by Kal Spriggs
“That's part of the Academy network,” he shook his head, “No, this is something sending bursts in and around Academy grounds. There's twenty or more of the things, and they're chattering back and forth like gossiping schoolgirls.”
“Uh, I wouldn't know much about that, sir,” I had to hide a smile.
He grinned at me, “Right. Well, thank you Cadet,” he again avoided using my name. He turned back to Rear Admiral Fischer, squaring his shoulders a bit. He was about to tell the Admiral this was a wild goose chase and I realized just how brave that was, given how the Admiral had just reacted only a few minutes ago.
“Wait a second...” Rear Admiral Fischer looked over at us and his eyes locked on me. “You there, Cadet, come here.”
Great.... I thought to myself. I stepped forward. “Sir?” I saluted as I came up.
Fischer waved off the salute and he stared at me. “You look familiar... Take your helmet off.”
I took my helmet off, my blonde hair matted with sweat and dust. His eyes widened, “You look just like a younger...” His gaze dropped to my chest and I could see him mouth the letters, as if they didn't make any sense. “Armstrong!?” He demanded.
“Yes, sir, Cadet Second Class Armstrong, reporting, sir,” I answered. If I'm going to be in trouble over my name, I might as well earn that trouble...
“I thought you were resigning or in the hospital or something,” Fischer sputtered. He looked over at one of his aides, “Didn't I hear she was injured?” His voice was irritated, almost petulant. This wasn't the behavior I would have expected of a cadet, much less a commissioned officer. That he was a flag officer and behaved this way...
“Sir, she was reported injured in the news, yes, sir,” his aide responded. From this distance, I could see sweat break out on the officer's face.
“Why are you here?” Fischer demanded.
“Sir?” I asked. I stared at him for a moment, not really understanding the question, “This is my assigned duty position for drill, sir.”
“No, no,” Fischer waved a hand, “Why are you at my school, Armstrong?”
“I'm a Cadet Second Class, sir,” I practically bit out the words, barely in control of myself. “I intend to complete the curriculum and commission as an officer in the Century Planetary Militia.”
“You intend...” He sputtered at me, seeming not to comprehend. He stared at me for a long while, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. After what seemed like several minutes, his expression blanked and then he took on a sly smile. “I see... Oh, I see indeed.” He walked around me, his eyes searching. “Where is it, then?”
“Sir?” I asked.
“Your device. You're clearly reporting on school activities to your grandmother. No doubt to try and collect evidence that her sabotage of my position here is going well. Well, where is it? Where's the device!?”
“Sir,” I stared at him, too shocked by the absurdity of the situation to even be angry at the accusation, “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Scan her, scan her!” Rear Admiral Fischer waved a hand at me. “Lieutenant Commander Darling, scan this cadet! When you find the device, I want her placed under arrest, for making a false statement to a superior officer!”
I stood there, too confused to do anything as Lieutenant Commander Darling gave me an apologetic look as he scanned me. “Nothing, sir,” he sounded almost satisfied to be able to prove the Admiral wrong.
“Impossible, she must have something on her,” Rear Admiral Fischer snapped. “Where is it, where have you hidden it!?” The man stepped forward, getting in my face, his face mottled in rage. “You won't make me look like a fool, girl, give me the device!”
“Sir, I don't know what you're talking about,” I bit out, barely able to keep my hands at my side as he got in my face. He was too close, his breath hot in my face and stinking of garlic and fish. I wanted to lash out, to push or punch at him to get him to step back. I knew, though, that if I did anything like that in front of so many witnesses, my career would be over.
Can this day get any worse?
“Sir,” Lieutenant Commander Darling stepped forward, “the only devices she has on her are her school-issued datapad, her school-issued radio set, and her neural implant.”
Oh, the implant... My Quicksilver neural implant transmitted on a private, encrypted network, part of the school network, but separate. Something of my realization must have shown on my face.
