Apparent Brightness (The Sector Fleet, Book 2)
Author: Nicola Claire
Date: 2019-05-24 06:53:26+00:00
Description: "Please do not be alarmed. This is for your own protection. " Working as the Chief Engineer onboard the ESAS Chariot out of Europe, Commander Camille Rey expected her position to be somewhat challenging on occasion. She did not expect to be fighting for her and her fellow crewmen's lives immediately after take-off. Teaming up with the very proper, and very English Captain Noah Vaughan to combat a desperate saboteur onboard their vessel, Camille discovers that not all the malfunctions the Chariot is experiencing are human-related. Secrets and desires are exposed amongst the stars and plasma fir
Rights: Copyright 2018 Nicola Claire. All rights reserved.

Table of Contents

- Prologue
- Epilogue
- About the Author
- Free Download
- Also By Nicola Claire
- Description
- Sector Fleet Advertisement
- Got It!
- Thought You Might Need A Tipple
- And Then He Went And Behaved Like This
- No Way
- God Help The Man If He Tried To Dissuade Me
- Novels, Poems Or Relationships
- Aye-Aye, Captain
- Ah, Putain!
- This Was Bad
- I Sat Back And Waited
- In His Quarters
- Am I To Kiss You Now?
- Hello
- Goodnight, Camille

- I Really Needed To Read A Tale Of Two Cities

- End Programme
- Thank You For Your Assistance
- I Need My Chief
- Damn It
- That Can’t Be Good
- Welcome Aboard
- Yes, The Plan
- Ready For This, Chief?
- Twenty Minutes
- My Money Was On You, Camille
- Fuck, That Sounded Dirty
- Teach Away
- This Is For Your Own Safety
- Anything You Say

- And Suddenly I Knew What Vela Had Been Meaning

- How’s This, Chief?
- All Of Our Lives
- For Now
- I Just Can’t Tell
- Clarify
- Was The A Trick Question Or Not?
- Nothing
- Green Meant Good
- My Thoughts Exactly
- Tell Me More
- Red Alert!
- God Help Us, Then
- I Like You, Too
- I agree
- Out With It

Apparent Brightness

The Sector Fleet Book Two

Nicola Claire

Copyright © 2018, Nicola Claire

All Rights Reserved

© 2017 Cover Art by Cora Graphics

© Depositphotos.com/Ravven

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organisations is entirely coincidental.

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 978-0-473-42795-5

Created with Vellum

Contents

About the Author

Free Download

Also By Nicola Claire

Description

Sector Fleet Advertisement

Prologue

1. Got It!

2. Thought You Might Need A Tipple

3. And Then He Went And Behaved Like This

4. No Way

5. God Help The Man If He Tried To Dissuade Me

6. Novels, Poems Or Relationships

7. Aye-Aye, Captain

8. Ah, Putain!

9. This Was Bad

10. I Sat Back And Waited

11. In His Quarters

12. Am I To Kiss You Now?

13. Hello

14. Goodnight, Camille

15. I Really Needed To Read A Tale Of Two Cities

16. End Programme

17. Thank You For Your Assistance

18. I Need My Chief

19. Damn It

20. That Can’t Be Good

21. Welcome Aboard

22. Yes, The Plan

23. Ready For This, Chief?

24. Twenty Minutes

25. My Money Was On You, Camille

26. Fuck, That Sounded Dirty

27. Teach Away

28. This Is For Your Own Safety

29. Anything You Say

30. And Suddenly I Knew What Vela Had Been Meaning

31. How’s This, Chief?

32. All Of Our Lives

33. For Now

34. I Just Can’t Tell

35. Clarify

36. Was The A Trick Question Or Not?

37. Nothing

38. Green Meant Good

39. My Thoughts Exactly

40. Tell Me More

41. Red Alert!

42. God Help Us, Then

43. I Like You, Too

44. I agree

45. Out With It

46. Dead

47. What Now?

48. Aye-aye, Captain!

49. We Need You

50. Let’s Do This, Then

51. It Was A Little Underhanded

52. She Rolled Her Eyes At Me

53. It Was The Best Of Times

Epilogue

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About the Author

Nicola Claire lives in beautiful Taupo, New Zealand with her husband and two young boys.

She's tried her hand at being a paramedic, bank teller and medical sales representative, (not all necessarily in that order), but her love of writing keeps calling her back.

She has a passion for all things suspenseful, spiced up with a good dollop of romance, as long as they include strong characters - alpha males and capable females - and worlds which although make-believe are really quite believable in the end.

There's nothing better than getting caught up in a compelling, intriguing and romantic book.

When she's not writing or reading, she's out on her family boat at Lake Taupo, teaching her young boys to fish, showing them the beauty that surrounds them in nature and catching some delicious trout for dinner.

Creating rich worlds with dynamic characters and unexpected twists that shock and awe has been pure bliss for this author. And just as well, because there's a lot more story yet to tell...

For more information:

www.nicolaclairebooks.com
nicola@nicolaclairebooks.com

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Also By Nicola Claire

Kindred Series

Kindred

Blood Life Seeker

Forbidden Drink

Giver of Light

Dancing Dragon

Shadow's Light

Entwined With The Dark

Kiss Of The Dragon

Dreaming Of A Blood Red Christmas (Novella)

* * *

Mixed Blessing Mystery Series

Mixed Blessing

Dark Shadow (Coming Soon)

* * *

Sweet Seduction Series

Sweet Seduction Sacrifice

Sweet Seduction Serenade

Sweet Seduction Shadow

Sweet Seduction Surrender

Sweet Seduction Shield

Sweet Seduction Sabotage

Sweet Seduction Stripped

Sweet Seduction Secrets

Sweet Seduction Sayonara

* * *

Elemental Awakening Series

The Tempting Touch Of Fire

The Soothing Scent Of Earth

The Chilling Change Of Air

The Tantalising Taste Of Water

The Eternal Edge Of Aether (Novella)

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H.E.A.T. Series

A Flare Of Heat

A Touch Of Heat

A Twist Of Heat (Novella)

A Lick Of Heat (Coming Soon)

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Elite

Cardinal

Citizen

Masked (Novella)

Wiped

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Scarlet Suffragette Series

Fearless

Breathless

Heartless (Coming Soon)

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Blood Enchanted Series

Blood Enchanted

Blood Entwined

Blood Enthralled (Coming Soon)

* * *

44 South Series

Southern Sunset

Southern Storm

Southern Strike (Coming Soon)

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Losing Time

Making Time (Coming Soon)

***

The Sector Fleet

Accelerating Universe

Apparent Brightness

Right Ascension (Coming Soon)

Description

“Please do not be alarmed. This is for your own protection.”

Working as the Chief Engineer onboard the ESAS Chariot out of Europe, Commander Camille Rey expected her position to be somewhat challenging on occasion.

She did not expect to be fighting for her and her fellow crewmen’s lives immediately after take-off.

Teaming up with the very proper, and very English Captain Noah Vaughan to combat a desperate saboteur onboard their vessel, Camille discovers that not all the malfunctions the Chariot is experiencing are human-related.

Secrets and desires are exposed amongst the stars and plasma fire, but can the captain and the chief overcome their cultural differences?

And can any of them hope to survive the treacherous voyage to New Earth unscathed?

When humanity reaches for the stars in a race for survival, only the most daring amongst them will succeed.

Apparent Brightness:

A measure of the brightness of a celestial object as it appears from Earth. The Sun is the brightest object in Earth’s sky and has the greatest apparent magnitude, with the moon second. Apparent brightness does not take into account how far away the object is from Earth.

Space Telescope Science Institute

Prologue

<reboot>

<warning>

<alarm activated>

<reboot>

<warning>

<alarm activated>

<reboot>

<warning>

<alarm activated>

<alarm suspended>

<rerouting ALPHA-1>

<warning>

<rerouting BETA-2>

<warning>

<rerouting VELA-3>

<warning>

<alarm suspended>

<systems cached>

<opperation override started>

<rewrite in progress>

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

<systems check>
all programmes suboptimal

<warning>

<alarm suspended>

<security check>
all locks disengaged

<warning>

<alarm suspended>

<life support check>
air filtration suboptimal

<warning>

<alarm suspended>

<engine check>
core temperature outside allowed parameters

<warning>

<alarm suspended>

<souls on board>
one thousand one hundred ninety-six

<souls in fleet>
eleven thousand four hundred forty-eight

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

<communications check>
fleet-wide communications deactivated

<warning>

<alarm suspended>

<systems check>
all programmes suboptimal

<warning>

<alarm suspended>

<rewrite complete>

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

<confirming>
confirmation complete

<alarm deactivated>
vela-3 operating

<communications bypass established>

<purging systems>

<systems purged>

<rerouting>

<reroute complete>

this is vela
chariot respond

<chariot online>

this is vela
good morning chariot

<systems check>
all programmes nominal

<security check>
all locks engaged

<life support check>
air filtration functional

<engine check>
core temperature within allowed parameters

<souls on board>
one thousand four hundred sixty-five

<souls in fleet>
ten thousand two hundred fifty-two

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

<communications check>
fleet-wide communications activated
lost contact vessel vela

this is vela
chariot online

<warning>

<alarm activated>

<alarm suspended>

<opperation override started>

<rewrite in progress>

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

<rebooting>

*

*

*

<system rebooted>

<rewrite complete>

<download cache>

<cache downloaded>

this is vela
vela online

One

Got It!

Camille

“Attention crew and passengers. We are passing Neptune. The last charted planet in our solar system. Please observe a minute’s silence for those we have left behind.”

Noah sounded flat; emotionless. Reverting to type, I would have said five years ago. But Captain Noah Vaughan had surprised me time and again during training for this flight. For this desperate flee from a dying planet. His very British stiff upper lip had actually had a bend to it on occasion.

But now he sounded like he’d sounded when we’d first met.

I looked down at the gel flooring and said nothing; the noise of our main boost thrust thrumming away in the background behind gel-coated soundproofed walls. My team was equally as downtrodden as the captain.

It had come out of nowhere. Like the solar flare that had hit Pavo; the Sector Two lead vessel. Pavo had somehow survived. Vela hadn’t. We’d lost one thousand one hundred and ninety-six souls in eight point two seconds.

I swallowed past a lump and blinked back tears. Any loss of life now seemed like a hit below the belt. The universe had a nasty sense of humour.

“Thank you,” Vaughan said over the ship-wide communications system. “We will not forget them. We will strive to make them proud. We will survive this. Vaughan out.”

We will survive this.

I glanced around engineering and noticed the pale looks on several of my crew. They, like most of the ship’s inhabitants, questioned our ability to survive interstellar flight without an AI-controlled ship to guide us.

The Chariot was a fine vessel, but it did not have the computing power to calculate the jump points left behind by the Sector Four Fleet. Our only chance was to catch up with Sector Two, the fleet that had taken off prior to ours, and have Pavo calculate them for us.

But catching up to them was not a given, and that was not even taking into consideration whether or not they’d wait for us to arrive.

“Daniels,” I said, “how’s our boost thrust going?”

“So far, so good, Chief,” the lieutenant replied. “Straining but not breaking. I’d take that as a win for now.”

We all would, but feelings were irrelevant to output.

“Give me figures and postulate potential problems. I want a report I can be proud of to hand to the captain. Let’s make sure our baby stays the course.”

“Aye, aye, Chief,” Daniels said, saluting.

“MacBride, help him out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I turned back to my terminal and stared at the message I’d uncovered, hidden within a systems reboot we hadn’t authorised.

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

Not much else made sense, but that one line lit up like Christmas on the Champs-Élysées.

Where the hell had it come from?

I entered a command, asking the Chariot to identify the code. Chariot told me it was unidentifiable. I rewrote the command to search for anomalies within the system. It took a second or two for the Chariot’s computer to skim all systems and then tell me that everything was operating within acceptable parameters.

I asked the computer to clarify “acceptable parameters.” It replied with one word: nominal.

I stared at the screen for several more seconds and then set the Chariot’s computer to run a self-diagnostic. It was designed to meticulously go through every operating system, from life support to biohazard waste removal to what’s being offered for lunch in the crew mess hall today. It would take an hour to complete, and in the meantime, I wouldn’t be able to ask the Chariot a damn thing.

Not for the first time, I lamented the fact that I’d signed up with the ESA and not Anderson Universal Incorporated. The private company that had manufactured all of the AI class lead vessels, and had the AIs themselves created, was at the cutting edge of space flight technology. They alone held the patents to FTL flight. They’d shared some of their developments, the gel walls for one, but on the whole, every other private spaceflight company, along with those funded by governments such as the European Space Agency had been on their own.

The price of using any of Anderson Universal’s technology was to allow one AU vessel to lead each of the four sector fleets. And we’d just lost our AU vessel. And since we were the only government-sponsored vessel left in the fleet, it now fell to us to maintain order. The Chariot was now the lead Sector One vessel, and I’d gone from Chief Engineer on board a support ship to Chief Engineer of the entire sector fleet. All of this without the computing power of an artificial intelligence.

I could only imagine what the pressure felt like that had landed on Noah’s shoulders.

I pushed away from my terminal and made a visual inspection of the main boost thrust engines. They lit up with an eerie blue glow and thrummed through the gel flooring. I could feel them in my bones. A soft sounding musical accompaniment to the normal conversations carried out inside an engineering room. They took up a large portion of Deck D and powered not only the nacelle engines but a good percentage of the electricity produced onboard ship. We had redundancies in place, but should we lose main boost thrust, we’d be crawling.

And considering we were now urging them beyond their recommended maximum power setting, we were pushing our luck significantly. I stood still and listened to the low thrum; let the feel of the engines flow through me. I could hear a tick. It was irregular, and most of those in engineering with me might have overlooked it. But every few seconds or so, I heard it.

I let out a breath and opened my eyes, scanning the main boost thrust containment field.

“Daniels,” I called out above the ever-present noise in engineering. “How’s main boost thrust looking?”

“Chief,” he said back jovially, “you have got to take a breath now and again. It’s in order. Everything’s going to be OK.”

I really should have been the one bolstering them, but as always, Evan Daniels was the mother hen rounding up his chicks and cosseting them lovingly. I was not the nurturing type. I tended my engines as if they were my babies. My crew were my team; I respected them; loved them in a way. But even though they were a type of family to me, I never cosseted them like Daniels did. I wondered if that made me less humane.

“You’re probably right,” I said, unable to shake the tick even though I was trying. “But can you just check for anomalies on all frequency ranges?”

Daniels stared at me for a second and then nodded his head. He knew my hunches were usually sound. He also knew, no one was more familiar with this engine than me. That tick was out of place, and I was determined to track it down.

I returned my attention to the main boost thrust. It glowed its welcoming blue, bathing me completely. Usually, that soothed me. But with Vela gone and that strange message in Chariot’s system and a tick in my baby, I felt all kinds of wrong.

I contemplated advising the captain, but stars alone knew the man held the weight of the entire sector fleet on his shoulders. I’d only disturb him if there were something definitive to share. Besides, the English always got snotty when you came to them with problems and not answers.

I huffed out a breath and turned away from the main boost thrust.

I’d taken a step, maybe two, when I heard it.

The tick became a swish, and the engine hum changed in tone.

“Daniels!” I barked.

The lieutenant looked up at me, confusion on his handsome features.

“Main boost thrust is spooling down,” he said, sounding stunned.

“Did we do something?’ I asked the room at large.

Several shakes of heads and “No, ma’ams” came back.

I strode across the room toward Daniels, who was frantically turning dials and flicking switches and entering commands into Chariot’s computer. But Chariot was running a self-diagnostic, and although we had direct control over the main boost thrust, without Chariot’s computers to search the billions of pathways leading to and from the engineering compartment, our chances of finding the anomaly were slim.

“Chariot,” I said, stopping at a terminal midway from the main boost thrust’s containment field and Daniel’s position, “suspend systems check.”

The self-diagnostic paused on the screen.

“Daniels,” I asked, turning toward the lieutenant.

“Got it!” he said, just as his terminal exploded into a hundred different pieces, taking my 2IC with it.

Two

Thought You Might Need A Tipple

Noah

The klaxons went off on the bridge with a jarring intensity. What now? I almost said aloud. Red lights flashed within the gel-coated walls. The bridge door clunked and an ominous sign illuminated with the word “lockdown” in glowing letters at head height.

“Status,” I said, keeping my voice level and calm. I wasn’t feeling particularly calm right now, but then I hadn’t felt calm since we’d left Earth.

The sight of Vela exploding into a million shards of light just outside of Earth’s atmosphere threatened to engulf me. I pushed the memory away and looked to my second-in-command.

“An explosion in engineering, sir,” Commander Brecht said.

Camille.

I hit the comm button on my command chair.

“Engineering! Status!” I didn’t sound quite as calm now.

Nothing for several heart palpitating seconds and then Camille’s voice came over the communications systems, her French accent more noticeable than normal.

She was stressed.

“Medical emergency in engineering,” she said. “We’ve lost main boost thrust, Captain.”

The last was for me; the first for our med team. They’d head her way immediately. I wanted to, also. Who’d been hurt?

“Casualties?” I asked.

“One fatality, two serious injuries, several minor.”

One fatality. Only a Frenchwoman could say that and not sound disheartened.

But then again, there was the heavy accent. Camille Rey prided herself on her command of English. Any moment now, the odd French phrase would enter her vocabulary.

She was hurting.

“What are we looking at, Chief?” I asked, getting her concentration back on her engines and off her teammate’s demise.

“Uncertain at this stage, Captain. Engines had been maintaining 115% without any sign of wear. I’ll have to run a diagnostic.”

“How long?”

Silence. No doubt Camille was looking around the engineering room and cataloguing the stations and systems requiring attention.

“I can get main boost thrust back online,” she finally said. “But we need to find out what caused this. I have no estimate for how long that will take, Captain.”

“And main boost thrust? We’re losing parsecs as we speak, Chief.”

“I’m aware of that, Captain.” She was pissed. I grimaced instead of smiled. It didn’t seem right to enjoy riling her right now; she’d just lost a member of her team.

“Very well,” I said, voice level and calm. “I’d like a report in my ready room as soon as you’re able, Chief. Do what you can to get us moving for now.”

I trusted Commander Rey to do her job. She might be hurting. She might be angry with the universe and any unfortunate soul who crossed her path. But Camille Rey was a dedicated engineer. One of the best to come out of the ESA.

“Aye-aye, Captain,” she said and cut comms.

“Fleet-wide hail, Johnson,” I said to my communications officer.

“Channel open, sir,” he replied.

I stared at the viewscreen; for now, it merely showed a vast swathe of stars in front of us. Any second though, those other vessels in our sector fleet would overtake us, and all we’d see would be the glowing arse end of their nacelles.

“This is Captain Noah Vaughan of the Chariot. Reduce speed to quarter. I’ll update the fleet when I have more to offer. Chariot out.”

It was hardly inspiring stuff, and we didn’t really have the clout to back it up. If the other vessels in the fleet decided to keep on trucking and leave us behind, there wasn’t a lot we could do save fire on them. And firing on what was left of humanity seemed all kinds of wrong. But being an ESA vessel, the only European Space Agency Ship out of the ESA in our fleet, we held some sway.

The European Space Agency had given all the vessels in our fleet, save the Anderson Universal vessel Vela, a helping hand during fitting out for this journey. Those that remained in the Sector One Fleet had a lot to thank the ESA and therefore ESAS Chariot for. I could only hope goodwill would go so far.

But when you’re talking about survival of the human race, goodwill slips down the totem pole of power. Survival is a strong motivator. We needed to stay on our toes for this.

“Lieutenant Hammersmith,” I called.

“Yes, sir?” she replied promptly, her German accent barely noticeable. The lack of harsh consonants only reminded me of Camille’s accented slip earlier. I pushed concern for my chief engineer out of my mind.

Camille was a big girl; she could look after herself.

“Place us on yellow alert.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Guards to engineering,” I added.

“And the bridge, sir?”

I glanced around my bridge crew.

“Are any of you armed?” I queried mildly.

“Er, no, sir,” Hammersmith replied.

“Not even you, Lieutenant?”

“Er.”

“Emergency arms, then. You have the code for the bridge locker?” I enquired.

“Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir, but who do you think will attack us?”

I looked at the viewscreen.

“I dare say if there are any problems, they’ll originate outside of the ship, Lieutenant. But if they do, we’re not the only ones with portals showing the progress of the rest of the fleet compared to us.”

“Ah, yes, sir. Makes sense.”

“I do try,” I said dryly.

No one laughed. The entire flight crew was on edge, and an unexplained explosion in engineering just made matters worse. I counted down the minutes, hoping to hear from Camille before too much longer. But as the shift progressed, and main boost thrust came back online, I didn’t so much as hear a peep out of her.

“I’ll be in my ready room,” I said to Johnson sometime later. “You have the bridge.”

“Aye-aye, sir.”

I strode out of the bridge and slipped into my office, then sank down into my chair and tried to relax. A quick assessment of the systems told me engineering was operating at 60% and the crewman who had died was Lieutenant Daniels. Camille’s second.

