by Joshua James
Olsen stared at Novak, bemused. He took the tablet from her and scanned the text. There it was, at the bottom: Brownstone’s signature, accompanied by her bioprint. “I thought only machines could be commanding officers.”
“The Admiralty has changed their mind, sir. Now, officers who have been through rigorous training are more suitable for command.”
Well, this was something Olsen hadn’t expected. After the Grashorn incident, the senators had said they needed a flawless intelligent level of command between the captains and the fleet admiral. They had deemed that technology would provide the solution, with algorithms that could think much faster than any human could. “Tell me, Novak. Where did you train?”
“On the Wilson, sir.”
That gave Olsen pause. “I thought the Wilson was top-secret.”
“Not anymore. In the next week, every naval captain will have an executive officer assigned from the station.”
“I see. So. Tell me about your background.”
“My background is not important, sir.”
“It is if I say it is. I like to know a little about the crew who serve on my ship.”
“Very well. I know nothing of my parents. I was adopted at a very young age, and I don’t remember anything about my past before that. I’ve served aboard the Wilson since. Everything else is highly confidential, according to protocol AR-ST-5541.”
“Marvelous,” Olsen said, and he tugged on his collar. He had a feeling that Novak would be worse than having a cyborg as his XO. Much, much worse. “Commander, accompany me to the vid-con room,” he said. “Rob, you too. It’s time the three of us got acquainted.”
15
As he walked through the corridors, his mag-boots feeling heavy on his feet, Olsen couldn’t help but wonder why Novak was here. She was probably a snitch, sent by Admiralty to keep him in check and report on his every move. Maybe they suspected he’d been finding ways to hide crucial information from Admiralty AI, which wouldn’t have been far from the truth.
He entered the conference room, happy to have gravity again and to be able to turn off his mag-boots. Rob sat and stared vacantly at the wall, as usual. Novak pulled out a tablet as she sat.
Olsen sat down and put on his best cold look as he tried to stare Novak down — a game higher ranks would often play on him when he was a commander, which they later told him was to test his mettle. But Novak didn’t seem fazed by it.
“First things first. Novak, I want to understand what you’re doing here. Why did the Admiralty send you?”
“I know nothing of their intentions, sir. I just know that I’m required to serve on this ship and assist in your mission of obtaining the spatial detonator.”
“So, you’ve been briefed on the alien weapon?”
“I have, sir. And on the Arstan engagement and subsequent loss of the weapon.”
“What about the extra data you were meant to have onboard?”
“That was in the dongle I plugged into Rob. He was in dire need of an upgrade.”
Olsen nodded. “And that’s it? No orders to also keep an eye on me? To write up a report about me every day, anything like that?”
“Sir, any conversations between myself and the Admiralty are strictly confidential.”
“Of course they are,” Olsen said. “I guess we’d better get down to business, then. Rob told me that you had valuable information about how we can get back the spatial detonator. Is that correct?”
“I only know what you know, I believe. Captain Kraic took the weapon to an unknown destination.”
“That’s it? I thought Brownstone was going to send some help.”
“Sir,” Rob said. “Admiralty AI have suggested that the best course of action is to take an Arstan official hostage and try to obtain information out of them.”
It was the first bit of new strategy he’d heard, and it seemed so out of left field that he was caught off guard.
“And how, exactly, do they propose a small mining ship is going to do that?”
“That’s what I’ve just been looking at, actually,” Novak said. “If I may, I have a suggestion.”
“Go on.”
“On the Wilson, we performed an intense study on all the current officials in both the Foorint and Arstan militaries. It turns out that the former Arstan fleet admiral has recently retired. And if my intel is correct, he’s currently enjoying life on the planet of Kandora.”
“Fleet Admiral Frega? Well. I never would have guessed he was getting past his years.” Although admittedly, Olsen found it difficult to tell the difference between a young Arstan and an old one. Reptilian skin just never seemed to age.
“Only for the last three months, sir,” Novak said. “But I do feel he might be our best course of action.”
“If I may, Captain,” Rob said. “It’s clear this is the course of action supported by Admiralty AI. My update has included pertinent information on Kandora and the planet’s orbital defenses. Infiltration is reasonable given our limitations.”
“Our limitations being we’re a mining ship ill-equipped for such a mission,” Olsen said sarcastically.
“Precisely,” Rob said.
Olsen glanced at Novak, but her face was proving as hard to read as Rob’s. He was clearly being pressed into a course of action, either by Admiralty AI or by Brownstone, and he couldn’t be sure which. Either way, he didn’t have much choice at the moment.
He sighed, rapped his knuckles on the table, and then stood. “Then I guess we have our first lead. Let’s get underway.”
16
The Tapper decelerated from FTL-warp above the Kandora planet of the system by the same name. Once it came into view, Olsen watched the brilliant blue globe drifting closer on the viewscreen. It was dotted with islands, each one a speck at first until their coastlines became visible — silver rims around nests of forest green.
This was the kind of paradise where Olsen had wanted to retire. The Arstans offered their top officials packages to locations like these, while human captains, it seemed, were doomed to years of service in backwater systems. Hence he couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy towards the Arstan fleet admiral.