Something flashed across Rear Admiral Fischer's face, a mixture of triumph and exultation. “Lieutenant Commander Darling, detain Cadet Armstrong and transport her back to the Academy brig. Bring in the school's doctor, I believe that Cadet Armstrong possess illegal modifications to her implant and that she is in violation of numerous Militia regulations, including making a false statement under oath!”
Yep, the day could definitely get worse.
***
“You can't arrest her for the implant,” Doctor Schoeffelk said calmly to Rear Admiral Fischer, “It's completely government issue and her use of it is within the Academy regulations. I can confirm she was implanted with it by an Academy doctor.”
An Academy doctor who turned out to be a psychotic alien... I mentally added, but I wasn't going to say that aloud. After all, I'd signed a whole lot of paperwork that basically told me I couldn't tell anyone about it, not even my own family... assuming they weren't dead, of course.
“It transmits on a non-standard frequency to other unknown devices in a fully modulated encryption!” Rear Admiral Fischer shrilly protested. “One which I can't monitor! I demand you shut it down!”
“I'm afraid, Rear Admiral, that even if I could do that, which I can't--it's been tried--that you don't have the authority to give that order,” Doctor Schoeffelk looked inordinately pleased to tell Fischer “no.”
The Superintendent's eyes bulged and with his wide, fleshy face features and big eyes, he looked rather like a frog who'd eaten something that disagreed with him. “What!? I am in charge of this school and all personnel on the grounds--”
“This project was authorized by the Charter Council,” Doctor Schoeffelk snapped. “Not only that, but I was brought in as a consultant for the project. I don't work for you. I work for them. Additionally, the entire project is highly classified. At this point, what you know, you can't discuss and I'm certain that they'll want you to sign nondisclosure statements based upon what I've told you.”
Rear Admiral Fischer stared at the doctor. I was so happy I wanted to kiss Doctor Schoeffelk.
“Fine. Just fine. I have my contacts on the Charter Council, too, doctor. We'll see what happens with this project and who will be needing to sign forms,” Rear Admiral Fischer grated. He looked at me, “Cadet, I insist you tell me who you were transmitting communications to on Academy grounds.”
I started to open my mouth, but Doctor Schoeffelk interrupted. “I'm afraid she can't answer that, as it would be revealing more about the project.” He smiled slightly, “You understand the importance of secrecy, do you not?”
Fischer looked between me and the doctor. “I see. Cadet Armstrong, consider yourself restricted to your quarters pending confirmation of the information that this doctor has given me. Additionally, any further use of your implant will result in--”
“Rear Admiral,” Doctor Schoeffelk cautioned, “prohibiting her use of her implant would interfere with the project.”
“Yes, fine,” Fischer bit out. “Restrict yourself to quarters, Armstrong. No communications with anyone off of school grounds.” He turned and stalked away.
I looked at Doctor Schoeffelk. He gave me a very slight nod, but he made a small gesture with his hand and my gaze flicked over to the ever-present monitors. He couldn't acknowledge the help he'd given me. I wondered how much help that would be, though. Charterer Beckman had been behind Project Quicksilver. She'd also been behind Rear Admiral Fischer's appointment here. Surely she wouldn't hesitate to give him full access?
“Now,” the tall doctor look
ed around, “I believe you should return to your quarters. And remember the Superintendent's orders, no communications with personnel off the grounds.”
“Yes, sir, heading there now.” I caught his meaning as I walked out. The Rear Admiral hadn't ordered me not to communicate with the others. I pinged out a message to all the others with their implants, a warning that they should be careful about their transmissions.
I got back to my room and stripped off my gear. I racked my weapon next to the door and then flopped into my chair. I felt emotionally exhausted. The fear over what Fischer was going to do to me, the worry over the whole situation, and the frustration over how things had gone had all taken their toll. I had a dozen things I needed to do, but I closed my eyes, just for a second.
My eyelids felt so heavy and it felt so good to keep them lowered, to shut out the light. Somewhere between opening them and deciding to keep them closed, I fell asleep.