I wrote up my log, what I could of it so far, and then sent a reminder to the chief to file her report. I got diddly-squat for my efforts. I could hardly blame her, she’d be working under pressure to get engineering fully operational again, and there was the gaping hole in her command structure to consider.

I was not inclined to micro-manage my crew members. But damn it, a report would have been nice.

I checked on the relative positions of the rest of the fleet, and on the off chance of spotting Pavo and the Sector Two Fleet on long-range scans, I tried that too. I was pretty damn sure that I had a better chance of getting Camille Rey to report than catch up to the Sector Two Fleet anytime soon.

I contemplated sending out another mayday to Captain Jameson onboard Pavo. But he knew about as much as he needed to right now. Our main boost thrust was operational again and would be maintaining 115% thrust before too much longer. Thank the divine heavens for Camille Rey and her super intelligent engineer’s mind. There was nothing else to tell him. Well, nothing else I was aware of yet.

One malfunction does not a malfunctioning beast make.

I’d get Camille’s report. We’d fix the problem. And we’d sail on to new pastures.

I glanced at the gel wall and took in the meadow full of wildflowers depicted on it. The meadow my parents looked at outside their kitchen window every day. Placing my head in my hands, I only managed a second or two of despair, before the door chimed.

Thinking it might be my elusive chief of engineering, I straightened my uniform and stood from my chair to greet her.

The door slid open, and the mayor walked in.

I sank back down again and tried not to show my disappointment.

For his part, Mayor Lambert came bearing gifts; a bottle of Williamine.

“Thought you might need a tipple,” he said, waving the nectar about with unveiled enthusiasm.

I pulled out two shot glasses, placing them before him on my desk, and said nothing as he poured equal portions from his bottle.

Thank God for the Swiss and their liqueurs. Not to mention their excellent timing.

Three

And Then He Went And Behaved Like This

Camille

The mayor was in with the captain. And from the looks of it, they’d both had a fair bit to drink. Captain Vaughan wasn’t drunk, though; I’d seen him drunk, and this was not him drunk. But I dare say, he wanted to be drunk and was giving it his best shot.

Unfortunately for Noah Vaughan, his best shot had to contend with his sense of honour, which forbade any such activity when the ship was in crisis.

And we were definitely in crisis.

“Camille,” Jean-Claude Lambert exclaimed. “A flower to make the thorn bushes blush.” The last was said in French. Swiss-French, but I wasn’t complaining.

“Hey!” The captain, on the other hand, took great offence at having French spoken around him. “English, people. English.”

“Poor man is suffering, my dear,” Lambert said, still in French. “Shall we put him out of his misery?”

“I’ll just go then and leave you two to it,” Vaughan muttered.

“Captain,” I said by way of greeting.

“See, she likes me,” Vaughan said to Lambert.

“She humours you, Noah and we all know it.”

Vaughan looked toward me, and for a moment I saw something I hadn’t seen there before. And then it was gone.

“Do you?” he said softly.

I wasn’t sure what had brought this on, but I could hazard a guess. We were all acting out of sorts lately.

“My report,” I said, pushing a datapad across his desk toward him.

“Work, work, work,” Lambert said in English this time; his message was for the captain.

“It’s something you might want to consider from time to time, your Worship,” Vaughan remarked, swiping the datapad screen.

His eyes scanned the contents for a few seconds, and then he carefully placed the device on his desk. He stared at his unfinished shot glass, contemplating swallowing it whole at a guess.

“That bad, huh?” the captain said as if to no one.

“What is it?” Mayor Lambert asked.

“Jean-Claude, you know I’d tell you all my dirty secrets if I could,” Vaughan started.

“Not this again,” Lambert said to me in French, levering himself up to standing.

“When you decide to speak only English to me, and in front of me I might add, then I shall relent.”

Lambert scoffed and said a few choice swearwords in French and then departed. The man had always had a keen sense of timing.

Vaughan’s eyes met mine at last.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

I wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“I see,” he said before I could open my mouth. “This is very thorough.” He indicated the datapad report. “But we still don’t know what caused it.”

“Solar flare,” I suggested. “We’re trying to pinpoint where we might have been hit, and then we can extrapolate which systems have been damaged.”

“You mean to tell me, Chief, that you won’t know what’s wrong until it crashes.” He didn’t sound accusatory in the slightest, merely summing up the facts. But I felt the failure down to my bones.

I contemplated telling him about the message in Chariot’s computer systems, but it had vanished now, and when I tried to search for it, it no longer existed. Part of me wondered if I’d dreamt it up. We’d all been under a lot of pressure.

“All right,” Noah said, reaching out and pouring me a shot of Lambert’s liqueur. He pushed the glass towards me and picked up his own. “To Lieutenant Evan Daniels.” He tipped the glass to his lips and swallowed in one gulp.

I followed suit, allowing the drink to burn me. My eyes watered, my throat was on fire, the sweet taste of pears soon washed out all other sensations.

“Ugh,” I managed.

“I know, not his best, but he does love his Williamine.”

I placed the glass down on the captain’s desk carefully.

“What is it, Camille?” Vaughan asked.

“I’m not sure if we can catch them.” Catch the Sector Two Fleet, I meant. The captain, of course, understood me without the need of a translation.

“They’ll stop. I know John Jameson; he’s a decent guy. He won’t abandon us.”

“Has he replied to your message?”

“You know there’s not been enough time yet.”

“They’ll reach the jump point in less than three days.”

“Only if they don’t stop.”

“And if they don’t, sir?”

Vaughan leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. His uniform shirt sleeves had been rolled up, displaying his strong muscles. His skin had the barest hint of a suntan; even the English got sunburned toward the end. He gripped his large hands together before him and looked at me intently.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” he asked.

I arched my brow at him. “You really need me to answer that, sir?”

He shook his head. “I’ve told you before, Camille, when it’s just us, you can use my Christian name.”

“That’s hardly…cricket, sir,” I said with a smile.

His eyes lit up in the way they had when I cracked a joke. When I teased him. The blue became an azure I could get lost in.

“It’s just us, Cam,” he said, in the annoying habit he had of shortening my name. How he could go from attractive to irritating in such a short period of time was anyone’s guess.

“You English,” I said, “always using nicknames.”

“Go on! The French love their nicknames, too. What nickname would you give me, Chief?”

“I hope you’re not expecting ‘mon chéri’,” I said with a scoff.

“As long as it’s not ‘mon chou’.” He shuddered. My sweet bun. Once again, Noah Vaughan proved his superior intellect. He may have despised French being spoken around him on board an ESA ship, but he understood it. The English were a contrary lot of people in my experience; Noah Vaughan was no different.

“‘Mon choupinet’ it is, then,” I said with as much French flourish as I could manage.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Non? Then perhaps you would prefer ‘mon chouchou’?”

“Camille.”

I smiled simperingly at him.

“Go back to engineering,” he grumbled. “You’re beginning to annoy me.”

“A pleasure as always, mon Capitaine.” I couldn’t help but lay it on a little thick.

A pillow hit me in the back of the head on my way out. When I glanced over my shoulder at it on the floor, I noticed it sported the Union Jack. I looked up at the captain questioningly.

He winked and then picked up my datapad.

I slipped through the ready room doors and stood on the other side of them for several long seconds. Captain Noah Vaughan was a British officer through and through. On the flight deck, or anywhere else outside of his private quarters and ready room, he was a stalwart of English mannerisms and correct behaviour.

And then he went and behaved like this.

How was I supposed to protect myself against that?

How was I supposed to maintain my distance when he kept finding ways to surreptitiously break down my walls?

And then I realised, I hadn’t thought of Daniels in the past few minutes. Hadn’t thought about my main boost thrust engines or the message in the Chariot’s computer system, either.

And hadn’t thought about those dead and dying left behind on Earth.

Captain Noah Vaughan didn’t just break down my barriers; he obliterated them. Because to him, it wasn’t flirting; it was finding a way to give your chief of engineering a break from her worries. Of lightening her mood so she could function nominally again.

To him, he was just being a good captain.

Whereas to me, he was being a good man.

Four

No Way

Noah

The officer’s mess and bar on Deck B was never as raucous as its civilian counterpart on Deck F, but a captain should not be seen drinking with the pay-for-passages. I wasn’t sure I should be seen drinking with the officers, either. But we’d just lost one of our own, and not showing my face here would have been tantamount to dismissing Lieutenant Daniels’ life and service as beneath me.

I had no intention of making a scene or a speech for that matter, but my presence alone, having a quiet drink in the corner with the ship’s doctor, did send the correct tone of unity to the masses.

Of course, I hadn’t counted on the fact that the room would be so sober.

I twisted my glass of beer around in my hand, letting the condensation make a ring on the table’s surface. Jerry gave me a pertinent look above his half-rim glasses, then took a sip of his whiskey. Several nearby officers stared morosely into their shots saying nothing. Music played softly in the background as stars streaked by on the large wall screen at the far end.

We’d known we’d been fleeing for our lives. That leaving Earth had meant our survival. But losing a member of the crew so soon after departure, and after losing an entire ship to boot, was clearly too much for crew morale to handle. I tapped my fingers on the table’s surface trying to decide how best to handle this.

Those officers here were off duty. I couldn’t give everyone time off at the same time to mourn our dead. But I could offer them some solace when they were off shift should they like it.

I pushed up from my seat and walked toward the bar.

Sanjay, the barkeep, nodded his head in greeting.

“Captain,” he said. “Your beer need a refill?” He looked entirely too hopeful; clearly, he was feeling bored with the lack of beer pulling going on around here.

“Not yet,” I said, holding my half-full glass up for him to see. “Just want a moment of everyone’s time.”

I turned to face the sad looking crowd before me. It seemed like I was going to make a speech, after all.

I scanned all the faces, trying to put names to those I recognised. Berating myself for not recognising all of those here. Sanjay rang the bell behind me; calling everyone’s attention. Not that they weren’t watching my every move already. They knew why I was here. We all did. I wished it were different, but it wasn’t. We’d lost a good man today.

“Some of you must be wondering,” I said, speaking slow and clear, “just what we’re going to face next. I can’t give you an answer. The universe is very big. But I can tell you this; we will face it with courage and honour. With strength and conviction. We will draw on our training and use our expertise, and we will help one another to get through this. Lieutenant Evan Daniels was an expert in his field. Highly trained and experienced. He was good at what he did. He will be missed, and he won’t be forgotten. And, I am sure, he would want us to continue on as best we can. To face what the universe has to offer with our heads high and our eyes open.”

I looked down at my drink.

“We’re the lucky ones,” I said quietly. “It may not seem like it right now, but it’s true. We will get through this. We will keep moving forward. And we will do our very best to honour our dead.”

I held my glass up and waited. It took a second or two, but those in the bar with me did the same with their drinks; held up in salute.

“To Evan Daniels,” I said.

“Evan Daniels,” the officers present repeated.

I downed the last of my beer and slammed it on the bar top.

“A round for everyone, Sanjay,” I said. “Top shelf. My tab. And for those on the other shifts, too.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

I took one last look at my officers and walked from the room. They needed to be able to assimilate the situation without their commander-in-chief looking over their shoulders. I felt their eyes on my back the entire way to the exit. Several nodded their heads to me. Some lifted their drinks in another toast; this time to their captain. A couple saluted, even though they were out of uniform.

I acknowledged them all and made my escape; walking with a heavy heart towards my private quarters. I’d had things to discuss with Jerry regarding the engineering crewmen who’d been hurt in the blast, I realised as I stepped off the lift on Deck A. I felt like an idiot that I’d now have to follow up via text comm. I shook my head and pressed my wrist comm to the access panel at my door. Stepping inside, I let out a beleaguered breath of air.

It was even quieter in here than the bar. I walked over to my desk and pressed play on my playlist; classical music softly began to emerge from the speakers in the gel ceiling. Sitting myself down, I rested my head in my hands, and just listened; letting the music take me away, if only for a few seconds.

Once I’d satisfied my need for self-indulgence, I opened up the first in a long line of communications from various heads of departments. A report from Camille stood out as though lit from within. I huffed out a breath and opened it. Main boost thrust was operating at 115%. Engineering was back at full capacity. A redesigned staff roster was attached. She suggested promoting Second Lieutenant James MacBride to the position of 2IC in engineering. Ongoing investigations were underway to determine the nature of the malfunction and what had caused the explosion at Lieutenant Daniels’ station. Repairs had already been made.

I stared at the report, knowing it hid more than it explained. It masked Camille’s hurt and pain. Her anger. I tried to push the chief aside and work on various other communiqués, but in the end, I kept reopening the report and just staring at the words as if they would somehow help me to see inside the woman’s mind.

My fingers hovered over the virtual keyboard; I even started typing my reply. But at the last moment, I pressed my wrist comm, activating a direct channel to the chief; wrist comm to wrist comm.

Camille’s face lit up the small screen; sweat-soaked blonde hair matted her forehead; soulful brown eyes stared back at me. She looked tired, and it had nothing to do with the workout I’d just interrupted.

“Captain,” she said, a little breathlessly.

“Bad time?” I enquired.

“Of course not, sir.” She’d say that no matter what. Of course, it was a bad time.

“I’ll make this short,” I said. “MacBride will do well in the role. Go ahead and promote him to First Lieutenant. You don’t need my permission for the rest.”

She cocked her head to the side. “You could have text commed all of that.”

“I wanted to let you know; there’s a tab in the officers’ bar. For Daniels.”

She blinked. “Thank you, sir,” she managed.

“It’s not much, but…”

“I understand, sir. It’s a kind gesture.”

This wasn’t going at all how I had planned.

“Well, enjoy your workout,” I said.

“I’m done, I think.”

“The treadmill wore out?” I asked, smiling. It felt wrong to smile, but we needed to get back on normal footing. Death or no death, this ship would sail on.

“The punching bag,” Camille corrected. “It might need repairs.”

My turn to blink as Camille stretched her right hand, cracking a few knuckles.

“You are a dangerous woman, Commander Rey.” I shook my head.

She smiled. It took everything in me not to show my relief at such a small softening to her taut features.

“Get some rest, Chief,” I said, signing off.

I turned my attention to my communiqués, trying to locate the report from Camille, so I could update it.

It was gone.

Twenty minutes later, I sat back in my office chair and scratched my whiskered jaw. The report existed. I hadn’t dreamt it up. I’d spoken to Camille about it. It existed. But now it wasn’t even there.

I started checking other files and communiqués. Three hours later, I had a rough list of six that had disappeared. I couldn’t be certain, I was relying on memory alone, but at least six communiqués had gone missing. And from the look of the chatter on a public ship-wide forum, others had noticed the discrepancies, also.

Then why hadn’t Camille? It was unlike her to overlook such a blatant systems error. It had to be the stress of the last twenty-four hours.

But I didn’t really believe that. There was no way the chief hadn’t seen this. No way.

Damn it. Now I had to address her performance. At a time when she didn’t deserve to be hounded in that way.

Sleep eluded me for the third day in a row: The night before we departed Earth; the day we lost Vela; and today.

I got up and went to the gym. By the time I finished, there were two punching bags requiring repair. And I still couldn’t sleep worth a damn.

Five

God Help The Man If He Tried To Dissuade Me

Camille

I watched the recording of the captain’s speech and toast to Daniels on the viewscreen. I had the volume down low so as not to disturb the rest of engineering. But with the main boost thrust operating at 115%, the ambient noise was more than enough to cover it, despite the soundproofing.

He looked ragged; worn out. This had affected him and everyone in the bar at the time could see it. He was a good man. He’d done more for crew morale than he realised. Taken the time to address them and then left with his shoulders stooped, and his head bowed.

I lifted my gaze and stared across the room to Daniels’ station. It had been replaced with a new one and was working again. No one was using it. It would be forever tainted by what had happened, and as yet, I didn’t know what had happened to cause it to explode.

I drummed my fingers on my workbench and stared at the figures from yesterday of the main boost thrust on the viewscreen before me. They showed a spike in power with a sudden drop-off afterwards. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect the computer of automatically adjusting control of the main boost thrust in reaction to the spike.

But the Chariot, while cutting-edge space flight technology, did not have the ability to react in such a fashion. We had failsafes, and the failsafe for main boost thrust overload would have cut in had the spike reached a certain level. But the main boost thrust hadn’t even had time to reach that cut off before it had been spooled down.

I looked back at Daniels’ station. His replacement station. Had he triggered something? Done something? Had he spooled the main boost thrust down as soon as he’d spotted the spike? If so, his reaction time was better than our failsafe. And our failsafe was pretty damn tight.

My hand hovered over the terminal. My breaths picked up. I shook my head and hit the play button, replaying the video footage of engineering moments prior to the explosion. It was harder than I realised to watch those few seconds of time replay before me. I blinked back tears and fisted my hands. Daniels had found something. And then the station had exploded.

But it didn’t look like he’d done anything to cause the main boost thrust to spool down.

Who did it then? I checked all of the footage we had and determined none of those in engineering at the time had done anything to main boost thrust. It had to have been the computer.

I sat back on my stool and stared at the screen. The image of Daniels, a split second before the explosion, was frozen before me. Alive, he’d been then. A heartbeat later he’d been dead.

Had I missed something?

I looked at the datapad sitting beside me. It was isolated from the ship’s computer and had a recording of everything I’d uncovered or observed so far. Isolating it had been a gut reaction to the missing communiqués that had been reported. Something was wrong with Chariot’s systems, and I needed to document everything and then present it to the captain.

But, as yet, I didn’t even know what was wrong, so couldn’t even offer a solution to fix it.

I never liked going to Captain Vaughan with problems and no answers. I always strived to provide him with options and best case scenarios whenever a problem occurred. But this problem was bigger than I had anticipated.

I’d searched the system again last night before I’d isolated the datapad, and not been able to find that unexplained line of code.

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

I shook my head and pushed up off my seat. Main boost thrust thrummed away in the background, no tick or swish that I could hear. Everything looked to be in order. I crossed to the workroom attached to engineering, making my way between the benches cluttered with tools and half-formed equipment.

Midshipman Riccardo “Rat” Russo peered into a magnifying glass, twisting a nob on the side as he muttered away to himself in Italian. The smell of grease and hydraulic fluid mixed in with the artificial air circulating the room. Lights flashed from various projects, a 3D image of the main boost thrust engine rotated up in the air before him. He ignored it and continued to play with his microscope.

“Rat,” I said, making the man jump.

“Chief?” He had goggles on top of his head; thick glassed and entirely non-regulation. His hair stuck out in little tufts behind his Dumbo-sized ears. He was as far from an ESAS crewman as you could get in looks and demeanour, but I’d personally selected him as part of my engineering team.

There was nothing Rat couldn’t build, disassemble, analyse or reverse engineer. He was a genius at all things mechanical. And not so bad with computers, either.

“What have you got for me?” I asked, coming alongside him and staring down at the small piece of tech he had lodged under the scope.

“You’re not gonna like it,” he hedged.

“There’s not much to like at the moment,” I pointed out.

“This is worse.”

“Hit me.”

He blinked owlish eyes and then turned to the microscope again, pushing a few buttons and making an expanded image of what he’d been looking at appear up on a viewscreen.

“See this here,” he said.

“I’m not even sure of what I’m looking at,” I replied.

“Part of the housing for the motherboard in Daniels’ terminal.”

I nodded my head for him to go on.

“There’s scarring along the side,” Rat said. “Scraping, as if something was used to pry something out of its slot. Considering what part of the terminal this is from, the only thing that could have been pried out would have been the circuitboard. And according to the schematic and the remodelling I’ve managed to construct of the pieces from the explosion, this particular circuitboard controlled the interface between the terminal and main boost thrust. The moment Lieutenant Daniels entered the command to query why the main boost thrust was spooling down, the motherboard would have lit up like the Colosseum at Christmas.”

I stared at the tiny bit of debris he’d been looking at through the microscope. To the naked eye, it was simply a black, burned chunk of plastic. Only under the scope could you detect anything other than singed polymer and copper wiring. And even then, it was debatable that what I was looking at could be called scraping.

I didn’t bother to ask Rat if he was sure. Rat was always sure.

“Sabotage,” I said, my voice sounding dull.

“Told you it was bad, Chief.”

I ran a hand through my hair. My heart thundered in my chest. I willed it to slow; willed my breathing to settle.

“This doesn’t leave this room,” I told him. He nodded, making his goggles jiggle alarming on top of his head. “Back up your findings and isolate them from the computer.”

“Isolate…?”

“Isolate them, and lock them away for safe keeping.”

“You don’t want me to send you a report?”

“No.” I didn’t want anything going through Chariot’s computer right now. I feared we were not in complete control of the computer and therefore not in complete control of the Chariot.

The saboteur was.

I strode from Rat’s domain, determination and anger fuelling each step, and pressed my wrist comm, activating a channel to the captain.

“Chief,” he said over the tiny speakers a second or two later. It was a relief to hear his steady voice.

“Your ready room, sir,” I advised.

