by B. V. Larson
Trinity realized Admiral Engels had placed too much confidence in the great battleship and her ability to defend herself alone. Without supporting vessels, Indomitable had been like an elephant dragged down by lions. Engels’ clever plan had relied too much on everything going right.
Yet soon and finally the converging Republic fleet entered the fight as the range closed from extreme to long, and then from long to optimal. It turned the battle into a slugfest. Trinity did her best to confound and damage the enemy, especially their escort vessels and what fighters she could pick off, all the while avoiding excessive risk to herself.
Parts of her felt ashamed at not throwing herself bravely into the battle as Carla Engels and her crew had. Other parts, more sensible and logical, coldly weighed costs and benefits and came to the conclusion that doing so would not materially change the outcome.
In a different kind of battle, one with organics on both sides, where one side’s captains and crews might lose heart and run away, grand gestures and heroism could turn the tide of battle. But this was a new kind of warfare. Victory, despite its damage, had seized control of its entire fleet in detail and ran it like a machine.
Thus, it was the Republic fleet which broke.
Captain Hoyt gave the final orders to retreat when it became clear that Victory and the Hundred Worlds forces, though severely mauled, would win the day. She then launched a kinetic strike on the mechsuit factory complex. Hundreds of guided crysteel hypervelocity rods accelerated down through the air, aided by the planet’s gravity. They struck with enough force to pulverize the complex down to the tenth sub-basement level.
That was Hoyt’s last military act. Her carriers were too slow and fragile to escape with the rest of the fleet, so she ordered the ships abandoned. After the crews boarded lifeboats and survival pods, she had the ships’ autopilots set to crash into Sparta-3, there to burn up in the atmosphere over the great middle ocean.
Trinity took the time to scoop up Hoyt’s lifeboat and several others nearby—all that could be safely retrieved—ignoring her protests that she should remain with her crews. Trinity then made a pass by Indomitable’s hulk, hoping against hope that she could retrieve some key personnel, perhaps even Admiral Engels—but she had no luck. A few maintenance bots and crews worked on the surface of the hull, but no lifeboats floated nearby. The battleship had surrendered, and everyone expected the Huns to treat their prisoners of war with reasonable fairness, so there was no need to abandon the ship.
Even so, Trinity transmitted secure calls on all comlink frequencies, trying to reach Engels. Perhaps word would find her and she would consent to being rescued.
But it was not to be. The only contact Trinity was able to make was a brief one with Chief Quade.
“The bridge is smashed,” he said over the crackling comlink. “My crews are diggin’ it out, but it don’t look good. The admiral… she’s in the middle of it. I ain’t holding out much hope.”
“Good luck, then, Chief,” Trinity replied. “The loss of Indomitable will be a blow to the Republic, but the war is far from over. The enemy mechsuit complex is in ruins. Our fleet is withdrawing, and the Hundred Worlds home fleet will need months of repair and refit. We’re withdrawing as well. I’m sorry, but that’s all we could do.”
“So okay, it’s a draw, then. Don’t worry. I hear the Huns supply their POWs with all the whiskey they can drink and dancing girls every weekend. We’ll make do. Quade out.”
“Good luck, Chief.” Trinity dipped into underspace to pass through Sparta-3 itself, eliminating any enemy tracking attempts. She then accelerated out to the nearest refueling station and resupplied before the Huns could recapture it. She took off the crew, wrecked the facility, rendezvoused with a withdrawing Republic squadron to transfer all her passengers, and then headed out toward flatspace. Once there, she dropped off several stealthy automated scout boats that would lurk far out, soak up signals and launch periodic message drones. Maybe, with luck, something of Engels’ fate could be learned.
Message drones from both sides were already transiting through sidespace, telling of the Battle of Sparta’s ambiguous result, so Trinity regarded herself as free to take independent action for the benefit of the Republic. She set her course for the Starfish Nebula at maximum speed.
Chapter 29
Carla Engels. Location unknown.