“This is it,” Olsen said to his crew in CIC. “System scan, Santiago?”
“Not much, sir,” the navigator replied. “A wide-range scan shows there’s a defense station in orbit.”
A single defensive station, just as Rob had predicted.
“Location?”
“Best guess is it’s on the other side of the planet.”
Olsen shook his head. “Can’t we know for certain?”
“I wish it were that easy, sir,” Santiago said. “But when there’s a large body between us and them, we can only make estimates through bouncing EM beams off the surface. And we don’t know the topography of the terrain, particularly under the surface of the oceans.”
“Could you at least give me an estimate of how far away it is? How long would it take for it to reach us?”
Santiago scratched the back of her head. “I’d say we have a few hours, sir. But it’s a wild guess.”
Olsen nodded and turned to the cyborg, who was standing with his white hands interlaced behind his back. “Any further information, Rob?”
“Negative, sir. Data is limited to orbital detection. We haven’t visited this planet in 234 years.”
Olsen punched a button on his armrest display to open up a channel on the intercom. “Chang, how are the repairs on the Extractor going? Is she fit to fly?”
“Ninety percent done, sir. But I wouldn’t recommend sending the shuttle out until—”
“Okay, Chang, I’ll rephrase the question. Can the ship fly right now?”
“Affirmative, sir,” Chang said after a momentary pause. “It’s only half refueled, but that should be plenty for a trip to the planet and back.”
“Let’s just hope it doesn’t run into any enemy fire. Kota, get your men ready, and Redrock, board the Extractor and take her in.”
&n
bsp; Both the pilot and the Marine sergeant gave their affirmatives, and Olsen once again looked up at the planet, hoping that the Marines and Redrock could retrieve the Arstan official before the defense station reached them. Because regardless of the skill of his crew, a small mining ship wouldn’t stand a chance against a fully-stocked Arstan military space station.
“Rob, estimated time until they’re planetside?”
“Twenty minutes, sir.”
“Very good.”
One thing Olsen could say for the cyborg was that he’d taken his demotion far better than any human XO ever would have. Olsen glanced at Novak, who was also staring emotionlessly at the screen, her posture straight. Then he turned to Santiago. “Send a feed from the Extractor to the screen in my ready room. I want to be able to watch the approach to the planet from its own camera while I’m in there.”
“Sir?”
Olsen stood and turned to Novak. “Commander, join me.”
Without waiting for a response, he left the CIC by the side door that went directly into his ready room, returning the guard’s salute on the way out.
17
Olsen had just sat down when Novak arrived on the other side of his desk and took the lone seat. He didn’t often invite officers into his ready room, and he couldn’t help but imagine Sean’s hologram sitting right where Novak sat. He tried to chase the awkward image out of his head.
Novak sat with one leg folded over the other, eyes focused on the overhead viewscreen. She’d steepled her hands underneath her chest, and she didn’t wriggle, despite how cramped this room was. Olsen wondered what she was feeling, or if she even felt anything at all. Rumor had it that on the Wilson, they trained you to push all your emotions away, just like a cyborg.
“Any idea what’s on my mind?” Olsen asked her.
Novak looked genuinely perplexed. “None, sir. You’ve indicated we need to get acquainted, but I don’t know what information you wish for us to share.”
“You’re now my second-in-command. It’s good to know those you’ll be working close to, don’t you think?”
“I agree, sir. But I don’t know what there is to say in my circumstances. I can reveal little about my time onboard the Wilson, and I know nothing of my life before it.”
Olsen nodded. Just as he’d expected. “Then perhaps we should talk more about opinions. You must have some. Tell me, what’s your impression of me?”
Novak studied Olsen for a moment with a glazed look in her eyes. “With all due respect, I don’t know what you’re looking for me to say, sir. I’ve only just met you.”
“Yes, but I find it hard to believe you conducted such an in-depth study of the Arstan and Foorint top officials and neglected to research your new superior officer before your posting here. Then there’s what Admiralty have told you about me, and also your first impressions. All this, I want to know.”
“Sir, the intel Fleet Command has on you is strictly confidential.”
Before he could reply, a blip came from the screen to indicate that the Extractor had selected a location. Olsen looked up at the rectangle that the display had drawn around an island. From the current elevation, it looked no different from the other islands. Eventually he’d catch sight of Fleet Admiral Frega’s mansion on there, but for now, it was much too small to be visible.
Olsen turned back to Novak and took a long deep breath. “Okay, so I’ll let you know the reason for this meeting. You need to understand something, Novak. Out here, sometimes we need to make quick and tough decisions. We often don’t have time to contact Fleet Command for assessment. You need the capability to act and to act fast.”
Novak cocked her head. “Are you alluding to the Grashorn incident, sir?”
“So you do know about it?”
“I know that it was one of the greatest blunders in military history. On the Wilson, we studied where it went wrong and why it was necessary to introduce better measures. Now the system is flawless.”
