Devastation Class

by Glen Zipper

  “Bossa. He had to be in on the attack somehow,” said Viv.

  “Why would you think that?” asked Julian.

  “Because it’s too much of a coincidence. Less than twenty-four hours after he’s brought in, we’re ambushed by the Kastazi? No proximity alerts? No warning of any kind? I’m telling you, that Interceptor was a Trojan horse. There’s something in it that jammed Gallipoli’s long-range sensors. It was no accident we found that ship. We did exactly what the Kastazi wanted us to do.”

  “No,” Bix interjected. “There’s no way the Interceptor would’ve cleared quarantine if she was broadcasting any kind of jamming signal.”

  “Then what’s your explanation?” Viv challenged.

  Bix stared at her, his expression blank. “I don’t have one.”

  “I do,” I said, “and it’s much worse than a Trojan horse.”

  Viv looked at me. “What do you mean, worse?”

  “It was someone on Gallipoli. One of our own. Or maybe more than just one.”

  “That makes no sense.”

  “Think about it. What makes more sense to you—an elaborate Kastazi plan involving an Outer Perimeter pirate and the New Jersey’s long-lost Interceptor, or someone aboard Gallipoli flipping a few switches?”

  “Too thin, JD. It’s not as simple as flipping a few switches. Only someone with command clearance could’ve gotten into Gallipoli’s central computer.”

  “I’m not done. What about the attack on Gallipoli itself? Did you see a single round of plasma fire targeting anything below Level 10?”

  “Gallipoli’s gone. The Kastazi destroyed it.”

  “After they evacuated their conspirators.”

  “You’re reaching, JD.”

  “Am I? What about the California?” I persisted. “They could’ve destroyed us, but they didn’t. They were surgical—gunning for Gamma Deck to take out the crew most likely to put up a fight. The NCOs.”

  “No,” said Julian, shaking his head in disagreement. “They kept going after Gamma Deck. They tried to kill us all.”

  “Because we tried to escape! The Kastazi weren’t counting on that. With the NCOs gone and the California locked into Gallipoli, who was going to resist them? A couple of ensigns and a handful of cadets?”

  “That doesn’t make sense either,” Viv argued. “What reason would they have had to spare anyone at all?”

  I knew that was the missing piece, and I didn’t have an answer for it.

  “That’s the part I’m still trying to figure out,” I conceded.

  “There’s nothing for you to figure out,” Viv retorted, “because that’s not what happened.”

  “We can argue about it later,” I said. “Right now we need to concentrate on three things: making sure we’re ready when the Destroyer finds us, attending to the ship’s casualties, and securing that prisoner. Let’s start with priority one—the Kastazi Destroyer. We can’t outrun it. We can’t fight it. That only leaves the Blink.”

  “I really don’t think I can fix it,” said Bix.

  “Get down to the reactor and take a closer look. Then you can tell me you can’t fix it.”

  “And what if Bix is right?” asked Viv. “What then?”

  “Ohno,” I called out, “when you’re done under there, report to the Engineering compartment. Do whatever you can to reinforce our grids and push more power to HIVE thrusters.”

  “Aye,” she confirmed, her hands busy beneath her console.

  “You said it yourself. We can’t outrun them,” said Viv, pointing out the futility of relying on grids and thrusters.

  “We have to start somewhere. If we can get some more distance, it’ll buy us more time. Time to think of something else.”

  “Casualties?” she asked, moving on.

  “Anatoly, report to Medical and prepare to receive the injured. Med Synths are offline, and you’re the closest thing we’ve got to a doctor.”

  “Okay,” he nervously replied. “I mean, aye.”

  “Viv, you and I will go to Beta Deck to check on the students. See what we can do. Who we can help.”

  “And what are you going to tell them?” asked Lorde.

  “Excuse me?”

  “When they ask you what’s happened, what are you going to tell them?”

  “As little as possible. We can’t risk a panic right now.”

  “So you’re going to lie to them? What gives you the right?”

