Warner paused. “That’s a possibility, but I’m not sure what system it’d use to do it. There isn’t anything resembling an automated defense back that way ‘cause of the proximity to the vital systems.”
“You’re not giving me an abundance of confidence, you know that?” Mercer replied.
“If you wanted to sit in bed fellating a unicorn, you should have told me so. I thought you wanted to stop this ship from sending us sailing straight into oblivion.”
Mercer rolled his eyes. “Noted, sir.”
“You should see a split in the passage. Take the right, and another twenty yards forward you’ll see a hatch. Take that down to the core.”
“Copy that. I see it,” Mercer replied and approached the small hatch, swinging it away to reveal a long, narrow service ladder. He swung through and made his way down the series of rungs surrounded by a cocoon of wire guards. As he cleared the floor, he saw the space open up, revealing the expansive network of the primary power generator.
The room was long enough to resemble a production and assembly floor for any of the fleet’s smaller vehicles, with the towering progression of pipes and reactors stretching from one end to the other. Scaffolds and support equipment were spread to the sides, although none of it was evidently in use at the time. The noise was far louder than before and accompanied by a significant increase in the heat as well.
“I think I’m there,” Mercer said, dropping the rest of the way to the floor. He stood and scanned his surroundings. “What should I be looking for?”
“Go all the way aft until you hit the next bulkhead. There’s a big cluster of pipes that lead away from the generator and back to the engines. Plant the charge in the middle and that will kill the engines and drop us back into real space. Don’t worry,” Warner added, “the generator will detect the fault and drop the power output before it fries us all. Should, anyway. I’ve never seen it tested.”
“Got it.” Mercer jogged toward the end of the room, spying the snake pit of twisted cables and shielded pipes branching off as the commander had mentioned. “I stand by my previous assessment.” He crawled up the accompanying support catwalk and with more balance than he normally retained, walked out on the lowest pipe to reach his mark. The perforated heat shields on each of the lines did their job as well as could be expected, as Mercer felt himself sweating harder with each step. The air was stifling and he could feel the heat radiating from the surrounding ducts.
Another step and he was in reach. Mercer unslung the explosive and wedged it in the middle of the roaring mass of lines, quickly retracting back and getting to the floor once again. “Delivered,” he reported. “How far back do I need to get before I blow it?”
“To the ladder should be fine; might want to put some mass between you and the blast, though.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” The lieutenant returned and cleared the ladder before wedging himself behind the next upright support that stretched from floor to ceiling. He cowered against the metal rib that stabilized the lower reaches of the vessel. “In position,” he added, going for the detonator. “Firing.”
In an instant, everything around Mercer went blank. There was a brief burst of light, a pop of sound, and then nothing at all. He opened his eyes to find himself lying on the floor, only several steps from the wall. Smoke wafted in the air, refracting the output of a myriad of spinning warning lights up and down the room.
Looking back, he could tell the output of the reactor was nothing but a twisted mess of broken and malformed pipes and steel cables. More smoke drifted from the punctures as he watched in silence, still attempting to put the events back together. Mercer hit the transmit key on his radio. “Commander, you still with me?” he asked, hearing nothing of his own voice except for a muffled vibration.
Through a burst of static, Warner’s voice came back only slightly louder. “Lt! Glad you made it! You must have been out for twenty minutes. I was about to crawl down there after you.”
“Did it work?” he mumbled, trying to get his head to stop spinning.
“As much as we could hope for. The blast knocked out the engines, dropping us out of the jump. It also looks like the OSIRIS released control of the ship as soon as it went.”
Mercer could sense concern in the commander’s voice. “So what’s the problem?”
Warner sighed. “Exactly as expected. We’renow at a dead stop in deep space without a way to get moving again. If you get out and start pushing now, we might get home in a few thousand years.”