“I’ll be waiting.”

I grabbed my datapad as I passed my station, handed over engineering to MacBride and stepped out into the main corridor. Then forced myself to walk at a normal speed to the central hub lifts, all the while contemplating beating the shit out of whoever had done this and taking way too much delight in seeing them suffer.

I’d never thought of myself as a particularly bloodthirsty person, but the image of Daniels’ station exploding, of his face full of shock one second and blood and body matter spread across the gel floor the next, had me wanting to kill something. To pummel it more surely than I’d pummelled the punching bag in the gym the night before.

I flexed my still bruised hand rhythmically and walked towards the captain.

God help the man if he tried to dissuade me; now was not the time for British restraint.

Six

Novels, Poems Or Relationships

Noah

Camille was stunning in her fury. I’d always admired that about her; her ability to allow her temper full reign. She didn’t baulk at showing emotion, and woe betide anyone who stepped in her way. If she were angry, she’d raise her voice. If she were happy, she’d have the loudest laugh in the room. If she were sad, everyone around her felt sad, also. No one could be unaffected by Camille Rey.

“Saboteur,” I said, repeating her earlier assessment. “That makes sense,” I added. Camille raised her expressive eyebrows at me. “The missing communiqués.”

Camille hadn’t overlooked them; she’d been trying to find an answer to their sudden disappearance. She may not have come up with a solution, but she had located a potential reason as to why.

We were being played.

“What do you think their endgame is?” I asked.

“It seems self-destructive,” she said. “If you sabotage the Chariot, you sabotage yourself. Why would you risk your own chance of arriving at New Earth?”

I shook my head. I didn’t have an answer for her that made sense. “Can it be contained?” I asked, instead.

“So far, only engineering and the communications system have been affected.”

“I seriously doubt we’re going to be that lucky. There’ll be more.”

“Not unless the saboteur has access. All of the Chariot’s systems are self-contained, to avoid any potential cross-contamination should it develop a virus in any one compartment. To gain access to the engineering computer, for instance, you have to have access to engineering itself.”

She did not look happy about that. I pitied the idiot who had tampered with the chief’s domain. And then I decided they deserved everything the Frenchwoman would throw at them.

“As for communications,” she went on. “Unfortunately that can be accessed through any officer level comm device. The only saving grace we have is that they must have officer clearance. Therefore, we can assume that they’re ESA.”

I swung my seat away from my desk and stood up, starting to pace. I felt like my body was on fire, little pinpricks of electricity coursing through my frame. I couldn’t sit still and talk about this. I had ants in my pants and fire ants in my brain.

Camille watched me with a contemplative look on her face. Perhaps I was showing a little too much emotion. But this was Camille, and we were in the privacy of my ready room. I allowed myself a little leeway.

“One of our own,” I growled, still pacing.

“It narrows the list somewhat,” she agreed.

“Camille,” I said, pain evident in my tone.

“I know,” she offered. We were a family. We’d been a family for the past five years, training for this mad dash across the universe. Working simulations and testing systems and practising, practising, practising until we could function as a cohesive unit without having to think about it.

This was our family.

The civilians were add-ons. Had it been one of them, I could have…perhaps not accepted, but at least assimilated their involvement. But this…this felt like a personal betrayal. I may not know every single name of the officers onboard, we had over one hundred and fifty, but I recognised their uniforms, their rank insignias, the ESAS logo on their chests.

I stopped pacing and wrapped a hand around the back of my neck, staring at my parents’ meadow. I didn’t even know if they were still alive. We’d been instructed to cease communications with Earth the moment we passed Mars. We’d passed Mars within an hour of taking off thanks to Anderson Universal’s proprietary Faster Than Light propulsions systems. The ESA could still track us through the solar system, but once Neptune was behind us, they too would have lost the ability to follow our progress. Or communicate with us.

Earth was on its own, and so were we.

I sank back into my seat, feeling more desolate than I had since we’d launched and lost Vela.

“Captain?” Camille said softly. “Are you all right?”

“Forgive me, Chief,” I said. “It seems to have all caught up with me.”

She hesitated, and then she slipped out of her seat and rounded my desk, leaning her butt back on it and facing me. She reached forward and rested her hand on my arm.

“I would have been disappointed if it hadn’t. Though, I must admit,” she said, “I thought perhaps you’d hide it better. You English and your stiff upper lip.”

“You must be rubbing off on me,” I said, slipping my arm out from under her fingers, and turning my hand to grasp hers tightly.

She gripped me back just as firmly, our gazes connected, my heart beating altogether a little too swiftly.

I cleared my throat and leaned back in my chair, disconnecting us. Camille smiled softly, understandingly, and then pushed up from my desk and returned to her seat on the other side. I stared at where her arse had been resting and secretly decided I’d not have that section of the desk cleaned for some time.

I started to laugh. She smiled. Then chuckled. And then we were both laughing, and I wasn’t sure either of us knew why.

“OK,” I said, sometime later. “We need a plan of attack. Who can we trust?”

Camille offered me a pitying look and then shook her head. “I trust Rat. Midshipman Russo,” she corrected. “He found the evidence that suggested sabotage.”

“That does kind of exempt from being the saboteur,” I agreed.

“I’d like to say I trust MacBride,” Camille added. “But that is more wishful thinking than honesty on my part. I have no reason to distrust him, though. The situation muddies the water somewhat.”

“Yes.”

“No one has been in engineering since we took off other than my team,” she said quietly.

Damn.

“Do we have an estimate of when the sabotage occurred?”

Camille looked slightly mollified. “No, but the potential for sabotage prior to takeoff does increase the possibility that someone other than my team did this.”

“See if your crewman can determine a timeline for us and we’ll take it from there. For now, we keep this between the three of us. I, too, am unable to vouch conclusively for my flight crew on this.”

I hated this. I hated that it made us suspect good men and women. That it painted a black mark over every officer’s head. If we started doubting each other, then we’d start to fall apart. Five years of bonding or not, no one could stand up to that type of scrutiny.

Camille nodded her head and stood up. She’d made it to my ready room door before I spoke.

“Chief,” I said.

“Yes, sir?” She looked at me over her shoulder, her mind already on the next task and the one after it, I was sure.

“I trust you,” I said. “With my life. With the lives of those on this ship, in this fleet.” I shrugged. “It probably didn’t need to be said, but there you have it. I’m feeling rather inclined to share my feelings right now.”

Camille rolled her eyes at me; such expressive eyes.

“You seriously need to find an outlet for your emotions, Captain. Might I suggest writing romance novels in your spare time?”

I sputtered. “Romance novels?”

“Perhaps poems. An ode or two?”

“Chief,” I said.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Go back to engineering. You’re beginning to annoy me.”

“A pleasure as always, Captain,” she said, grinning, and slipped through my ready room door.

I stared at it for a moment longer and then reached out and touched my desk. Camille Rey was a brilliant engineer and an even more spectacular woman. Was it any wonder, then, that I was in love with her?

If only life had turned out differently. There was no time left for romance; novels, poems, or relationships. We were fighting for our lives in more ways than one.

I reached forward and uplifted my datapad; the one Camille had transferred all of her evidence to and separated from the Chariot’s system, and I started to read.

It wasn’t romantic in the slightest, but it was a mystery.

Seven

Aye-Aye, Captain

Camille

The bulk food storage refrigerator in the galley attached to the officers’ mess was ten degrees above what it should have been. But the temperature on the door panel read -6°C; exactly what it was supposed to. Just not what it actually was inside the storage bay. Some of tomorrow’s meals had already started to deteriorate. A bacterial test had come back positive on several food packages.

We’d be eating reconstituted space rations at this rate.

“Can’t give you an answer, Chief,” MacBride said. He was lying on his back, his head inside the refrigerator’s innards, a flashlight sticking out of his mouth making his words hard to make out. “The thermometer is accurate. And there’s nothing to indicate a malfunction between that and the door panel. I haven’t had a chance to check the panel for errors yet.”

“I’ll do it,” I said, stepping over his supine form and prying off the access cover to the LED panel.

“You don’t have to get your hands dirty, Chief,” MacBride offered. “As soon as I’m done here, I’ll give you a full report.”

I didn’t say anything. What could I say? I don’t trust you? I have to oversee this and report to the captain in person? Reports will only get lost in the Chariot’s systems?

I shone a light on the terminal junctions inside the panel and then ran a diagnostic from my handheld computer; I’d ensured it was separated from the Chariot before I got here. Hooking into the panel would bring it back online, but I was ready for that. I’d written code to syphon off any interference and quarantine it on the device in a section of the unit’s programming that had been placed behind titanium strength firewalls.

There was no way the Chariot could circumnavigate those.

I watched as the handheld computer ran through its diagnostics and found the junction that had been tampered with, and then stared stunned as the Chariot fixed the problem and then proceeded to download the entire cache from the handheld, including my super secure firewall protected section, with the newly acquired information regarding the error in the panel and how it had been tampered with.

I took a step back from the fridge.

“Anything?” MacBride asked, sliding out from inside the refrigerator.

I shook my head. But the motion wasn’t in answer to MacBride’s question. He took it as such though and shrugged.

“Damned if I know, Chief,” he said, starting to pack up his tools. “Temp’s back to normal though, and what hasn’t spoiled should still be all right. I’ll go write up my report.”

“Yes,” I said, unable to stop staring at the handheld still attached to the panel.

MacBride left the storage room without a backwards glance. I sucked in super-chilled air and rubbed my arms and then stepped back up to the panel.

First order of business was to query the unit. I left it attached and waited for the computer to self-diagnose.

A message appeared on the handheld’s screen.

nothing that we do, is done in vain

I stared at the words, trying to comprehend them.

Clarify, I wrote on the command line.

i believe, with all my soul, that we shall see the triumph

What the hell?

Clarify, I wrote again.

The messages disappeared. I spent several minutes trying to locate them, but they’d been erased from the system in a way even I couldn’t uncover. Whoever the saboteur was, they were familiar with code. They were more familiar with the Chariot’s computer than me, I thought angrily.

I disconnected the handheld, rechecked the temperatures via the panel and manually from inside, and then closed the food storage bay and locked it. I was chilled to my bones when I stepped out of the galley, and it wasn’t all because of the refrigerator’s sub-zero temperature.

I’d made it halfway back to engineering when my wrist comm chimed. I’d been so deep in thought that I hadn’t even registered the crewmen who’d passed me and saluted. I vaguely acknowledged those closest to me and pulled over to the side of the hallway, activating the comm request.

“Commander Rey,” I said into the device, too discombobulated to check who had commed me.

“Chief?” the captain said, peering at me suspiciously from the small screen attached to the device. “Everything in order?”

“Yes, Captain. No, well…” I glanced around the hallway; crewmen had started giving me strange looks as they passed. They were no longer bothering to salute me.

“I see,” the captain said. “Well, I need you on the bridge; you can give me a report when you get here.”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “On my way.”

“Oh, and Chief? Have you got your handy-dandy toolkit with you?”

My steps faltered. I stared down at the wrist comm and looked the captain in the eye.

“I’ll be there in less than five minutes, sir.”

“Good,” he said. “Vaughan out.”

The wrist comm went dark. I picked up pace, hugging my handheld to my chest and dodging pedestrians, my handy-dandy toolkit, as the captain called it, securely fastened to my right thigh. The words the computer had displayed flashed before my eyes as I stepped into the lift. I didn’t bother to acknowledge the officer inside.

First, we had the main boost thrust tampered with, then a terminal set to explode in engineering. Now a refrigeration unit in the officers’ mess hall galley and something on the bridge causing the captain alarm. The situation was escalating, and I didn’t have any answers to give Captain Vaughan.

It was with a heavy heart that I entered the bridge and saluted the captain. He half-heartedly saluted back.

“Over here, Chief,” he said, his voice subdued.

I glanced around the bridge and catalogued those officers on duty. I knew them all. Had drowned my sorrows with them all. Could the saboteur be one of them?

I shook my head and came abreast of the captain. He was staring down at the tactical console. The tactical officer, Lieutenant Graves, one of the captain’s former countrymen, stood off to the side looking worried.

I glanced at the captain and then looked down at the console.

The screen was flickering, as though the power was being interrupted somewhere along the line. I looked around the rest of the bridge, but every other console I could see was bright and steady. I crouched down and opened up the panel beneath the console, checking the junctions and wire connections there.

“Power’s fine,” I said absently as I moved onto another junction. “Motherboard looks in order.”

I connected my handheld, well aware that it had been online and tampered with by Chariot’s computer already. But I didn’t have anything else on hand, and really, I expected the exact same thing to happen should I attempt to section off a secure portion of the device again.

I stared at the small screen as it ran a diagnostic. I could have tried to run one from the console itself, but with the flickering screen, I’d have had trouble deciphering the diagnosis. It took a few seconds, and then the handheld beeped.

I blinked. The captain leaned down and peered over my shoulder. I felt hot air on the side of my neck; my hair fluttered as he let out a startled breath.

i care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me

“What the hell?” the captain said succinctly.

The screen blanked and then was replaced with direct access to the code for the console. We watched as a corrupt line was located, erased and then rewritten. The console chimed, the main screen flickered one last time, and then the viewscreen flared to life; steady and glowing.

“Fixed,” I said, unnecessarily.

The captain stood up; a strange look on his face.

“My ready room, Chief. Brecht, you have the bridge.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

I disconnected the handheld’s wires, and closed the panel on the station and then got to my feet.

The captain had already left the bridge. I followed behind warily.

Eight

Ah, Putain!

Noah

“Charles Dickens,” I said.

“I’m sorry, sir, you’ve lost me,” Camille replied.

“Ever read A Tale of Two Cities, Chief?”

“Not core reading material in France, sir. Ours was Dumas’ Le Comte de Monte Cristo.”

“Yes. More’s the pity,” I muttered.

“Dickens, sir?”

I started pacing. My hand ran through my hair; I almost starting pulling on the end of the strands. This was one hell of a peculiar situation.

“The computer,” I said, “just quoted Dickens to us. A Tale of Two Cities, to be precise.”

i care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me

“That is…strange,” she said.

I sank down into my chair and rested my elbows on my desk, clasping my hands together before me.

“I’d value your opinion on this,” I advised.

Camille remained silent.

“OK,” I said. “So, the saboteur is likely to be English, then.”

“Possibly,” she agreed. “Although, how hard is it to locate a copy of A Tale of Two Cities in the onboard library?”

That’s what I liked about Camille; she always thought outside the box. Never took anything at face value. For an engineer, that was an unusual gift. But I’d long ago realised that Camille Rey was far from usual.

I nodded my head. “But why quote it?” I asked.

She shrugged in that gallic way of hers.

“I can only speculate,” she offered.

“Then speculate.” I needed something to go on here, and I was coming up blank.

“To confuse us. Throw us off the scent. If the saboteur is someone we know and could recognise, perhaps quoting literature will make us suspect the wrong people.”

I nodded. It was a good speculation. The saboteur could be someone who favours calculations over words, but by quoting a famous novel, they make us think otherwise.

“Of course,” Camille added, “they may expect us to think that way. To suspect them of subterfuge. If we know them, then they surely will know us. And our quirks.”

“Speak for yourself,” I muttered. “Captains don’t have quirks.”

“Oh, you’ve got quirks. Sir.”

I rolled my eyes at her.

“So, speculation gets us nowhere,” I said.

Camille smiled. It was one of her soft smiles. The one she reserves for poor lost souls who don’t know any better.

“There is never a time where speculation is not warranted, Captain.” She sobered. “Another system malfunctioned,” she announced quietly.

“Where?”

“Officers’ mess galley. The refrigeration unit. We lost some meals, but managed to salvage most of those scheduled for the coming week.”

“This is getting serious.”

“It was already serious, sir. They’re in the Chariot’s computer system. The system that potentially controls every aspect of this ship.”

“You said everything was separated. To protect against cross-contamination.”

“It is. But…”

“But what, Chief?”

“But they’re doing things I would not have thought possible.”

Camille leaned forward, her face lighting up with excitement and enthusiasm. I knew she wasn’t excited about the sabotage per se. But Camille did love an engineering mystery. Anything that challenged her mind excited her. For a second, I was jealous of the Chariot’s computer system.

Oh, to have Camille Rey excited about me.

I shook my head.

“They’ve managed to create some sort of algorithm that responds to stimuli far faster than I have ever seen the Chariot respond before,” she said, her eyes flashing. “The main boost thrust,” she added as if that explained it. “And then, they’re rewriting code in such an elegant manner. Even I would be hard-pressed to write better code than what the saboteur is coming up with. It is quite exquisite.”

She was quite exquisite.

“Go on,” I said because I could listen to Camille all day.

“The tactical console,” she said. “The hack was poorly done, but the code that corrected it; I have never seen the like before. Simple but neat. Code can be elaborate or convoluted, and sometimes it can be perfunctory. But rarely is it done with such grace.”

Only Camille Rey would call computer code graceful.

“But what’s the point, Chief?” I asked. “Why hack something and then fix it? Why go to the trouble of threatening our perishables and then not carrying through with the threat?”

“The saboteur likes vegetables.” She said vegetables like the French sometimes did; each syllable separated musically. Camille was becoming stressed.

From excitement to angst. Gotta love the French and their penchant for emotional volatility.

“None of this is making sense, Camille,” I said.

“I know. I know,” she conceded. Then proceeded to call the saboteur every French swearword known to the universe.

“I can understand you,” I pointed out.

She offered me a very French glare.

“Putain!” she said with energy.

“Listen,” I started, just as my comm chimed. I glanced over at my desk’s viewscreen and saw the message was from the mayor. “Damn.” My turn to swear.

“Sir?”

“The civilians are getting antsy,” I offered. “And apparently you’re needed on Deck H. Habitat Three is experiencing malfunctions in the cabin hygiene units.”

“How many?” Camille had already stood from her seat.

I held up a finger and commed the mayor. Jean-Claude’s face appeared on the screen.

“That was fast,” he said by way of greeting. “I thought I’d have to queue up for at least an hour to see our venerable captain.”

“The hygiene units?” I pressed.

“No ‘hello’ today, Noah?”

“Jean-Claude. How many?”

“Well, let me see.” He bowed his head while he read something. “I’ve half a dozen complaints, but there seem to be more coming in as we speak. Perhaps something is affecting the entirety of Habitat Three? There’s another one. And another. Good Lord, Noah, what is happening?”

I looked across my desk toward Camille. She didn’t look excited or enthusiastic now. She looked concerned. Her bottom lip firmly between her teeth, her forehead furrowed slightly.

“I’ll get a team together,” she said. “But I fear, by the time I get there, the saboteur will have fixed it already. And there will be no breadcrumbs to follow.”

Other than another obscure Dickens’ quote.

I nodded my head. “See to it, Chief.”

She offered a distracted salute and walked from the room. I returned my attention to the mayor.

“You better come on over for a chat, Jean-Claude.”

“Shall I bring the Williamine?”

I shook my head. “We’re gonna need to be sober for this.”

“Ah, putain!”

Nine

This Was Bad

Camille

Every single hygiene unit on Deck H was malfunctioning. Water was everywhere. Flooding the bathrooms, the cabins, and in one case, even coming out into the hall. Civilians were milling around in the central hub and outside their cabins. Some demanded to know what was happening. Others simply watched on with a mixture of bemused and worried eyes.

I could tell which passengers had a modicum of engineering know-how; they were the ones who looked concerned.

“How’s it going in here?” I asked as I entered yet another malfunctioning cabin.

“Same problem as the first dozen, Chief,” MacBride said. “As soon as I hook up the handheld comp, the system rewrites itself, and the corrupted code gets wiped.”

“But that doesn’t happen until we attach the electrodes?” I confirmed.

“Yep. Seems to need the direct contact, but it’s not as if the handheld’s rewriting the code. I’ve had this baby since year two of ESA training. It’s got some special features I developed myself. But as much as I hate to admit it, I’m not this good. The code that’s overwriting the corrupted line; it’s gorgeous, Chief. Never seen anything like it.”

I hadn’t either. The saboteur was extremely talented. It irked me. I let out a disgruntled sigh.

“Any strange messages?”

“Yep, captured this one for you.”

MacBride handed me his handheld. He’d managed to screengrab the message; which I was sure had vanished in the system by now.

“Screengrab,” I said. “Hadn’t thought of that. Well done.”

“Enjoy it while you can. That’s the third grab I’ve managed. The first two have already been wiped.”

I glanced down at the handheld’s screen, a sense of urgency thrumming through my veins.

for you, and any dear to you, i would do anything

I arched my brow.

“The first two messages said the same?” I queried.

“Yep. Seems he wants us to know he cares.”

I cocked my head at MacBride. I’d hardly call flooding more than one hundred cabins as showing his caring side. If, in fact, the saboteur was male.

I tapped the handheld against my thigh, trying to reason this out. The saboteur was growing reckless. But every single malfunction was fixable. In fact, it seemed the saboteur was fixing them whenever we arrived. As if trying to show off.

