Devastation Class

by Glen Zipper

  “Med-Logs, Cadet Kuzycz, Anatoly. Cross-referenced and attached.”

  For the second time I considered expanding on my report on Nick. In my first log I had simply listed him as one of our casualties, and as a result, my reports remained materially incomplete, particularly as they pertained to the details surrounding the Blink. My dilemma was that Nick had obviously been a carefully guarded secret. Revealing the truth in the context of a log entry still felt too risky. Once again, I decided to exclude any further details.

  “Open complement personnel file Cadet Diome, Safi. Explorers Class D27.”

  “Complement personnel file Cadet Diome, Safi accessed and available for cross-reference and attachment.”

  “Further review of supplemental sensor logs and damage reports confirm . . .”

  My throat pinched hard as a torrent of emotion surged up from my gut. As the interior of Safi’s quarters were undamaged, I knew she probably hadn’t been killed by the blast that caused the breach. More likely she had been sucked out into the vacuum of space alive, with about ninety seconds of life left to suffer.

  We’d been trained for a few seconds of exposure, so I knew all the grim details of what would happen to your body if you were left exposed any longer than that. The gas in your lungs and digestive tract rapidly expanding. The liquid on your eyes and tongue boiling. And then slowly suffocating into oblivion. From the instant I saw the gaping hole in the California’s hull, I had tried not to think of any of it, but anytime I heard her name the horror of her fate overwhelmed me.

  “Correction. Delete the last sentence.”

  “Last sentence deleted.”

  I took in a deep breath, steeling myself to start again and push through.

  “Further review of supplemental sensor logs and damage reports confirm our original assessment. The ship’s emergency containment field did successfully activate, but Cadet Diome was lost during an activation lag of approximately one point six seconds between breach and containment.”

  Less than two seconds. That’s all it took to claim her life. Had the Kastazi strike landed just a few meters off in any other direction, the lag might have been a fraction less. And that could’ve been enough to save her.

  “As this report is intended as a final conclusion on the nature of Cadet Diome’s death as a result of an enemy act of war, I formally submit her service for Alliance Golden Star consideration.”

  No one was ever supposed to get a medal on an Explorers mission. Certainly not a posthumous one. It was yet another painfully surreal layer of what was an already impossibly surreal situation.

  “Cross-reference and attach personnel file. Encode log entry. Hold transmission pending confirmed secure Alliance com link.”

  “Personnel file Cadet Diome, Safi. Cross-referenced and attached. Log entry encoded. Transmission held pending secure Alliance link.”

  CHAPTER 33

  LIKO

  THE PAIN GNAWING AT MY STOMACH WAS becoming an all-too-familiar sensation. At first they allotted us two PRMs a day, and then, just the day before, they reduced our allotment to only one. The rationing had started two weeks earlier, the same day the cadets confirmed “the truth.”

  They told us the Kastazi had returned in overwhelming forces. That Earth was likely lost. That Captain Marshall and everyone on Gallipoli had perished. They also asked us to trust them, but how could we when we had already been told their initial story was filled with lies?

  The did we or didn’t we matter of the Blink and their so-called Reverse Blink Field theory was one of them. At first I was shocked they expected us to accept such an incredible explanation, but then I remembered something my father had once told me.

  “Small lies are difficult to get away with. Big lies, the ones that appear too audacious to have been fabricated, those people will believe.”

  The cadets’ big lie contributed to an almost absoluteness of uncertainty, leaving us to exhaust ourselves in a hamster wheel of nearly limitless circularity. We Blinked, but then we didn’t. The enemy was all around us, but then they weren’t. Its distracting effect was a feat of Machiavellian brilliance, no doubt inspired by all the tricky mind games that had been pounded into their heads during their training.

  But if they intended to distract us, what was their ultimate objective? To me, the answer was clear. They were stacking the deck in their favor for an inevitable tipping point. The moment when survival came down to a question of us or them. Thankfully for us, we had someone who was already one step ahead of the cadets, and they had enlisted me to help ensure things never got that far.

  While the cadets mostly cloistered themselves on the bridge, I made the rounds on the lower decks, just as I had been instructed. Armed with valuable intelligence, I knew which students to avoid and recruited only those who were inclined to rally behind our cause. In less than two weeks, I had grown our number of allies to eighteen, approximately a third of the ship’s surviving students. And I knew I’d have more soon. It was just a matter of time.

  Our list of ideas for taking back the California was long, but so far only one had been suggested that didn’t rely on violence—seizing control of Sentinel. Pulling that off was going to require two things: gaining access to the mainframe compartment and somehow acquiring the Command Codes that were in the cadets’ exclusive possession. Our plans to accomplish both had already been set in motion.

  My eyes wandered to an old, dog-eared photo of my father resting on my desk. In the context of our new reality, my loyalties were as susceptible to perspective as his once were. Was I the traitor, or were the real traitors the cadets who had forced my hand?

  I opened the supply trunk under my desk and prepared to return his photo to the place it had long been hidden. Resting above my books and other keepsakes was Miller’s blood-soaked knapsack, bulging with the seven pistols I hoped we’d have no use for. If it came to that, however, we’d be ready. And by then it would be far too late for Cadet Bixby’s algorithm to make any difference.

