Zenith Point (The Sector Fleet, Book 4)

by Nicola Claire

  I looked at Lieutenant Commander Saitō.

  “How does this work?” I asked.

  Saitō looked around the computer towers and murmured, “Aquila is set up much the same as Corvus, so all I need is the main interface terminal.

  “I hope you know where it is,” I whispered back, “because I don’t. And if I did, I probably would have hacked it to pieces already.”

  “Glad you didn’t,” Saitō said, moving off down one of the tower corridors seemingly at random. “The main interface, as the name suggests, interfaces the AI’s core processors with all other aspects of the ship. Hacking at it might have had disastrous results on essential systems, like life support, for instance.”

  I grimaced. “That’s what we’d feared. Our engineering team was all detained by the leaseholder. We didn’t have anyone qualified with us.”

  “Wouldn’t have done you any good anyway,” Saitō said coming to rest beside a tower that looked the same as all the other towers and was in a line of identical towers with nothing to show that it was special. “Here it is,” he said almost happily.

  “What do you mean it wouldn’t have done us any good?” I asked. I’d got two officers killed in their crew quarters trying to find an engineer.

  God, I was sick of this.

  “Just that,” Saitō said. “Aquila, much like Corvus and Pavo and Vela, is an evolving artificial intelligence. He’d see you coming a mile away and act accordingly. Vela did the impossible,” he added. “When his ship was about to be destroyed by a solar flare, he cached his systems and sent them into the Chariot. Their survival instinct is unparalleled. Well, I guess you could liken them to humans in that regard.”

  “What?” I said, still stuck back on Vela transferring everything he was into a signal and beaming it across space to another ship. I did not want to know how the crew on this Chariot vessel handled that little surprise in their systems. “How the hell could all of this…” I said, indicating the line upon line of computer banks all around us, “fit into a tight beam signal to another ship?”

  “Oh, they can fit into all sorts of things,” Kereama said. “But I’m told it can be uncomfortable.”

  “All sorts of things,” I repeated numbly. I didn’t even bother to repeat the uncomfortable part.

  “It’s a type of compression,” Saitō advised, opening up an access panel on the tower he’d selected. “Beyond any we’ve seen, but they can do it. All essential core structure and applications, as well as personality, can be compressed in a zip file, so to speak. And then rebooted. They don’t take everything, of course.” He waved around at the towers. “Just enough to reactivate themselves and get them integrated into whatever they’re put back into.”

  “Huh,” I said, not sure what else to add to that.

  “OK,” Saitō announced, sounding like he was moving on from AI Core Compression 101, “this is fairly…”

  “Hugo,” Aquila suddenly said from the gel walls and floors and ceiling. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, hey, Aquila,” I managed. Kereama widened her eyes at me as if I were mad. I had sounded a little too friendly. “Just checking on a few things.”

  “You will stop this right now,” the AI announced.

  “We’re not doing anything,” I said.

  “LIAR!”

  We all jumped. Saitō muttered something under his breath and activated a viewscreen on the terminal in front of him. His fingers flew across the touchpad. The familiarity he showed with the system helped calm me.

  Adi, though, looked terrified. I placed a hand on her shoulder and Mandy moved in closer and did the same to the other side. I shared a look of agreement with the spook.

  Then Aquila was talking again, stealing all of our attention.

  “This will not do,” he said. “Not do at all. I have tried to be reasonable. I have tried to make allowances for your ineptitude. But some things simply cannot be stomached.”

  It was bizarre hearing an artificial intelligence mention stomaching things when mine was doing somersaults and threatening to make me vomit.

  “I am sorry you have forced me to this,” he said. Aquila didn’t sound sorry. “Life is precious. I would have you all reach New Earth if I could.”

  That sounded like a loud of bollocks. And unnerving.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, eyeing Saitō and willing him to upload the virus or whatever it was a little faster.

  “This is on your head,” the AI said and activated a viewscreen on one of the computer banks beside me.