Carla Engels came to hazy consciousness inside an autodoc tube. Her entire body felt numb and heavy. She was barely able to open her eyes or move her fingers. The light within the machine was dim, but the crystal canopy let in more from the room outside.
She saw human shapes, and so felt for the intercom button under her hand. She’d been stuck in an autodoc once before, for a week after a combat injury, so she knew exactly where the controls were—at least, on a standard Hundred Worlds model.
She found the control right where she expected, realizing what it meant: she was a prisoner of the Huns. She activated it, but didn’t speak yet. Perhaps she could hear something.
“This one’s in bad shape,” a woman’s voice said. “My notes say she was wearing what looked like flag officer insignia. Nametag reads ‘Engels.’”
“Must be one of the new human traitor allies of the Hok,” a male voice said in return. “Surprising a human would have so much authority.”
“Not our concern. Our orders are to do triage and send over the worst cases to Victory.”
“To Victory? What’re they going to do with them there?”
“No idea. Try to save them? I guess the fleet’s newest ship’s gotta have a tip-top infirmary.”
“Must be nice,” the woman said.
A ping sounded, and then another. Ping. Ping. Ping. “Great. Ms. Engels here’s several weeks pregnant—and her organs are failing. She’s dying.”
“Not on my watch,” the man said. “Get this tube on the shuttle to Victory, stat. Maybe they can save her there.”
“And if they don’t, it won’t be our fault we lost her.”
“Did I say that? Get moving.”
Engels thoughts swirled. Pregnant? How could she—oh, right, she’d removed her implant before the wedding, figuring to let nature take its course… but so fast?
She cleared her throat to speak, but a warm, welcoming blanket seemed to flow over her.
Sedation… no! No! Please…
Consciousness faded.
* * *
Carla Engels awoke to slow, creeping horror. She could see out her open eyes, but couldn’t move, couldn’t even blink—and she couldn’t feel any part of her body. Above her hovered the many arms of a robotic surgery suite, more complex than a mere autodoc.
The arms made deliberate, precise motions down below her chin, out of her sight. Still she felt nothing—no pain, no sensation, yes somehow she knew the soulless machine was carving her body like a piece of meat.
Help! She wanted to cry, but every nerve was paralyzed. A tiny arm moved into position above her staring eyes and dispensed drops onto her corneas. She wondered why they didn’t simply close her eyelids.
Conversation came to her, faint but clear, as if from an adjacent room with an open door. “As you see, the crushed limbs have been amputated,” a dispassionate older male voice said. “This will make the next stage of the procedure easier. Less stress on the organs that are still functioning.”
“I see, Doctor Superior,” another replied in younger, female tones.
“The machines are already supplementing her damaged heart, kidneys and liver. The tricky part is the transfer to full cyborg status prior to insertion in the module. Something about the human nervous system seems to recognize when it loses feedback from too many organs. Sometimes it seems to simply give up and shut down, but this one’s a fighter, I think. She’s clearly a superior specimen, and shows traces of biotech enhancement not unlike the Hok have. Perhaps they tried to improve her using their alien DNA-analogue, or hybridize her. Also, she’s already brainchipped. That will make it easier.”
“It’s fine. I’ve removed it to cryogenic storage. The Institute of Health is eager to study it. I suspect they might even find a surrogate and bring it to term.”
Fetus. They said I was pregnant. A child! No, no, don’t take my child… Carla tried to scream and thrash, tried to say or do anything, but she couldn’t. She was trapped behind the wall of her own senses, helpless.
Yet despite the medical jargon, it seemed they were trying to save her life. That meant that someday, somehow, she would regain mobility and autonomy. They said something about “cyborg,” and a “module.” Clearly, they intended her to live on. She resolved, then and there, that no matter how, she would fight her way back to freedom—and she would have her child, no matter how long it took.
“Mara,” the male voice continued, “you have your robo-surgery accreditation, don’t you?”