  CHAPTER 34

  JD

  GENTRY SAT AT THE EDGE OF HIS bed, dejectedly peering down at his slippers as his jaw slogged through the chewy, unprocessed PRM I had brought him to eat. His matted hair, puffy eyes, and soiled clothing mingled to paint a disheartening picture. In removing him from command, we had deprived him of something more important than his authority. We had deprived him of his dignity. And it showed.

  I wondered if it was time to consider having him confined to Medical instead. At least there he wouldn’t be surrounded by so many reminders of the way things should have been.

  “You don’t need to watch me eat,” he said without looking up, his neglected vocal cords struggling to push beyond a raspy whisper.

  “It’s not healthy to be alone in here all day.”

  Gentry gulped, his throat pushing down another dense lump of PRM. “I don’t want your company.”

  “You’ve made that clear. Repeatedly.”

  He finally raised his head. Beneath all their puffiness, his eyes were glassy and empty. “Anything to report?”

  “No.”

  “You still scanning for Alliance signals?”

  “Yes. We’re not getting anything.”

  “You’ve got to scan in random intervals. Scan too long on a single frequency, and the Kastazi will be able to track the California.”

  “I know.”

  “The Kastazi? Any noise at all?”

  “Only from Earth. We haven’t found anything that would indicate Kastazi patrols anywhere near us.”

  “And food?” he asked. “You told me that most of our PRM stock was lost. So what are you doing about finding more food?”

  “We’ve been scanning for Alliance supply buoys. So far, nothing.”

  During the war the Alliance had dispersed thousands of interstellar supply buoys, each serving as an emergency lifeline for Alliance warships cut off from the primary supply chain. As no one bothered to collect them after the war, many well-stocked buoys were st
ill floating freely through space.

  “The buoys’ location beacons probably aren’t transmitting anymore. They’re all too old. You need to scan for the radiation signature coming from their decaying power modules instead.”

  It was an idea that suddenly seemed obvious, but none of us had thought of it before.

  “Noted,” I replied.

  Gentry took another pained bite of his PRM and looked up at the ceiling as if searching for something to say.

  “You shouldn’t worry,” I said, doing my best to reassure him. “For now, we’ve got things under control.”

  Gentry chuckled with a light hint of condescension. “Really? I shouldn’t worry? Let me ask you this—how are the students handling our situation?”

  I could’ve accused Gentry of many unflattering things, but being stupid wasn’t one of them. Despite being completely sequestered, he had already deduced what was going on outside his quarters.

  “Some better than others,” I replied.

  “How bad is it really? You can tell me.”

  There was no reason for me to lie to him. “They don’t trust us. They think we’re hiding something from them.”

  “Are you?”

  “The only thing we’re hiding is that we’re just as scared as they are.”

  Gentry nodded, subtly acknowledging my honesty. “And what are they doing? How is their distrust manifesting itself?”

  “We’ve been trying to maintain normal routine, but not everyone is being cooperative. Small things mostly.”

  “But not all small things.”

  I hesitated for a moment before answering. I didn’t want to admit the worst of it. “No, not all small things.”

  “Some panic?”

  “A few students have struggled to cope, yes.”

  “Have they acted out?”

  “There’s been some combativeness in the lower decks.”

  “Fights?”

  “Yes, fights.”

  “How have you addressed this?”

  “The best we can,” I replied, my body language no doubt conveying fatigue.

  Gentry deliberately placed the remnants of his PRM on its serving tray. “It’s time to let me out. I can help you, John.”

  We’d been through the same discussion multiple times already. He claimed he wouldn’t interfere with our authority. That he’d concede—even support—that we should remain in command. Even if he was telling the truth, it was irrelevant. The real danger had nothing to do with his intentions.

  If we had let Gentry walk free on the decks, how long would it have been before the students saw him as an alternative—or, worse yet, a savior? Even if he had no designs on retaking command, how quickly would that have changed if the discontented students rallied together and emboldened him with all their support? We had already seen firsthand what it looked like when the California was at the mercy of his authority, and there was no way we were going to let that happen again.

  “We’ve covered this. Once we’re able to stabilize our situation, we’ll reconsider your arrangements.”

  “What exactly are you hoping to stabilize?” he responded, fighting through his own incredulous laughter. “And don’t talk to me about arrangements. This isn’t an arrangement. It’s imprisonment.”

  As I had been doing all along, I tried my best to keep my cool with him. “So you keep telling me. And as I keep telling you, there is a good reason for everything we’re doing. I don’t expect you to see it or believe me, but the fact we’re sitting here talking with the California still in one piece—that should tell you everything you need to know.”

  Gentry shook his head at me.

  “What?” I indulged him.

  “You still don’t get it.”

  One of the reasons I visited Gentry every day was to give him someone to talk to and keep him from losing his mind. If allowing him to berate me did the trick, I was prepared to take it. “I’m listening.”