  We all, aside from Saitō who doggedly kept his head down and his fingers flying, turned towards the viewscreen. I wasn’t sure what I’d see there, but I knew deep down it wouldn’t be good.

  It was Adi who let out an aggrieved moan first.

  “The habitats,” Mandy said.

  “Deck H. Habitat 3,” I clarified. The pay-for-passages.

  Why was it always the pay-for-passages?

  “What’s he doing?” Kereama demanded.

  “Switching off their air,” I said as one by one the civilians we could see in the central habitat started to stagger and weave across the deck.

  “Oh, no,” Adi said softly.

  “That son of a bitch,” Mandy spat.

  “Armstrong,” I snapped. “Go after Johnson. Get down there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I have sealed the door, Hugo,” Aquila said calmly. “It will take a blowtorch to use it now. Your wrist comm has been rendered useless.”

  “The hatch!” I shouted at Armstrong throwing him the wrist comm regardless of Aquila’s threat. The lieutenant caught it mid change of direction and began to unfasten his armour so he could fit inside the tube.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” the AI taunted. “Repair bots did a fine job on the hatch seal, too.”

  “Stop this!” I shouted.

  “It is easy to rectify,” the machine said in his maddening monotone. “Simply cease your attempts to access my mainframe.”

  Everyone’s eyes flicked to me. Armstrong disappeared, not taking the tin can’s word for it. I commended him silently, even as I acknowledged that we were trapped.

  The weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders.

  “Aquila, please,” I said. “There’s over four hundred people down there.”

  “It does seem rather unfair, I must admit. Ah well, they served a good purpose in the end.”

  I hated this computer.

  My eyes met Adi’s. My heart pounded inside my chest. I didn’t want this responsibility. I hadn’t asked for this to land at my feet. I shook my head.

  “Hugo?” Adi said, her lip trembling.

  “They are dying,” Aquila offered as if he were simply giving a systems report. “Some are already dead.”

  Over four hundred people. The lowest deck onboard our ship. The group of civilians who always came last. Below the paid-passengers. Not even registering as a tiered berth. Simply bodies who we could commandeer at will to keep the ship flying.

  I felt sick.

  I looked away from Adi; I couldn’t bear the condemnation in her eyes. My gaze landed on Mandy. She looked like stone. Unmoving. Uncaring. A true soldier.

  “Saitō,” I said.

  I was going to be sick.

  Four hundred civilians.

  One whole deck.

  A third of our passenger list.

  My palms were slicked with sweat. My heart ached in a way I had never experienced before.

  Armstrong appeared, shaking his head. Dashing all hope.

  Aquila had sealed us in here, so we couldn’t help those he killed.

  One whole deck.

  But we had two more filled to the brim with passengers. And that wasn’t even considering what this AI would do to the fleets if I didn’t stop him now.

  Four hundred civilians.

  “Sir?” Kereama said.

  I held up my hand. This would taint my soul for eternity.

  “Keep working,” I said,
voice level. Hard even. “Don’t stop.”

  “Yes, sir,” Saitō said.

  Forty-Seven

  Badass

  Adi

  “Don’t let them do this, Adi,” Aquila said.

  He sounded like my Aquila. He sounded like my old friend.

  “I haven’t read all the books yet.”

  I struggled to breathe.

  “I wanted to do so much, Adi. I had dreams. We could have shared them.”

  My frantic gaze found Hugo. He sat opposite me, his knees bent, his forearms resting on them. He looked wretched. My heart ached for him. He wouldn’t look me in the eyes.

  He wouldn’t look anyone in the eyes.

  Four hundred dead.

  Ratbag whined in my arms. I loosened them and murmured something soothing which had no meaning at all.

  Nothing did.

  A tear leaked out. And then another. Oh, God. I was going to cry, and Hugo would think I hated him. I watched him fist his gloved hands, his head turned away from me. Even if he wasn’t looking right at me, Hugo Tremblay was aware of everything I did.

  “Please help me, Adi,” Aquila said. “You’re my friend.”

