly rubbed his hand over the top of his console. “This old girl may be out of date, but she’s been doing good for us so far.”
Geoff looked over the current salvage assignments. “OK, our next piece is that large chunk of ship ahead. Looks to be about three hundred meters wide. I’m going to change our approach aspect a bit. I want to try and push it out through that gap over to our right.” Geoff began sliding the tug around to line their nose up with a gap about fifty kilometers ahead. “Hopefully we can get it out of here without creating too much of a mess.”
As Geoff was moving the ship into position, Mal was beginning his cursory scans of the object.
Because the ISF was on a war footing, which Geoff thought always seemed to be the case lately, high priority was placed on recovering as many of the intact hull sections as they could. The equipment inside could be used to repair damaged vessels or be installed on new ships. New ships that were desperately needed.
“Well, the more debris we knock around doing our recoveries, the more work we make for someone else. I don’t want to be out here longer than we have to. I would like to get back to the planet eventually. Maybe even get some real sleep. Or a shower. Stars, a shower would be great right about now!”
“Shut up, Mal. You’re one to talk, I think I smelled something coming out of your core earlier.”
Geoff checked his position and found that he was lined up just about perfectly. He nudged the attitude controls just slightly and nodded to himself, satisfied.
“OK, Mal, light
it up and let’s see what we got.” He leaned back in his seat to let Mal do his thing with the sensors.
Mal dug through the data being sent to him by the ship’s short-range scanning suite. Looking over the giant piece of debris this way allowed him to go layer by layer through the section.
The scanners weren’t military-grade, far from it, and this piece of hull was too thick to get a good read.
As much as Geoff liked this little tug, it wasn’t good for much except pushing debris out of the way. Which was why they needed to do thorough scans of everything before they moved it; there were still thousands of sentients missing, after the battle. Any one of these damaged ships, and even the larger chunks of debris, could have crew members huddled inside. Trying to survive until rescue came. If there were survivors, they wouldn’t last long once Geoff and Mal started moving the debris. The acceleration to move a piece of wreckage this big was not insignificant, and anyone inside would be turned to paste in a matter of seconds.
If they found any survivors, or even the possibility of survivors, they would immediately call in an S&R shuttle. So far, they hadn’t come across anyone yet, alive or dead. In a pinch, they themselves could transport a small number of people.
These tugs were built to move ships through a system slowly, which meant they were equipped with a head and shower, a small bunk room for the four-person crew, and an even smaller galley. Because they were only doing work in the wreckage, it had been decided that these tugs could run with a two-person crew. They were working in an area full of other ships, so there was no need for an engineer on board. If something went wrong that couldn’t be fixed by Mal or Geoff, they could call in for repairs, or even rescue if they needed it. With their travel routes being limited to the debris field and the routes to the processing areas, there was no need for a navigator. With Mal being an AI, Geoff was left with quite a bit of room in the tug.
“Setting the course now. Ship must have been Fleet Group Five. Most of those ships were empty, thankfully. They put up one hell of a fight, though.” Geoff entered in the parameters for the orbit, noting the distance to keep from the object, as well as identifying any other large objects in the area that they needed to avoid.
Neither spoke much as they completed their orbit of the debris. On the side where they made their approach, there was very little damage. It had a few scars and some dark areas of scoring, but it was still all in one piece. The other side told a completely different story.
As they rounded the corner of the hull, they continued on for another hundred meters until they came around the other side of the debris.
“Looks like whatever took her out came from this side of the ship.”
There were areas where it looked like the ship had been cut cleanly in half. Other areas were melted to various degrees, like someone had run a torch unevenly over some pieces of plastic. Huge chunks of shrapnel had been embedded all throughout the area, giving a sharp look in dire contrast to the smoothness of the melted areas. Pieces of the ship’s superstructure were peeled outward, away from what would have been its center.
Geoff could only stare at the damage done.
“The amount of thermal energy required to do this is astronomical. Look at how those pieces are twisted. They must have been superheated the instant before the force of the blast hit. That’s the only way they could have bent instead of being vaporized or turned into shrapnel.”
HEAVY METAL
STELLAR DATE 04.05.8948 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: ISS SO211A
REGION: Orion Guard Debris Field, New Canaan System
Geoff looked at his own sensor readout and gathered from it what he could. Tugs didn’t normally have great sensors, they just needed to be able to pick up large objects that may be moving on their path. Luckily, Mal could work miracles with the sensor to find things Geoff would never have even considered. But still, rules were rules.
