Hecate

by J. B. Rockwell

  The two figures on the video feed squared off, arms waving wildly. No audio track to go with the feed, but from the looks of things, Shaw gave Karansky quite the tongue-lashing. Ran him out of there with his ass on fire, tail tucked firmly between his legs.

  Shaw touched the panel, killing the feed. “Took me half a day to undo all his changes and set everything back to rights.” She swiveled, facing him, shaking her head. “Goddamn pain in the ass.”

  Henricksen chewed his lip, studying her face. “That why I’m here? You want me to talk to Kinsey? Get him to keep Karansky out of your shorts?”

  Shaw dropped her eyes, staring at her hands. “No. Not that.”

  “Then what?” he asked, baffled. “You said you had something to show me—”

  “We,” Taggert interrupted, stepping away from the door. He glanced back, waving insistently at Ogawa until she joined him, standing stiffly at his side. “We,” he said, indicating himself and Ogawa, Shaw further in. “We have something to show you.”

  Henricksen quirked an eyebrow, looking from Shaw on one side to Ogawa on the other.

  Shaw shrugged and nodded, one hand resting on Scan’s panel. Ogawa met his eyes and quickly looked away. Flipped her ponytail over her shoulder and tugged anxiously at its end.

  He slid a look toward Sikuuku, but the gunner stared stonily back. “Alright. Show me,” he said, leaning back in his seat, folding his arms. “I’m dying to know what all this secrecy is about.”

  Eighteen

  Taggert stuffed a hand inside his jacket, pulled out a reader and plugged a trailing cable into Scan. “We were going over some of the sim data with Shaw—‘scuse, Shaw,” he said, smiling apologetically as he leaned between her and the station, plugging the cable into a data port.

  “Sim data.” Henricksen frowned, eyes flicking from Taggert to Shaw. “Sims are software. Why not talk to the engineers?”

  Taggert snorted in derision as he worked at the keyboard, loading a video feed onto the RV-N’s front windows. “Engineers don’t know spit. Sir,” he added, turning his head, nodding an apology to Henricksen. “Ogawa and I keep feeding them data from the sim runs but they don’t want to listen.”

  “What kind of data?” Henricksen asked him.

  Taggert shrugged. “Engines, mostly.” He nodded to the windows as the video feed started, sim capture showing a RV-N entering jump, slewing about in the hyperspace trough. “Rough as hell,” he confided. “Run hotter than anything I’ve ever seen.”

  Henricksen frowned, looking from Taggert to the video on the windows. “Fisker mentioned something similar, didn’t he? Right before One-Eight-Three ran into trouble.”

  “They were running within tolerances,” Shaw told him, chin lifting, stubborn look on her face. “Engines always run hot. That’s not what caused the accident.”

  “And that’s not the important part.” Taggert waited until Henricksen looked at him. Kept waiting—offering no more explanation—until Henricksen finally asked.

  “Then what is?” Henricksen snapped, quickly losing patience.

  “Shielding.” Taggert folded his arms, looking quite smug.

  “Shielding?” Henricksen shared a look with Sikuuku, but the gunner just sat there like a boulder, giving nothing away. “What about the shielding?”

  “Watch.” Taggert waggled a finger at the video feed as the sim ship dropped out of hyperspace, sharp-sided shape shimmering as the cloaking system came on-line. “There,” he said, stabbing a finger at the data window. “You see that? You see that spike?” A look at Henricksen and he stepped to the front of the bridge pod, stretching on his tiptoes to touch a finger to the reinforced glass. “Engine temperature increases whenever the stealth shield comes online.”

  “It’s still within tolerances,” Shaw insisted as Henricksen opened his mouth. “But I asked the engineers to look into it when Taggert brought this to me.”

  “And?” Henricksen asked her.

  “Claimed they couldn’t recreate it. Kept telling me it was a software problem in the sim.”

  “Took them at their word at first.” Taggert cupped his chin, studying the data scrolling across the windows. “Sim software always was buggy. But this…” A look at Henricksen behind him and he shook his head hard. “This is different.”

  “How?” Henricksen asked quietly.

  Taggert twisted, waving at Shaw. “Can you run that back? Just the trough part,” he said, moving back to Scan.