***
I was back in the data network. The looming presence awaited me, only this time, it merely guided me to an existing connection. I tapped in, noting that the presence seemed familiar somehow as I did so.
“...didn't tell me about this?” Fischer demanded shrilly. They were talking with full video and with how close in he leaned into the camera, he looked even more bug-eyed.
“I can't tell you about this. Project Quicksilver is classified at the highest levels, Fischer, and the rest of the Charter Council were very unhappy over some minor incidents that occurred during the initial fielding,” Charterer Beckman answered. I couldn't help but smile as I realized she was trying to hide her mistakes from her subordinate. Beckman had been behind the project and Doctor Aisling had deceived her from the beginning.
“Well, you could have at least warned me that Armstrong's granddaughter would still be here,” Fischer grumbled. “She's no-doubt reporting my every move to her.”
“Admiral Armstrong is done,” Charterer Beckman's voice was confident. “She's taken a final posting while she puts together her retirement paperwork...”
“Ma'am, I'll believe it when it happens,” Fischer leaned back in his chair. I saw that he sat in the Admiral's office. But while my Grandmother had called it her office, it had been relatively spartan, with a few mementos and a handful of military-themed pictures.
Rear Admiral Fischer had redecorated. Behind him I saw dozens of photos of himself posed with various people. Most of them were politicians that I sort of recognized, quite a few were him with Charterer Beckman, but there were others with him cutting ribbons and shaking hands while receiving plaques or certificates. There was a row of awards and certificates behind him as well. It was a bit over the top, I thought. It’s like he has to remind himself he is important.
Fischer went on, “Victoria Armstrong may have been dealt a blow, but she's hardly the type to take that sitting down. She's going to be laser-focused on finding the perpetrators--”
“She's been ordered by the President to leave it in the hands of the Enforcers,” Charterer Beckman gloated. “She can't do anything. She's been told to stand down. This whole thing is an embarrassment to her precious Militia.”
“Ma'am,” Fischer somehow managed to put some steel in his voice, “I'll remind you that I am an officer of the Century Planetary Militia. I may not agree with Admiral Armstrong's methods or outlook, but the pirate attack that killed her daughter's family at Black Mesa Outpost is something that should be investigated and the persons or people responsible should be dealt with.”
Fischer doesn't know that Beckman is involved. It was a bit of a shock and also something of a relief. I had almost assumed that Beckman's people would know... but apparently she was keeping this a secret from those who followed her orders. Maybe I could use that.
Charterer Beckman's gloating expression vanished. “Yes, of course. I merely believe that the Enforcers should look to the matter due to the sensitive nature of the situation.”
Fischer didn't seem entirely satisfied by that. He looked like he wanted to ask something, but he seemed to think better of it. I saw a look of worry pass across his face, almost as if he considered that Beckman might be involved and decided that if she was, he didn't want to know.
“What can I do about the girl?” he asked a moment later, looking off screen at something.
“Fail her out,” Beckman waved a hand. “I'm sure that without her grandmother there to look out for her, she'd be a marginal student. The loss of her family and the hostility from other students that will arise from how Admiral Armstrong clearly favored her will probably be enough that you won't have to do anything.”
Fischer looked like he'd swallowed a particularly sour lemon. “Charterer Beckman...” he sighed, “While I have no doubt that she'll have issues here with what happened to her, I very much doubt that Admiral Armstrong would do anything so dishonorable as show her granddaughter any favoritism...”
“She's consistently been in the top five of her class for three years now, when she hasn't finished first,” Beckman hissed. “My niece insists that she's a marginally intelligent bully.”
Thanks for that Cadet Third Class Beckman. I didn't much like the other cadet, but apparently she didn't think much of me.
“I see,” Fischer seemed uncomfortable. “Regardless, Charterer Beckman, I'm not in the position to... modify her grades. If she passes her classes, then I've no room to expel her over her grades.”
“Think of something else, then,” Beckman sat back in her large, comfortable chair.