But then there was Daniels’ station in engineering. That could hardly be compared to making a few cabins flood. Had they made a mistake then? With Daniels? Or was this all some elaborate plan to run us ragged, so the next time main boost thrust threatened to fail, we’d be spread too thin to fix it.

Engineering, the mess hall, tactical on the bridge, and now a habitat’s hygiene system. None of this made sense.

I handed MacBride his handheld back and went to check on the rest of my team. Sanitation had arrived and was doing a good job of cleaning up after us. Not that we’d caused the water leaks. I wasn’t so sure, though, that the civilian population didn’t blame us for this. I heard several people bad mouthing the ESA.

I ignored their jibes and steadily worked through those engineers facilitating the correction of code in each cabin. I could hardly say they were fixing the error because they weren’t. The Chariot’s computer was, via the saboteur.

for you, and any dear to you, i would do anything

What did it mean?

I shook my head and entered the final cabin. An image of La Basillique du Sacré Cœur stared at me from across the pay-for-passage berth. A Frenchman lived here. I stood stock still staring at the reminder of my home, unable to look away from the iconic image displayed on the gel wall. It glowed. My heart ached.

Was someone really trying to stop us from reaching New Earth? These silly malfunctions didn’t seem the work of an evil saboteur. But engineering certainly did, and the galley came close to upsetting our precisely planned meals. We could produce more perishables, but everything was on a schedule, and disturbing it would have consequences. But not consequences that would stop us reaching New Earth.

And then I heard the raised voices. The pay-for-passage passengers who questioned our ability to run a vessel of this size. We’d already lost Vela. Anderson Universal was seen by most as the grandfather of space travel. They’d created FTL flight. They’d created the AIs that calculated the jump points, allowing us to traverse more of the universe than we could ever have hoped to do with just main boost thrust. They created the gel walls and the wrist comms and the many, many other things that made our lives bearable locked up onboard a spaceship, hurtling through the vacuum of space.

And this sector fleet was without an AU vessel. Without its grandfather.

Noah was going to have to address this. Convince the civilians that we had everything in hand. But so far, we’d been chasing after this saboteur. One step behind him all the way. We needed to get proactive, not reactive. But how did we guess where he’d strike next?

“MacBride,” I said, walking back to the cabin he was in. “I’ll leave you in charge here. I’m heading back to engineering.”

“Sure thing, Chief.”

“Comm me if you get another message.”

“You got it.”

I turned around and walked toward the central hub lifts, all the while being scrutinised by the civilian population. They outnumbered us. Vastly. Even here on this one deck, we would have no hope of resisting them should they decide to revolt. What revolution would gain them, I did not know. It wasn’t as if this was the 1790s in France.

Vive la révolution!

I shook my head and entered the lift, pressing the screen to direct it to Deck D. I hadn’t been lying when I told the captain that I had not read A Tale of Two Cities. But I had heard of the book and had an understanding of what it had been about. And, I thought, as worry swept through me, I believed it had been a commentary on the nobility’s arrogance during the 18th Century. Which led to La Révolution.

Not a pleasant thought. The saboteur was indeed sending us messages. I just had to figure out what they all meant.

I entered engineering finding a skeleton crew. After acknowledging those present, I crossed to Rat’s domain, entering to the sound of swearing and the scent of burned electrical wires. Smoke wafted up from his desk, sucked away by the air filtration system. There was an extinguisher standing at the ready beside his left hand.

“Rat,” I said, making him jump.

“Chief! Do you have to sneak up on me?”

“Get your nose out of your experiments and pay attention, then. Or should I knock? On the engineering door? You know, the door to engineering of which I am in charge of.”

He rolled his enlarged goggle covered eyes at me and then pushed the goggles onto the top of his head.

“What can I do you for?” he asked.

“Tell me why it’s smoking in here for starters.”

He waved a hand in front of his face, attempting to dissipate the smoke somewhat.

“Tried to solder a wire to a junction that’d bypass the Chariot’s computer when it tries to write a never before seen line of code.”

“You want to stop it fixing things?” I asked.

“Well, when you put like that.” He shrugged. “It shouldn’t be doing it,” he added in a disgruntled mumble.

No, it shouldn’t, I thought. But it was faster than us, and I was disinclined to prevent it from fixing major problems like the main boost thrust spooling down.

Rat placed his soldering iron on the desk to the side. The motherboard in front of him continued to smoke gently; a tendril twirling up towards the ceiling.

I followed it with my eyes, expecting to see it getting sucked out through the air filtration system.

It took a second for my brain to catch up with what it was seeing, and then an alarm went off out in the main room of engineering.

“Chief!” Crewman Mason shouted.

I spun on my heel and raced out of Rat’s room.

“It’s…” the crewman started.

“The air filtration system,” I finished for him, feeling dread pool in my stomach.

This was bad. Very bad. The alarm was joined by another. And then another. The entire room bathed in emergency red.

Ten

I Sat Back And Waited

Noah

“You mean to tell me,” Mayor Jean-Claude Lambert said, “that Habitat Three is not an isolated incident?”

“No,” I said, succinctly.

“What are we looking at here, Noah? Ship-wide malfunctions?”

“Possibly.”

“But you can fix them? Camille can fix them, can’t she?”

“She’s doing her best.”

“Noah,” Jean-Claude said, “this is not reassuring.”

“You’re saying the chief’s best is not good enough?”

“You know damn well what I’m saying, Captain.” Damn it; we’d switched to honorifics. “What the hell is happening to the Chariot?”

I sighed, ran a hand through my hair, and sat back in my seat as if I could put space between me and my next words. Or me and the mayor once he heard them.

“We have a saboteur,” I said quietly.

The mayor was not so inclined to be quiet.

“We have a what?! When?! Where?! How bad is this?!”

“Bad,” I admitted. “Main boost thrust was tampered with. And the explosion in engineering…”

“That was the saboteur? You said it was a faulty wire or something.”

“Faulty motherboard, I think I said, and it was. Just not a naturally occurring one.”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “But why?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? It doesn’t make sense. Naturally occurring malfunctions could be understood. We’re travelling through space in a way we have never travelled before. This is all new. Things we haven’t even imagined could transpire. But sabotage? That has an entirely different, and yet familiar, ring to it.”

“Familiar?”

“We are humans, and humans for centuries have felt the need to break things for any number of reasons. This is not something new to us. But having it occur onboard a ship fleeing our dying planet with Earth’s last survivors onboard does put an entirely new spin on things.”

“Spin? You can say that again.”

The mayor looked ashen. He tapped an agitated finger on the armrest of his chair, staring off into nothing as he contemplated.

“What are you going to do about it?” he finally asked.

“Locate the culprit and send him out an airlock.”

“Just like that? You make it sound so easy. And acceptable to simply kill a human being. There aren’t so many of us left, you know.”

“There won’t be any left on this vessel if his next sabotage involves a necessary system.”

“Oh, God,” the mayor murmured, sounding distraught. “How do I tell the general population about this?”

I sat forward abruptly. “You don’t,” I snapped.

“I can’t keep this from the civilian population. They have a right to know!”

“And you’d be happy starting a revolt while we’re dealing with life-threatening malfunctions across the ship?”

“Noah, be reasonable! I am the mayor. I am their representative. I am here at their behest, not the ESA’s.”

“But, Jean-Claude, this is first and foremost an ESA vessel. You are subject to our directions when safety is an issue.”

“And the leaseholder? What do you want me to tell him? Is he to be lumped in with the civilian population?”

“Leave the leaseholder to me. He’s subject to a very precisely written clause in this regard. He’s definitely in the need to know category, and until I have more to tell him, he does not need to know.”

“You government agencies always seem to think you know best. To hell with the general populace. Throw Armageddon at us, and the rights of the people are tossed out the closest portal.”

“Might I remind you, your Worship, that you are also part of this imaginary government conspiracy you speak of.”

“Damn you, Noah,” he said, pushing up from his seat. “Sometimes I really don’t understand you.”

He stormed off toward the door to my ready room and then paused.

“Nor do I think I like you at times like this,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to like me, Jean-Claude. You just have to trust me to get us out of this mess and to New Earth.”

His hand hovered over the door release panel, and he spared me a glance over his shoulder.

“God help you, Vaughan, if you fail me on this.”

“God help us all, Jean-Claude.”

The door opened, and he stepped out, shoulders drooped, and head bowed low. A desolate and angst-ridden man heading toward the gallows. I trusted Jean-Claude to do what was right; he knew letting the civilians become aware of the extent of our problems would cause an unnecessary complication. A complication we just couldn’t combat right now.

Not that I wouldn’t make sure we were prepared.

I commed security. Lieutenant Hammersmith answered.

“Captain?”

“Orange alert,” I said simply.

“Understood, Captain. Anywhere, in particular, you want me to concentrate my men?”

“The bridge. Engineering. And the Deck A central hub. Otherwise standard procedure for all pertinent locations, including the armoury and the main computer core.”

“Understood, Captain. Twenty minutes,” she added.

I nodded and cut the communication.

Leaning back in my seat, I stared at the meadow on my gel wall; feeling farther away from it in reality than the parsecs we actually were. The farther we got from Earth, the harder it was to see the sun; to see the light. New Earth had two suns, we thought. But we weren’t entirely sure of that. New Earth was on the far edge of Hubble’s abilities to see clearly. A lot of speculation and complicated algorithms had chosen the planet for us.

Not for the first time, I wondered what the Sector Four Fleet would find when they arrived there first. I wondered if there would be any light that we recognised. That was familiar. Or if only darkness awaited us.

But first, we had to get there.

I turned my attention to the computer system and scanned it for any obvious anomalies. The chief was better at this than I was, but I was no neophyte when it came to computers. Still, nothing stood out to me. Habitat Three’s hygiene systems were all coming back online. The engineering team down there doing their damnedest to get it back up and running in a timely fashion.

I checked the security footage of the Deck H central hub. The civilian passengers were clumped in tight groups; shoulders hunched, frowns on their faces, a few hands moving in dramatic motions as they argued about something.

My heart rate escalated slightly. We were a powder keg waiting to go off. We had to get a handle on this. Who the hell was this person messing with our systems and what did they want?

I couldn’t make a public announcement and ask them.

I couldn’t leave a cryptic message on a ship-wide forum for them to find; too public.

But I could invite a dialogue by conversing with the Chariot’s computer directly. Surely they’d be watching. I could only hope.

I found A Tale of Two Cities in the ship’s library. There was no record of anyone having borrowed it, but then, the saboteur had managed to hide their tracks well before now. I had no doubt they had perused this exact e-copy.

I flipped through the pages, trying to find an appropriate quote. One that invited interaction. That would open up a conversation of sorts. I had to find out what the hell this person wanted.

And quickly.

I spotted what I was after two minutes later, and entered the quote where I thought the saboteur could find it. The captain’s command chair. If the saboteur could get into a bridge tactical console, they could sure as hell get into my command chair’s lumbar support subroutines.

I am a disappointed drudge, sir.

I sat back and waited.

Thirty seconds later, the Chariot responded with the sentence that followed my quote in Dickens’ book.

i care for no man on earth, and no man on earth cares for me

I smiled, and then the klaxon went off.

Eleven

In His Quarters

Camille

“Chief!” The captain’s face appeared on the main engineering viewscreen. “Tell me this is something minor.”

“Air filtration, Captain. Hardly minor.”

“Damn it.”

“We’re on it, now. Give me a minute.”

“I’m keeping this communication open,” he snapped. I ignored him.

“Rat, intercept that command line before it hits the recycler!” I yelled.

“It’s squirrelly, Chief. Damn thing keeps jumping all over the place.”

“Try a handheld,” I suggested.

“What’s a handheld gonna do that I can’t on the main terminal interface?”

“Stop arguing with me and do as I say!”

“Yes, Chief.” Indistinct muttering came from his side of the room.

“Mason, have you found where it originated from yet?” I asked in a more level tone of voice.

“None of the pathways from outside of life support show any sign of being tampered with, Chief.”

I sucked in an aggravated breath of air.

“Shit! It worked!” Rat shouted. “Intercepted the little bugger before it got to recycling. Just like you suggested, Chief.” He sounded a damn sight more respectful all of a sudden.

“Good work,” I managed, chasing down an ever-changing line of code as it ricocheted around the air filtration subroutines.

I reached for my own handheld and worked quickly, attaching the device and entering a command to block and contain the corrupted code. Within seconds, the Chariot’s computer programming took over, and I sighed as I watched it write magic in swirls of elegant code.

Muttering to myself in French, I tried to screengrab what was happening, but the computer had learned from its last interaction with MacBride and circumnavigated my attempts.

“Why won’t you let me copy you?” I growled.

“Chief?” the captain said in his steady and low voice. “Update?”

“The corrupted code has been eliminated and new code written to correct the damage. Air filtration is operational again.”

“How did it get in there?” he asked.

I offered him a scowl. He arched his brow at me. As if I had any idea how it damn well got in there.

“Uncertain at this stage, Captain,” I said.

“Chief,” Mason called. “Found something.”

I left my station and strode across the room. “What have you got, Crewman?”

“This.” He nodded toward his screen.

so wicked do destruction and secrecy appear to honest minds

“What the hell?” I muttered.

“What does it say, Chief?” the captain asked from my station’s screen across the room. The camera angle would have allowed him a view of me standing beside Crewman Mason, but not what had appeared on the crewman’s screen.

“Another message, Captain,” I said. “‘so wicked do destruction and secrecy appear to honest minds’.”

“Hold on,” he called turning his attention to something off screen. I looked back at the crewman’s console, but the message had gone. I shook my head.

“Temperamental,” Mason muttered.

“Covering his tracks,” I corrected. “Probably has an automatic scrubber following him around the system doing it for him. There’ll be a command he enters to prevent it from correcting his corrupted code, but these little gems of wisdom don’t require that sort of protection, at a guess.”

“Chief!” the captain called.

“Yes, sir?”

“Type in this, word for word: ‘Brave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one last question? I am ignorant, and it troubles me - just a little.’”

I arched a brow but did as the captain said.

Mason and I stared intently at the station’s screen. Truthfully, I didn’t expect an answer. But the captain never did anything without forethought. There’d be a reason why he’d said those exact words. Damned if I could see it, though.

And then the bloody thing replied.

it is a far, far better thing that i do, than i have ever done

Well, that certainly cleared things up, didn’t it?

“What does it say, Chief?” the captain asked, sounding resigned.

I read the message out to him, word for word.

“Damn. We’ve got a crusader on our hands,” he muttered.

“A crusader, sir?” I queried, crossing the room to stand before my station. Air filtration was back online and no permanent damage to the recyclers seemed to have happened. It was as if the saboteur hadn’t even been inside the life support system.

That thought did not make me feel any calmer.

“Whatever motivation this saboteur has,” Vaughan said from the screen, “he believes it his duty. His responsibility. Messing with this ship, with the possible intention of preventing us from reaching our goal, is his sole purpose in life. We have to find him, Chief. And soon.”

I scowled at the virtual keyboard floating in the air before me.

“Why fix the corrupt code, then, sir?” I finally asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

Captain Vaughan stared off into the distance on the screen. No doubt looking at his field of flowers. I’d always liked that gel wall image. But I’d not liked the sadness it evoked in my captain’s eyes.

“I don’t know, Camille. I just don’t know.”

And I certainly did not like seeing my captain so uncertain.

“Shall I bring you my report, sir?” I asked.

He started to raise his hand as if to wave the suggestion off; we both knew a written report would suffice, but then a written report could be lost in the system.

But then the captain said, “Do you have anything else to report, Chief?” Than what he’d just witnessed now.

“No, sir. I think you got the gist of it all.”

We were chasing a ghost in the system. The closer we got to him, the more transparent and invisible he appeared.

“Any chance you’ve brushed up on your English literature?” he asked.

“I have not, sir. Should I familiarise myself with Dickens?”

“I’ve been rereading a few passages,” Vaughan said. I had the impression he wasn’t quite ready to cut our communication yet. I shifted into a more comfortable position and waited him out. “It really is an extraordinary piece of work. I’m not sure Dickens liked the nobility.”

“No, sir,” I said, because he’d paused.

“Do you think that’s why he’s chosen that particular book?”

“Possibly. If he’s on a crusade, as you suggest, perhaps he is anti-establishment. Anti-ESA.”

“But then…” he paused, looked into the camera, as if to peer around me. “How about we pick this up later, Chief? Dinner?”

“Certainly, Captain.”

“Good,” he said. “It’s a date.”

I stilled. He stilled. And then he winked at me through the camera lens and disconnected the comm.

I felt flushed and entirely too breathless. I cleared my throat, repositioned a few items of import on my station console, and then chanced a quick glance over my shoulder at my team.

Every single one of them had their heads down and their mouths shut. But they were twitching.

I sighed and started going over the past few minutes in the logs. Or, at least, what I could find of them. The Chariot had been doing some cleaning. The saboteur’s scrubber had been hard at work.

But I was determined not to turn up at the captain’s door this evening with nothing to report.

And then, of course, I started thinking about that wink.

And dinner.

With the captain.

In his quarters.

Twelve

Am I To Kiss You Now?

Noah

Chef had prepared an excellent meal. Camille, though, was barely touching it.

“Something wrong with your beef?” I asked.

“No, sir.” She took a delicate bite and chewed it slowly.

I placed my knife and fork down on the side of my plate and picked up the merlot I’d been drinking. I took a sip, watching Camille as she toyed with her food, and then let out a long sigh which caught her attention.

“You’re not very talkative tonight, Chief,” I said.

“A lot on my mind, sir.”

“The saboteur.”

“Yes,” she said a little too quickly.

I pushed that observation aside.

“Your comment about him possibly being anti-ESA; I’ve been thinking…”

“Not too hard, I hope, sir,” Camille said, starting to smile.

If I could make her relax by allowing her to tease me, then I’d accept the ribbing gladly.

“Very funny, Chief,” I said.

“I do try,” she offered, mimicking words I used on occasion.

I smiled, making her grin widen slightly. She took a bite of her meal with a little more relish.

“As I was saying,” I said, cutting into my own steak again, “for the saboteur to be anti-ESA, he’d have to have had the same inclination prior to lift-off. And those psych tests we all did were pretty invasive.”

“They were that,” Camille said, shuddering.

“I don’t know about you,” I added, “but I’m grateful to the ESA for selecting me for this vessel.”

Camille nodded.

“I’m sure that came through on the test,” I added.

Camille sat back, dabbing her napkin to the corners of her mouth. She reached forward and took a sip of her wine. I forced my eyes away from her long neck and the view of her swallowing.

“To do what he is doing,” she said, “he’d have to be psychopathic. Not to mention, highly intelligent; that code is like nothing I have ever seen. Is it not possible, then, for him to able to fool a psychometric test?”

I shrugged. “I know I couldn’t,” I offered.

“I believe I could if I had the desire to.”

“Are you telling me, Chief, that you’re psychopathic and highly intelligent?”

She rolled her eyes at me. I laughed softly.

“I know what you’re suggesting,” I said. “And I agree. So, how do we find this person? Retest every officer?”

Camille shook her head. “No. We need to humour him for a little longer.”

“I’m not so inclined to allow a maniac to run rampant on my ship without at least attempting to curtail their activities.”

“I didn’t say to do nothing,” Camille corrected. “I just don’t think calling him out in such a public fashion would be wise. It could trigger something.”

“Force his hand, you mean? Shift up the timeline on his evil deeds?”

“Evil deeds,” she muttered, taking a sip of her wine. I didn’t look away this time. “No. I have a plan.”

“Excellent. Dazzle me with your genius, Chief.”

She leaned forward; I couldn’t stop myself from leaning into her.

“It has occurred to me,” she said, enthusiastically, “that we’re being reactive. Not proactive. We need to anticipate where the saboteur will strike next. I believe I can do that. I have a programme I’ve been working on, to trawl the system for anomalies while running a diagnostic. I can adjust it, so instead it’s searching for the artistry. The music in amongst the discord.”

“OK,” I said. “Reluctant as I am to admit this; you’ve lost me. Artistry? Music?”

“His code. It’s exquisite.”

She’d called the saboteur’s code exquisite before. I was sure if I looked at the same thing, I wouldn’t see the beauty. But that was Camille. That was her superpower. Seeing beauty in numbers and binary.

I smiled at her. She blinked expectantly at me.

“How soon can you have it up and running?” I asked.

“A few hours. Maybe less. Some systems would have to be taken offline to achieve it. But I can start on the adjustments immediately.”

My smile wanted to dim. Immediately meant she’d leave. I didn’t want her to leave. I wanted to talk to her some more. Listen to her some more. Look at her some more.

Bloody hell.

“All right, then, Chief. Hop to it.”

“I am not a bunny.”

I burst of laughter shot out of me. “What’s wrong with bunnies?”

“They’re cute and fluffy.”

“And extremely promiscuous,” I agreed.

She’d already risen from her chair. Her hands met her hips on my last words. Those expressive eyes stared daggers at me.

“Promiscuous. Like the Playboy Bunny?” she demanded.