  All of the responses that came to mind would’ve only escalated the situation. Thankfully, Viv answered him before I said something stupid out of frustration. “They’d all be dead if it weren’t for us. That’s what gives us the right.”

  “If you agree to this tactic, then I accept it,” Julian conceded to Viv all too quickly. “But let me come with you. The students are distrustful of cadets. But they do trust me. I’m one of them. I can help you.” It seemed obvious he was working an angle, but time was not on our side. We needed to move.

  “You good with that, Viv?” I prompted her.

  “Yes.”

  “All right, Lorde. You’re with us.”

  “And what do we do about the prisoner?” asked Anatoly.

  “We start by finding a way to track him. Bix, how could he have killed his biosig?”

  “It probably wasn’t synced into Sentinel yet, so the one we saw had to be coming from a track bracelet the MPs slapped on him in the brig. He could’ve removed it. Or smashed it. Anything’s possible.”

  A com alert sounded from Auxiliary. Presuming it was a medical emergency, Anatoly rushed to check it.

  “What other options do we have to track him?”

  “I suppose I could use the biosigs of everyone left on the ship as a control reference and isolate his life signs as the only unknown quantity. But that’ll take time, and the Blink Reactor is the priority.”

  “I’ve got an easier way,” Anatoly called out to us. “I’ve got him on com.”

  What?

  “Okay,” I responded, making no attempt to mask my incredulity. “Transfer wide to bridge.”

  “Aye,” Anatoly confirmed. “Com is live, wide to bridge.”

  “Who am I talking to?”

  A long silence followed.

  “I think you know,” the voice answered, finally.

  “Veen Bossa.”

  “And you are . . . not the captain.”

  “No. Not the captain. But I am in command.”

  “I don’t care who’s in command as long as you can give me what I want.”

  “Which is?”

  “The Delphinium.”

  We all exchanged confused looks.

  “Delphinium?”

  “My ship, genius,” he replied. “Let me into the hangar and I’ll be on my way.”

  “I’ll consider it, but first I have a question.”

  “About the attack? I know nothing.”

  “Attack?” Viv interjected, obviously trying to corner Bossa in support of her Trojan horse theory. “How do you know we didn’t drift into a debris field?”

  “I know the difference between debris and plasma fire. And frankly, I don’t care if you believe me or not. Just let me into the hangar or I promise you, your bad day is about to get a lot worse.”

  I swiped my hand underneath my chin, signaling Anatoly to mute the com. “Do we have enough systems functionality to open the hangar and then lock him in?”

  “Yeah, we do,” Bix answered.

  Bossa’s voice crackled back through the com. “If you’re thinking about locking me into the hangar, that’s not a good idea,” he sniped. “There’ll be consequences.”

  “He’s bluffing. It’ll work,” said Viv. “He’s one guy out of his element. What’s he going to do?”

  “Get in his ship and blast his way out?” Anatoly posited.

  “He doesn’t strike me as stupid. He has to know that if he fires his weapons inside the hangar’s containment field, he’s going to be inside the blast radius.”

  I signa
led Anatoly to open the com back up.

  “No tricks, Bossa. I’ve got too many problems to add you to my list. The hangar’s open. Get off my ship.”

  “Com is closed,” Anatoly confirmed.

  “Did I make it too easy?” I asked Viv.

  “Would you believe it if you were him?” she answered.

  I rubbed my temples. “I don’t know. Maybe if I was desperate. Let’s hope he is.”

  Ohno emerged from under her console, her bio-reactive tattoos returning to their resting position, a leopard-like pattern of tightly packed semispheric shapes and bright, contrasting colors. “Command Synth is operational and ready for activation.”

  “Well done. Bring him online so we can get to work.”

  “Wait a second,” said Viv. “You modified his command directive priorities, yes?”

  “I did my best,” Ohno replied. “Synths aren’t my area of expertise, but he should follow our orders now.”

  “Only one way to find out,” I said. “Activate him.”

