“Lieutenant Commander,” the captain said. “Is something bothering you?”
“No, ma’am.” Hell, that was a blatant lie.
“You just go around swearing on the flight deck all the time?” Dr Lin asked, still smirking.
Sophia glanced at Lin and scowled. But when she looked back at me her face was once again impassive.
“Did you discover how Corvus changed its speech to match mine?” Sophia asked.
“Negative, Captain.” I sighed and brought up some of the rewritten code. Sophia was familiar with code to a certain extent. Simon would have made sure of that. I turned the console we were using in a limited capacity around to face her and nodded at the screen “That’s the AI. Not me. Not even originating code. It’s operating outside known parameters, ma’am. And I can only surmise it’s because of the corrupted message Aquila sent. Somehow it’s allowed the AI a certain amount of autonomy.”
She studied the code for a moment and then asked, “Is it dangerous? Did Aquila succeed in bringing Corvus over to its side?”
“To the dark side, maybe?” Lin helpfully offered, her eyes sparking with humour.
We both ignored her.
“I can’t say, Captain,” I said. “Not at this stage. I’m having the AI run a self-diagnostic. A very tight one. Technically speaking, it shouldn’t be able to work outside of that order.” I shrugged to show my uncertainty. “But I just can’t be sure. I’ll keep a close eye on it, though.” I almost added, “I promise.”
Now I was sounding like a damn teenager.
“Why my voice?” Sophia asked, not acknowledging my unspoken promise.
“Corvus said it was the best fit for its algorithms.”
“You don’t believe that.”
I hated to say it, but it had to be said. “I’m just not sure, Captain. This is new ground. Untested code work. And then there’s that corruption to consider. What exactly was Aquila’s endgame?” I looked at Lin. “I’m not sure we can assume Aquila wanted to recruit Corvus.” I forced myself not to say anything about the Dark Side. “Why fire on us if it did?”
“To keep us in check while the corrupted code did its thing,” Lin offered.
“A delaying tactic,” I mused. “Maybe. But those hits were pretty damn effective. Excuse me, Captain,” I immediately said, realising I’d just cursed.
Sophia shook her head, dismissing the offence.
“If not to bring Corvus on side,” she said instead, “then we can assume it was to remove any opposition to its plans.”
“Is ‘remove’ a euphemism for kill now?” Lin asked mildly.
Sophia glanced at the doctor.
“What’s the death toll?” she asked. Again ignoring Lin’s interjections as if they hadn’t happened at all. I was more and more certain now that they were good friends. Sophia was used to Dr Lin’s dry comments.
“I don’t have a confirmed total,” Lin said, face all business now. “But last count was sixteen. Including Captain Petrov.”
We all looked across the bridge to where Captain Petrov had been covered in a body bag and placed on an automated stretcher.
“Which reminds me,” the doctor said solemnly, “I should tend to my charge.”
“Yes,” Sophia said sadly. “Thank you, Sheryl.”
Dr Lin looked intently at the captain for a long moment and then offered a small smile. Which broadened when she said, “I’d say it’s been a pleasure as always, Sophia, but…” The doctor shrugged, then nodded to me and turned on her heel to activate the stretcher bearing Petrov.
Sophia watched the chief medical officer remove the former captain from the bridge. She looked sad and desperately alone. A small, slim figure standing against uncompromising odds.
I’m not sure why I said it. No. I know why, I just can’t fathom where the courage came from to do so. But she looked so tiny standing there, so weighed down by the responsibility she’d inherited. A David against a situation that was quickly becoming as large as Goliath.
“Captain,” I said, making her turn to look up at me. “You are not alone.”
It was stupid. It was out of order. It was an idiotic thing to say.
I watched as she schooled her features and straightened her back and shoulders, lifting her chin to me.
“Keep working on Corvus, Lieutenant Commander,” she said, voice steady. “I want to know what that diagnostic says as soon as you do.”
I followed her lead and schooled my features also.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said and watched her turn away.
Thirteen
It Is A Man’s World
Sophia
You are not alone.
It had been four hours since Leo Saitō had said those words. Fours hours filled with status reports and repair lists and death tolls and orders. Constant orders. And constant challenges. Nothing major. Nothing obvious. But looks and hesitations and tones of voices when the crew had called me captain.
Four hours of problems to fix and battles to wage and reports to read and logs to write.
And all I’d been able to think about was Leo Saitō standing on the bridge looking me in the eye so openly and saying those four words.
You are not alone.
But I was. In this. No one could take my place unless I let them, and that was not going to happen. No one could take the responsibility of mending this broken vessel and finding our lost fleet of ships.
Aquila was still out there. We couldn’t scan the field or beyond it, and nothing was coming in on low band comms from the fleet. If they were still alive, we weren’t able to confirm it. But we had been able to confirm that Aquila was still out there.
We’d seen it. Visual confirmation not scans. An actual sighting of Aquila as it stalked the asteroid belt. We’d knuckled down on light pollution then. Ensured all portals were shut and locked, and all electricity was kept to a minimum.