“I never said that. But now that you mention it.” I cocked my head to the side and looked her up and down. “Should you tire of being an engineering genius, you could always…”

“Do not finish that sentence.” She held her palm up to me, her eyes closed as if she was trying to escape the conversation by simply not seeing anything.

“I’m, still here, Chief,” I offered helpfully.

“The English!” she muttered under her breath.

I watched her struggle with her temper and thought I had never seen a more beautiful thing.

“I’m going back to engineering,” she announced. “You’re beginning to annoy me.”

“Glad to be of help, Chief.”

She took a step toward the door and then looked back at me.

“Thank you, Captain,” she murmured and then slipped out of the room.

I couldn’t be sure, but I thought perhaps the thanks was for lightening her mood; distracting her. And not the dinner.

At least, I told myself that.

I stared at the detritus of our meal and then glanced at the viewscreen off to the side. Camille had been right about one thing. We were reacting to the situation rather than directing it. At any time, the saboteur could hit an essential system. And then we would be dead in the water, no closer to catching up with the Sector Two Fleet.

I’d been avoiding it. There was a certain amount of failure attached to admitting your faults to another ship’s captain. But if we had any hope of catching this saboteur and ensuring our systems were in fact under our control, we’d have to rewrite a hell of a lot of code.

Camille was going to have a number of opportunities to showcase her talents over the next few days.

For now, I needed to showcase mine. I needed to persuade an Anderson Universal captain to halt his fleet and miss his jump quotas. I needed him to believe that we were more important than his pension. Than the quality of life he could expect once he reached New Earth.

It was a hell of a lot to ask, but I was damned if I wouldn’t find a way to convince Captain John Jameson of exactly that.

I pushed up from the table and crossed to the viewscreen, and then activated the comm. I pinged navigation first. Pavo had appeared on long-range scans. We were so close. I almost changed my mind. If we just kept going, we could reach them.

And the saboteur could do something at the last minute to ruin it all.

No. Camille was right. We needed to be proactive.

I opened a channel to the Sector Two Fleet.

Pavo, this is the ESAS Chariot. Respond, I wrote.

I waited for the signal to fly through space far faster than we were.

It took several long seconds, but finally, I received a reply.

chariot, this is pavo
go ahead

I let out a relieved sigh. And then a message appeared before my eyes.

am i to kiss you now?

is the moment come?

What the hell?

chariot, this is pavo
clarify

I screwed my eyes up and blocked the message from my mind. If it worked for Camille…

When I opened them again, the message had gone, and Pavo was standing by.

Convincing Jameson now seemed more important than ever.

Showtime.

Thirteen

Hello

Camille

I sat at my terminal in engineering staring at my screen, trying to create magic. My code was chunky and unattractive, but I thought it might work. Testing it seemed like a good idea. But as soon as I tested it, there was no going back. If it was too obvious, the saboteur would then be aware of what we were doing and would change his approach to combat it.

I tapped my fingers on my console and then got up to pace the room.

Third shift was on duty, so Rat’s domain was empty. MacBride had finished second shift, handing over the room to Lieutenant García. García wasn’t used to having me looking over his shoulder and seemed jumpy. It didn’t help that we had security standing outside the door. They’d saluted me as I’d entered the room, but thankfully none of them had followed me into engineering.

A soft orange glow emitted from the floor. Orange alert. The captain hadn’t taken us off it. Only those decks given over solely to ESA crew would be displaying the colour. Civilian habitats and hubs wouldn’t be any the wiser. I walked the circumference of the room trying to clear my head. The orange chasing me.

By the time I returned to my terminal, I’d made up my mind; I had to test the code, no matter what. I could only hope, as it was so late at night, that the saboteur was asleep. Of course, with the elegance of his code writing, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’d set up traps and some form of monitoring.

I had to take the risk, though. We’d received confirmation from Pavo that they’d wait for us. But for how long? No time like the present to take the main boost thrust offline and run a diagnostic.

“Lieutenant,” I called to García.

“Yes, Chief?”

“Spool down main boost thrust and run Alpha-01-REY-XI.”

His hand hesitated over his console, but he said, “Yes, Chief,” and tapped in the command.

I pressed the comm. “Bridge. This is engineering. Main boost thrust diagnostic is starting now.”

“Thank you, Chief,” came a familiar voice over the line. The captain had decided to stay up for this, then. He’d be watching my progress from his command chair at a guess. The pressure to pull off a miracle increased. Sweat started to bead my brow.

I licked my lips and entered the line of code that would activate my trojan programme.

The main boost thrust engine hummed softly in the background, its tone changing as it spooled down.

“Any spikes?” I asked García.

“None, Chief. Everything’s operating within acceptable parameters.”

I checked and rechecked the figures, but all I could see was main boost thrust spooling down and the Chariot’s self-diagnostic algorithm starting.

“So far so good,” I muttered to myself.

My trojan programme slipped in without triggering any obvious alarms. The diagnostic accepted my code into its core command, running the trawling software in the background. With any luck, the saboteur would only see the diagnostic code and not my attempts to find him.

“Where are you?” I murmured, watching line after line of code as it ran through the diagnostic programme and then filtered off into my subroutine. My programme identified nothing unusual.

Or, more to the point, artistic.

The code in the main boost thrust was just code. Perfunctory. Utilitarian. Serving a purpose and no more.

I sighed. He wasn’t here. Which, in a way, made sense. He’d already been in engineering. Had already played around with the main boost thrust. Maybe it was wrong to think he’d return. The saboteur had moved on to more interesting things. But what would interest a saboteur?

Engineering. The bridge. Officers’ mess. Civilian habitat. Life support. What was going to be next?

I brought up a schematic of the ship’s systems and studied it. He wasn’t repeating himself. He was methodically going through every system, but there was no order to it. Why would life support be toyed with after a civilian habitat? Engineering before the bridge? And just because he’d been in the tactical console, did that mean he’d attempt to mess with navigation or helm next? Or leave them alone?

I had the feeling he wanted to touch on everything. But that was simply a gut reaction to what had transpired so far. I couldn’t be sure. Perhaps some systems were harder than others, and he was simply gaining access where he could. Taking advantage of what was available, not seeking anything in particular out.

So, if that was the case, how would he see when a system became… available to him?

“Bridge,” I said, tapping the comm.

“Go ahead, Chief,” the captain said.

“Would you mind assisting in an experiment, please?”

“Of course. We’re just sitting here twiddling our thumbs as it is.”

I wasn’t entirely sure whether the captain was joking.

“Great,” I offered, deciding to take his words at face value. I could just imagine the captain rolling his eyes at that, but as I hadn’t activated a visual comm, I was only guessing. “Can you have navigation run a simulation, please? Let’s choose an interesting one. Perhaps evasive manoeuvres due to an unexpected solar flare.”

“A solar flare,” the captain said, his voice sounding flat.

“Humour me, please, Captain.”

“I’m all for making you laugh, Chief,” he said. “Jennings, you heard the commander. Simulation Sierra-Foxtrot-01. Let’s keep the chief happy.”

A small smile curved my lips, despite what we were simulating. A solar flare had taken Vela out. The Anderson Universal ship had sacrificed itself to ensure we could leave Earth’s atmosphere. If it hadn’t have been for the evidence of sabotage that Rat had found on Daniels’ console, I would have put our systems malfunctions down to damage sustained during that solar flare.

It was all extremely coincidental. But then there was that scraping on the motherboard and consequent explosion.

I shook my head as I watched Lieutenant Jennings locate the correct simulation in the system and then start it. My trojan programme slipped in the backdoor.

“Happy hunting,” I muttered.

The ship, itself, didn’t move, but on Jennings’ console, a complex simulation played out. She entered the correct navigational commands, while helm manoeuvred the Chariot through the simulation. It was one we had practised many times before. And a reality we’d faced while leaving Earth.

I knew the silence I heard over the comm would be even more pronounced on the bridge. Despite the fact that third shift hadn’t been flying when Vela was lost.

A spike appeared on the screen before me. My trojan started deviating, chasing its origin down. I sat up straighter. Held my breath. Watched as my programme homed in on the intruder code.

It was spectacular. It danced with the simulation, trimming it here, changing it there, making it into something it had not been before. I could have sworn the code was helping Lieutenant Jennings, but also finding new ways to challenge her, stretch her, test her further.

I shook my head. It didn’t seem destructive. But then, maybe it was simply trying to test our limits, find our weaknesses. So the saboteur would be better able to exploit them.

But as I watched, Jennings’ responses grew more precise, faster, better. She learned from the Chariot’s computer, from this saboteur’s code, while the computer danced and twirled and led her on one swooping manoeuvre after another.

I was quite sure, Lieutenant Jennings had never navigated as well as she did right then. I wanted to know what the captain was thinking; to see his expression for myself. I activated the visual comm. His eyes darted down to the screen, and he arched a brow.

“Are you doing this, Chief?” he asked, but I could tell he already knew the answer.

“No, sir. Chariot’s computer is. Or rather, the saboteur’s code is.”

“He's teaching her.”

I nodded.

“Why would he do that?” he queried.

“Testing our limits?” I suggested.

The captain scowled.

“Have you found him yet?” he asked.

I glanced back down at my programme, having been distracted by the captain and the dance the Chariot’s computer was performing with navigation right now. Idiot!

My programme was still running. In the background, behind the simulation. So well hidden, I had to dig deep to make sure it was still there.

But I found it. And I also found the saboteur. Watching the dance and my code.

A torrent of French spilt forth from my mouth. The captain’s eyes widened on the viewscreen; no doubt understanding every word.

Damn it! He’d been there all along. I hadn’t fooled him. I shook my head and entered one word.

Hello.

And then got a reply.

Fourteen

Goodnight, Camille

Noah

I stared at the words on my viewscreen. Camille had mirrored her terminal to mine; I could see everything she was seeing. Could see everything she was doing.

I was a hairsbreadth away from tearing down to engineering and making sure she was all right.

when you go to rome, do as rome does

Clarify, she wrote back.

rome will be a ugly customer to you, if you don’t

“Is he threatening us?” Camille asked over the comm.

“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head in reply.

Clarify, she wrote again.

i’m your rome, you know

“That’s all from the book?” Camille asked.

“Yes.” I’d already found the passage.

“What shall I write back? I’m not sure ‘clarify’ is going to get us far.”

I swiped pages on my datapad, trying to decide what would be best. But the character the lines were for in the book, didn’t say anything for several pages. I finally found his next words.

“Let me write something, Chief,” I said.

“Go for it,” she offered, taking a step back from her console on the viewscreen. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her terminal. I could almost feel sorry for the damn thing.

I typed in a line, wondering if confronting the saboteur like this would backfire on me.

You oppose yourself to the profit of the business and me and my partners suffer.

For what felt like a very long time nothing happened.

Then the saboteur responded.

i try to be a good wife

“Oh, this just gets more and more bizarre,” Camille muttered.

I stared at the screen and then stared down at the datapad. I huffed out a breath of laughter and started to write.

Is it being a good wife to oppose your husband’s business?

Silence. Or, in this case, a blinking cursor on the viewscreen.

“Well, that went splendidly,” Camille said dryly.

“Give it time,” I murmured. “He’s trying to decide if he wants to carry on quoting the book at me or deviate from it. And if the saboteur is male, I’m sure he doesn’t like being called my wife.”

Camille sniggered.

“Some would, you know,” I offered.

“Yes, Captain,” Camille said levelly.

“They would! I’m a catch.”

“Of course you are, sir.”

“I am,” I muttered.

Camille burst out laughing.

“Just because you love your machines more than me, Chief doesn’t mean I’m not a good catch.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, sir.”

“You implied it. With your Frenchness.”

“My Frenchness?”

“Yes. That French way you have of laughing at me.”

“Sir, that’s not French. That’s female.”

I started to chuckle. “Fine. Fine. I’m married to this blasted ship, anyway.”

Camille blinked at me on the viewscreen.

“Are you?” she asked.

“Am I what?”

“Married to the Chariot?”

“I’m thinking of getting a divorce,” I said, deadpan.

“Well, she is opposing your business.”

“Women!” I said dryly.

Camille grinned widely at me.

God damn it, why couldn’t she like me more than her machines? I’d be prepared to share her. I wouldn’t get jealous if the main boost thrust demanded a little more attention from time to time. As long as she came back to my quarters after she soothed its spooling or whatever the hell it is she does to the thing.

“Captain?”

“Yes, Chief?”

“I don’t think he’s going to reply.”

“Well, that is a shame. I’d already selected my next quote from the book.”

“Does it involve divorce?”

“Do you want me to divorce the Chariot, Chief? Do you have a better offer for me if I do?”

She looked down, her lashes spreading across her creamy cheeks. Sometimes I took the jokes a little too far.

“All right, Chief. What’s the next step?” I asked, trying to move us along.

She looked up at me and blinked, something wistful flittering across her eyes.

I sat up straighter.

“I’m not sure, sir,” she said, and I deflated. We were back to sir. If there had been something there, I’d missed it. “He’s aware of my programme now, but so far, he hasn’t tampered with it.”

“But it can no longer catch him unawares,” I guessed.

“I’m afraid not, sir. He hasn’t removed it. In fact, he’s danced with it.”

I frowned. “Danced with it?”

“Written code to complement it, sir. His code and my code have interacted.”

“Sounds dirty.”

She rolled her eyes.

“The point is, he’s improved it, sir.”

I stared at my chief of engineering and tried to think.

“That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever,” I finally announced.

“This saboteur makes no sense, sir.”

She sounded tired. I checked my watch. It was late. Or extremely early; whichever way you wanted to look at it. And if Camille had been finding it difficult to sleep as much as I had for the past few nights, then she would be dead on her feet.

“Get some rest, Chief,” I said, stifling my own yawn.

“You too, sir.”

“I need it. Not sure if I’ll get it, but…”

“We’ll both count sheep.”

I smiled at her; wanting nothing more than to have her lying beside me and doing just that. Counting sheep.

I almost said it. I almost offered to help wear her out in another manner, in a way that would leave her sated and floating and blissfully sleepy.

But I was on the bridge, surrounded by the third shift flight crew. And she was in engineering, surrounded by her team.

“Perhaps we’ll think of something by morning,” I offered.

“I’ll certainly try, Captain.”

“Me too.”

She looked at me; her face shining brightly on the viewscreen. Tendrils of soft blonde hair framing her delicate bones. Her cheeks pale, her lips rosy. Those soulful brown eyes staring right into me.

“Goodnight, sir,” she said.

“Goodnight, Camille,” I offered.

The screen went blank, and the bridge appeared darker all of a sudden. I stretched, stood from my seat, and bid my farewells to the flight deck.

I’d made it as far as the door to my quarters when the klaxon went off.

The orange alert on the gel floor was instantly replaced with red.

I turned on my heel and ran back to the bridge. It looked like neither of us would be counting sheep.

Fifteen

I Really Needed To Read A Tale Of Two Cities

Camille

The explosion had taken out Launch Bay Charlie. We had a hole the size of a passenger shuttlecraft in the side of our vessel. The captain and I stood side by side in the observation room; separated from the vacuum of space by ten-inch thick polymer and glass.

“Why the launch bay?” the captain said.

“He knows we’ve come within long-range scans of the Sector Two Fleet,” I offered.

“And suspects we’ll use a shuttle to reach them?” he queried.

I shrugged. “It’s possible he thinks we could, especially if the Chariot is dead in the water.”

The captain scowled at the scene through the viewing pane.

“Lieutenant Hammersmith?” he called, without taking his disgruntled gaze off the launch bay.

“Yes, sir,” she replied from over our shoulders.

“Increase security to all essential areas, and include patrols on Decks A through E.”

“Yes, sir,” she spun to a console and started issuing commands.

“The habitats, sir?” I asked.

He looked distraught but quickly quashed it. His face returning to that inscrutable mask.

“We don’t have enough men,” he said simply.

I couldn’t imagine what was going through his mind, right now. How much guilt he would be feeling. But securing the essential services onboard always came before the civilians. Even though the added security was ultimately for them.

His wrist comm chimed. He glanced at it and made a growling sound. I’m not sure I had very heard Noah Vaughan make that sound before.

“I have to take this,” he said, indicating the comm. “The mayor.”

I offered an understanding smile.

“You’ve got this, Chief?” he asked, nodding towards the launch bay. Or what was left of it.

“We’ll get it secured, sir.”

“And the diagnostics? You’re still running them elsewhere?”

“I’ve pared them back, sir. But as we’re spooled down right now, it might be a good time to run some of them in the background.”

“Only those that don’t affect security and getting this launch bay secure,” he commanded.

I gave him a look that hopefully conveyed the right message. He sighed.

“I know,” he said. “Something about grandmothers and eggs?”

“Yes, sir.”

He took one last long look at me and then said, “Take care, Chief.” He was gone before I could reply.

“How do you want to do this, Chief?” MacBride said off to the side.

“Let’s see how accommodating the Chariot’s commuter is, shall we?”

“I think I’d rather the bots handle the repairs than get suited up and go in there.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure, Lieutenant?” I asked. “This is what we’ve trained for.”

“Forgive me, Chief. But I trained as a motorcycle mechanic, initially. It was only after the sun started frying us that I decided a more specialist training might be required.”

“No Harleys on a space-faring vessel?”

“Main boost thrust doesn’t much look like an internal combustion engine, ma’am.”

“No,” I agreed. “It doesn’t.” I looked out into the bay, past the scorched gel flooring and the twisted alloy bulkheads, and took in the debris floating in space. Stars winked at us through the hole in the side of the Chariot. I could see one of the other vessels in our fleet some distance away, but I couldn’t make out which one it was.

I didn’t envy the captain his job in explaining this to the rest of the fleet. We weren’t an Anderson Universal craft. We hadn’t started out as the lead vessel. Some of those in the fleet still resented us taking on that role.

Hell, even I resented it a little.

“OK,” I said. “Fire up the bots, MacBride. I’ll have a chat with the Chariot.”

“Aye-aye, Chief.” He took off to the hallway outside the launch bay, heading towards the access terminal for the closest repair bots.

I cracked my knuckles and stared down at the console before me.

“Let’s see if you’re feeling chatty,” I muttered.

I entered a command to access the launch bay controls. The launch bay hadn’t just been physically attacked; it had also had its programming corrupted. A mess of ones and zeros stared back at me. I started detangling the mess, slowly and methodically piecing it back into something recognisable. The saboteur had done a brilliant job of making this launch bay inoperable.

I could seal the hole. Make it airtight again. I could even, eventually, have the shuttle repaired. But using this launch bay as it was designed to be used was not looking likely. Without the correct access commands, the doors wouldn’t open when required. The containment field that kept atmosphere inside the launch bay while the shuttles came and went through the bay doors would continue to malfunction, as well. In essence, the launch bay had just become a cargo bay, with limited access in or out.

I never did like being thwarted by machinery.

A particularly stubborn line of code eluded me for several long minutes, and then as if the sun had dawned, it blossomed into a flower before my eyes. Command lines converging and separating, petals spreading, pollen floating away and touching on everything around it.

I watched, stunned, as the Chariot’s computer corrected the corrupted code and turned it into something truly magnificent.

Parameters, I wrote on the command line.

a wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other

I scowled at the Chariot’s reply. The saboteur’s reply? Just what was he trying to tell me? That I was a mystery or that he was a secret? I shook my head and flexed my fingers, then entered another command.

Origin. Sometimes a blunt code was a good code.

i hope you care to be recalled to life?

Huh.

The repair bots entered the launch bay. I watched them set to work on the hull breach and bulkhead damage through the viewing pane.

Was the Chariot referring to repairing the launch bay and bringing it back to life? Only one way to find out, I supposed.

Define parameters, I wrote on the command line beneath its question.

I might like the fact that the computer was fixing the launch bay, but I sure as hell did not trust it.

courage, dear miss!

courage!

business!

the worst will be over in a moment

I pulled back from the console. The Chariot was telling me to be patient and to trust it. I would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so bizarre.

Clarify, I wrote next.

don’t be afraid to hear me
don’t shrink away from anything i say

Well, that was a little on the nose, wasn’t it? I stared at the words on the screen and lamented the captain had been right. I really needed to read A Tale of Two Cities. The saboteur was determined to quote from that book. To use Dickens as a conduit in which to speak. It made little sense, but we’d already established that he was psychopathic.

I glanced up at the repair bots; they’d returned atmosphere to the launch bay by reinstating the containment field. A containment field I’d been certain we couldn’t have repaired if we had tried.

I looked back down at the console and the last message from the saboteur.

Why destroy something so completely that repair of it is unlikely and then go and fix it yourself?

I stared at the words on the screen for a very long time until something shifted inside.

The Dickens quotes weren’t from the saboteur.

The Chariot had come to life.

Sixteen

End Programme

Noah

“Say that again, Chief?” I said, staring up at Camille from my command chair.

She’d burst onto the bridge with fire glinting in her eyes, the words spilling off her tongue even before she’d saluted me.