  Shaw nodded, running the feedback to the point where the RV-N slid through the buckle, hit the hyperspace trough and started shifting about.

  “Again,” Taggert told her, tapping at Scan’s panel, shunting a series of data feeds onto the windows, synchronizing them with the video playing out before their eyes. “Freeze it,” he called, holding a hand up.

  Shaw touched a button, bringing the images to a halt.

  “See that?”

  Henricksen scanned the data, shaking his head. “Looks like a bunch of gobble-dee-gook to me.” He looked a question at Sikuuku, received a shrug in response.

  “Gunner. Engines aren’t really my specialty.”

  “We’re not sure it is the engines,” Ogawa chimed in, speaking up for the first time.

  “Then what is it?” Henricksen asked her.

  Ogawa tugged hard at her ponytail, throwing desperate glances at Shaw.

  “Two-Six?” Shaw tilted her head, looking up at a camera. “You wanna help us out?”

  “Yes, Shaw. I’m happy to,” she said politely.

  A slight pause and Scan went into overdrive, cycling through dozens of data windows, chewing through reams of information. Two-Six slid the sim video to the right side of the windows and layered the engine data on top of it. Brought up a second feed and let it run, adding six different data widows beside it.

  “More sim data?” Henricksen guessed.

  “No,” Two-Six said softly. “This is One-Eight-Three.”

  Henricksen threw a sharp look at the camera. “You watched it? You saw the accident happen?”

  “Nine-Six tapped into the video feeds from the beacons and shared it. I served as the conduit for One-Eight-Three.”

  “Conduit,” Henricksen repeated, frowning at the camera. “For the data One-Eight-Three streamed to the control room?”

  “Affirmative, Captain.”

  “Why, Two-Six,” Henricksen smiled. “Have you been snooping on Kinsey?”

  “Snooping?” Two-Six hesitated for the barest of moments. “Ah, investigating. Yes. I accessed his data. Was that wrong?” she asked worriedly.

  “Normally I’d say yes.” He flicked his eyes to Shaw, turned his gaze to the images on the bridge pod’s windows. “But in this case I’ll give you a pass.” He studied the data there a moment before looking back to the camera. “Does Kinsey know you have this?” he asked, nodding to the feeds showing on the glass.

  “No,” Two-Six told him, AI voice serene, placid as a still pond. “The data feed to the control room was blocked. But One-Eight-Three spliced the channel, giving me access to her information.”

  “So you were in cahoots together.” Henricksen chuckled. “Sneaky. Very sneaky. Even for an AI.”

  Two-Six was quiet a moment, AI brain processing madly, trying to translate that bit of slang. “One-Eight-Three’s data tells the real story,” she said cryptically, drawing Henricksen’s eyes back to the camera.

  “Real story?” Henricksen frowned, not understanding. “What does that mean?”

  “All of it, Captain. Not just the parts you and Shaw were allowed to see.”

  “What the hell is she getting on about?” he asked, abandoning the camera, looking over at Shaw.

  “This.” Shaw touched the panel, setting One-Eight-Three’s video feed in motion. A second touch and she cleared away four of the data windows, stacking the two that remained above and below each other, setting them beside the video feed. “Engines. Stealth system,” she said, pointing to the topmost data window, the one just below it.
“Keep your eyes on this bottom window,” she told him, letting the feed run.

  A buckle appeared and One-Eight-Three slid into hyperspace, skimming along the hyperspace trough.

  “See that?” Shaw froze the video, highlighting a section of data in the bottom window. “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Henricksen stared at the data window, trying to figure out what all that information meant. “Still don’t get it,” he told her, shaking his head.

  “Honestly? We didn’t either.” Taggert shared a shame-faced look with Ogawa. “Not with just the sim data. It took One-Eight-Three’s feed and Two-Six’s processing power before we figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?” Henricksen growled, increasingly impatient. “I realize playing Stump the Chump with your captain is fun and all, Taggert, but I’m really getting tired of all this cloak and dagger bullshit.”

  “Stump the Chump?” Taggert blinked in confusion. “What’s—”

  “Just—” Henricksen stopped himself on the edge of shouting, clenched his hands and drew a deep breath. “Just get to the point, Taggert.”

