by Ben Wilson
“I don't want the material to look like it came from the Navy. That would send the wrong message,” Commander Ravindra said.
What message would it send? That we have no clue what we're doing? I'm pretty sure those waiting for us at Moyaba know that, too. Years of listening to his father's lectures taught Litovio that a rich imagination helped him keep his thoughts to himself. “That might take a bit longer. I should be able to strip out references to the Navy. But, if you want me to do a complete rewrite, that could easily take months. Besides, there's normally a review and comment period.”
“I don't think a complete rewrite is required. But, let's see if we can't ensure it looks vetted.” Bence let his rank settle the debate.
Litovio glanced over at Ravindra soon enough to catch the flash of shock on the Commander's face.
“Does that even matter, Sir?” Ravindra said. “It's not like anybody will challenge your authority or your doctrines.”
Bence shook his head. “That's not the point. It can be safe to assume the fleet will obey me. After all, I have the authority of the Auspicious Emperor. Have you given consideration to the consequences of what we're doing?”
“That we're running headlong into certain death?” Ravindra scoffed.
“That's short-term thinking. Litovio, what are the long-term consequences of our endeavor?”
Another fast glance at Ravindra, who looked less pleased than before. Litovio said, “one likely consequence is a shortened career as Commander Ravindra said. However, if we manage to pull off a victory, then the Postal Marines will have to start operating like a fleet more frequently. We can't assume the Navy would let the Marines thrash one of their fleets, even if it is rogue.”
“When we defeat the Navy, the doctrine you're putting together will become standard fare, right. There will likely not be time for a committee of esteemed postmasters to deliberate over the document after. It has to look considered and everlasting. Understood?”
The dryness in Litovio's mouth again caught up to him. “Understood. But there's a strong chance the Navy might harbor resentment if we win. Is there anything else you need?”
“That should be enough. You should probably start writing as soon as you finish lunch.”
Litovio took a moment to smile. “I think I can start without lunch.” He saluted Admiral Bence and nodded to Ravindra. He then briskly exited the stateroom. His fear caught up to him, but he managed to keep his lunch down. Without looking back, he headed down the passage.
* * *
Bophendze - Spaka
Bophendze's fear was as tangible as it was imaginary. He walked cautiously down the passage from his berthing area heading toward the aft gun. The fear grew with each step. Makaan is going to kill me. He is waiting for me at the aft gun.
“But he can't be at the aft gun. He is still in sick bay. That's not an area of the ship marines frequent. Why would he go there. Wait. Why am I going to the aft gun?”
Bophendze searched his memory. Wasn't it the dog watch? Why would I be going to the aft gun during the dog watch? Nobody actually mans that gun during the dog watch unless the ship is on alert. We're not on alert, so why am I going there?
No, it wasn't the dog shift. It was first shift. That was it. He felt more assured. He knew it could not be dog watch. He was confident now. He should be going to the aft gun. Why did I ever doubt myself? I want to get to the aft gun.
He hurried down the passage. As he did, his fear continued to build. Makaan will be at the aft gun and it is dog watch. He is going to try to kill me, and there is nobody there to witness it. He is going to launch me out of an air lock and I'll be missing.
I'm being silly. Makaan is still in sick bay. The aft gun is a safe place. Relax.
No. Makaan should still be in sick bay, but he won't be. He will be waiting for me at the aft gun. But why will he be waiting for me? Why do I know this?
This is only a dream. Go back to sleep. The thought was confident and direct, cutting through his doubt and fear. Yes, this is dog shift, but you are in your rack sleeping. This is just a bad dream. In this dream it is first shift and you are heading to the aft gun. Relax.
Bophendze tried to relax. The thought was so convincing, but his fear refused to ebb. The dream felt too real for him to relax. Something about the dream did not feel right. Did I dream that I dropped by sick bay and challenged Makaan earlier?
I certainly did not. Where did that thought come from? Even in a dream that would be ludicrous. Makaan would have my guts for garters. Who would want to dream that? You're just dreaming of going to the aft gun during the first shift to do your normal duty.
