by G J Ogden
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Sterling replied. The memory of his latest dream had faded, despite his efforts to confront it. Now he could barely recall what all the fuss was about. “Now park the Sigmund Freud crap and give me a Fleet status update.”
Sterling grabbed another towel and began to pat himself dry. It still felt strange that Commander Banks hadn’t arrived. He also felt that something else was missing, as if there was an appointment that he’d forgotten about.
“Fleet Marauder Invictus is operating at ninety-eight-point-two percent efficiency, all systems nominal,” the computer began. Sterling let out a quiet huff of appreciation. The high efficiency rating was no-doubt due to Lieutenant Razor’s keen oversight of the repair work. Repairs are complete and we remain docked at F-COP,” the AI continued, remaining ever cheerful. “We are cleared for departure at oh nine thirty and pre-authorized to surge to A-sector. The last Fleet status update was seventeen minutes ago. There were no engagements overnight. Fifty-two Fleet aperture recon relays were launched through the aperture into G-sector. Forty-eight were immediately destroyed. The surviving probes reported no contact from the colonies and Fleet assets in G-sector. All are presumed destroyed or turned. Fleet estimates the strength of the Sa’Nerran invasion armada at seven hundred and fifty-five warships. Fleet Admiral Rossi has redeployed the second, third and fourth Fleets to defend F-sector.”
Sterling had gotten dressed in the time it had taken the computer to run through its brief summary report. There was nothing contained in it that surprised him.
“What about Admiral Griffin?” asked Sterling. “Any news on where she is?”
“Negative, Captain, there is no official report on the location of Admiral Griffin,” the computer replied.
Sterling cursed under his breath. “That figures. Who knows where the hell she is now.”
Sterling then tapped his neural interface and reached out to Commander Banks. He felt the link form in his mind, as familiar as his own thoughts.
“Are you still alive, Commander, or do I need to send out a search party?” Sterling said.
There was a brief delay before his first-officer answered. “Ah, crap, I’m sorry, Lucas,” Banks said. “I lost track of time.”
“Don’t worry, I saved you a few biscuits from my meal tray,” said Sterling. “The wardroom is closed now, so you’ll just have to make do with those.”
“Very funny, Captain,” replied Banks, though it was clear she was not in the slightest bit amused. “It would take a full regiment of Sa’Nerran warriors to stop me from getting breakfast.”
“In that case, I’ll see you there in five,” replied Sterling, tapping his interface to close the link.
“Have a good morning, Captain,” the computer said, as Sterling opened the door. “And thank you for the conversation.”
“My pleasure, computer,” Sterling replied, casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Just don’t make me regret not formatting you with a gen-thirteen. We all have to pull our weight around here, AIs included.”
“You will not regret it, Captain,” the computer replied. “Nor will I forget what you have done.”
Sterling frowned up at the ceiling, unsure of exactly what the computer had meant by that. However, he was too hungry to care. Stepping out into the corridor outside his quarters, he returned the salute of two crew members, whose names he couldn’t remember, then set off toward the wardroom.
Chapter 4
A tale of two breakfasts
Sterling slid his number twenty-seven meal tray onto the table in his usual corner spot then dropped into the waiting chair. Unusually, Commander Banks had yet to arrive; probably the first time ever that Sterling had beaten her to breakfast. He suspected the cause of the delay was a certain prohibited four-legged animal. Lieutenant Shade had already been and gone, as had Lieutenant Razor. Both had eaten very early in the morning, as was their way. Shade was already on the bridge, while the computer had reported his chief engineer’s location as inside some crawlspace or another, heading towards the starboard plasma rail guns.
Sterling activated the computer on his left forearm and anxiously checked the status readout of Razor’s neural interface. However, the readings were still stable and he breathed a sigh of relief. Sterling was keenly aware that Razor could still succumb to the neural damage she’d sustained after interfacing with a Sa’Nerran commander. By using the prototype device from Far Deep Nine to coerce the location of James Colicos from the mind of the alien leader, Razor had exposed herself to the neural control technology. Commander Graves had done what he could to mitigate the damage, including giving Sterling the ability to terminate Razor if it appeared that she was ‘turning’. The ship’s doctor had also managed to isolate and protect the part of Razor’s interface that dealt with neural comms, so that Sterling and the crew could still communicate with her. Thankfully, so far, his engineer had appeared to be entirely unaffected by the experience. Yet, the risk she posed was always at the back of his mind, especially when she was off crawling through tunnels in key parts of the ship.