  “You relieved me from command and saved the ship. Then you managed to escape an entire Kastazi battalion. From there you made innumerable other decisions that have helped spare us from death and bring us to this moment. And for that I commend you. Bravo, John Douglas. Bravo.”

  I braced myself for the but, and Gentry did not disappoint.

  “But you’ve only succeeded by taking the ultimate risk time and again. We always have the option of risking everything to win. If you’re willing to risk everything, you’ll often have the advantage. But what happens when you confront an enemy, one much more powerful than you, who is also prepared to risk everything? You haven’t met that enemy yet, but it’s possible you could soon. And guess what happens then, cadet?”

  “What?” I answered curtly.

  “That’s when you die.”

  I let the silence linger. Let him feel like he’d exacted his pound of flesh from me. If that satisfaction sustained him for another twenty-four hours alone in his quarters, it was worth it.

  “Are you done?” I asked.

  “I’m done.”

  I patted my knees and stood up from the chair opposite his rack. “Well then. Lunch tomorrow? Same time, same place?”

  Gentry didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile. As I turned and walked away, I felt my body penetrate what felt like a thin wall of static. By this point I was accustomed to the sensation. It was the same feeling every time. From behind me I heard Gentry drop his serving tray to the deck and lunge in my direction. And then, once again, I heard the sound of him being repelled by the containment field Bix had jerry-rigged for me.

  I had joined Gentry for lunch for nine consecutive days, and it was the fourth time he had tried this. No matter how many attempts he made, the field would only let my biosig through.

  I turned to face him. He lay prone on the floor, looking up at me.

  “You see, this is one of the reasons I don’t trust you.”

  Gentry spit at me, his saliva crackling as it intersected the field.

  “Go to hell!” he yelled.

  “Yeah, you keep telling me that too.”

  CHAPTER 35

  VIV

  ALL I COULD SEE OF BOSSA AND Ohno were their legs protruding from an open junction panel beneath the bridge’s Weapons console. Their bodies squirming against one another inside the cramped space was quite the visual. They had been working for more than three hours to bypass the plasma cannons’ flow regulators, and the escalation in their bickering told me their frustration was starting to bubble over.

  “Why can’t you just do what I say and put your finger on that conduit?!” I heard Ohno say to Bossa.

  “Because I’d like to keep my finger, that’s why!” Bossa bit back.

  “Do you think I’d actually open the flow valve while your finger was still on it?”

  “I have no idea what you’re thinking! And besides, what if your hand slips off the valve?”

  “I. Don’t. Slip.”

  How would Captain Marshall or my mother have reacted to scrapping on their bridge?

  Three months KP duty?

  Fifty laps around the track in full tactical gear?

  Permanent suspension of Iso-Rec privileges?

  Despite my best efforts to resist it, I smiled at that thought.

  I shifted my attention to Julian’s empty station. For the second day in a row, he was late to report for duty.

  “Will you pull up Julian’s biosig for me, please?” I called out to Bix.

  “Aye,” he answered, sweeping his fingers across his console. “Looks like he’s on Beta Deck, Junction 6.”

  “Junction 6? What is he—”

  An alert interrupted me.

  “Report.”

  Bix consulted his console. “We’ve got another one,” he said.

  We had given the students the liberty to fraternize with friends, attend to their daily routines, and even use their Iso-Rec privileges. But because of scattered instances of disorderly conduct, we had also instituted some loose curfews and other modest li
mits on their freedom of movement.

  “Who is it this time?” I asked.

  “Liko Chen.”

  “Where’s he going?”

  “He’s just outside—” Another alert cut Bix off. “Sorry, sorry. Looks like a biosig malfunction. Liko’s in his quarters.”

  “And Julian?”

  “I guess he never left his quarters either,” he hesitantly replied. “The malfunction must be showing us an echo from earlier today.”

  Bix stared down at his console like it was spitting out readings in a foreign language.

  “What?” I pressed him.

  “I’ve just never seen a malfunction like this. Ever.”

  I’d witnessed Bix solve countless seemingly impossible riddles, but if he had a blind spot, it was sometimes missing the simple explanation right in front of his face.

  “We’ve also never had entire decks decimated by a Kastazi Destroyer or Blinked while jerry-rigged to a Gen Two Hybrid,” I reminded him. “Sentinel’s going to keep having malfunctions. Let’s just make sure we stay ahead of them.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he replied, clearly not entirely sold. “But if I just power down Sentinel for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, I can run a diagnostic and confirm—”

  “Negative,” I cut him off. “Until we have a better grip on what’s out there waiting for us, we’re not powering down Sentinel for twenty seconds.”

  “Aye,” he reluctantly confirmed.

  “Is Julian sleeping?” I asked, trying to move things along.

  “That’s definitely the biosig of someone who is out cold,” Bix answered, tapping his finger on Julian’s readings.

  “Unbelievable.”

  “You want me to wake him up?”

  Julian’s faltering commitment was quickly becoming a serious concern.

  “No. I’ll deal with him later.”

  JD stepped out of the lift. “Where’s Lorde?” he asked, annoyed.

  “Sleeping,” Bix volunteered, perhaps a little too eagerly.