Would Makaan really have my guts for garters? The thought seemed alien as it echoed in his mind. Bophendze felt something was wrong, but he could not tell what. He continued to head toward the aft gun, settling into the dream. The fear continued, but he finally accepted the dream's reality.
Smee? What is going on?
Smee was silent, again. Whenever Bophendze felt panicked and sought Smee's advice, he was notably absent. That concerned Bophendze. Smee always choose to be silent when Bophendze needed him most. He conveniently chose to abandon him, like he did after the fight planetside. A fight he instigated and single-handedly won. Why would Smee show up in my dream?
The dream Bophendze arrived at the aft gun. It was not first watch, though. It was dog watch. He was not alone, either. Makaan stood waiting. He wore his duty uniform, with its mottled blotches of gray, white and black. Bile rose to Bophendze's mouth and he swallowed it back down.
“When you came by the sick bay and threatened me,” Makaan said, “I thought you were joking. You would be a fool to do so. I came down here to prove to myself that you were as spineless now as when I met you. And here you are, ready to fight to the death.”
What? I didn't challenge him. Smee, you did this? “There must be some mistake. We can work this out.” The words leaked out of Bophendze's mouth.
“We will, but not like you hoped. I promised you that I would kill you. I can't let what you do go unpunished. That would make me appear too weak. That you so easily gave me my chance just proves how stupid you are.” Makaan drew his combat knife. “Are you going to run or put up a fight?”
Words taken out of my mind. Bophendze thought. Run!
Bophendze's body failed to respond to his simple direction, just like any dream. Instead of running back down the passage, he squared off against Makaan. Bophendze's thumb produced a creaking noise by rubbing it against his forefinger audibly. He took a boxing stance.
Makaan laughed. “This isn't a boxing match, boy. You're making this too easy.”
Easy? I'm trying to run. My body's just not letting me. Bophendze tried to open his mouth to protest.
“Your mother's easy.” Bophendze heard himself say.
Makaan squinted his eyes. As if in slow motion, he began to lunge at Bophendze.
What is going on here? Oh, no! Smee!
Don't worry, Puppet. He's nothing but meat.
Smee, using Bophendze's body, closed faster than Makaan. He blocked Makaan's knife in passing, directing it harmlessly away from Bophendze. He threw an upper cut with his right hand while driving up with his legs, catching Makaan squarely under the jaw. Makaan's head rocked back, seemingly unprepared. Makaan's eyes flashed momentary surprise.
Smee rotated his torso, loading up his left fist. He kept eye contact with Makaan. Makaan prepared for another blow to the face, lifting his arm to block.
Instead, Smee stabbed his fist in a shovel hook just under Makaan's floating ribs. Makaan buckled under the perfect liver shot.
Dropping to one knee, Smee threw a palm heel upward, into Makaan's scrotum. The force of the blow lifted Makaan slightly into the air. Makaan reflexively bent over and staggered backward.
Smee stood back up and grabbed Makaan's bowed head. He then slammed his knee into Makaan's face, crushing his nose. Makaan fell face first to the deck unconscious. Smee stood squarely with a perfectly
balanced stance. He was ready for another round.
Puppet, that is how you deal with a threat. You don't hope he goes away. You make him go away.
Is he dead?
Smee bent over and checked Makaan's pulse at his neck. Makaan's breathing was shallow, and Bophendze could feel Makaan's steady pulse tapping against his fingers.
He's still breathing, but he's dead.
He's not dead. He still has a pulse. I felt it.
Smee kicked Makaan's knife away from where it lay near Makaan. He stood over Makaan and tried to lift him off the ground. Bophendze struggled to regain control of his body, but it was a futile effort. Several times Smee struggled to pick Makaan up before he settled on just lifting Makaan by the shoulders and dragging him.
You need to lift more weights, Makaan's not that heavy.
Smee dragged Makaan's body toward the aft gun turret's munition airlock.
What are you doing?
What must be done. What you won't do, Puppet.