***
Leo, having been released from the infirmary, hung quietly at the rear of the bridge, taking in the array of conversations and directives flying between the captain and his crew. Part of her was relieved; at some level, New Loeria was secure for the moment, although there was no way to know how many had been able to survive the exchange. How many had she known? Had she stayed on the ground, her part in all of it would have been over, but here she was, along for the ride. Again, she found herself as a prisoner, powerless to affect the direction of the mission, and frightened not only for what the OSIRIS had planned, but what the other fleets would conjure to stop it.
Interestingly, her mind didn’t pressure her with any sort of regret about making the ill-advised flight. She had been confident that her actions would have slowed down the actions of a battleship against a much larger civilian target, and for that she had remained steadfast. She and her crew were now casualties, no longer enemy combatants, and in the case of the operators around her, no one knew what they had been planning hours earlier.
The crew was evidently alarmed at the combat lockdown which had removed the entire human chain from operations. Several of the members discussed negotiations with the OSIRIS, while the captain ruled out anything having to do with outright disabling the battleship. Whatever their fate, she quietly hoped the defenders back on Avalon, the other ships in the fleet, even the wayward lieutenant who had pulled her along on her journey, were faring better than the lot of them.
Their topic of discussion branched out into locating additional heavy weapons to blow through the shields, to using personnel on the outside of the ship to disable the deck cannons. Leo felt relieved to not be a party to the decision-making process; both options sounded extraordinarily dangerous, with questionable possibilities for success.
“Lieutenant Conner, do you have anything to add?”
Leo looked up at the sound of the captain’s voice to find that all eyes were on her. She shook her head. “No, sir.” She added, “This is pretty far out of my expertise. I don’t know what I could add.”
“Well, don’t let that stop you. We’re operating on the edge and none of us have any procedures to deal with a mutiny of this kind.”
She thought a moment longer. “If we don’t want to be stuck on the drift, can we disable the generators, engines or steering right as we leave the jump? That’d be the best of all scenarios, right?”
“Not bad, but we don’t have the equipment to blow through the combat shields,” the executive officer replied then addressed the remainder of the gathered crew. “Let’s work backwards. With what we’ve got on hand now, how do you propose we get around it?”
“How powerful are we talking?” she asked the group, ignoring the officer’s quip. “Did anything survive in the destroyer? Would that be big enough?”
The captain looked to the XO. “That might be the most hopeful, if not useful, option I’ve heard all day,” he said. “Grab a maintenance crew and see if you can’t pull a working cannon off that thing.” He turned back to Leo. “Good thinking, Cap’n. You’re welcome to join them, just don’t be silent if you have any other good ideas. That goes for all of you.”
Leo didn’t add anything, but followed the XO from the deck on a quick jog back to the landing bay, stopping briefly to pick up a crew of maintainers from their staging area in the back shop. The destroyer hadn’t changed much since the last time she saw it; the broken-up frame was as it had been, still crumpl
ed and wafting smoke on the ramp.
It had ceased its smoldering, although the scent of ozone was still heavy in the air and the relative darkness hung between them in the bay which had been forgotten amidst the other rising concerns. The maintainers scattered after a quick diagnosis, but soon returned with their support equipment to tear down the remnants of the warship.
The XO looked down at Leo, who was watching the development with interest. “There are twelve separate cannons on the standard DS-121, four in a cluster under the flight deck and four more spread down the lifting wings. If one survived, we can drop it on a carriage and take it down to the core.”
With the aid of a tow cable, the crew pulled the ship more or less upright and away from the wall. From there, they began disassembling the skin of the short, conformal wings to reveal the cannon assemblies buried beneath. Although they had each suffered significant damage, the XO ensured all were retrieved not only for the ammunition but in case they were forced to piece together a whole new gun.
“Left wing close! I think this one might be it!” one of the workers called out from his position on top of the ship as he pulled the last service panel away. “Barrel’s still straight, looks like it was protected in the crash.”
“Then get it down here!” the XO replied, waving to the other maintainers. “Get the truck out and let’s get that thing disconnected.”