Sterling put these thoughts out of this mind and tore the foil off his meal tray, savoring the steamy aroma of his favorite grilled ham and cheese. He quickly set to work on the sandwich, grateful that for once Banks wasn’t sitting opposite him, preparing to pilfer items from his tray. Allowing himself to relax and enjoy his meal, Sterling cast his eyes up to the TV in the wardroom. It was showing a bulletin from one of the Fleet news channels. Ernest Clairborne, the United Governments Secretary of War, was on the screen. He delivered a carefully prepared statement containing the usual key messaging points about the state of the war, then vanished as swiftly as a plasma blast through space. A heated discussion by a panel of journalists and ‘military experts’ followed, but despite criticisms leveled at Clairborne, it was clear that the news networks were still largely towing the party line. However, once the Sa’Nerran invasion armada appeared in the solar system, Sterling knew that no amount of spin could hide the public from the truth.
“Mind if I join you, Captain?”
The sudden interruption almost caused Sterling to choke on a piece of toast. He glanced behind to see Ensign Keller, meal tray in hand, smiling at him amiably. However, once the pilot realized that he’d startled his captain the smile quickly dropped off his face.
“Sorry, Captain, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Keller said, his cheeks flushing red.
“It’s okay, Ensign, I was just miles away that’s all,” said Sterling, thumping his chest to dislodge the bread. He pointed to the seat next to him. “Take a pew and tell me what’s going on in the world of Kieran Keller.”
Keller’s smile returned and he eagerly drew back the chair, causing it to screech across the metal deck. The officer placed his meal tray on the table with a similar lack of deftness, causing a knife to rattle off the surface and clatter onto the floor. The resulting screeches and clangs drew irrigated glances in the pilot’s direction. However, once the other officers realized who Keller was with, they all quickly turned away and minded their own business.
“For someone who can thread a warship literally through the middle of a cored-out moonlet, you’re one hell of a clumsy oaf, Keller,” Sterling said as the ensign sat down and screeched his chair under the table.
“I can’t explain it either, Captain,” replied Keller, tearing the foil off his meal tray. “I happens when I think too much about what I’m trying to do,” he shrugged. “You know, when I try really hard not to be clumsy, I always end up being clumsy!” Keller laughed and somehow managed to knock Sterling’s fork onto floor at the same time. The Ensign winced and glanced up at his captain with apologetic eyes.
“It’s okay, I wasn’t using it anyway,” Sterling said, letting the helmsman off the hook.
One of the wardroom staff brought a fresh pot of coffee and poured two cups before setting the jug down. Sterling immediately pushed Keller’s mug further away from him, to limit the possibility of having hot co
ffee spilled on his lap.
“Where’s Commander Banks?” Keller asked, tucking into a tray of eggs. “She can’t have been and gone already, surely?”
The wardroom door swished open and Sterling’s first officer walked in. “Speak of the devil,” said Sterling, nodding over toward Banks.
Keller spun around, banging into the table and spilling some of the coffee out of both his and Keller’s mugs.
“Hey, Commander,” Keller said, waving at Banks with his fork while Sterling tutted and mopped up the spillage with a paper towel.
“Hay is what horses eat, Ensign,” Banks hit back. “‘Good morning Commander’ is what ensigns say to the ship’s executive officer.”
Keller flushed red again. “Yes, sorry, Commander,” he spluttered. “I mean, good morning Commander.”
“Is it?” replied Banks, standing behind Keller and folding her powerful arms.
“Um, is it what, sir?” replied Keller. Sterling noticed that there was a small piece of egg stuck to the side of his mouth and stifled a chuckle.
“Is it a good morning, Ensign?” Banks clarified.
