“Are you hungry?” she asked.
“No,” he answered.
“Can you really see the future, all the time?” she asked, lifting her head to look into his eyes.
“Less so with you.” He traced her face with a finger.
“How can that be?” It was a sincere question.
“When you are with me, do you think about the past a lot? At all?”
Their eyes locked. She didn't answer. His eyes moved, looking at her mouth, just before closing them and kissing her. Time disappeared for them for an hour.
***
“I'm getting used to the damn things,” Beary said, as two gray spiders systematically traversed the entire bridge while they watched. “Only because they clean as they go.”
One of the grays opened an access panel, directly next to the wall in front of them, beyond the console and went under the floor. Cook and Beary looked at each other because they never knew there was an access panel there.
Jimbo had that faraway look people got when they were very intent on reading something in their HUD, when AI~Ben spoke.
“Captain, we may have a problem.”
“What's up Ben?” he asked.
“Fire damage was worse than the initial examination revealed.” AI~Ben put a view on screen.
“This is gray-17's POV.”
“It looks like the electrical fire in engineering followed the main conduit all the way up to the bridge. See these marks? The conduit acted like a chimney.”
“What do those runs control?”
“Everything that runs down to engineering,” AI~Ben replied.
“We tested all these systems.”
“The worry is that the wire insulation may be compromised,” AI~Ben stated. “Clear tests now, increased failure rate later.”
“We just need it to hold together for five damn days, for this leg,” Jimbo said, patting the console like a good dog. “Barcus says that the Iosin has excellent dry-dock facilities.”
“And a lot more of these.”
Beary sat back as a spider climbed and crossed her console, then Cook's.
“By the way, what's up with Barcus? Is he OK?” Cook said. “He seems depressed, all the time.”
“He seems like the same old dipshit to me. Maybe he's just pissed that there is no bourbon on this boat,” Beary said. “Besides, you know what he and Po are doing for the next five days. I'm sure he will be far less depressed when we get there but way sleepier.”
***
Po and Barcus were in the cargo bay of the STU. The maintenance suit stood open in the center of the large space. Po had changed into a flight suit. At Barcus's request, she climbed up and looked down into the space within the suit.
“This will never fit me. It looks too big, for you even,” she said.
Barcus looked over the edge of the opening, reached an arm over and pointed into the legs.
“You see those blue panels. They are filled with a gel that, once you are inside it and strapped in, expands and form fits directly to your body, only after you do the five-point.”
She climbed in. She settled herself down on the saddle with her legs in the huge leg holes, drew the now-familiar buckle next to her navel, pulled the sides in, and buckled them.
“Now press that.”
He pointed to a specific button.
She did press it. The gel expanded around her legs, then her hips, and finally her lower torso.
“It can be a bit unnerving the first time. It doesn't get fully claustrophobic until you reach your arms down the sleeves and grasp the control pods. There is a button under your thumb, just to the left of the tiny joystick near your left hand,” Barcus directed.
When she found it, the suit’s arms filled in.
“Now try not to move at all,” Barcus cautioned.
He jumped back just before it moved. “Ask it to close up and ask for a full dome.”
She did and it closed around her.
“My nose itches.” It was suddenly Ash’s voice.
“That is what the padded bar in front of your nose is for.”
Ash/Po stood, and walked around the deck with exaggerated movements.
“It's cold,” she said in Ash’s voice, raising her arms up as the claw tools rotated randomly.
“The gel can warm you or keep you cool. Whatever you set,” Barcus said.
She walked in circles now, around the bay.
“The documents were right where you said they'd be.”
With that, the tools on the right forearm turned and locked, deploying a cutting torch that immediately ignited.
“This is why I didn't let you inside the Warmarks.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: Conspiracies
“In any conspiracy, there is a command structure. Captain Everett was one of three captains still remaining in the fleet that reported directly to Admiral Krieger. Both in command and in conspiracy. They were all targets for who they were and what they believed. Not because they were, in fact, leading a conspiracy.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Captain James Worthington, senior surviving member of the Ventura deep space survey ship.
<<<>>>
“Echo, who do you report to? By now, you have seen the confirmation that Captain Everett is dead.”
Jimbo was alone in his quarters. He was stretching on the floor with the gravity turned up to 2G. Sweat already soaked through his gray T-shirt.
“It is not a simple question, Captain. I am constrained by need-to-know rules, and I have not been given the right to determine arbitrary need-to-know.” AI~Echo sounded sincere.
“When Captain Everett died, I became the captain of the Ventura. Her replacement. Does that help?”
“No, sir. I had already considered that scenario,” AI~Echo replied, with regret.
It was then that AI~Ben interrupted. “Sir, maybe this will help,” AI~Ben said.
A recording began to play.
“Hello, Admiral Krieger. To what do I owe the honor of this private call?” Captain Everett said.
“Stan Baker is dead,” he said.