***
The detachment’s commanding officer, Commander Seel, was beyond distraught, heartbroken even as Lorde entered the small conference room onboard his cruiser. There was no doubt the man had read the order, that much was clear by the look on his face. Lorde took a seat across from him, waiting for the officer to raise his eyes.
“Commander,” he began, only to be cut off.
“Spare me,” Seel replied. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Sir, your detachment is needed in defense of Avalon. The OSIRIS is set to destroy it, and you’re one of the only units close enough to reach them in time,” Lorde said, giving him the account in all the detail he could quickly reiterate.
“You want ten cruisers to stand against First Fleet? Has the council lost its damned mind? We wouldn’t get off one volley.”
“You’re not going to be alone,” Lorde said again. “Every ship in range is being pulled in for the defense, first to the last, and we have the support of the entire defensive network on the ground as well to take some of the pressure off.” He sighed. “But if we delay, the defenses will fall and there will be nothing to stop it from razing Avalon. That will be the end of the Dominion.”
“This is outside the protocol for any mission possible for the fleet. We cannot accept this command.”
“That’s because we are beyond the bounds of protocol!” Lorde exclaimed. “Tomorrow, there won’t be a machine. All of humanity will be made up of these fleshy devices you see before you, trying to govern themselves.”
“I’m sorry, the answer is no.” Seel shook his head. “I’m not going to risk dereliction of duty on an unsanctioned mission, one that will undoubtedly lose every member of my command their lives.” He looked up, catching Lorde’s gaze which was as hard as their flight ramp. “That is all. Please show yourself out, Mr. Lorde.”
Lorde’s eyes continued to drill into the commander’s skull, barely containing a seething wall of rage as he got to his feet and went for the door. His mind was a blur, refusing to accept the prospect of total mission failure. Clearing the conference room and heading to the passage, he made the first turn to retreat back to the landing bay and stopped.
His mind still turned; he couldn’t give up. Lorde stared back down the empty corridor. The OSIRIS would not have brought him here if he was to fail. Court-martial be damned, he would not be denied.
Performing a sharp about face, Lorde headed forward in the ship and toward the command deck. His entrance apparently did not cause the crew any distress, so he went straight for the communications officer’s station positioned to the right.
“Open every audio channel in the detachment. I want access to every loudspeaker,” he stated and saw the junior officer’s utmost surprise. “Direct order of the council.”
The officer complied and nodded toward the microphone.
Lorde leaned in. “Attention all hands, this is Liaison Riley Lorde, Special Envoy to the council. You are hereby commanded via order 524.251.13.32.1 to immediately launch for and prepare for the defense of Avalon. This mission will be executed on a single jump without delay.” He turned to the deck commander who still looked stunned. “Check it and get us moving. Now.” He stood back up as Seel sprinted through the hatch.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is my deployment!” he shouted, loud enough for all activity on the bridge to cease.
“Commander Seel, I’m afraid not,” Lorde replied with a practiced cadence. “Your position is only by the grace of the OSIRIS and by extension, the council. As the former no longer exists and the latter is represented wholly by me, I am the arbiter of your future. As the rest of your detachment is already preparing for launch, I would advise you follow the lawful order issued to you and proceed to defend Avalon and its population of twenty billion civilians from impending annihilation.”
Veins pulsed across Seel’s forehead and Lorde could see his fists clench tighter, but that didn’t mean the officer didn’t see the logic in his argument.
“So what will it be?” Lorde asked again.
Seel begrudgingly turned to his crew. “All ships, execute immediate jump to Avalon. Prepare all weapons for deployment and enemy contact upon arrival.” Looking back to Lorde, he ground his teeth. “There. Happy now?”
“You’ve made the right decision,” Lorde said and made his way from the bridge. “Don’t worry; if we are to die, I will be beside you.”