  Ohno entered the activation code, and an Emergency Command Holosynth materialized into the captain’s chair. He—or it—looked every bit the part. Strong, steely eyes, graying at the temples, a thick, formidable physique. Integrated into all of the California’s systems, it instantly knew the full extent of the ship’s damage as well as all the unauthorized modifications Ohno had made to its program.

  “This is a level one emergency situation,” he said calmly but sternly. “Why have you modified my command directive priorities?”

  Like all other higher-functioning Synths, it was purposefully designed to consider variables, such as my pulse, temperature, and pupil dilation, to help it evaluate me and choose the appropriate tact of engagement.

  “This isn’t a level one emergency,” I answered. “This is something else entirely. Something you were never programmed to deal with.”

  The Synth thoughtfully considered my words. That too was part of its programming. To evaluate any and all input and respond in a way that would most likely serve its core objective—in this case, restoring its command directive priorities.

  Whatever algorithm it used to process my words, it must’ve determined that challenging my authority was unlikely to achieve its objectives. “I see,” it said, taking great care to mimic concern by thoughtfully massaging its chin. “The ship has clearly sustained catastrophic damage and casualties. I can understand why you’ve resorted to unusual measures to ensure the safety of everyone on board. But now that you’ve stabilized the situation, the safest course of action would be to restore my command directive priorities.”

  “I’m sorry, but we’re not going to do that. We are going to remain in command, and when we leave the bridge, you’re going to pilot the ship and execute all of its basic primary support functions. Any attempt to circumvent or override your new command directive priorities will result in your program being terminated.” The decorative captain’s insignia on his uniform caught my attention, my eyes lingering on it a moment before continuing. “And should that happen . . . sir . . . you will be putting this ship and everyone on it in great danger in violation of your primary command objective. Our safety.”

  The Synth stared back at me, perhaps searching for some weakness to exploit.

  “Very well,” it answered before turning away to assume the duties we had constrained it to.

  “All right. Let’s get started.”

  With the swipe of a hand across his console, Bix activated the automated alert: All injured report to Medical or await medical attention. All other hands report to quarters and stand by for further instructions.

  With the alert looping in the background, Anatoly gently lifted Gentry off the floor and tossed his limp body over his shoulder. “Bring him to Medical?”

  “No. Take him to his quarters,” I answered. “Bix, go with him on your way to the reactor and secure Gentry inside. We need to take him out of play for the time being.”

  “Aye,” they both confirmed.

  We followed behind them and entered the lift at the rear of the bridge. Lewis’s body lay on the floor where we had rested it a few minutes earlier.

  “And Lewis?” Ohno asked in a somber tone.

  “We need to decide what to do with all our dead. For now I suppose we can take his body back to his quarters. I don’t know what else . . .” A sudden lump in my throat caught me by surprise. “Let’s go. We need to go.”

  As the lift’s doors closed, I looked out at the Holoview and saw only emptiness and peace. Nothing about it belied the havoc we all knew would be waiting for us below.

  CHAPTER 20

  VIV

  THE LIFT’S LIGHTS FLICKERED ON AND OFF, struggling to keep its small confines illuminated. I tried to rub Lewis’s blood from my hands, but the friction only mixed its wetness with soot, creating a sticky black paste between my fingers.

  When the doors finally opened to Beta Deck, we saw the same mess we had just left on Alpha. Red-hued emergency lighting streaming through an abandoned passageway, smashed, overloading energy conduits, and the wreckage of twisted infrastructure.

  As soon as we rounded the first corner, I saw a girl’s body lying in the middle of the deck. Moving closer, I bent down and delicately brushed her hair aside. I recognized her face but, shamefully, couldn’t remember her name. A trickle of blood leaked from her bottom lip. I touched a teardrop suspended in the middle of her cheek. It was still warm.

  The same thought kept spinning through my head again and again.

  This can’t be real.

  “Do you know her name?” I asked JD.

  “Rachel,” he said, an anguished look on his face. “Her name was Rachel.”

  Of course. Rachel. The girl he’d bumped into on the way to the Blink Drill. That was less than twenty-four hours ago. It might as well have been a lifetime.