“How?” Everett said, anger evident in that single word.
“Another accident,” Krieger said, “You will need a third. I recommend Commander Worthington.”
“Acknowledged.”
The transmission ended.
“There is no Stan Baker in the fleet, sir,” AI~Ben added.
“Where did you get this recording?” Worthington asked. “QUEST transmissions cannot be intercepted.”
“We found it in Dr. Bowen's personal files.”
“Captain?” AI~Echo interjected. “I have just authenticated the recording, and it does change your need-to-know.”
***
“Barcus showed me the control systems already,” Wex said. “I can take a shift, so you can get some rest. That was the whole point.”
Elkin could not stop yawning.
“Tell you what. Just lay down on the lounge over there, in front of the windows.” Wex indicated the luxury pit in front of the command stations. It could seat twenty.
“There are already blankets and pillows there.”
“Promise to scream, if something starts to happen?” Elkin got up, yawning. “Remember—”
“I know. I know. The log loop. This is the actual status,” she answered, pointing at a side panel on the pilot’s console. “Go. I promise to wake you, if anything even mildly interesting happens.”
Wex sat in the pilot’s command chair, and it slid forward, automatically. The smooth, U-shaped console formed the backs of the two stations directly forward and a step down. The Sedna was designed to be flown by a single person, if desired. The two lower consoles were in her field of view. She knew the status display, designed to be seen at a glance, was not accurate. It was all green.
To her left was the actual status. It was far improved, but still a full quarter of it was red. Secondary and tertiary mostly. But it was still enough to cause aut
omated cascade failures, if allowed to report the truth. They were flying without a net.
In outer space, the Sedna flew silently. Wex’s hand on the armrest felt a barely discernible hum. All the blast shields were open on all the windows. She corrected herself mentally; they were not called blast shields on a luxury yacht. They were called shutters.
Modern ships had no windows, for safety reasons. She'd miss them. She enjoyed seeing the stars with her own eyes.
She performed the in-flight checks: comms, navigation, systems, and sensors. There was no AI on the Sedna. The autopilot was not intelligent at all. It only did exactly what you told it to do.
She saw, on the tactical display, where the STU and the Memphis were. She looked out the window, in the direction of the Memphis, but she could not see it. She gently moved the Sedna closer to the Memphis, until she could see it. It looked odd to her with its three main skids down. They had left them down intentionally, because the spiders discovered damage that might prevent them from lowering again, if they were raised. It still looked like a giant beast had taken a bite out of the once proud ship.
Then, she saw the STU pass between them in their formation. It was so black that it looked like a hole in the sky. A bug-like carapace with dozens of spikes deployed; grav-foils that she knew allowed it to do precision navigation around other ships at speed.
She sighed, and settled in, as Elkin softly snored.
***
“Why do you still choose these clothes?” Po watched him tighten the knot in his thickly braided leather belt that Ronan had given him, over his tunic. “These one piece flight suits are so comfortable and all the pockets are amazing.”
“I have found that the fewer pockets I have, the happier I have been.” Barcus smiled.
“Can we play in the zero-G again, soon?” Po said, and actually blushed.
“We have two-and-a-half days before we get to the Iosin. The Memphis is setting the pace.” He pulled her close.
“I will take some time and show you how to move in zero-G. How to get around and not get hurt or stuck.”
She smiled and blushed again, but didn't look away.
“You're a natural in zero.”
Barcus pushed the hair behind her ear again. She knew he was remembering the day she cut off her braid and threw it into the High Keeper’s face, in defiance.
“Will I grow it back?” she said, reading his thoughts.
“Yes. Longer than before.” He whispered, now, “But you will only ever braid it when we are alone. Just to remind yourself that you are free.” He smiled and then laughed.
“You'll buy a hat. And you will start wearing these sunglasses you found, who knows where.”
“Shh.”
She put her fingers on his mouth.
“Enough. You have already changed the future. You need to be careful.”
“What do you mean? I can't change the future. I can only see what will happen to me.”
“You are wrong.”
She stepped away from him, serious now.
“You stopped wearing your five-point harness because you know nothing will happen. You just told me I will live long enough to grow my hair long. No matter what I do, I won't be killed while in this short hair. I am free to act differently now because I believe you.”
Barcus looked at the command chairs, then through Stu's dome, beyond to two ships there. In his mind, a few things fell into place. Knowing what will happen, unable to explain it.
“Yes. That's right. You are such a clever girl.”
“Here is me telling the future.” She slipped slightly into common tongue now.
“I know you. Something really, really awful is going to happen, and you already see it. You're going ahead with whatever it is because it will stop something even worse. It won't be your fault because you'll have done all that you can.”
She pounds on his chest; she usually does for emphasis.
“The truly awful part is that I know you. I see you. You are already mourning for some, or all, of your friends, trying to hide it, even from me.”
He turned away from her and looked at the ships out there.