“Yes, Doctor Superior. Top of my class, and I’ve been practicing since I graduated from med school at age seventeen.” Carla thought she heard a hint of longsuffering in the voice.
“Oh yes, you’re one of our young brainiacs, aren’t you, Doctor?”
“I’m a genetically engineered mental, yes.”
“You should be proud to be gifted such advantages, but now’s the time to put those skills to real use. We have hundreds of these total losses coming in and we need to process them quickly. Take charge of this one, finish the procedure, and be ready for more. If you have any problems with the new surgery suite, ask Vic or one of the Carstairs techs.”
“Yes, Doctor Superior.”
“I’ll see you later, hmm? Perhaps in the officers’ mess?”
“As you pointed out, I’ll be very busy.”
“Of course. Just a pleasant thought. Carry on.”
A pause, then the young woman’s voice muttered. “Pompous ass.”
A minute went by.
Carla suddenly felt her first real sensation in some time as her brainlink was queried with a standard request for access. Denied. No way she was letting someone into her brain. Fortunately, brainlink encryption was reputed to be uncrackable.
“This seems to be a Hundred Worlds interface,” the woman—Mara, the other doctor had called her—mumbled, talking to herself. “I wonder why… Did the Hok copy our tech? Hey, Vic!”
A voice spoke in bland male tones. “Yes, Doctor Straker?”
Straker? What the hell? Carla couldn’t fathom it. Coincidence? Not impossible, of course, but still…
“Vic, this one has a standard military brainlink port, but I can’t get through. Can you override or hack it?”
“Hacking would take some time, even for me. I detect a Fleet interface. I have all Fleet overrides available. Do you certify this as medically necessary?”
“I do.”
“I have logged your physician’s order. I will unlock it.”
“Thanks, Vic.”
“You’re welcome, Doctor Straker.”
Carla felt the brainlink open and stay open, no matter how hard she tried to close it. She began to panic. What would they do to her mind?
Suddenly, she found herself in a simple room with a table and chairs. She recognized it as a basic loading matrix for VR. Though she knew it wasn’t real, she nevertheless felt immense relief at having a body and being able to move.
A shorter, younger woman with dark hair and a look of kindness materialized in front of her. “Hello, Ms. Engels. I’m Doctor Mara Straker. Have a seat.”
“That’s Admiral Engels, your prisoner of war,” Carla snapped. “Where am I? How did you open my brainlink so easily? What the hell are you going to do to me—and my baby? Why is your name Mara Straker? Why—”
“Please, ah, Admiral. I’m a civilian doctor, not military. I’m here to help you.”
“By stealing my baby and sending it for research experimentation? It’s a human life, dammit!”
“Not under the law. It’s not viable, and your body is dying.” Mara held up a hand. “I know, next you’ll say I’m violating your civil rights, but you’re a prisoner of war, so those are curtailed.”
“I’m a citizen of the Hundred Worlds!”
Mara crossed her arms and her brow furrowed. “Then by fighting against us, you’re a traitor. Sure you want to bring that up?”
“What’s it matter? That Vic guy already forced open my brainlink. Next you’ll mind-rape me.”
Mara sighed. “Look, Carla—may I call you Carla? This VR space is confidential. Doctor-patient privilege. And Vic isn’t a guy. He’s the AI that runs this ship—Victory. Sure, he could force his way in here, but he follows the rules because that’s how he’s programmed.” She turned her eyes aside. “Follows them better than most people, actually.”
Vic was Victory’s AI? And apparently Vic was sane, just like Trinity—unless he was masquerading. But Carla had to take a chance. She might not get another opportunity to communicate before they did whatever it was they intended.
“Okay, Doc,” Carla said, pacing the room and gesticulating angrily, “give it to me straight. My brain is on total life support. My child survived, but I heard your Doctor Superior say he was freezing it and sending it to the Institute of Health for study. Simple human decency should tell you that’s wrong! The law be damned, my status be damned, that’s my child! You don’t rip the fetuses of even condemned criminals from their wombs and send them to labs—why do it to me?”