Gun turret airlocks were designed to toss spent munitions, which meant it was smaller than a standard airlock. They were not designed for human occupancy. That meant the airlock was under local control and did not log its opening or signal the bridge. Other airlocks did. Smee opened the airlock and pushed Makaan inside.
Stop. We don't need to do this. Bophendze felt helpless as he watched himself, under Smee's control.
You have no idea what we need to do. Just you sit back and enjoy the show.
Smee continued to stuff Makaan into the tight airlock. When he tried to close the airlock, Makaan's arm flopped out and blocked the door. Smee pushed the arm into the airlock and slammed the airlock door shut.
Shutting the door started the automatic cycle of ejecting the airlock's contents. The door locked automatically and the process recovered any remaining air within the airlock. Less than a beat later, the outer door opened, propelling its contents. Then the door unlocked itself and re-stabilized. Makaan breathed his last.
“No!” The sound of his scream surprised Bophendze. Smee had relinquished control of Bophendze's body.
“Why did you do this?! You've ruined my life.”
Danel, you can recover from a ruined life much better than a dead one. I just saved your life.
Chapter
Murder. The word hung ominously in Bophendze's mind. Even if Smee did it, Smee killed him with my hands. I'm as guilty as if I had done it myself. Why did I ever think it was wise to put an artificial intelligence in my brain?
Bophendze hurried from the gun compartment, gripped in overwhelming fear. Fear of being caught. I can't head straight back. If I get seen somebody might figure out where I came from. He took the next ladder down, and carefully worked his way to the main hangar. He was thankful that he ran into no crewmen on the way there. The dog shift was between zero and three cycles, usually only essential positions were manned.
Attention! All stations. Attention!
Bophendze froze. No. They've already discovered my crime.
We are jumping into hyperspace in five beats. Secure all airlocks and hatches.
“Wait. We're about to jump. By the time they find him missing, we'll be in hyperspace.” Bophendze continued to the hangar. His fear did not ebb despite encountering no crewmen along the way. Once he reached the hangar, he peeked around the corner to see if the coast was clear.
But it was not. There were four hangar crewmen. All four were at a cabinet near the hangar door. Inside there were four large cylinders, pins for the doors. Each crewman took one and together they went to mounting points along the hangar door. They slid the pins into place, effectively preventing the hangar doors from opening. While he watched them, Bophendze recalled fragments of a briefing about the dangers of hyperspace exposure.
Ships had double hulls, both made of alloys resistant to hyperspace radiation. Wounded ships that jumped into hyperspace to escape destruction ran a risk of irradiating the crew. Ship compartments were established not just to counter the vacuum of space, but the radiation of hyperspace. He remembered feeling horror when he saw images of remains of humans exposed in a compromised compartment. The pins must ensure the hangar isn't exposed if somebody accidentally tries to open the door.
Bophendze turned and walked back to his berthing area. What do I do about Makaan? The guilt in being an accomplice for his murder weighed on him. But, it was not me that did it. I wanted to do the right thing, to flee. Whether I wanted to or not, I helped murder Makaan. But not I, it was the spirit of the one who dwells in me. If that thing even has a spirit.
It's a machine. That controls me. I can't stop it without removing it. Will it let me? I am in bondage to that thing now. I'm now not doing what I would like to do, but what I hate. Smee is waging a war against my mind and making me a prisoner. Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from this body of death?
Carefully, Bophendze slipped into his berthing area. Everybody else was still asleep. He crawled back into his rack. He wrestled for another cycle with the crime he committed. Wait. Were there cameras in those compartments? He passed out from exhaustion.
* * *
Cycles later, the crew awoke and prepared for another day of training in anticipation of a fleet action. Infantry marines formed into combat teams and simulated close-quarter combat tactics throughout the ship. The training had gotten boring when assaulting the airlock, which was a common entry point. So the infantry started in other compartments for variety.