  Taggert licked his lips, sharing a look with Ogawa. “Here.” He pointed to the topmost data window, the one right beneath it, highlighting corresponding pieces of data in each. “Now do you see it?”

  “No, Taggert. I don’t.” Henricksen sighed heavily, rubbing at his face.

  “But—but it’s right there!”

  “Let me,” Ogawa offered, touching at Taggert’s arm. “The ship, sir.” A nod to Henricksen, to the frozen image showing on the glass. “It drifted offline, yeah?”

  “Several times. So what?” He shrugged his shoulders, folding his arms. “Drift happens, especially in the trough.”

  “True. But that one,” Ogawa pointed to the ship’s image, “was worse than the others. And when you look at the data…” The pointing finger moved, indicating the data window for the engines, the one for the stealth system. Ogawa pointed again, making sure Henricksen saw it, twisted, looking to Shaw at Scan. “Run the feedback ten seconds, then forward at half speed. Slow the data displays down as well so they synch up.”

  “Got it.”

  “Good,” Ogawa said, once Shaw queued the feed up. “Let it play through.” A flick of her eyes to Henricksen. “All the way to the end.”

  The feed started over, buckle forming, sucking One-Eight-Three into the hyperspace trough.

  “See those spikes?” Ogawa pointed to the data windows, looked a question Henricksen’s way.

  “Something there,” he agreed. “Just not sure what.”

  “Energy fluctuations. Engines and stealth system at the same time. And layer that over the video…” Ogawa nodded to the camera, watching as Two-Six brought the video and data windows together, layering one over the other, creating a complex, confusing mess in the process.

  Henricksen frowned, trying to decipher it all. “I still don’t—”

  A shimmer as the RV-N’s stealth system kicked it, slewing it catastrophically off-line. The ship vanished, video feed cutting out, but the data capture kept running, recording the last, tragic moments of the AI and its human crew.

  Henricksen stared, heart pounding, remembering that moment. Feeling it—all of it, all over again. “The stealth system.” He turned his eyes to Ogawa, looked from her to Taggert and Shaw. “It shifted her, didn’t it? Knocked the ship off course.”

  Ogawa nodded, flicking her fingers at the windows. “Engines max out in hyperspace—every ship does that. Cloak caused an energy spike that the guidance system couldn’t handle. Not in jump. It confused the nav, sent One-Eight-Three drifting off course.”

  In the close confines of the trough, where the tolerances were already tight.

  “Why didn’t we catch this?” Henricksen asked quietly, voice shaking. “Why didn’t we see this behavior in the sims?”

  Ogawa flushed, ducking her head. “Not sure, sir. Software must’ve covered it. Simulation…” She shrugged helplessly, looked up and back down. “Not the same as the real thing.”

  “And Karansky? The engineers? They designed this damn ship. You telling me they missed this?”

  “Energy spikes only seem to happen during hyperspace transit,” Taggert told him. “Not sure anyone even tested using the cloaking system during jump.”

  “Stupid idea anyway,” Sikuuku muttered, angry now, disgusted. “Why the hell would you cloak in hyperspace? Burst of energy as the ship exits. Like a big old Roman candle or something, lighting up the night. Nobody could miss that.”

  Henricksen nodded, staring at the windows, thinking hard. “Karansky and his crew know about this?”

  Shaw looked at Ogawa, from there to Taggert, all three of them shaking their heads.

  “Didn’t figure this out until yesterday,” Taggert admitted. “Ran it by Sikuuku, brought it to you.”

  “And now you want me to figure out what to do with it.” Henricksen sighed again, shaking his head. “Stolen data—”

  “I didn’t steal, Captain,” Two-Six objected. “One-Eight-Three shared her information freely.”

  “I stand corrected,” he said, inclining his head. “Doesn’t change the fact we’ve got data we’re not supposed to. And a high-tech stealth ship with incompatibility issues. Engines in conflict with its cloaking.” He chewed on that a moment, barked a bitter laugh and leaned back in his chair. “What a mess. What a goddamn mess.”

  Shaw leaned forward, elbows on her knees, hands clasped together. “That ‘incompatibility’ killed people, Henricksen—”

  “You think I don’t know that?” He turned toward her, giving Shaw a flat-eyed stare. “Four crew, Shaw. My crew,” he said, pressing a fist to his chest. “My responsibility—”

  “And mine,” she cut in, eyes filled with anger, voice shaking with pain. “Four crew and an AI, and the ship they were in my responsibility. So don’t you dare think I’m not hurting. Don’t you dare act like I don’t care every bit as much as you.”