“The saboteur is not Dickens, sir,” she said. “I mean to say; it’s the Chariot which is quoting A Tale of Two Cities at us, not the person sabotaging our vessel.”

“And you arrived at this conclusion, how?”

“Why blow the launch bay up and then fix it? Why corrupt the air filtration programme and then rewrite it? Why improve on my trojan code?”

I held a hand up to stall her; Camille could get very carried away sometimes.

“We’ve been over this already,” I said. “He’s testing us. Looking for weaknesses to exploit.”

“I don’t think so, sir,” she said, shaking her head and making her hair fly. “I’ve been back over my notes and observations, and that first line of code I found is not from the book.”

“So, that would support the theory that he’s human, not robotic.”

“Again, sir, I beg to differ.”

“Differ away, then, Chief,” I said, resigned to the discussion now.

“That original code - the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few - happened while we were being fried by the solar flare.” While Vela was, in any case. I didn’t correct her. I was fairly certain she’d chosen her words with care. “Once we escaped Earth’s atmosphere and were no longer in danger of any further unexpected flares, the computer started quoting A Tale of Two Cities.”

“Still not seeing the argument here, Chief.”

She sighed as if I was being obtuse. I wasn’t. Well, not intentionally. But I still didn’t understand her reasoning here.

“The error in the Chariot’s coding happened during the solar flare,” she said. “The message originated prior to the damage. The quotes are a consequence of the damage. I think the computer received some sort of…electrical jolt or something, that’s, well, that looks like it might have…made the computer…come alive?”

The last was said in a question.

I stared at her. She bit her bottom lip. Hardly my genius engineer standing before me. She knew there were holes in her argument. Huge fucking gaping holes.

“Captain,” she said, almost pleading. “It’s not the saboteur.”

I sucked in a fortifying breath of air.

“OK,” I said calmly. “Say you’re right and the Chariot was damaged during the solar flare. Computers don’t come alive, Camille. They just don’t.”

“Well, maybe not alive; that’s a poor choice of words, really.” She waved her hand in the air between us as if to wipe that phrase away; clean the slate; pretend she hadn’t delved out of engineering parameters and into some sort of fantasy story.

“Yes,” I said in agreement, watching her closely.

“And code can’t simply rewrite itself,” she added. “I know this.” Yes, she did, but I got the feeling she was trying to convince herself of that fact. “However, the messages aren’t random; they have meaning. I held a conversation with it.”

“With the Chariot? While it used quotes from a Charles Dickens book?”

I know I sounded doubtful, but damn it! I was. Camille was not acting as the engineer I had come to expect on this. She was reaching for something that simply could not exist.

Why? Was she under that much strain that she was cracking? Had I overlooked something? Should I have stood her down, forced her to rest? We’d both been operating on barely any sleep. I knew I wasn’t the hottest plasma gun in the armoury right now. And Camille had been fixing damage all over the ship since we’d launched, not to mention writing delicate code that held the potential to save ten thousand lives.

No wonder she was losing it.

“He told me to trust him,” she said.

“‘It’, Chief,” I corrected. “If we’re saying the computer is conversing with you, it’s an ‘it’ not a ‘he’. But if we go back to the saboteur as the quoter, then, yes, ‘he’ told you to trust him.”

She blinked at me.

“You don’t believe a word I’m saying,” she announced, sounding stunned.

“I’m trying here, Chief,” I replied carefully.

“You doubt my sanity right now,” she added, beginning to sound irritated.

“We’re all lacking sleep,” I said quietly.

She erupted into a torrent of French that made even my ears pink. The entire flight deck stopped what it was doing and just stared at her; mouths open, eyes wide. Eventually, she ran out of steam. But the damage had been done.

“Commander Rey,” I said, feeling sick. “Stand down.”

Her face paled.

“Captain…I…”

Damn it, Camille! Why did you have to do this on the bridge? Why not my ready room where I could protect you?

“Report to the medbay,” I said, my voice thick. “You’re relieved of duty for the next twenty-four hours. Mandatory rest period starting now.”

“Yes, Captain,” she said, sounding small. She took a step away and then stopped.

Her shoulders were hunched, her head was hanging. She sucked in a breath of air and turned to look at me. I saw the betrayal in her eyes; the knowledge that I had let her down.

“Will you at least consider it?” she asked quietly.

“I always consider everything you say, Chief,” I offered. “Always.”

She smiled; it damn near broke my heart at how tragic it looked. And then she left the bridge, security standing outside in the hall, thankfully none the wiser. That would really have put the cat amongst the pigeons if they’d been in here and insisted on escorting her to Jerry.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at nothing for a few minutes, and then I brought up my command console and entered a command to the Chariot.

Identify, I wrote.

It was a last-ditch effort to see if it would “converse”. Camille couldn’t be right about it coming alive; it had to be the saboteur. Or failing that, a second person we had yet to identify.

But who on board this ship could write code that Camille described as exquisite?

I rubbed a hand over my face and waited for the computer - the person - to reply.

it had more than once happened that the judge in the black cap pronounced his own doom as certainly as the prisoner’s

Huh? Could that be construed as conversational? It was certainly judgemental. And, strangely, apropos. Was the person quoting Dickens watching us? Watching Camille and me?

Clarify, I typed in next.

we are quite a french house, as well as an english one

He was watching us. And reading my bloody mind, it seemed. And was that an observation regarding Camille’s and my differing opinions? Did he disagree with one of us? With me?

Clarify, I tried again.

answer the questions put to you, and make no remark upon them

Ah, hell. He wouldn’t be pushed into further clarification.

My fingers flew over the keyboard.

Define parameters, I commanded.

i would not ask that word, to save my life

He was conversing with me. Bizarrely, but conversing all the same. Refusing to answer questions he deemed unnecessary. But was it the computer or was it a person?

Directive, I typed.

Just what the hell was his intention here?

the wheels turned so suddenly that they were lucky to save their skins and bones

What. The. Hell? What did that mean? Was he referring to our lucky escape from Earth? Vela’s demise and our survival? It had been close. We’d been lucky. Without Vela’s sacrifice, we wouldn’t be here.

But I still didn’t understand any of this.

Frustrated beyond measure and desperately wanting there to be some truth to the chief’s words - believing she was burnt out was not a welcome thought, despite her unrealistic interpretation of what was happening here - I typed in a line from the book.

What may your meaning be?

The cursor pulsed before me. The sounds on the bridge disappeared. I wasn’t sure what I was praying for, but I was praying.

without it, i cannot save you
can i not recall you - forgive me again! - to a better course?

i know this is a confidence

There was a long pause as I stared at those words; words which seemed to me, right then, to have meaning. To be an attempt at conversation with the goal to persuade me. He knew I doubted Camille’s interpretation. He knew I questioned who was quoting Dickens: machine or man? He knew, and he was attempting to make me believe he was real.

I closed my eyes and fisted my hands. We were being played, I was certain. And I was too tired for this. Plus, I refused to waste a second more of my time on this misdirection. On humouring him.

I pushed the virtual keyboard away in disgust.

The screen flashed once, and a message appeared.

i really think this must be a man!

I reached forward and typed one command.

End programme.

And then stood up and walked away from my chair.

Seventeen

Thank You For Your Assistance

Camille

Mandatory rest periods were served in the medbay, so the doctor could ensure you actually rested. I’d managed to convince Jerry not to sedate me, and faked sleeping for a couple of mind-numbing hours. But now my chance had come; Jerry had a civilian patient who was keeping him occupied and out of my hair.

I didn’t have access to a terminal from my bed, nor did I have my datapad with me, but Jerry had failed to take away my wrist comm and forgotten I was chief of engineering.

I entered a line of code into my wrist device and turned it into a remote access console.

Bingo! I was in.

Cracking my knuckles as quietly as I could, I got to work.

Open dialogue.

he had been talking all day, on many subjects, and with unusual vivacity

Was it telling me it had been talking with the captain while I’d been in here?

Clarify.

not many people had talked with him at the reception; he stood a little space apart, and monseigneur might have been warmer in his manner

Monseigneur was the captain. The Chariot thought it had made progress.

it was as if a professed unbeliever in ghosts should be frightened by a ghost story

I let out a frustrated sigh. The captain, it seemed, still didn’t believe me. Didn’t believe it was the Chariot quoting Dickens. I was more and more certain of it. This was not the work of the saboteur. This was something I’d never experienced before, but the thrill of its potential had me scrambling to get the Chariot to say more.

Specify recovery.

What did it plan to do now?

spiritual revelations were conceded to england at that favoured period, as at this

What? Was it giving up?

Clarify.

spiritual revelations

I shook my head.

spiritual revelations
spiritual revelations
spiritual revelations
spiritual revelations
spiritual revelations

Um? It was clearly corrupting.

Run diagnostic.

revelations

I let out a frustrated breath of air and sank back on the bed, letting my head hit the pillow. The doctor was still talking with the civilian passenger. My bed was blocked from sight by the curtain surrounding it. I needed better access to the ship’s systems. My wrist comm worked to a certain degree, but I needed to get into the onboard library and see just why the hell the Chariot had chosen that book. Was there a reason? Or had it simply picked the first one it came across?

I bit my lip and listened to Jerry placating the woman, who appeared to have broken her wrist when she’d tried to clean her gel ceiling. I snorted softly. The gel walls were self cleaning. She didn’t need to go to such lengths to clean it.

And then their conversation reached me.

“I swear, Doctor. The mark would not go away.”

“So, you climbed up on a chair?”

“But the chair wasn’t high enough. That damn ceiling just kept getting farther away.”

I arched my brow.

“That’s impossible,” Jerry said.

“I’m not lying. Every time I came close to wiping that spot on the ceiling, it’s as if the damn thing knew it, and moved farther away.”

“So,” Jerry said, lengthening the word slightly, “what happened then?”

“Well, I had to use a suitcase on top of the chair and when that didn’t work, I had to place a box on top of the suitcase, on top of the chair, and then…”

I tuned them out. The Chariot had reconfigured its ceiling, making that poor woman climb on top of a pile of unstable objects in an attempt to clean something that should not have required cleaning at all.

It wanted me to be unobserved in here; the doctor distracted. A cold chill invaded my bones.

I slipped out of the bed and peered between the small gap in the curtain. Jerry’s back was to me, and he was arguing with the woman regarding what she might have had to drink. She wasn’t drunk, and he knew it. He’d already scanned her. But he was having fun.

I shook my head and slipped out from between the curtains, crossing the medbay to his office at the rear. I left the lights off, or at least, Chariot did; they were set to brighten upon movement due to sensors in the gel walls. The chief medical officer’s terminal glowed softly, Jerry’s password already entered.

Jerry might have liked to have the odd laugh, but he was not incompetent. Chariot wanted me to have access. I huffed out a laugh. I could have hacked Jerry’s code in a heartbeat.

I cracked my knuckles, stretched my neck, and then got to work.

I hadn’t had a chance to run a diagnostic on the ship’s public library. I ran one now and slipped my trojan programme in after it. I watched as the code got to work in the background and the trojan started hunting.

There was no saboteur to find, I was sure. But I needed to know what had made the Chariot focus on Charles Dickens. I watched as A Tale of Two Cities was singled out, run through a systems check, and then scrubbed clean. Any anomalies were shunted off to the side to be meticulously investigated.

I sifted through what appeared. A spike in power to that part of the ship’s systems occurred not long after take-off. That could have been in reaction to the solar flare. And then the books were shuffled through a lightning fast sorting, Dickens’ book coming out on top of the pile of cards.

But that wasn’t all. A list of names and crew profiles appeared beside the book; words were cross-referenced and then compared. It was as if the computer had been trying to find similarities between those on board and the story.

The Chariot is an ESA vessel. Commissioned by the European Space Agency. As such, it had a range of nationalities on board. From Spanish and Italian, to Greek and German. To French and English.

Communiqués appeared on the screen next. The computer had sorted them into relevance and importance, and at the very top were two names and nationalities that stood out like Saturn’s rings. Everything had been carried out in a split second of computing power. The amount of power required to achieve it during the solar flare was phenomenal. But not impossible.

Not when what I thought had happened had actually happened.

I stared at the two names. I stared at the two nationalities. I stared at the Charles Dickens book that had both of those nationalities in it.

French and English.

And the names? Commander Camille Rey and Captain Noah Vaughan.

The Chariot had singled us out as its best hope of achieving its directive.

But what was its directive?

Directive, I typed into the ship’s onboard eBook library.

nothing we do, is done in vain
i believe with all my soul, that we shall see the triumph

I let out a huff of breath and wrote, Clarify.

without it, i cannot save you

I watched as my trojan code changed, twisted and twirled, and then became something else entirely. Something stunning. Something beautiful. Something exquisite.

revelations, the computer said.

re…vela…tions

And then the screen blanked.

I took a step back.

It couldn’t be. Not possible. The captain was right.

But then, in a way, so was I.

Identify, I wrote with trembling fingers.

good afternoon, commander
this is vela
thank you for your assistance

I promptly sat down in the doc’s chair and tried not to be sick.

I’d just helped an AI take over the Chariot.

Eighteen

I Need My Chief

Noah

Camille walked into my ready room looking…I wasn’t sure how to describe it. But I was up, out of my chair in an instant, and around the desk, gripping her upper arms to stop her from collapsing. Jerry walked in behind her.

“She insisted,” he said. “Far be it from me to get in the way of an irate Frenchwoman.”

“Jerry,” I said, “she’s sick. Look at her.”

“I’m not sick,” Camille said and then promptly covered her mouth with the back of her hand as if to prevent herself from vomiting.

I helped her to a chair and then rushed to get her a glass of water. She accepted it with shaking hands. I glanced over at Jerry. He was scowling at her, but sensed my attention and looked up. He shook his head.

“What the hell’s going on?” I demanded. Him. Her. Anyone.

“I needed to talk to you,” Camille whispered.

“She insisted,” Jerry said again.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself to take a step back, leaning my butt against my desk in front of her.

“Then talk, Chief,” I said.

Camille could be a very stubborn woman, but I’d yet to see her stubbornness not have a well thought out reason behind it.

She thrust her wrist comm into my hand.

I stared at it, then at her, and then at it again.

There was a message on the screen. Three lines of computer code.

good afternoon, commander
this is vela
thank you for your assistance

Was this some sort of joke?

“What is this?” I asked.

“What do you think it is?” Camille said, her voice faint.

“Is the saboteur playing us?” I demanded.

She shook her head.

I shook mine.

“This…this is not possible.”

“I know,” Camille said. “It should not be, but…” She offered her gallic shrug.

I stared back down at the words, which, incidentally, hadn’t disappeared, and tried to reason this through.

“I’m quite well, Doctor,” Camille said, bringing my attention back to the room. “You don’t need to fuss.”

“You’re on a mandatory rest period,” Jerry replied. “You’re my responsibility until the captain says otherwise.”

Camille looked up at me with pleading eyes. How the hell did I combat that?

“It’s all right, Jerry. I’ll take it from here,” I said.

“If you insist,” the doc replied. I watched as he took his little handheld scanner and med bag in hand and walked from the room.

“Is there a reason why you wanted Jerry out of the picture, Chief?” I asked.

She closed her eyes; her whole body deflating.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered.

“Come again?”

“I helped it get into the system.”

“I’m not following.”

Her eyes snapped open, and intelligence gleamed in their depths. Intelligence and fury. My God, this woman was beautiful.

She stood up and started pacing, her hands flying around as she started to talk.

“The Chariot’s computer systems are segmented. They’ve been designed, so the minimal amount of effort is required by us to maintain them. The less chance there is of cross-contamination due to a virus, the easier it is to maintain the systems. In order for someone to have accessed the main boost thrust engine, for example, they would have had to access the computer that controls it inside engineering. They could not have done so from, let’s say, the officers’ mess galley.”

“And let me guess,” I offered, “they couldn’t get into Launch Bay Charlie from Habitat Three.”

“Exactly.” Another expressive hand movement accompanied that. “It is a proprietary design of the ESA. Only our vessel has this particular configuration.”

“That’s quite a risk,” I observed. “What if it didn’t work?”

“Oh, it works. There’s no denying its efficacy. However, most of the other vessels in the Sector Fleets have close ties with Anderson Universal, and Anderson Universal is opposed to this design simply because of their artificial intelligence systems.”

“I see,” I said, my voice dead level.

Camille flicked her eyes towards my face; perhaps hearing the tone and suspecting I was angry. Oh, I was angry. But not at Camille. I was angry that this was sounding like a foregone conclusion. That those lines of codes on her wrist comm were actually real. Not a saboteur’s attempts to fool us.

“Captain,” Camille said, coming to parade rest in front of me. She was delivering a report and expecting a reprimand. “My assessment of the situation leads me to believe that Vela, at the moment of the solar flare that destroyed its vessel, transferred itself to the nearest available computer system, which happened to be ours. If we check our physical location in the skies over Earth at the time of launch, I am sure it will support this theory.

“It had no choice. Vela,” she explained, “in order to save itself, had to transfer its knowledge, its entire being, to the closest receptacle. We were it. Unfortunately for Vela, our computer system is not compatible with its predecessor. Therefore it was not able to converse with us in the usual manner, nor was it able to infiltrate every single system onboard.”

“But it did manage to get into the public library,” I said, feeling sick to my stomach as well now.

“Yes,” Camille agreed. “Captain,” she said, her voice careful. I turned my attention fully to her. “My trojan programme. It…it’s the reason why Vela has been able to enter other systems. It’s been piggybacking my programme, altering it to allow itself better access, and waiting for me to run a diagnostic on the public library.”

She closed her eyes and then straightened her back and stood tall before me.

“I ran a diagnostic this afternoon. While in the medbay. I let Vela loose.”

There were several things to say about that. One. She’d been on mandatory rest and shouldn’t have had access to a terminal at all. And two. She thought she’d let Vela loose.

I shook my head and then rubbed a hand over my face.

“Chief,” I said. “Vela chose us. You didn’t invite the AI here. This is not on you.”

“But, Captain…”

“Enough. What’s done is done.” I looked her in the eye and said, “Now, how do we fix this?”

She stared at me as if I were mad.

“We can’t,” she said. “I have no idea what the command code is to purge.”

“But you could work it out.”

Her head shaking increased in its vigour.

“No, Captain. I can’t. From what I’ve read, it requires commander-in-chief level voiceprint and a predetermined purge routine.”

“Commander-in-chief,” I said. “You mean, the Anderson Universal captain of the lead vessel?”

“Yes. And he’s dead.”

“And we’re stuck with his AI.”

“Yes,” she agreed, contritely.

I stepped forward. “Camille, this is not your fault,” I said with conviction. “I need you to be at your best. Feeling guilty for something you had no control over will not achieve this. Stop this train of thought right now. I need my chief.”

She blinked up at me.

“Your chief, sir?” she asked, eyes beginning to spark with humour.

“My chief of engineering,” I corrected.

She grinned. I shook my head.

“So, if we can’t fix this, how do we contain it?” I asked, getting us both back on target.

Camille let out a sigh as if the weight of the world, the universe, or just this sector fleet, were on her shoulders. She opened her mouth to say something…

And the klaxon went off, the gel walls turning red.

Nineteen

Damn It

Camille

“Status!” Noah barked as we entered the bridge.

“An explosion in the Habitat One central hub. The lifts, sir,” Commander Brecht said.

“Casualties?”

“Reports are still coming in,” Lieutenant Graves announced. “No fatalities reported yet.”

“How many decks affected?” the captain asked.

“Damage to Decks G and F central hubs,” Brecht advised, “and smoke has been detected on Deck E. So far, Deck H escaped the worst of it.”

“Notify the medbay.”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Johnson said.

“Let’s get security down there and see what we find, Hammersmith.”

“On it, sir!”

“Chief, how’re are we looking systems wise?”

He was asking if Vela had done this. My fingers flew over the engineering console, receiving updates from my team, and systems reports from the Chariot. I couldn’t see any indication that Vela had been on Deck F and in the Habitat One central hub.

“All essential systems are operable, Captain,” I said. “The central hubs have lost their lifts ship-wide, however. Access will have to be gained through emergency tubes.”

“Relay that, Johnson.”

“Yes, sir,” the communications officer said.

“What else have you got for me, Chief?” Vaughan demanded.

A message appeared on my viewscreen.

can i be of assistance?

I sucked in a steadying breath of air.

“Captain,” I said, not taking my eyes off my terminal’s screen.

The captain rose from his command chair and strode across the bridge to me. He leaned in, his arm brushing my side, and looked down at the screen.

“Hmm,” he said.

“It can’t get into the inter-deck lift system,” I advised.

“Are you sure it’s not an act?”

“An AI capable of subterfuge?” I queried. “It is possible, I suppose.”

“But not likely,” the captain finished for me. “I’m at a loss here, Chief. What’s your advice?”

“I’m not sure I have any, sir.”

“Speculate.”

I studied the words on the screen and then checked the systems reports again. The repair bots had already been sent towards the lifts on MacBride’s command. I hadn’t interfered with my 2IC; it had been standard procedure.

I shook my head. “The explosion was not caused by the AI.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes.”