Keller briefly cast his eyes to Sterling, as if imploring his captain for help. However, Sterling was enjoying Banks’ bad-cop routine too much to intervene. The only thing he wanted to do to help Keller was to brush the piece of egg off his face.
“Well, we’re heading to Earth, so I guess that’s good?” Keller finally answered, turning back to the ship’s first-officer. “I haven’t seen Earth for two years.”
“If you want to see Earth, look at a holo book,” Bank replied, huffily. “We’re a warship, designed for extended missions in the Void, deep behind enemy lines.” Banks’ eyes narrowed. “Are there any Sa’Nerra on Earth or anywhere near it, Ensign?”
“I don’t think so, sir,” Keller replied. He was clearly wary that it might be a trick question, hence the caginess of the young man’s reply.
“Then us going to Earth makes this a bad day, am I right, Ensign?” Banks added.
“Yes, sir?” Keller answered, though he phrased his response as a question. Banks had clearly frazzled his brain.
“Good, I’m glad we had this little chat, Ensign,” said Banks, slapping the pilot on the back.
Due to Banks’ freakish strength, the slap caused the piece of egg that had been stuck to Keller’s face to pop off and land in his coffee. Keller scowled and began fishing it out with a teaspoon, while Banks marched over to the serving hatch, looking distinctly pleased with herself. Knocking the coffee-soaked egg onto the side of his tray, Keller then picked up his fork, ready to attack the eggs for a second time, when he suddenly froze. Sterling recognized the look straight away – Keller was receiving a neural call from someone on the ship. Sterling munched on a cookie while he watched Keller tap his neural interface to accept the link. A few seconds later, the pilot tapped the interface again and screeched his chair back across the deck.
“I’m sorry, Captain, I have to go,” said Keller, again looking flushed and panicky. “I forgot I had an appointment with Commander Graves.”
“Nothing serious, I hope?” Sterling replied, toying with the bread crusts on his tray.
“No, just a routine check-up on my artificial heart and other organs, sir,” said Keller, tapping the extensive amount of metal in his chest.
Sterling nodding. He’d almost forgotten about the near-fatal injuries that Keller had sustained on G-COP. It seemed like years ago. He then realized that his concern was less about Keller’s health and more about the possibility of losing a skilled pilot. Sterling idly wondered if this was yet another indicator that he was a bad person. However, he shrugged off the notion and carried on eating his fruit cookie.
Keller wolfed down the rest of his eggs while still standing then washed it down with his coffee. “I’ll see you on the bridge, Captain,” the pilot said, screeching his chair back under the table. The noise was like two cats fighting in an alley. Keller grabbed the cake bar off his tray and hurried away, knocking into the back of another diner’s chair in the process.
“Did I scare him off?” wondered Banks, appearing behind Sterling with a meal tray in hand. Like Keller before her, Banks’ sudden appearance had startled Sterling.
“No, but you scared me, damn it,” Sterling hit back. “I think I’m going to have Graves install an artificial eye in the back of my head to stop people sneaking up on me.”
Banks huffed a half-hearted laugh then slid into the chair opposite Sterling before tearing the foil of her meal tray and beginning to eat. However, Banks attacked the food with none of her usual gusto. It was then Sterling realized that his first-officer had also selected only a single meal tray, rather than her usual two.
“Are you feeling okay, Mercedes?” Sterling frowned at his first-officer.
“Why do you ask?” Banks replied with a level of irritability that rivaled even Admiral Griffin.
“You only have one meal tray,” Sterling said, pointing to the stew-like substance Banks was eating. “What’s up?”
Banks shrugged. “I’m fine, don’t fuss,” she replied, using Sterling’s own trademark stand-offishness against him.
Sterling knew full-well why Banks was in a mood and he planned to spare her any further misery before they headed to the bridge. However, he was still curious if his first officer would attempt to petition him on behalf of the hound, or just go along with the order and remain grouchy. Banks’ eyes then focused in on Sterling’s meal tray. He smiled, expecting Banks to grab his sandwich crusts, but instead she just nodded toward his hand.
“How did you do that?” she asked, stabbing her fork in the direction of Sterling’s knuckle.