  Shaw glared angrily and Henricksen glared right back—neither of them giving an inch. Refusing to back down.

  Silence descended on the bridge pod, Taggert, Ogawa and Sikuuku watching the standoff from the edges, Two-Six’s camera monitoring everything from above. And then the AI’s voice intruded—soft, gentle, instantly diffusing the anger in the room.

  “One-Eight-Three flew,” she said, voice wistful. “She flew, and it was beautiful. She was beautiful.”

  Henricksen glanced at the camera, wondering at the longing in that voice. The sorrow lurking beneath it. “Can you fix this?” he asked, looking a question at Shaw. “With the data available to you, can you adjust the engines, or the cloaking system, or whatever to fix the incompatibility issue that destroyed One-Eight-Three?”

  Shaw sighed, slouching in her chair. “Maybe. With some help. For now, I can set a failsafe.” She nodded to Two-Six’s camera. “Configure the systems with the AIs’ help so the jump drives and cloaking system can’t be activated at the same time.”

  “Rather the damn things just worked correctly,” Henricksen growled.

  “Me too,” Shaw grunted. “Believe me.”

  “But?” Henricksen asked, eyebrows lifting.

  Shaw bowed her head and folded her hands, thumbs tapping together. “You’re not gonna like this.” Another sigh and Shaw straightened, looking Henricksen right in the face. “I’ll need some of Karansky’s crew.”

  A panel lit in front of her, data windows filling its screen. Other panels lit all over the bridge, displaying diagrams and system specifications, all of them marked up, reconfigured with recommended modifications.

  “Or not,” Shaw amended, as another data window opened, scrolling through lines of configuration changes and setting adjustments, flickering rapid-fire through an entire overhaul package before starting over again. “Got it all figured out, don't cha sweetheart?” She raised her head, smiling at Two-Six’s camera. “Hardly need us at all.”

  “No. You’re wrong,” Two-Six
answered in her calm, serene voice. “I can troubleshoot and design, but I can’t build, Shaw. I will always need you for that.”

  Shaw ducked her head, blushing, looking surprising pleased. “Well aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” she murmured, smile curving her lips.

  “So you can do it?” Henricksen asked, looking from Shaw to the camera. “You can adjust the systems in the chassis? Make the same updates to the sims?”

  “Think so.” Shaw nodded. “With a little time. But…” She trailed off, staring out the windows, bottom lip caught between her teeth.

  “But?” Henricksen prompted as the silence stretched out.

  “I don’t know.” Shaw sighed heavily, shaking her head.

  “Not good enough,” he told her. “Not damn good enough by far, Shaw.”

  “Well, I’m goddamn sorry,” she snapped, giving him an irritated look. “I can make some changes, but that’s not going to prove anything.”

  “Why the hell not?” he demanded, angry himself.

  “Sims are software.” Ogawa blushed, shrugging uncomfortably as everyone looked her way. “The only way to prove out Shaw’s fixes is with another data capture. Which means another live test.”

  “Live data,” Sikuuku repeated, arms folded tight to his chest. “As in, non-sim data? As in, climb into one of those RV-Ns and take it for a spin?”

  Ogawa glanced at Taggert, and the two of them nodded together.

  “Lovely.” Henricksen closed his eyes, rubbing at his face. Remembering the feel of the RV-N sim in hyperspace, the shuddering and shaking as he muscled it back into line.

  The sense of loss that washed over him when One-Eight-Three disappeared, shredded remains dumping from hyperspace near the Number One beacon.

  “No. There has to be another way.”

  “There isn’t,” Taggert told him. “Look, the ships are ready. The only way—”

  “Did you see that, Taggert?” Henricksen lurched to his feet, stabbing a finger at the windows. “Did you see the way One-Eight-Three and her crew died? Kinsey thought that chassis was ready and look what happened. No, Taggert. No way,” he said, shaking his head hard. “You’re crew, not guinea pigs. And I’m damned sure not sending any of you out in one of those things until I’m comfortable flying it myself.”