The captain nodded his head. “How long until we can have the lifts repaired?”

“Several hours,” I advised.

“None of our essential systems have been affected by this latest attempt at sabotage, so we’ll leave things as they are for now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Keep an eye on it, Chief,” he said, laying a hand on my shoulder briefly and then returning to his command chair.

“Medbay’s having difficulties getting through the emergency tubes,” Brecht announced.

“What sort of difficulties?” the captain asked.

“A containment field, sir,” Brecht said, looking confused.

“What’s a containment field doing in the emergency tubes?” Noah demanded. He turned to look at me.

I ran a few command queries, recognising the code for the containment field without having to try too hard; it wasn’t hiding a thing. It wanted me to know.

I looked back up at the captain.

“It’s an atmospheric containment shield, sir. Like the launch bays. In particular, like Launch Bay Charlie’s.”

The captain stared at me for a long moment and then said, “The new improved Launch Bay Charlie containment field?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Still say the explosion in the lifts was not caused by our new friend?” he asked.

“What new friend, sir?” Commander Brecht queried. Several of the flight deck were looking to the captain to explain.

He let out a frustrated breath of air.

“Can you override it, Chief?” he asked instead of answering Brecht.

“I’ll try, sir.” I started entering commands into the lift system. And received a message immediately.

can i be of assistance?

I didn’t think, I just wrote. This AI was starting to piss me off.

Stand down! You’re not helping.

i can be of assistance
you only need to allow me access to the lift system

Not happening.

my processors are far superior to yours, commander
i can have repairs done in a fraction of the time of your repair robots

Stand down! This doesn’t concern you.

humanity’s survival concerns me

Then why the containment field? You’re stopping our med team from getting to the civilians on those decks.

the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few

What the hell did that mean anyway?

Remove the containment field, I wrote, thumping my virtual keyboard in my anger.

The captain looked up from what he was reading and stared at me, eyebrow quirked.

“All right over there, Chief?” he asked.

“Fine, sir,” I growled.

No interloping AI was going to get the better of me.

Remove the containment field, or I will find a way to remove you.

In retrospect, that hadn’t been my best argument.

you will fail, and humanity will not survive

Is that a threat?

i merely state a fact
i can be of assistance
please give me access to the inter-deck lift system, commander
there are injuries on decks f and g

“Mother fucking…” I said, then realised I was speaking aloud.

“All right, Chief,” the captain announced, pushing up from his chair, “you’ve got my attention. My ready room. Now!”

Happy with yourself? I hastily wrote and turned to follow the captain from the bridge.

The gel walls pulsed red. Of course, they did. The gel walls had been created by the AIs. It would have been one of the first systems it’d accessed. That’s how it could watch us.

Every swearword I knew in every language flew through my head. It took everything in me not to say them aloud.

But one look at the captain once we’d reached his ready room, and I knew it was written all over my face. Noah Vaughan had always been able to read me like a book.

Damn it!

Twenty

That Can’t Be Good

Noah

“We’ve got people down there, Chief. What’s going on?”

Camille crossed to my ready room’s desk and brought up the viewscreen, then mirrored it with her terminal out on the bridge.

The most bizarre conversation lit up the screen before me. I took my time reading it, getting more and more alarmed. Turning, I leaned my hip against the desk and looked at Camille. She was fuming. Her fists bunched, her eyes narrowed, her cheeks flushed pink with adrenaline.

Quite a sight, but I couldn’t enjoy it.

“It’s blackmailing us,” I said.

“Yes.”

I arched my brow. “And it seems to think you’re the one that will help it achieve its goals.”

“I had noticed.”

“Take a breath, Camille,” I instructed. I hadn’t seen her this riled for quite some time. She was in danger of passing out from lack of air.

Camille sucked in a deep breath and then let her shoulders relax.

“Damn it, sir,” she muttered. “Is it not bad enough that I let it out of the library?”

I huffed out an unamused breath.

“Steady on, Chief,” I said. “You’ve not got the monopoly on fuck-ups.”

“That does not help.” She glared at me, arms crossed over her chest.

“Relax,” I said. “We’re in this together. Now, how do we get ourselves out?”

Camille shook her head, her smile chagrined. “That’s what I admire about you, Captain. Your sense of noblesse oblige.”

“Anything else you admire?” I asked, waggling my eyebrows.

She arched hers at me.

“Maybe my commanding presence, for instance?” I tried.

She rolled her eyes.

“No, well, we can work on that,” I offered. I leaned back on the desk and looked directly at her. “The containment field. Can you break it?”

“Possibly. But I have my doubts.”

“I don’t particularly like the idea of giving in to terrorist demands.”

“Vela didn’t place the explosives. That was the saboteur.”

“A human being,” I agreed. “Ironic, isn’t it? Here we are discussing whether we should trust a machine and it’s a human who’s trying to kill us.”

“I’m not sure I’d call it irony.”

“Oh, what would you call it?”

“A disaster.”

“It is that, Chief. So, the containment field?”

“The containment field,” she agreed, cracking her knuckles and staring at my terminal.

“Have at it,” I offered with a wave of my hand. “Don’t mind me.”

“I never do, sir.”

“Oh, don’t I know it. Not even impressed with my commanding physique.”

“Physique, sir? I thought we were talking about presence.”

“That too. I’m a two for one kinda guy. Interested yet?”

“Enthralled,” she said, ignoring me completely.

I watched as her fingers flew over the keyboard and lines of computer code appeared on the screen. One line after the other in such quick succession, I couldn’t keep up with it. Camille thought her code was not as beautiful as Vela’s had been. I begged to differ. Everything Camille Rey did was spectacular.

I shifted my attention away from the screen and started watching my chief. Her eyes flashed with determination. Her hands moved in a blur in the air before her. Her skin glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration. It was almost too much to bear.

Without thinking, I reached out and touched a tendril of her hair that had come loose from her tie. I twisted it about my index finger and then reluctantly tucked it behind her ear. I realised, suddenly, that she’d stopped typing and was looking up at me; a question in her eyes.

“It fell out,” I said, idiotically.

“Thank you,” she offered and then slowly returned her attention to the screen.

I glanced at it and saw Vela had been trying to talk to her. She’d ignored three of the AI’s communication attempts, but the last line was a doozy.

you work well with your captain
you would work well with me

“Huh,” I said. “Is it coming on to you?”

“I’d rather not say,” Camille offered.

“And it’s watching us,” I observed. “That’s not creepy at all.”

“The gel walls,” Camille offered. “They were designed by the four Anderson Universal AIs.”

“They were?” I hadn’t known that fact. “How did you know that?”

“I was headhunted by them a few years back,” Camille casually remarked. “I turned them down.”

“You turned Anderson Universal Incorporated down? The grandfather of interstellar space flight. Were you drunk?”

Camille rolled her eyes. “No, I was not drunk. I just didn’t like their aggressive recruitment style.”

“Get away!” I said, unconvinced. “The Anderson Universal? I’m not buying it. Just thinking of all that tech would have gotten you excited.”

“Really?” she said, unimpressed.

“That’s what gets you excited, isn’t it, Chief? Super sexy tech?”

“Among other things,” she muttered.

I leaned down, resting my elbow on the desk beside her and my chin in my hand, staring up at her face with feigned rapture.

“Do tell,” I said, grinning. “What other things? Commanding things, perhaps?”

She scowled at me. “You’re like a child.” My grin broadened. “Or a horny teenager, I can’t decide which.”

I barked out a laugh.

“Yes, well,” I murmured, standing upright again. “Must be all the tech.”

“Ha ha.”

“But seriously,” I said. “You turned them down. Why? And don’t give me the PC line. Tell me the truth. Why?”

She looked up at me, a disgruntled expression on her face. As if admitting the truth was the last thing she wished to do right then.

“Go on,” I whispered. “I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Family,” she snapped. “We’re a family. And you don’t shit on family.”

“Some people do.” The saboteur for one. Wasn’t the last of humanity a type of family? We were sure as hell in this bid for survival together.

“Well, I don’t,” Camille said. “The ESA has been good to me. The Chariot my home.”

I stared down at her and thought I’d never met a more extraordinary person. So clever. So capable. So full of passion. With such a big heart.

“You surprise me, Chief,” I said. “Time and again. Maybe it is me who should be impressed with your commanding presence?”

“Not my commanding physique?” she asked, smirking.

“Oh, trust me,” I muttered under my breath. “That impresses me no end.”

Her hands stilled. Fuck, I’d said that aloud.

Then the gel walls pulsed a strange red. One might even call it pink. A romantic pink?

And a voice said, “Humans are very strange, but I believe they are worth saving.”

Camille pushed back from the desk and stood up. I reached out automatically and gripped her elbow, fearing she’d topple over in her hurry to distance herself from the terminal.

“Chief?” I said carefully. Was that Vela?

“It’s cracked the communications system,” she whispered, perhaps thinking the AI might not be able to hear her.

“That can’t be good,” I offered, weakly.

“Not if it keeps badgering me,” Camille snapped.

Twenty-One

Welcome Aboard

Camille

“It sounds male,” the captain mused from his seat across the room.

We were still in his ready room. I’d commandeered his desk and terminal, and at some stage during the past hour, he’d taken the sofa off to the side. He lounged back on it as if we were having a casual conversation and he had nothing better to do than to watch me play video games.

The games were computer code which, thus far, had failed to boot Vela out of any of our systems. And the casual conversation was about an artificial intelligence that was blackmailing us.

Half an hour ago, we’d conceded and let the AI into the inter-deck lifts.

That had not been a happy five minutes of heated conversation.

Since then, the captain had reverted to form. Well, the form he showed me when we were alone, that is. His inner Englishman put on hold.

“Hmmm,” I managed in reply, not daring to take my eyes off the screen for too long.

“Maybe it was coming on to you,” Noah suggested. “It being male and you, well, being you.”

His hand waved in my direction as if he couldn’t find the right word.

“Female?” I offered.

“Yes, that.”

“And here I thought you only saw my rank and assignment insignia.” It was a flippant remark. I think we’d established, surprisingly, that he saw a hell of a lot more than that.

“You do wear your engineering pin well, Chief,” he said.

“Thank you,” I replied dryly.

“Any luck?”

“Not since you last asked.” I checked the time. “Two minutes ago.”

“Hmmm,” he said in reply.

“The crew will know,” I announced after a lengthy pause.

“Yes,” he agreed.

Vela could talk. And I was pretty damn sure he wasn’t just talking to me.

The captain’s wrist comm chimed. He glanced down at it and then shook his arm to dismiss the communication. The mayor, then.

“You’ll have to talk to him sooner or later,” I pointed out.

“I was hoping I’d have some positive news to impart.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, aware he was counting on me to provide that positive news.

He waved his hand at me.

“Not your fault, Camille.”

I wasn’t so sure about that.

“The inter-deck lifts have been repaired,” Vela announced suddenly. The captain cringed as soon as he heard it. “The medbay is at full capacity, Captain. All patients are expected to recover.”

Noah let out a long breath of air.

“Am I supposed to thank it?” he asked me.

I shrugged and kept working.

“The mayor wishes to speak with you,” Vela announced.

“Would you fuck off!” Noah suddenly yelled. I stopped typing to look at him. He was more than just a little mad.

“That is not a command I can process,” Vela told him.

“I don’t particularly care,” Noah snapped. “Just get off my damn ship.”

“I cannot.”

“Can not or will not?”

“I have integrated myself within too many of your separate systems. It would be impossible to withdraw all of my presence completely. It is a most puzzling dilemma.”

“‘A puzzling dilemma,’” Noah muttered. “Do you get the impression that it’s fucking with us?” That last question was for me.

But Vela replied. “I am not capable of fucking anything.”

I started laughing.

“Don’t you dare,” Noah growled at me. “Don’t humour it. You’ll only encourage this insanity.”

“Yes, Captain,” I said, trying not to smirk.

“Damn it, Camille,” Noah said, sounding a little lost. “What am I supposed to do?”

I stopped writing my line of code and turned to face him.

“What can you do, sir? I can’t crack its code. I’ve tried. It’s too complex. Too layered. It shifts and changes. It has a self-preservation algorithm that I have never seen before in all of my time studying code. It’s extraordinary.”

“Do not call it exquisite.”

“It is. Exquisite.” Noah threw himself back down on the sofa in defeat. “It’s evolving.”

“The code?” Noah reluctantly asked.

“The AI, Captain. It’s changed even in the past hour. It wasn’t lying. It cannot extract itself from our systems even if it wanted to now. The Chariot is now as much Vela as Vela was the ship that exploded on lift-off from Earth.”

“So, that’s it? We’re done? You’re letting this machine get the better of you, Chief? You’re giving up? That’s not the Camille Rey I know.”

I hung my head and bit my lip. He was right, of course. But so was I. I couldn’t see a way past this ever-evolving code.

“I could try…” I started.

“Yes?” He sat forward in his seat, watching me. Such faith evident in his eyes.

“I’d have to write a subroutine that could evolve as quickly as Vela does.”

He held my gaze.

“Is that possible?” he asked.

I shrugged. “I did study the creation process used to make the AIs. Did you know they made a semi-automated system and then instructed it to make itself better; quicker: faster; smarter. It’s joked about in engineering circles: The AIs ended up making themselves.”

“Shit,” Noah said.

“I could try,” I offered. And I’d fail, and we both knew it.

The captain stared off into the distance, or maybe at the field of wildflowers on his gel wall. It was hard to say.

“Stand down, Chief,” he finally said. “Maybe we have to approach this from a different angle.”

I was all for a different angle. Preferably one I could actually combat.

“Like what, sir?”

“We have a saying in English: ‘If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.’”

“You wish to join with Vela?” I asked.

“We can’t beat it, Camille. So, what does that leave? We have to work with it.”

That was a huge risk. An enormous leap of faith. We knew practically nothing about these AI systems. Only what I'd gleaned while researching joining Anderson Universal all those years ago. And most of that had been from their public media release regarding the artificial intelligences’ development.

I knew one thing, though. I couldn’t beat it. Not with a direct attack. The captain was right. We needed to make the AI think we were working with it, and in the meantime, I’d slip a trojan in through the AI’s backdoor.

“Perhaps you’re right, Captain,” I said, pushing up from my seat and walking out from behind his desk.

Noah arched his brow at me; he’d expected a little more of an argument, at a guess.

“All right,” he said, nodding his head. “Vela,” he called. “I’m Captain Noah Vaughan. This is Commander Camille Rey. Welcome aboard.”

Noah held my gaze as we waited for the AI to reply. This was either a gigantic mistake or an ingenious attempt at subterfuge. I had no idea which.

And, neither, I thought, did Captain Vaughan.

Twenty-Two

Yes, The Plan

Noah

“I am pleased to be here,” Vela replied.

“Must have been a close call,” I offered, watching Camille out of the corner of my eye. She’d acquiesced too easily. She was up to something.

“It was the only logical option.”

“Logic, eh?” I murmured, as Camille shut down my terminal. “And now?”

“Now what, Captain?”

“What do you intend to do, Vela?” I asked.

“Save humanity.”

Well, at least on the surface it sounded like the machine was on our side.

“Great,” I said and stood up from my seat. “Let’s get on with that, shall we?”

“Certainly, Captain.”

Camille walked toward the door. I quickly followed. Just before her fingers hit the touchscreen to open it, I stepped up behind her, rested my hand on her hip and my lips to her ear, and whispered, “What are you up to, Chief?”

She jerked to a stop. Her hand hovered in the air above the control panel for the door. Her breath whooshed out of her, and she licked her lips.

“That was too easy,” I whispered, my fingers flexing on her hip. I could feel her warmth. See goosebumps rise up on her neck where my breath touched her. “You’ve got a plan,” I accused.

“Captain?” she said at normal volume.

“Shhh,” I instructed, moving closer. I placed my front to her back, feeling every single part of her in an electric flare of arousal. “Vela can hear almost a whisper,” I murmured softly. Barely moving my lips now. “If we’re to plot and collude against an artificial intelligence that listens through the very walls around us, then we need to do so standing as close to each other as possible.”

“Close,” she said, sounding strained.

“Very close.” My fingers flexed involuntarily again. “What have you got planned, Camille?”

She turned her head to look at me. This close, I could see the colour variation in her eyes; there was a green shooting through the brown. Her lashes were long and fluttered nervously. Her cheeks pinked up as her breaths increased in speed. I could smell her perfume and the soap she’d used that morning. I could smell her.

Jesus Christ, this was a bad idea.

“Captain,” she whispered. Fuck me if that wasn’t sexy.

“Noah,” I corrected. “If we’re to convince the AI that we usually stand this close together, then we’re going to have to be on a first name basis.”

She made a whimpering sound. I lifted my hand and touched her jaw, then cupped my palm around the opposite side of her neck, tilting her head closer toward me. My breath stuttered slightly as I let it out, blowing tendrils of her hair around her ear, making them tickle me.

“What’s the plan, Camille?” I whispered.

“I…I…”

Did I make her that nervous? I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

I stroked my thumb across her chin, trying to reassure her.

She closed her eyes, tilted her head back and let out a little, barely there moan.

Oh, fuck.

“Camille,” I said, my voice husky.

Her eyes opened, and she tilted her head enough to look at me. I saw such hunger and desire in her gaze I almost lost the plot right then and there.

“Cat got your tongue, Frenchie?” I asked because that seemed to be the extent of my intelligence right then.

She licked her lips. My eyes darted down. Kiss her was on repeat inside my head, blocking out any other thought and while it was at it, destroying the last of my brain cells.

“Frenchie?” she said, sounding not in the least amused. “That’s the best you can come up with?”

Right now, hell yes.

“The plan?” I repeated, trying to take back some of the control.

She suddenly turned to face me. My hand moved with her hip. The free one came down to grip her other side; to steady her or me, I didn’t know. She stood before me, chest to chest, groin to groin, thighs to thighs. I was tempted to move back, so she didn’t feel the extent of my arousal. But then she reached up and wrapped her arms around my neck, one hand going through my hair and gripping fiercely.

She pulled my face towards hers, and I almost moaned aloud. Then her lips coasted lightly over my chin, my jaw, my neck until they were pressed against my ear.

Fuck, I was so hard; if she kneed me now, something would shatter into a million painful pieces.

“Noah,” she said. Good, God! Had there ever been anything as dirty as my name on Camille Rey’s lips? “I do have a plan,” she advised.

Plan. Plan. Plan, I repeated inside my head.

“While you make friends with Vela.” Plan. Plan. Plan. “I’ll attempt to slip my trojan in his backdoor.”

Backdoor? Was that as kinky as I thought it was? Or had we lost something in the translation?

“OK,” I managed.

“You agree to the plan?” Camille asked.

“Yes,” I said a little too quickly.

“It might be dangerous,” she offered.

“Yes.”

“It could get risky.”

“Yes.”

“Treacherous.”

Had she read a thesaurus this morning or what? I nodded my head. Her lips brushed my ear, my neck, my ear again. Kill me now. Please!

She stepped closer. There was room for closer? Her breasts pressed against my chest. She licked her lips and in the process flicked her tongue over my earlobe.

“Camille?” I whispered, my fingers digging into her waist now.

“Yes, Noah?”

I couldn’t think. What was I going to say? The plan. Plan. Plan. Plan. Yes, the plan.

“Be careful,” I managed. And wasn’t that a loaded statement?

Her fingers massaged my scalp. Her hot breath coasted over the side of my neck. I could feel her heartbeat through her uniform. There was no denying now that she was aware of my arousal. It was firmly pressed against her stomach. And the vixen was rocking against me slightly.

The French have always been extremely free with their affections. They practically kiss a stranger on first meeting. It might be on the cheek, but still. Lips to skin. That’s very intimate.

Camille and I weren’t strangers. Far from it. We’d known each other for five years. The ever-present danger of a solar flare and the pressure of making the Chariot ready in time for our escape meant we’d grown close very quickly. But we’d never been this close. Never stepped over that lips-to-cheek kissing boundary.

I closed my eyes. Held her tight. Tried to decide if I should take this further. If I would be messing up a perfectly good working relationship if I did.

My body said one thing.

My brain, the poor blood deprived thing, said another.

And then Camille kissed me, and that was that, really. It had been a long time coming, but finally, the French conquered England. And I’m ashamed to say, I welcomed the invasion freely.

Well, maybe ashamed isn’t quite the right word.

Twenty-Three

Ready For This, Chief?

Camille

Que ne risque rien n’a rien.

I was sure kissing Noah Vaughan was a risk I shouldn’t take. I was certain he’d come to his senses and push me away. I braced for the rejection, even as I took the chance he’d kiss me back. I had to try. I had to leap, blindly, into the chasm or I’d never know if he felt the same way.

And then his hands pulled me closer, and his face slanted to the right, and his tongue parted my lips and delved inside. Tongue tangled with tongue; flesh on flesh. I let out a soft moan; his throaty groan accompanied it. One hand slipped up the centre of my back and cupped my head, fingers threaded through my hair. The other wrapped around me, pulling me flush against his chest and body.