Chrachen called all of the team leaders to discuss the final assault roster. When Makaan did not show, he concluded he was still in sick bay. Once the other leaders left, he went to sick bay to confront one of his better subordinates for malingering. Then he discovered that Makaan should have returned to duty, but had left the sick bay unexpectedly.
After another cycle of hailing and waiting for Makaan to report, Chrachen became concerned. He assembled the leads again and confirmed that Makaan was missing. He then sent his leads to search the ship.
* * *
Bophendze felt a kick on his feet. He opened his eyes and they slowly focused on the bulkhead of his rack. How long have I been asleep? He closed his eyes and settled back to sleep. He ignored the second kick on his feet.
He shot awake as he felt his legs being pulled. He reflexively reached his arms out to the rack's bulkhead to stop his slide. Whoever had his legs relaxed, then tugged harder. Bophendze's grip gave way. They're going to arrest me. His butt fell out of the rack onto the deck. Bophendze sat up quickly and leaned forward.
“Get up!” Bophendze recognized Joven Drazen, a member of his team.
“I'm up, what's going on?” The berthing area's lights were fully lit, marking the morning shift. How am I going to get by on a couple cycle's sleep?
“Gunny Chrachen's putting together a search party.” Drazen, JovenDrazen kneeled down and resumed lacing his boots.
Bophendze stood and stretched, buying time to get his mind sorted out. He could feel adrenalin filling his system as the fear of being discovered started to catch up with him. “On a cruiser? What could go missing on a cruiser?”
“Corporal Makaan, apparently. I'd wager he's drunk again on one of the lower decks.”
“Again? I don't remember him being drunk.”
Drazen, JovenDrazen finished tying his boot and stood up. “I guess he's had you on so many cleaning details, you missed out on all the drunken binges.”
Bophendze shook his head. “How can you get drunk on a cruiser?”
“Contraband.” Drazen, JovenDrazen looked at Bophendze like he was an idiot. “How did you ever survive boot? What does the Postal Service do? We stop contraband from slipping through systems without paying their duties to the Emperor. Makaan must've skimmed a few cases off the top of a recent capture.” Drazen, JovenDrazen turned, put on his tunic, and started to buckle it tight.
“Then why didn't the senior officers arrest him?” Bophendze stepped into his boots and tied them. He hurried to catch up to Drazen, J
ovenDrazen.
Drazen, JovenDrazen stopped buckling. He turned back to Bophendze, looking more concerned. “Seriously? Bophendze, we all keep a little on the side. That's how everybody remains committed to the work. A little corruption is permissible because it helps deter the smugglers. ‘You don't take from the Emperor without having a little taken from you.”’ He buckled his last buckle. “I forget, you've not been on a mission yet.” Drazen, JovenDrazen started walking out of the berthing area.
“So if the drinking has been a problem, why hasn't anybody taken Makaan's alcohol?” Bophendze hurried into his tunic and followed Drazen, JovenDrazen while buckling it up.
“Because it's not been a problem. He gets drunk. We catch hell when he's drunk or hung over. He does his job and we pass efficiency reports. Why would seniors care how he does it? Leadership cares more about the ends than the means.”
“But now we're on a search party looking for him? Couldn't he find himself?”
“Apparently not. You must have really been dead asleep. They've been calling for him on the ship's intercom for the past cycle.”
Bophendze and Drazen, JovenDrazen walked to the hangar deck. As they entered, Bophendze saw most of the infantry marines were there, grouped into loose clusters instead of in formation. The two headed toward their team. Drazen, JovenDrazen stayed back for me?
“Any sign of him yet?” Hratjanan said.
“I'm in charge of the team until we find him, understood?” Drazen, JovenDrazen asked. Everybody nodded, acknowledging that Drazen, JovenDrazen was not asking a question but stating a fact. “Good.”
Bophendze knew, like the others did, that Drazen, JovenDrazen was the senior member of the team. Unlike them, he was not a recruit. He should have been a lance corporal at least. The rumor was he could have been a gunnery sergeant based on how many times he had been promoted. Instead, he got into enough fights to have been demoted not long after every promotion. Nobody questioned his authority.