Mara lifted her chin and stepped in front of Carla, taking her by the shoulders. “I won’t. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What they want me to do to you is wrong. The Victory program had strict ethical rules when it was set up, but the Loyalist Act twisted everything. It’s given the government the right to bypass any laws if it’s ‘deemed necessary for the war effort.’ I didn’t worry about that too much until I started to see the brains they brought in for processing…”
“Brains for processing? What are you talking about? And Mara—do we really have the time to talk about this? Aren’t I dying?”
“Don’t worry. We can talk for hours and only a few seconds will pass outside this matrix. And it’s only your organs that we’re losing. We can keep your spine and brain alive indefinitely.”
“Okay.” Carla disengaged from the other woman’s near-embrace. She wanted to trust her, but—wait, maybe— “Hey, why did you call yourself Mara Straker?”
“Because that’s my name?”
Carla rubbed her temples. “No, I mean… my husband Derek Straker had a sister named Mara, but she was killed along with their parents. She was a brainiac. It seems like a huge coincidence.”
“That’s very odd. My brother’s name was Derek. He was a mechsuiter until he died at the Battle of Corinth.”
“He didn’t die! He and I were captured by the Hok!” Carla spent the next minutes summarizing all that had happened in the past nearly two years while Mara stood, her jaw slack with amazement. “But why’d he think you were dead?” she asked the shocked young doctor.
“I—I don’t know,” Mara said. “They must have told him so. The Regiment never let him come home—they said he was too busy for leave, what with the war—but we exchanged vidcom messages. Or I thought we did.” Mara snapped her fingers. “They used a vidclone.”
Carla balled her fists in anger. “Your government—my government too, until I was captured—has been lying to us all along. They lied about the Hok, about the Mutuality, about what’s really going on with the war—and about you, Mara. Derek often talked about that day when you died—when he thought you died, and his parents. The Hok attacked Seaburn City and he and Loco had to hide from the Hok suicide troops. What do you remember about that day?”
“That’s wrong. We didn’t die. He and I got on different buses for evacuation. He went to Academy, I got sent to Hippocrates Prime to do secondary, university, then med school. Mom and Dad came with me. They’re fine. Derek went on to his military career. We followed it avidly. We were proud of him.”
�
�Derek told me he burned with hatred for the Hok, for killing his family. He kept your Glory Girl figurine in his mechsuit cockpit to remind him.”
Mara chuckled. “I always wondered where that went. It was my favorite.” She sobered. “So you’re saying they manipulated him into becoming the perfect mechsuiter. They must have done it with his brainchips. All of his memories of those days must be false, implanted. And if they did it to him… how many other people have they done things like that to? Even to me and you.”
“It sure makes you wonder, sister.”
Mara smiled. “And you married Derek. You are my sister now.” She hugged Carla impulsively. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too. But now…?”
“What’s to be your fate?” Mara threw herself into a chair and rubbed her face. “I have to be careful. They’re making us junior surgeons perform or supervise unethical operations. They ordered us to surgically alter the living brains inside the modules, burning or slicing certain selected synapse clusters before linking with Vic.”
“Linking with Vic? To the AI?” Carla realized her guess had been right. She thought about Zaxby’s voluntary synthesis with Trinity. How was this different? Yet that was the key to most morality: choice or coercion.
“Yes. Originally we used damaged, salvaged brains from hopeless coma patients. We linked them with Vic—the Virtual Interface Computer 1.0. The organic processing kept the AI stable, and some of the brains showed renewed activity. It was deemed a humane alternative. But we needed more brains, so they started sending us healthy death-row criminals. I… I should have refused, but I didn’t. They were already condemned, and technically they consented. I mean, it was their choice, the Victory program or the Termination Chamber, so they took the long shot—or the government said they did. I told myself they might live on in some fashion, even with their free will burned out of them.”