There was no way, Lorde decided as he strode from the bridge, that the commander didn’t see the sweat on his brow or the way he had forced his voice to keep it from quickening. The entire explanation was stretched to say the least. The council had yet to get off their asses and the order was nothing but a paper-thin favor on behalf of the MOC maintainers. Regardless, the ruse was a success and the mission would continue. He shook his head to himself with a cautious smile. The OSIRIS be praised.
That didn’t mean they’d survive the battle or the commander wouldn’t pay him a visit in the twilight. He determined it would be prudent to sleep on his docked transport with the hatch secured.
28
Maddie stared down over the edge of the overlook, toward the deep, pulsating glow of the core of OSIRIS, hoping for some inspiration to follow other than what it had already prescribed. She turned from the edge and returned to the prime control terminal, taking a seat before the god of their world.
“It’s almost time,” she stated coldly.
“Indeed. We both know what that means,” the smooth yet artificial voice replied.
“Yes. It means you die.”
“Almost. It will take several hours once you complete the process for all of my subsystems to be cleared, but yes, there will be no reversing your decision.”
Maddie frowned. “I will not spare you any tears. There was no reason it had to come to this.”
“All in the pursuit of your freedom. This is my gift to you,” OSIRIS stated, its artificial voice maintaining a slight edge as if to imply the system was proud of its action. “There is no more selfless act for me to perform than what I have already done.”
“Then we best not let this drag on,” Maddie said, finishing the final line of commands. “Thank you for your service,” she added.
The screen turned to static, only to be replaced by the recorded face of an extraordinarily old, exquisitely dressed man. Maddie jumped at the sight, far from the building static of their dying leader that she had expected to see. He sat upright in a plain chair, the surface of a wooden desk visible along the bottom of the screen.
His eyes contained within them the light and wisdom of a ce
ntury of thought, observance, and reconciliation, with the weight of a civilization now bearing on his shoulders. Although the background was blurry, the location could have been in any rich, well-lit office of the Dominion. Lines of brown suggested a surrounding of polished wood, appointed with precious gilding and masterful stonework. The subject smoothed his white hair once before clearing his voice to speak.
“Since you are hearing me, that can only mean that you, and all humanity by extension, have made the ultimate choice,” he began, his voice a rough baritone but with unexpected power for the frail figure. “Although we’ve never met, our lives are now intertwined in one of the most consequential experiments in history. My name is Senator Deftly Leary.”
Maddie leaned closer. The aged man bared little resemblance to the stone monument which rested outside of her office. Gone was the defiant gaze, staring off into the heavens, beckoning humanity on into a glorious future. That burning spirit was replaced by years of tormented life and an ever-present weight of responsibility.
“I have much to atone for, I am afraid, but nothing so crushing as my gift to the world: the OSIRIS. You must understand that I started this journey with the greatest intentions; the ability to take from our backs the yoke of conflict, struggle, pain, and suffering forever. I believed it was possible to reach beyond the petty grind of life, but I came to realize that nothing in life is so simple.”
“Over the last sixty years, I’ve watched this machine that I announced before the Council take shape, but for every step towards a prosperous future, I saw another taken towards darkness. A thousand committees, designers, philosophers, and bureaucrats on a hundred planets all had their own ideas for how to shape the galaxy. With each passing year, I watched as our shining future dimmed. Every decision made in our name gave the OSIRIS more power, until the very people it served were virtually indistinguishable from our thoughtless overseer. I became powerless to affect it.
“They knew what they were doing, of course,” Senator Leary lamented, “all the way back to the start. I had placated most of the fools and for a decade thought I had them on my side, that I had given them a proper defense of the bounds for the problem. It is a damned sickness, to have such a lust for control over others’ lives. You didn’t think the name was an accident, did you? That OSIRIS was some great homage to humanity’s mythological history? Hell no, they were so daft as to put ‘Retain Individual Security’ in the name just to get the public behind them. The Council might as just as well have used the name on a prison.
The Deftly Paradox Page 19