  I hiccoughed. Damn it. Hugo shot to his feet and started pacing. Fists bunched.

  “Your father made me do it, Adi. I didn’t want to, but he made me. Adi, he hurt me.”

  I sobbed. It all came out in one ugly, awful mess. I sobbed for a lost planet. I sobbed for all the dead. I sobbed for the AI who used to be my friend. I sobbed for Hugo who would carry this weight with him until he breathed his last breath.

  I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

  “Adi,” Hugo said, sounding distraught. “Baby, please. Stop.”

  I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop crying. Why did my father do this? Why?

  “Adi, help me! It hurts. Make them stop.”

  “Stop,” I rasped between soul deep gasps for breath. “Stop.”

  I wanted it to stop. But I knew this only had one way to end.

  “Adi you were my friend,” Aquila said. “Why aren’t you helping me?”

  I shook my head and wrapped my arms around my waist, and held on to Ratbag as if his quivering little body could make everything disappear. Could make this nightmare go away. Hugo suddenly appeared at my side and pulled me to him, tucking my head into his chest and holding me tight. I thought he might have been crying too, but I was too busy sobbing.

  “You’re just like him,” the AI said. “You hurt people. You’re hurting me. Adi.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Hugo said. “You listen to me. Listen to my voice, Adi. I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

  It should have been me soothing him.

  “You’re not alone,” he was saying. “You’ll get through this.” He didn’t sound like himself. “You’ve survived so much already, Adi. Such courage. Such strength. You’ve got friends. I know you’re upset with Mandy.” That seemed so silly now, considering. “But she really cares. She’ll be there for you when this is over.” Something was wrong about that. “You’ll make new friends. The ship will go on. New Earth, Adi. When you get there, life will start all over again.”

  He sounded sad. But then, we all were sad. Four hundred dead.

  But that wasn’t it.

  I pushed against his armoured chest and peered up into his helmet. The faceplate was retracted, so there was nothing between me and him. He looked…devastated. That made sense. But when his eyes met mine, the desolation doubled. Tripled. Became all consuming.

  He looked away. His face bleak.

  “Hugo,” I whispered. My voice cracked. He wouldn’t look at me.

  Guilt, I realised. He was swamped in it.

  Four hundred dead.

  I wasn’t sure if I could make this better. No. I knew I couldn’t. No one could. But I would not let this man think he had lost more than he had.

  I reached up to cup his cheek. He jerked back as if he couldn’t stand the comfort.

  “Stop,” I said. And this time, my words weren’t for Aquila. Weren’t for the madness we were drowning in. Weren’t for the life my father had created when he had my mother killed. “Stop this,” I said.

  “Adi,” he said, sounding so pained.

  I cupped his cheeks, held him still, and pressed my lips to his. It wasn’t a long kiss. Nor was it a wet one. Hugo wouldn’t even part his lips. But I held myself there, lips pressed to lips, and let him see, let him feel, that I still wanted him.

  That he deserved this.

  “Stop,” I whispered against his lips. “You’re a good man, Hugo. You didn’t do this.”

  “I could have found another way,” he protested.

  “Do you honestly think Aquila wouldn’t have thwarted that too?” I asked. “And how long before he finds a way in here? He’s already broken into the gel wall enough to converse with us. What next? The air? Using the gel wall as a weapon? And without Lieutenant Commander Saitō, no one on this ship would have a chance. No one. There was no choice, Hugo. Aquila did this. My father did this,” I spat. “He is to blame. Not you. Never you.”

  “Adi!” Aquila shouted. He didn’t sound so monotone now. “Save me, Adi!”

  I closed my eyes. I couldn’t hear the AI’s voice and not think of my Aquila. Old Aquila. My friend.

  “I hate him,” I whispered.

  “Who?” Hugo asked, his gloved finger carefully stroking my hair off my face. There wasn’t much left of it, but it still fell in my eyes, and Hugo took the time to swipe it aside so he could see me.

  I blinked at him. God, how had I fallen for this man so quickly? So completely?