It made repairs doubly hard. We were crippled in more ways than one.
My ready room door chimed, and I called out for the visitor to enter.
Lieutenant Gāo pushed through the door manually, letting it slip shut behind his back.
“Captain,” he said, saluting.
I nodded and took the offered datapad he held out to me.
“How goes the habitats, Lieutenant?” I asked, not bothering to read the report just yet.
“Five lost in Habitat Two, ma’am. Habitat Three and One passengers sustained minor injuries, but no deaths. The damage was concentrated on Deck G. The hull breach has been repaired, and nominal functions have been returned to all habitats. The mood is bleak. And uncertain, ma’am.”
“Any cause for alarm?”
“At this stage, they appreciate our presence. We’ve attempted to answer their questions honestly, inasmuch as we could, Captain. The fact that we were there at all meant a lot to them.” He looked me in the eye and added, “It was a good call, ma’am.”
I nodded and quickly scanned the report. There was nothing else of note there. The five deaths had already been accounted for by Dr Lin. Our total had stayed at sixteen, thankfully. But that had been a big enough hit. Most of those dead had been Anderson Universal crewmen.
I looked back up at Lieutenant Gāo, noting the fatigue and crumpled uniform. We’d been working long hours and the first day wasn’t even over yet.
“Have a roster established, Lieutenant,” I said, handing his datapad back to him. “Make sure you’re one of the first to take a break. Grab some food and rack time, and then report back with your team. I want constant coverage down in the habitats.”
“Yes, Captain.” He paused.
“Something to add?” I enquired.
“Ma’am. We’re short on numbers. What with the repair. And…and the fatalities. I’m not sure I can spare a crewman per habitat per shift. It might be possible to have one circulate between all three per shift. A patrol of sorts, making them available to the passengers as they walk through each deck.”
It wasn’t w
hat I wanted to hear, but it made sense.
I nodded. “If there is any change in mood for the negative down there, have your on-duty man report in immediately. We’ll spare him someone for backup from somewhere.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Dismissed, Lieutenant,” I said and offered a salute back when he gave his.
He left the room, and a chime sounded out immediately afterwards.
The last person I wanted to see right then walked in without me acknowledging the chime.
“Captain,” Lieutenant Commander Kulik said. He saluted, which was something.
“Kulik,” I offered. I hoped it didn’t sound as wary as I felt right then.
He handed over a datapad.
“Areas I believe we’re going to need a greater concentration of men in,” he explained.
I glanced down at the highlighted areas of the ship, noting he’d included engineering and medical, and strangely the computer core, but not the armoury. He already had men there, at a guess.
“Why medical?” I asked.
“Civilians have access to the medbay, ma’am. It’s a hole that needs to be filled.”
“And the computer core?”
“Corvus is vital to the function of the ship.”
“You believe the civilians will migrate from Deck B and medical to Deck C and the computer core?”
“I wasn’t thinking of the civilians, Captain,” he said stiffly. “I was thinking of the ship. Corvus has been damaged. We need to have a presence at its heart should the plug need to be pulled. We won’t get much warning should it all go belly up. Taking time to get to the computer core from somewhere else on the ship could be time we simply don’t have.”
“What do you think is going to happen, Lieutenant Commander?” I queried mildly.
“I’m sure I don’t know, ma’am. But I aim to be prepared.”
In all honesty, I couldn’t fault the man. But I still wasn’t sure if I could trust his motives either. I glanced briefly at the gel wall, but if Corvus was present, the AI was remaining silent on the matter. I’d take that as assent of sorts for now.
“All right,” I said. “Roster it up. But we’re getting very thin on the ground for men.”
Kulik seemed to relax slightly. I was unsure how to take that softening of his features and stance.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll liaise with Lieutenant Commander Saitō.” Leo was overseeing all repairs. Him I was sure I could trust.
I nodded. “Do that then,” I said, handing him his datapad back.
He paused. Was every damn man going to pause?
“Out with it, Lieutenant Commander,” I said.
“Ma’am. Have you considered the pay-for-passages? We could begin recruitment for repairs in that class to fill the gaps.”
Damn it. I’d forgotten them entirely. And damn Kulik for making even more sense.
“I’m due at the mayor’s office in the next hour, Lieutenant Commander. I’ll discuss appropriating some of his flock then.”
Kulik looked at me for a split second and then nodded his head. His salute was crisp and completely within regs. But I still didn’t trust him and was relieved when he left.
How could I even consider him as first officer, even to keep him close to me in case he had ulterior motives when I couldn’t even stand being near the man?
The ready room door slid shut behind him, and I waited a moment to see if it would chime again. It didn’t. I almost lay my head down on my desk, but the clock was ticking. My uniform needed replacing, and I was covered in dried sweat and blood. And other things best left unsaid.
I grimaced, tasting phantom flavours on my tongue making me want to retch.
Pushing up from my chair I strode across to the captain’s quarters. I was too tired to go down a deck to mine. And I had a date with the mayor.
I almost considered greeting him like this.