Fischer sighed in resignation, “There may be some things I can do, ma'am, but I'm not going to violate regulations to do it--”
“Get it done, Fischer, or I will replace you with someone who will,” Beckman's cold blue eyes were hard and she rapped her fingertips impatiently on her desk. “Now. I have a dozen other issues to deal with. Don't contact me unless it's important.”
She disconnected, followed by Fischer. Now it was just me and the looming presence. “Who are you?” I somehow felt that I'd encountered it before. Was this some legacy of Doctor Aisling's experimentation? If so, why was it helping me?
You need to know. The thoughts were strange, almost as if it had a difficult time forming them. It was like it couldn't focus.
On impulse, I reached out to it with my implant. For just a moment, we connected and there was a sense of familiarity, a sense of recognition... and in that flash images, thoughts, and emotions washed through me. There was an image of Black Rock Mesa in the blinding sunlight, of my brother, my father, and my mother. Then there was a sense of incredible loss... and then it was gone.
My helper cut the connection. It was a sharp disconnection, a jolt so hard that I sat up in my chair, my eyes wide open. Whatever this thing was, it knew me, and it didn't seem happy about what had happened to my family. Hopefully that meant I could trust it.
***
Chapter 5: Getting Back Into The Swing Of Things
I'd received official notice that I was no longer restricted to quarters on Sunday night just before classes started. That meant, Monday morning, I was waiting in the classroom for my first class of the year. I was looking forward to it, since I hoped classes would keep me busy. The last thing I wanted right now was time to sit and think.
“Welcome to Third Year Flight Prep,” Commander Siebert rasped as she came in, waving at us to take our seats. She had a harsh voice and she was a far cry from Commander Pannja, our previous flight instructor. He'd been all smiles until someone crossed him or until we were sparring in kerala. Commander Siebert's gaunt face looked like she'd forgotten how to smile. She had deep hollows under her eyes and her whip-thin body wore the uniform like a scarecrow. Her dark brown hair was trimmed short, not quite a buzz cut but well under regulation requirements.
“Commander Pannja is a talented officer and instructor,” Commander Siebert went on. I found myself leaning forward to hear her, her harsh voice didn't carry well in the classroom. “I am sure that all of you still here have proven to him t
hat you've attained standards.” Her face flinched a bit, almost as if she were trying to smile reassuringly. Her dark eyes and pale skin made her seem more like a vampire or zombie and the brief baring of teeth had almost seemed threatening.
“Now I am your instructor, and this is Third Year Flight Prep. This is the year you earn your Warp Drive Wings certification. I'm the one that has to sign off on every one of you being certified to pilot a warp-drive vessel, from fighter-size all the way up to capital ships. My name is going to be on your certificate if one of you screws up and plows into an inhabited planet and kills a whole lot of dumb civies.” Her voice had grown harsher, almost angry.
“I will do everything in my power to prevent that. So if you thought last year's instruction was hard, then be ready for the impossible. I've increased the simulation hours to ten hours per week for each of you. Now, as a note, that's ten qualifying hours a week. If you fail a simulation run, you'll have to start over.”
The whole room had gone quiet. Many of the hours we'd put in last year had been focused on learning how to perform complex evolutions in the simulators, but that had involved a lot of failures in the process. That had been with eight hours a week, but a lot of times we'd had to go over that in order to get a passing grade. But what she'd implied was that none of the hours would count unless we met minimum standards on every part of the simulation. That could mean twenty or more hours a week in the flight simulators.
“Make no mistake, by the end of this semester, you will meet my standards or I will have failed you out,” Commander Siebert's cold dark eyes swept across all of us. “Because the culminating events of this semester will be your final flight test and real stick time to get you your provisional Warp Drive Wings for summer assignments. Do any of you have any questions?”
No one spoke.
“Good,” she said. “Now, since we're starting out with complex evolutions in the flight scenarios, I'll let you all move to the simulators. Let's get started, shall we?”