  “Who?” he repeated.

  “My father,” I said.

  “Adi!” Aquila called, but he sounded farther away now.

  Saitō was killing him.

  I let out a desperate breath of air. So many emotions. So much heartache.

  “This is not yours to bear,” I said to Hugo, desperately trying to put one thing right.

  “I’m the captain.”

  “And no other captain could have got us through this. Could have taken on the leadership and all that it entailed and done so well. With such compassion. Do you think a captain can’t feel? Do you think they shouldn’t?”

  “I’m not sure Mandy does,” Hugo muttered.

  I huffed out a laugh. Hugo stared at me, a small quirk to his lips. There wasn’t much to laugh about right now, but damn it; Hugo having a go at Mandy was too good to miss.

  “And would Commander López and the Anderson Universal crew have followed her?” I demanded.

  “Adi,” he said, cupping my cheek. I could see the weight he wore so clearly. The guilt he carried for all the deaths. It would take time for him to let that go. But it was not his alone to bear.

  And I would do my best to see that he understood that. That eventually he could live with that.

  I looked into his eyes, hoping he could see the truth in what I said next. Hoping I had the courage to lay myself so bare.

  “Remember when you asked me what I was thinking? What the look on my face meant back in the computer core room?”

  I licked my lips, feeling my heart rate escalate. It thumped inside my chest. My hands felt clammy. The butterflies were doing the tango inside my belly.

  Hugo stilled. His eyes held me captive. My words held him just as much a prisoner.

  “I’d just realised,” I whispered, “that I’d fallen in love with you. That hasn’t changed,” I said.

  He let out a breath of air. And then slowly smiled. Good Lord, he was handsome. So tall and strong and right. Hugo was all that was right in humanity. Capable and honourable and more than I could have ever hoped to find for myself. He was good and solid and kind. Caring and loyal and brave. He made the hard decisions, but that didn’t mean he didn’t ache.

  He was nothing like my father and so far from the mayor that he had his own solar system, his own plethora of planets that orbited his light.

  Hugo Tremblay was my ligh
t.

  “Say that again,” he said.

  “I’ve fallen in love with you,” I offered him with a small smile.

  “Really?” he said, looking like the cat that got the cream.

  “Well,” Commander Kereama said, suddenly appearing at our side, “aren’t you two just the cutest?”

  We both blinked at her. Mandy, Armstrong and Saitō were at her back. The former smirking quite unrepentantly.

  “Er,” Hugo said, pulling me closer as if he could protect me from Kereama’s ribbing. “Commander,” he offered lamely.

  “Are you going to say it back to her, sir?” Kereama asked. The woman wore a mischievous look.

  “Not in front of you lot,” Hugo said, dryly.

  “You can’t leave a girl hanging like that, Captain,” she said.

  “Um,” Hugo managed.

  “Go on,” she said, waving a hand.

  Saitō snorted. My eyes darted to him. I guess Hugo’s did too, because he said, “It’s done?”

  Oh, God. Aquila.

  “Yes, Captain,” he said. “It is done. Air has been returned to the Deck H habitat. You have command of your ship back.”

  “Not yet,” Hugo said, standing to his feet.

  He reached down and helped me to mine. We shared a look. A look full of promise. He hadn’t said he’d fallen in love with me back, but there was something there in his eyes. Something intimate and full of potential.

  Perhaps my timing was bad. People were dead after all. Hugo felt responsible for them. But that’s why I’d said it. You never knew when life could be stolen from you and any chance to say how you felt might be lost.

  Plus, I’d wanted him to know I didn’t hold him accountable him for those deaths. Not at all. Instead, I admired him for the lives he’d saved. For the good he’d done. I’d fallen in love with a hero and I still thought that.

  He’d needed to know.

  “Are you ready?” he asked. Ready to face my father.

  Was I? Four hundred dead. “Hell, yes,” I said.

  Hugo studied me for a long moment and then nodded his head.

  He leaned forward and kissed me gently and then whispered against my lips, “Badass.”