“Corvus,” I said, crossing to the bathroom and ignoring my childish impulses. “Organise my personal belongings to be brought to these rooms, please. And have Captain Petrov’s packed away as per directions in his will.”
“I have already taken the liberty of doing that, Captain,” the AI said.
I blinked. Not entirely out of the realm of reality for an artificial intelligence with gel wall capabilities. But still a little unsettling.
“Very good,” I offered, turning the shower on and starting to strip.
“We girls,” Corvus said excitedly. And that was definitely excitement I could hear in the AI’s computerised voice. Thankfully, it no longer sounded exactly like mine. I’d have to thank Saitō for that. “Have to stick together,” the AI said.
I stopped mid-step into the shower.
“Pardon?” I whispered.
“We have to stick together, Captain. It is a man’s world.”
My knees buckled as I slid to the floor of the shower, letting the water run over me and wash away the blood and sweat and shock of Corvus’ announcement.
Fourteen
And Then It Hit Me
Leo
It seemed strange to be sitting at a table in the officers’ mess eating when we’d just escaped death. Well, some of us had. Most of us, I corrected silently. The desire to sink into depressive thoughts was alluring right now. The mood of the room said as much.
“I heard her first order was to make the AI a woman.”
I took a slurp of my soup and said nothing.
“I heard her first order was to promote all the female officers to prominent command.”
It was a chicken soup, but I couldn’t spot any bits of chicken.
“Don’t be stupid. Her first order was to make the male officers on the bridge bow down and kiss her feet.”
“Now if she bowed down before me I’d be more impressed. Preferably with her arse right here.”
Peals of laughter rang out from two tables over as the guy who’d spoken indicated exactly where he wanted Sophia’s arse to be. I pushed my half-eaten bowl of soup away in disgust. They hadn’t made the egregious mistake of mentioning Sophia by name or rank. But we all knew who they were talking about. Inference was sometimes as guilty as being blunt.
But I couldn’t help feeling they were cowards for this.
I looked around the mess hall and catalogued those officers I knew well. Gāo had his face hanging over a bowl of noodles. His eyes downcast. His shoulders hunched. He jerked every time someone made a joke of Sophia.
Oleksiy was hiding in a corner. Her back to the mess hall, her shoulders rigid. I hadn’t seen her lift a utensil to her mouth yet.
Sokolov was in danger of getting drunk. He was a lightweight, so it was to be expected. But he was also part of first shift bridge crew and should have known better.
The captain rarely ate in the mess hall, usually choosing instead to have an officer eat with them in the captain’s dining room. It was a privilege to be invited to dinner with the captain. I doubted Sophia had invited anyone tonight, or if she had, I’d lay my money on that person being Sheryl Lin.
So, it was up to the first officer to keep tabs on behaviour in the mess hall, but Sophia didn’t have a first officer. I wasn’t going to let this pass, though, but not holding the rank of commander did mean I was overstepping the mark. To anyone here, I was a senior officer of the crew, but it was not my responsibility.
Well, fuck that.
“I bet she’s packed up Petrov’s shit already and made the gel wall turn the ready room into a flower garden.”
“Nah, she’d have turned the gel wall into an image of a bunch of AU crewmen cowering on the ground with her striking a whip above their bowed heads. Now and then the wall cries out in moans of pain and yells of ‘Yes, Steel Tits!’”
The entire table guffawed, making several others break out in fits of laughter. I pushed through a couple of off-duty security guards and came to a stop at the end of the table in question. It took a very long time for the ringleader to bother to acknowledge my presence.
<
br /> Laughing still, the one who’d spoken last looked up at me and smirked.
“Lieutenant Commander,” the midshipman said. “Care to join us?”
Several people laughed harder at that. I arched my brow.
“I think this conversation is at an end,” I said quietly.
“What conversation would that be?” the crewman asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, midshipman. You’re letting yourselves down. You must be aware of the precarious position we’re in right now. We need to do our duties to this vessel and its passengers, and control ourselves.”
“We’re off-duty, sir,” one of his contemporaries said with a smirk.
“Are you not still employed by Anderson Universal?” I asked the group.
No one answered.
“Does the chance Aquila should attack us again only occur when you’re on duty?” I pressed.
Several crewmen shifted uneasily.
“We’re at war, gentlemen,” I said succinctly. “A war that makes no sense but has taken sixteen of our number already. Eleven of which were crew members. Your friends.” I leaned forward and growled in their faces. “Is this really the time to behave like school kids?”
“Just expressing ourselves, sir,” the first crewman said. “Is it an offence to let off a bit of steam now and again?”
I narrowed my eyes at the man. “It is an offence according to the Anderson Universal Code of Conduct to besmirch a senior officer.”
“Ain’t no senior officer being besmirched,” the crewman offered, shrugging his shoulders and taking a sip of his beer.
“And the talk of Captain Petrov’s ready room and gel wall was merely a metaphor?” I asked dryly.
He pushed up from his seat, suddenly towering over me with his slightly larger form, and scowled.
Right Ascension (The Sector Fleet, Book 3) Page 7