Captain Olsen swallowed a hard lump of air. He’d been the rear admiral responsible for the small fleet then, while stationed on the Grashorn flagship — one of the most advanced dreadnoughts of the time. In short, they’d been ambushed above the sandy planet of Makorest, which had contained a relatively new human colony. The Arstans had managed to intercept communications from the Grashorn, and so he couldn’t get a channel open to the captains of his surrounding ships. The result had been chaos. Every ship had acted for themselves, with rogue, uncoordinated maneuvers.
Some ships charged in to attack. Others decided it best to defend. Some fled into FTL-warp. Some did nothing, waiting it out until communications could be restored and frantically trying to contact the Admiralty.
Eventually, the comms came online, albeit unreliably, and Olsen had managed to fire off some orders. But many of these were misinterpreted due to static on the line. Captains argued with the XOs about what the orders actually meant. This led to even more confusion, as well as delayed decisions while Arstan ion-cannons and high-powered laser turrets were unleashing fire upon the human ships, turning their hulls to shrapnel.
In the end, the Grashorn had no choice but to also retreat into FTL-warp, hoping others would follow. Many did. The rest got annihilated by the Arstan fleet, leaving the human Makorest colony at the mercy of the Arstans. Thousands were slaughtered. Thousands more were sold into slavery.
Olsen had realized his mistakes long before they had a chance to get documented in the military textbooks. His captains weren’t prepared for the scenario and undrilled in coordinating actions among themselves. They waited to get orders, wasting precious moments in the heat of battle. His recommendation had been to give the captains even more autonomy so they could hone their own intuition. Instead, top brass had gone the other way, stripping the captains of control and centralizing decisions with the invention of Admiralty AI.
Only the most strategic decisions would be left up to the fleet admirals. The rest was merely tactics to be handled by machines, though it often seemed to Olsen that the only strategy the admirals had to deal with was politics between the Navy and the ambassadors on Earth. The AI dictated the rest.
But now he had Novak, Admiralty’s next version of an AI. She was trained in the latest protocols and, Olsen suspected, would report anything that she interpreted as a violation to Brownstone and the other fleet admirals. She couldn’t be modified or compromised, as Rob could, but she’d been programmed on the Wilson—some would say brainwashed—to behave just like a machine.
Olsen let out a deep breath that he’d been holding and turned back from the screen to Novak, who had been silent, watching him as if assessing as he remembered the scenario. “To some, it was a blunder. To others, a circumstantial scenario that we hadn’t anticipated.”
“And now we are prepared,” Novak said. “With protocols that relieve the burden on local command.”
Yes, thought Olsen, because we can’t trust people in command to act on their own initiative. They must follow protocols and orders to the letter. “And so those protocols they gave you on the Wilson, what happens if they prove to be outdated?”
“My duties involve regular study of the latest terms of service agreements from Admiralty AI. Protocols are frequently updated according to recently encountered situations, and so I’ll always know the most recommended course of action in any scenario.”
“Novak, I’ve seen things out here that you or the Admiralty can’t possibly imagine. Even the crew members behave in unexpected ways when so far from home.”
“Which is why Admiralty recommends you report any findings, no matter how minor, to Admiralty AI.”
“Very well, I’ll do that. But meanwhile, I want you to remember that I’m captain on this ship. Unless you find me unfit for duty, you cannot override my decisions, despite your protocols. And despite my age, my medical reports have found me fit as a gazelle — both physically and psychologically.”
Novak held Olsen’s gaze with vacant eyes. “Very well, sir.
Please remember I’m only here to advise on the situation at hand.”
Another purple rectangle had appeared on the viewscreen, tiny compared to the ever-expanding green one that represented the island. The new rectangle surrounded a building set inside a dense wood, so that only a small portion of the roof was visible. Still, the image had a sixty-four-times zoom, and so the Extractor would need a good ten minutes or so until it landed.
“Sir,” Santiago said over the intercom, “I think you’d better come to the CIC.”
“What is it, Santiago?” Olsen replied.
“The defense station is further around than we thought.”
“How far?”
“Still an hour, but we’ve detected other bodies heading out from it. Five Arstan shuttle-modules heading to Frega’s residence. It looks like they know we’re coming, sir.”
“Dammit,” Olsen said as he stood and motioned for Novak to follow him back into the bridge. He entered a code on his wristwatch to open a channel to the Extractor. “Redrock, you’ve got five enemy ships incoming, get in and out as quickly as you can.”
18
Though Redrock had flown many runs through space, he thought those over a planet’s surface were the best of them all. It wasn’t the beauty he missed — although admittedly Kandora was stunning, with its perfect, shallow turquoise seas wrapped around brilliant golden coastlines — but rather the sensation of pure gravity. And that wasn’t due to the exhilaration of falling, which was physically similar to being in zero-g. Rather, it was a sense of safety and familiarity, being able to feel the floor of the cockpit beneath his feet and a force that told him there was ground beneath him to which he could eventually return.
He could only liken it to skydiving, which he’d done many times back on Earth. Though there was a certain thrill to plummeting into the clouds and twirling and somersaulting through the air, the best part for Redrock was when the parachute opened. Then he could simply float, feeling the tug of the ropes that connected him to the tarp above. And soon enough he would land there, and once again be safe.