“I won't tell anyone,” she said. “Because just as knowing with certainty that I will live makes me more powerful, knowing they will not will make them fearful.”
“Barcus, may I make a suggestion?” Stu said. Stu's avatar seemed to walk on a ledge, just on the other side of the dome. He donned the trackers clothes he wore the first time he met Po.
“Please do,” Barcus said.
“Hello, Stu. I've missed you. I didn't mean to ignore you so much,” Po said.
“Not to worry, miss.”
Stu faced Barcus, at parade rest, hands clasped behind his back.
“When you asked me to seal all of your private conversations with Po, I never expected to hear this. But now that I have, I believe I can help.”
“How?”
“Do I survive? Do I remain in your service?” Stu asked, simply.
Barcus did not reply.
“I will keep your condition in strictest confidence. If we continue to work together, I will—at regular intervals—provide to you a briefing that will recap significant information you may need to know. But you already know this.”
“Stu, 1114111 is a seven digit palindromic prime,” Barcus said.
“Barcus, Po simply believed you, on faith. You have just provided me with demonstrable proof. That specific question and answer was not scheduled to be mentioned for thirty years,” Stu said. “I will trust all of your guidance, from this day forward.”
“Haven't you always?” Po asked.
“I'm sorry, Po. I have not. There has always been a temporal imperative routine within me. Within all AIs, truth be told.”
“Be careful, Stu,” Barcus said. “Too much self-awareness is one of the things that corrupted Em.”
Barcus closed his eyes and saw a marble monument on a ledge, on a side of a mountain. Snow obscured most of the inscription.
“…first casualty and greatest hero of the Solstice 31 War.”
***
Rand, Hume, and Cook sat in the Memphis’s conference room, waiting for Worthington. Cook spoke first.
“Do you have any idea what this is about? Jimbo had the tone. You know that somber tone he gets when he is serious.”
“You're right. It makes him a really shitty poker player,” Hume said.
“I expect we won't like this talk. Jimbo does very few things that are not completely transparent. It chafes him the wrong way,” Rand said.
Worthington entered and went directly to his seat. The avatars of AI~Ben and AI~Echo appeared, at the opposite end of the table, as he sat.
“Ben. Go,” was all he said.
“This display is the Ventura's crew roster at the time of its destruction,” Ben said.
He indicated a list of about 2,000 names.
“These are the crew rosters over the last twelve years.”
All twelve rosters appeared.
“These are the crew members that have voted in every election.”
“I thought voting was anonymous,” Hume said.
Jimbo held up his hand, holding off comments, as the names of people turned white. The closer to the present, the whiter the roster became.
“Of the people that have voted, rights are now red, and lefts are in blue,” Ben stated. The roster turned almost all red.
“What the hell?” Cook said.
Twelve images of the Ventura, one for each year, replaced the names on the rosters. They were shaded based on affiliation, transitioning from blue to red.
“Now show the entire fleet,” Jimbo said, with anger in his voice.
Rows of ship icons appeared, 327 in all, each in a row of twelve. All 327 were arranged from the reddest at the top to the bluest at the bottom.
“These are the ships that have lost contact with Earth in the last year,” Ben said.
Forty-one ships were highlighted, including
the Ventura.
All of them, over 90% red.
“Can this be right?” Cook said.
“Now, show the deployment of the fleet,” Jimbo said.
The ships and their locations appeared on a star chart they all recognized. The ones closest to Earth were all blue. The ones farthest out were deepest red.
“Where did you get this data?” Rand asked.
“It was quietly collected by Admiral John Krieger. It was part of the briefing data within Echo,” Worthington said.
“Admiral Krieger believes that a small core of strategically placed administrative personnel could slowly manipulate the billet assignments to consolidate potential opposition into pockets that could be easily disposed of,” Echo said.
“What about the civilian crews? The ships themselves are a massive asset to lose,” Hume inserted.
“Look at the types of ships.”
He pointed.
“Scientific vessels, deep space survey ships, luxury liners, converted mass transport ships, decommissioned war ships that have been re-purposed.”
“Krieger believes that this is a direct effort to neuter what remains of any real military. They have also been eroding discipline via policy changes, for decades.”
Worthington sat again.
“And then, we find a planet that harbors some kind of genome project that is heavily defended, inside and out,” Rand added.
“And we have Wex,” Echo said.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: The Sedna
“The Sedna was a throwback to a more peaceful, prosperous time on Earth. A time when a real FTL pleasure ship was not beyond the reach of private citizens.”
--Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Captain James Worthington, senior surviving member of the Ventura's command crew.
<<<>>>
Trish Elkin sat in the pilot’s command chair and marveled at the beauty and ergonomics of the Sedna. Form and function wonderfully mixed, as if it was designed by an artist instead of an engineer. Peter Muir sat in one of the two other seats.
Blood of the Scarecrow: Book 3: Solstice 31 Saga Page 14