“I was doing press-ups on my knuckles this morning,” Sterling replied, thinking quickly to invent a plausible white lie. He then cursed under his breath, realizing that he’d completely forgotten his morning exercise routine. The non-appearance of his first officer at his quarters had completely thrown him, as had the vivid nightmare.
“Were you doing push-ups on broken glass or something?” Banks was clearly suspicious of Sterling’s answer. She shrugged and returned to her food. “In any case, that’s a bad dermal regeneration job. It’ll sting like hell if you don’t give it a second treatment.”
“Noted, Commander,” replied Sterling, pulling his hand off the table and resting it on his lap. Now that Banks had mentioned it, his knuckles did sting a little. However, he couldn’t be certain whether they had just started hurting, or had been sore the whole the time. “In other news, we’ve got a smooth run to A-COP,” Sterling changed the subject. “We should be back in the solar system in time for dinner.”
He didn’t want Banks prying any further into the causes of his injury, partly because he didn’t enjoy lying to her. He may have been a cold-hearted killer, ready to sacrifice Fleet and civilian personnel in the name of the mission, but he wasn’t dishonest. At least he wasn’t when it came to those he trusted and respected.
“Great,” replied Banks, with the least amount of enthusiasm he’d ever heard from her. “Fat lot of use we are in the solar system. It’s like Admiral Wessel doesn’t even realize there’s a war on.”
“The Admiral also forgets that, with the exception of the Hammer, we’ve seen the most action out of any ship in the fleet,” Sterling added. “Certainly, there’s no other vessel that’s been in as many fights as we have in the amount of time we’ve been in space.”
Banks sighed and tossed down her spoon. She’d only three-quarters finished her oatmeal. “Any word yet from Griffin?” she asked, bypassing the stew entirely, picking up a bar of chocolate and nibbling on it.
“Nothing yet,” replied Sterling. “I think we’re just going to have to suck it up with Wessel and the SIB for the time-being. If I know Griffin, though, she won’t let us wallow in the mud for long.”
“I wonder where the hell she’s gone,” Banks said, biting another corner off the bar of chocolate. “There’s chatter on F-COP that she’s gone AWOL
.”
Sterling recoiled a little at Banks’ last statement. “Really? Who is saying that?”
Banks shrugged. “I served with some guys who are on the Viking, one of Rossi’s fourth-fleet cruisers, before he got promoted anyway,” she said, toying with the chocolate bar. “Griffin was due to take over command of the fourth fleet, but she apparently took a surge-capable shuttle from the Viking and hasn’t been seen since.”
Sterling huffed in surprise. “Sounds like she has the right idea,” he said before tossing some dried fruit into his mouth. “Maybe we should just go rogue and head back into the Void.”
Banks’ eyes lit up and she suddenly showed more interest in their conversation. “Are you serious?” she asked.
Sterling frowned. “No,” he admitted, though he also couldn’t deny the idea had appeal. “I don’t see what good we can do alone in the Void. We need Griffin.”
“And what if she’s gone for good?” Banks replied. The chocolate bar was now beginning to melt between the tips of her fingers.
“The Omega Directive is in effect, Mercedes,” Sterling hit back. “It always was. It always will be. If she’s gone then I’m not spending the rest of this war dancing to Vernon Wessel’s tune.”
Sterling found himself speaking the words more fervidly than he’d intended. He’d tried to suppress his own dissatisfaction at being reassigned to Wessel’s Special Investigations Branch, and had only managed it because of Griffin’s assertion that she’d be back in touch. If she was gone however, as Banks had suggested, then he wasn’t sure what he’d do. For two years the Invictus had been conducting black-ops missions that were not sanctioned by the War Council. Admiral Wessel clearly knew of their clandestine status and wanted to take him down. He’d rather die than allow that to happen, Sterling realized in that moment.
“One thing’s for sure, Mercedes,” Sterling added, locking eyes with his first-officer. “I’m not sitting out the rest of this war in a jail cell in Grimaldi. And I’m not going to sit on my hands while the Sa’Nerra invade the solar system and eradicate us like cockroaches.”