  Julian offered me a hand, pulling me up. But I couldn’t take my eyes off Rachel.

  “We have to keep going, Vivien,” he said.

  I jogged ahead in front of them, steadily increasing my pace until I found myself sprinting. Safi. I had to see what had happened to Safi.

  Pivoting around the final turn, I crashed into something in the darkness. A busted energy conduit threw off a shower of sparks, illuminating what it was—the bodies of two students still strapped into their safety positions. One was Alistair Jensen, his head bowed low against his chest. I only recognized him by his antique digital watch. The other student, Barrett Miller, had a jagged piece of shrapnel impaled deeply into his neck.

  The same thought. Again.

  This can’t be real.

  The conduit threw off a final, dying burst, haloing another student crouched beneath them with his head slumped between his knees. I could just make out the sound of his soft crying.

  “Are you injured?” JD asked, rushing to his side.

  He didn’t answer.

  “What’s your name?”

  Julian knelt down beside him. “It’s Liko Chen.”

  Liko raised his head. “It was an attack, wasn’t it?”

  A group of students suddenly emerged from the dark recesses of the passageway. There were about fifteen of them, bloodied and hobbled. At the front of their pack was Annalisa Vaccaro.

  “Is he right?” she asked. “Were we attacked?”

  “Yes.”

  “By who?”

  “We’re not sure yet,” JD hesitantly replied, clearly not yet prepared to reveal it was the Kastazi.

  “I could feel the HIVE thrusters,” said Liko. “We’re not at Gallipoli anymore.”

  “We had to evacuate to save the ship.”

  “The captain?”

  “There wasn’t time for him to get back to the California. It was Gentry. He’s in command.”

  “And what now?” Annalisa questioned him. “Is he going back for the captain? Is the captain coming for us?”

  JD hesitated, not sure how to answer. Then he looked at me.

  He had to say
something. I tried to signal some urgency with a subtle dip of my chin.

  “Alliance Command has instructed Gentry to hold the California’s position,” Julian jumped in. “He’s standing by on the bridge, awaiting further orders while the injured are attended to.”

  His covering for JD took me by surprise. Never in a million years would I have expected that from him. But then again, everything about our circumstances was upside down.

  Annalisa bent down and wiped a smudge of blood from above Liko’s eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

  I found nothing strange about her compassion. I had seen the same thing many times during the war. Fear was the great equalizer, quickly rendering long-standing grudges and prejudices meaningless.

  “Yes,” Liko replied, rising unsteadily with her help.

  I noticed a bulging blood-soaked knapsack lying by his feet and reached down to grab it for him.

  “I’ve got it,” he spat, snatching it for himself.

  “Are you sure you’re not injured?” I asked.

  “Just a few bumps. I’m fine,” he answered.

  “Ms. Vaccaro,” I said, addressing her formally to maintain some semblance of our authority, “would you mind escorting Mr. Chen to Medical? I want to make sure he gets looked at.”

  Annalisa reassuringly rubbed Liko’s shoulder. “Yes, I can do that.”

  A feeling of dread returned as soon as the students gathered themselves and disappeared back into the darkness. Even before the stakes were far less than life and death, the chasm between them and us was deep. We may have lied to them for good reason, but eventually they’d learn the truth. And when they did, it was destined to make things even worse.

  JD and Julian followed as I continued ahead through the wreckage. Reaching my quarters, we saw that the entire section had been ripped open to the vacuum of space.

  This can’t be real!

  When I ran closer without thinking, the ship’s emergency retention field threw me backward. I reached up and touched the invisible wall. Its electromagnetic surface sent light-blue static charges sparkling through my fingers.

  On the other side of the barrier, there was no blood. No body. Just the scattered remnants of the small space I had called home for the past three months. Our bed frames were still there. Mine and Safi’s. Bolted to the deck plating, they weren’t sucked out in the abyss with everything else. The wall opposite the outer hull was also still intact. As were some of the photos we had affixed to it. Most of them were mine. Safi wasn’t much for keepsakes or memories. She was always about the here and now. And the future.