“I confirm, nothing living or active on this piece. Adding sensor data from both consoles, as well as dual confirmation to the ship’s log.”
Mal had collated the data from the sensor readings, as well as the dual confirmation, and then sent it off in a data burst to the control hub for the operation.
There had been an accident the day before, involving one of the other recovery ships. Up until that accident, only one person would run scan and search for survivors before a piece was moved. The offending ship had been assigned a small fifty-cubic-meter section of ship to move. This particular piece held several CriEn generators, so bringing it back to the marshaling area was a top priority, as these could be instantly repurposed. The crew followed the regs and performed their scan, and the scan operator confirmed that there were no active life signs aboard. However, when they boarded the piece at the marshalling area to remove the CriEn generators, they found evidence that there had been people holed up in the generator room. They didn’t survive the trip.
The scan logs were reviewed, and it was determined that the CriEn generator, plus some other functioning equipment still hooked to the generator, may have hidden the life signs for the two survivors. They were found with intact survival suits, but they were running on absolute minimum battery power. Ninety percent of scan operators in the fleet would have missed the signs, but the knowledge of his grave error still hurt the man who had missed them. From what Mal knew, that operator had requested a transfer out of the recovery efforts.
From that incident came a few new regulations for dealing with the wreckage. First, there had to be no biological or electro-magnetic activity. If there was EM activity, then they would use the stronger sensors on Recovery One or one of the larger ISF ships in the area. The second significant change was the addition of dual verification of the data from two different scan stations. While this was a good double-check to initiate, it had the added effect of taking the responsibility off one person’s shoulders. Accidents were bound to happen, and sometimes being able to share responsibility helped people through.
“OK, no one to add to the butcher’s bill, let’s get this girl pushing.” Geoff began to maneuver the tug to an area that scan showed to be more or less structurally intact.
<’Butcher’s bill’? I’m not familiar with that one.>
Geoff would often stump Mal with the things he came up with. Mal had learned that Geoff sometimes made them up just to mess with him.
“Yeah, it’s an old, old saying that some still use. Most people who serve in the military end up with a dark sense of humor—gallows humor, if you will.”
Geoff goosed the port thrusters a bit to swing the tug’s aft end around. The hardest part of the process was the initial alignment. After that, it was just little nudges and twitches to keep everything heading on the right trajectory.
“After battles, they would refer to the causality list as the ‘butcher’s bill’. I guess it sounded better than saying ‘How many dead and wounded are there?’ But it does bear some significance to our current situation.”
Geoff was getting into the zone as he began to move the huge piece of wreckage ahead of him. His hands flying over the controls, making minor adjustments to the course he’d programmed in. His focus more so now on the sensor display ahead of him instead of the actual view outside. With the chunk of ship obscuring his view, he had
to rely on his equipment to make sure they wouldn’t hit anything too big.
One downside of being in the zone, at least from Mal’s opinion, was that Geoff liked to talk. A lot. He claimed that the talking actually helped him concentrate better on the task at hand. Mal had asked him about it during their first few runs, and Geoff had explained that he didn’t know why he did it. Maybe talking kept part of his brain busy while the rest concentrated on the task. The pilot did tell him it was why he preferred to talk to Mal out loud instead of using the Link. He never minded that Mal used the Link to communicate, he just preferred to talk instead.
“Well, you know, because of who is leading our military right now.” Geoff was still tweaking his course, as something or another caught his attention.
“I’m pretty sure that is her title now. Hard to keep up, seems like it changes every few days. Pretty soon, she may show up in a gleaming white Admiral’s uniform with the title ‘Grand Admiral’ to go along with it.” Geoff had the ship lined up now and began to apply thrust a bit more liberally. “Anyway, it has to do with some stories I heard back when I was TSF.”
Normally, he would only half listen to Geoff talk, interspersing a relevant comment here and there. But Mal was interested in this. He liked the admiral and had fought for her at Victoria. Victoria was his home, where he was born. When the time came for the Intrepid to leave, Mal had followed the admiral, believing in the dream of settling a new colony.
“Really?” Geoff sounded surprised. “I thought you AIs were all—”