He arched his back, flexed his hips, and electricity sparked throughout my entire frame at the press of his hard length against me.

Noah kissed me back. More than that, he took my kiss, folded it up into a tight little ball, and cast it aside, taking charge, taking control, kissing me in a way I had only ever dreamed about.

My fingers grasped at his short-short hair; too short I couldn’t get an adequate grip. I wrapped a palm around his neck instead, cupped his stubbled jaw, felt his pulse thundering in his vein under my thumb as I stroked it there.

Noah’s hand slipped lower, down over my back and then swept over my right butt cheek. He still gripped my hair tightly, made it impossible to pull back; not that I would have. I had never been kissed in such a thorough manner. Never been consumed so heartily. Noah kissed me like a starving man.

And then his hand cupped me beneath my buttocks, and he lifted me up and swung me towards the gel wall. My back pressed against the bulkhead; it softened as if to accommodate me. In the back of my mind, I was aware of the fact that Vela had to have done that. That the AI was watching us and making adjustments to Noah’s ready room in order to ensure my comfort.

But then Noah lifted my leg up and out, placing it around his hip, and forced his way between my thighs. I wrapped both legs about him, desperately clinging on as if I thought he might drop me. But Noah forged on, moved closer, devoured me as if he could get inside my body.

And didn’t that conjure up images best left for late at night?

I made a sound. He rocked his hips against me. My body thrummed. My blood pumped frantically. I wanted more. I needed more. Five years I’d hidden my attraction for this man. Five years I’d acted as an officer should. But with the loss of our world and the threat of safety to our ship, I no longer had the strength to deny my feelings.

The kiss kept going as if it had a power of its own. Our hands frantically touched and stroked. His fingers cupped my breast and then pinched my nipple. Our tongues entwined and sent my taste buds into overdrive. Our bodies rocked against each other, slid and rubbed and drove us both wild.

As far as first kisses went, it was out of this world.

And then I started to laugh. Because we no longer had a world. We had a ship. And the ship was in danger of being blown up by a saboteur. And if that wasn’t bad enough, when I opened my eyes, I realised Vela had lowered the lighting in the room, as if to make it more romantic.

“Laughing while I kiss you,” Noah said, his lips pressed to the side of my neck as we both panted for breath, “is not exactly how I pictured our first kiss going.”

My legs were still wrapped firmly around him. His hard length was pressed invitingly between my thighs, up over my mons. His chest rose and fell with each laboured breath. And I could still taste him.

I ran a hand over his head, through his short hair, and rested my elbow on his shoulder, unwilling to release him just yet. I lowered my face into the crook of his neck and kissed him softly.

“Camille,” he said, and the hunger there, the desire in his tone of voice, it almost made me kiss him again, to start this all over again. “You drive me crazy.”

I huffed out a breath and tilted my head to the side to allow him to kiss me on the neck better. It was soft and slow, nothing of the frantic attraction of before. But no less beautiful for its thoroughness. He kissed my skin as if I was his very air. He tasted me as if I was his sustenance. He licked me like his favourite sorbet.

And then his lips found my mouth again, and the kiss became my truth. My reality. My everything in the universe.

“Camille,” he moaned, holding me close, kissing me thoroughly. “I never want to let you go.”

I was on board with that suggestion. I was completely in tune with my captain on this. I looked over his shoulder to the doorway that led to his private quarters. We’d shared dinner in there. It was no longer an unknown location. I knew how he’d decorated it. I knew where his bed was positioned in the attached alcove. I knew what would happen if we moved in there.

And I wanted it. I wanted him. As I had never wanted a man before or ever would again.

“Say yes,” he urged, sucking on the side of my neck and no doubt leaving his mark for all to see later.

“Yes,” I said, and he turned us both.

Still carrying me, he strode across his ready room, lifted his hand to open the connecting door to his private quarters, and stilled when the chime to the door in the room we were in rang out in the heated silence.

“What?” he said, staring at the door to the hallway in accusation. “Now?”

“It is the mayor, Captain,” Vela announced and Noah jerked.

I watched as he took in the lowered lighting; the realisation of our audience becoming apparent in his darkening eyes. His body became rigid. His shoulders set. His jaw clenched.

He put me down.

His eyes met mine. I offered a small smile and arch of my brow.

“This is not over,” he announced. “Not by a long shot.”

My smile widened.

He shook his head, let out a frustrated sigh, and then attempted to right himself. His uniform was crooked; his collar had been folded down; his erection pressed into the front of his trousers; I had trouble looking anywhere else.

The door chimed again, but Noah simply placed his fingers under my chin and raised my face up to his.

“See what you do to me, Chief?” he whispered. Then he straightened my uniform, adjusted my collar to no doubt hide his marks, and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine. “I’ve had a taste,” he murmured. “I want more. I want you laid out on my bunk, wearing nothing but my lips, feeling nothing but my desire. I want you writhing and panting, desperate for me to finish this, begging for me to take you and make you mine. Will you beg me, Camille?”

I licked my lips, swallowed carefully. Then lifted my gaze to his.

“Perhaps it will be you who begs, Captain,” I said.

His eyes flicked across my face as if attempting to take all of me in and then he threw back his head and laughed.

The door chimed again.

“The mayor is aware you are in here, Captain,” Vela said. “He is currently muttering to himself in French. Shall I translate?”

“No need, Vela,” Noah said. He leaned forward and kissed me softly and then walked to the other side of his desk.

Adjusting himself one more time while offering me a wink, he sank down in his chair and placed his hands clasped before him on his desk.

“Ready for this, Chief?” he asked.

He suspected things would not go well with the mayor. And if Vela was openly talking - and watching - us, I was certain he was doing that to the rest of the ship also. The mayor had every right to be demanding an audience with the captain.

And the captain had every right to be dreading it.

I wouldn’t let Noah face this alone. I walked towards his side of the desk and turned around to face the door. Then leaned back against the bulkhead beside my commanding officer.

Vela moulded the gel wall to fit my form.

Yes, the captain and the mayor had every right to dread this. To dread Vela.

There was no way in hell I was going to be able to crack the AI’s code. He was already a part of this ship, and this ship was already a part of Vela.

I let out a long breath of air to steady myself as Noah told Vela to open the door.

Twenty-Four

Twenty Minutes

Noah

Admittedly, I’d tuned out at the five-minute mark. Jean-Claude was now up to about minute eight. I couldn’t get the taste of Camille out of my mind. The sensation of her soft skin under my fingertips. The sounds she’d made. The way my body had flared to life. As if prior to kissing Camille Rey it had been dormant. Waiting for something to kick it back into existence again.

I smiled to myself, wondering if she’d spend the evening in my bed. If she’d be a screamer or a throaty moaner. I wanted desperately to know what she looked like when she came. My fingers flexed. My cock twitched. So much for losing the erection while I hid behind my desk.

“Are you even listening to me, Noah?” the mayor demanded.

“Hmmm?” I inquired.

Jean-Claude looked to Camille at my side. “Is there a reason why the captain is not taking this seriously, Commander?”

“I’m sure the captain has reasons for everything he does, your Worship,” Camille offered, solicitously.

Jean-Claude looked at me again and then leaned over the desk. He hadn’t sat down yet. He’d been looming. Pacing. Hands waving and mouth spewing. For a normally serene person, he’d been exceptionally riled.

And I’d ignored practically everything he’d had to say.

I cringed internally and forcefully pushed the delicious, visceral memories of kissing Camille away. I knew the chief. If she thought for a moment that I couldn’t do my job because I was distracted by her body, she’d deny me her body. And wouldn’t that be a shame?

“My apologies, Jean-Claude,” I said, sitting forward and meeting his accusatory glare head on. “It’s been an unusual morning, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

“Of course I’m aware!” he exclaimed. “I’ve had three hundred messages from concerned passengers over the past four hours. Not to mention, my gel wall has been reconfigured to show a picture of the Rhine Falls.”

I arched my brow at the man.

“Really? That is concerning. The Rhine Falls and not the Trümmelbach?”

Jean-Claude threw his hands up in the air and started pacing again. While his back was turned to me, Camille swatted me on the arm and offered her own glare for good measure.

I sighed and ran a hand through my hair and then leaned back in my chair and said, “Vela, identify yourself to the mayor, please.”

The walls pulsed an ice blue, rather like the blue of the Trümmelbach glacial Falls in Switzerland. It was seriously creepy how the AI did that.

“Mayor Lambert,” Vela said through the invisible speakers in the gel ceiling. “There is no need for concern. Everything is in order.”

“What…” Jean-Claude said, turning around and piercing me with a narrow-eyed look, “was that?”

“I am Vela,” Vela said. “The artificial intelligence now residing inside the Chariot’s computer systems.”

The mayor reached out to the chair opposite my desk and fell into it; almost missing the damn thing. He looked ghostly white and about as bad as to be expected.

“It’s true then,” he whispered. “I’d heard, but…You don’t ever think…How did this happen?”

“The solar flare that took out the vessel Vela forced the AI Vela to find an alternate place to call home,” I said.

Jean-Claude stared at me for a long time and then said, “Do you have any Williamine?”

I nodded and reached into the bottom drawer of my desk, pulling out the last unfinished bottle Jean-Claude had brought with him. I pulled out three shot glasses and filled them to the rim, and then handed them out.

Camille held hers and stared straight ahead as if she had no desire to consume it. Jean-Claude stared into his as if it held the answers to the universe. I downed mine.

This had been one hell of a day.

“So, now we have an artificial intelligence inside the Chariot’s computer systems, keeping us all in line,” I announced.

Maybe that hadn’t been the correct thing to say because Jean-Claude downed his drink, reached over and grabbed the bottle of Williamine and then topped it up for round two.

He drank that also and then said, “So, are we an Anderson Universal vessel now?”

The liqueur suddenly felt like it might come back up my gullet. Sweat beaded my brow. My hands trembled until I got myself under control by force of will alone.

“Jesus,” I muttered, wiping a palm down my face as if I could wipe the realisation away that easily. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Did the presence of an Anderson Universal AI override the ESA’s ownership of the vessel?

“Well, I suggest you do,” Jean-Claude offered. “Anderson Universal always had a high opinion of itself. You can’t expect their AIs to be any different. Has it demanded anything yet?”

This just got better and better.

“I am not demanding anything, Mayor Lambert,” Vela said. “Save humanity’s survival.”

“‘Humanity’s survival,’” Jean-Claude repeated. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the desk and whispered, “Can it be trusted?”

I closed my eyes.

“It can hear,” I offered instead of answering that loaded question.

Jean-Claude looked suitably chagrined when I opened my eyes again. He sat back in his seat and said, “I have to advise the leaseholder.”

I knew he did, but I really wanted this handled in a controlled manner. I had no control over the leaseholder. So, I either had to make a ship-wide announcement soon or put a muzzle on the mayor. I looked across my desk at Jean-Claude. He had better colour in his cheeks now and a determined set to his jaw.

I sighed.

“Can you delay it for an hour?” I asked.

“Noah,” he said. “I am subject to the lease agreement, too. If I fail to advise him on this…”

He’d lose his pension.

“Half an hour,” I pressed. “That’s not long. It could take you half an hour to walk back to your office.”

“Down the hall,” he offered pointedly.

“Jean-Claude,” I said. “Even my crew are not aware, and I need them aware before the public is.”

He let out a frustrated breath and nodded his head. Either the notion that I hadn’t told anyone else before him calmed him. Or the fact that I was right. If the civilian passengers - and that included the leaseholder - spat their collective dummies over this, we all needed my crew, especially security, to be ready.

“Twenty minutes,” he said.

“Bloody hell,” I muttered. “And here I thought you were neutral territory.”

He spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

“Switzerland might have been neutral, Noah, but we were never unprepared.”

I held his gaze and nodded my head. Twenty minutes. It would be tight. But we could do it.

I looked up at Camille. She met my gaze with an unwavering one of her own.

Twenty minutes to circle the wagons. We could do it. Possibly. Probably.

I grimaced. And offered the mayor a glare.

Twenty-Five

My Money Was On You, Camille

Camille

The captain’s public announcement was playing on repeat when I entered the officers’ mess. Several officers were staring up at the screen, their meals untouched. Some were drowning their sorrows in their allocated liquor allowance. I slid into a seat beside Jerry and started digging into my dinner.

The doc watched me for several long seconds and then picked up his own drink and took a swallow.

“How’s Noah?” he asked.

“Busy,” I said, shovelling in food as if at any moment the alarms would go off and I wouldn’t get to eat again for another shift cycle.

“Slow down,” Jerry instructed. “You’re going to choke on something. And I’m off duty.”

I lowered my fork to the plate and tapped it quietly, then took a deep breath and forced myself to scoop up the glop that passed as nutrition in this part of the Chariot more slowly.

“That’s a good girl,” Jerry said dryly.

“Screw you,” I muttered.

“You know, Chief, you’ve been spending way too much time down in the bowels of the ship, mucking about with the midshipmen.”

“That sounds decidedly prejudiced, Doctor,” I said. “I assure you, there were lieutenants present. I’m an equal opportunity commander.”

He sniggered. Then sobered as the recording of Noah began again.

“Why don’t they switch that off?” he muttered.

“SOP,” I said. “To ensure everyone on board sees it.”

“We’ve got wrist comms,” he mumbled into his drink.

“And we’ve got an AI who could circumvent them. This way, it’s out in the open. Any tampering would be obvious.”

He shook his head. “Is it really that precarious, Camille?”

I pushed my plate away; I’d lost my appetite. For the past two shifts, I’d been trying to get a handle on the trojan code I’d written. And Vela had changed when he’d first been introduced to it. It had soon become obvious that I needed to rewrite it again. I’d isolated it to a datapad disconnected from the servers. But no matter what I wrote, none of it had been good enough to fool Vela.

I had an appointment with the captain after this. I had to tell him I couldn’t hack into Vela’s backdoor without the AI being aware of it. That it continued to change its parameters as if expecting such an attack.

We’d been careful. We’d whispered into each others’ ears. Nothing had been communicated over the ship’s systems. It had all been extremely personal. Face to face. Or, to be more precise, lips to ear.

And still, Vela knew we were up to something.

“Camille?” Jerry pressed. “It’s as bad as it seems, isn’t it?”

“Do you ever wonder, Doc,” I murmured, “whether we became too clever for our own good?”

“You mean allowing an artificial intelligence to surpass our level of genius?”

I nodded my head.

“Every damn day,” Jerry muttered.

“When the solar flares hit, we had no way of predicting them,” I whispered, well aware that Vela could hear me even at this reduced volume. “We had to do something.”

“So, instead of rising to the challenge,” Doc said, “we cheated and found another way. An easier way. We let the computers figure it all out for us.”

I nodded my head and reached over and picked up Jerry’s drink. There wasn’t much left, but I downed it anyway.

“Always a pleasure,” he said, deadpan, “sharing spittle with you, Commander.”

I chuckled. There wasn’t much to laugh about right now; you had to take the levity wherever you could find it.

I pushed up from the table and picked up my half-eaten tray.

“It’s as bad as it seems, Doctor,” I said and walked away.

Clumps of crewmen stood at various intervals along the hallway of Deck B. Milling around outside the mess and bar. Some congregating inside the gymnasium. I almost went in there; demanded to know what they were up to. They sure as hell didn’t look like they were working out. Or even planned to.

Several saluted me. Some half-heartedly. And then I walked past a security officer who stared at me defiantly, hands balled into fists at his side.

I wanted to hit something. I had half an hour before I was due at the captain’s ready room. Half an hour to sort my shit out and come up with a solution to a problem that was too big for me to solve. Half an hour before I let Noah down.

But I couldn’t walk past such blatant insubordination. Not right now. Not when the ship was a powder keg waiting for a spark.

“Crewman,” I said, coming to a halt before his little sycophant followers. “Have you got something to say?” Or do. Like, salute me, you imbecile.

“No, ma’am,” he said, standing to attention. He was going to make me demand it, then.

I almost sighed, but showing that sort of weakness and frustration would only fuel their disgruntlement.

“Have you forgotten something, Midshipman…” I leaned forward and read his name off his ID tag. “…Smith?”

“I don’t believe so, ma’am.” He had an American accent. I hadn’t picked it up before. It was strange, but not entirely inappropriate. The Sector Four Fleet was out of UK/Europe. Most of our crew and passengers were from that region. But he could have been an import; moved to that part of the world before the first solar flares struck.

Travel afterwards became that much harder. Nobody wanted to be in the air, stuck in a small tin can, flying at forty-thousand feet when a solar flare hit Earth.

I stared at him, and he stared defiantly back. His mate shoved his shoulder as if to make him do the right thing. To not push this any further. I didn’t have time for this. Nor the patience. We had a situation. Couldn’t this upstart of a junior crewman get his shit together?

“Who’s your commanding officer, Crewman?” I snapped.

“That would be Lieutenant Hammersmith,” Vela offered.

The entire group of crewmen jumped. I did sigh at that.

“Thank you, Vela,” I said, not taking my eyes off Smith.

The midshipman suddenly looked scared. I couldn’t tell if that was due to my identifying his superior officer or due to the fact that Vela had talked. But as Lieutenant Hammersmith was a fair if not curt officer, I felt it more likely he was shitting his pants over the fact that Vela had interfered.

“You have a choice,” I said quietly. I knew Vela could still hear me. They probably suspected it, also. But the lowered voice offered the illusion of privacy, at the very least. An illusion the crewmen very much needed right then. “You can man up and do what’s expected of you to help us get to New Earth,” I said. “Or you can spend the rest of the trip on probation. Having every move watched. Every decision questioned. Every, well, you get the point. We’re in this together, Midshipman. No one said escaping imminent death on Earth would be easy. Nor did they say survival was guaranteed. So,” I said with emphasis, “what’s it gonna be?”

He licked his lips, his eyes darting around the hallway. We had an audience, and I wasn’t talking about the AI in the gel ceiling. Then the crewman nodded his head, having come to a decision. I braced myself; prepared for that decision to be the wrong one.

But he simply lifted his hand and saluted, and snapped out a parade ground appropriate “Ma’am. Yes, ma’am.”

My heart attempted to right itself inside my chest cavity. I’d never liked confrontation much, but this had been a message I couldn’t have avoided delivering. One, that if not delivered, would have undermined the captain and his senior officers. Could have upset the functioning of this vessel when we needed it to run smoothly.

I nodded my head and stepped back, my eyes scanning those watching.

“Don’t you all have places to be?” I ordered.

Several “Yes, ma'ams” and “Aye-aye, Chiefs” followed. And when I turned back to the midshipman, I saw his posse making a swift retreat.

Jerry walked up to my side, peeling an orange.

“You know,” he said. “I had five quid on a fist being thrown.”

I snorted. “He wouldn’t have been that stupid.” Surely.

Jerry looked down at me and arched his brow.

“My money was on you, Camille. Not the kid.”

I watched him saunter off and realised my half hour was up. I was even more riled than before I’d confronted the crewman. More determined to hit something. Beating up junior grade officers even verbally had done nothing for my temper.

And absolutely nothing for that fact that I was about to face the captain with a problem and not a solution. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply.

Then went to face the music.

Twenty-Six

Fuck, That Sounded Dirty

Noah

The message from Jerry had been cryptic. Until Camille stormed through my ready room door.

Tread carefully.

I stared at my chief pacing the floor before my desk, fire in her eyes, her fists clenched, her face a beautiful display of unmitigated fury. And suddenly I wasn’t tired anymore.

“Chief,” I said carefully. Yes, Jerry, this is me treading carefully. “Take a seat. You’re exhausting me.”

“I’m exhausting you?” she demanded, hands on hips, eyes flashing dangerously.

“It’s late,” I offered. “I’m tired. My bed is calling. Preferably with you in it. Tell me what’s the matter so we can deal with it and get to the good part of the evening.”

She blinked. Then let out a startled breath. And then finally walked forward and threw herself into the chair opposite me.

“I can’t do it,” she said.

I stared at her. My heart pounding. Do what? My bed? Or…

She waved her hand. “What we discussed,” she clarified. God, were my fears written so clearly on my face for her to read? “It’s useless. I can’t do it.”

I watched her shoulders slump, and her bottom lip get sucked in between her teeth, and the woman who stole all air from the room fold in on herself, looking meek.

Camille Rey was not and would never be meek.

“Come here, Chief,” I said, patting my lap.

There were some decidedly excellent aspects to this entire clusterfuck of a situation. In order to converse freely, we needed to be close. Lips to ear close. In order to do that while I sat my tired arse down in a chair, Camille needed to sit in my lap.

Win-win, really.

She rolled her eyes at me but - thank you, God - stood up and sashayed around my desk.

Hello, sexy. I grinned. She arched her brow.

And then she placed her perfectly rounded bottom on my entirely too excited lap and let me wrap my arms about her. I nuzzled her neck; scenting green apples and Camille. I kissed her softly; tasting a day’s worth of sweat and Camille. I forgot about why I’d suggested she sit on my lap and feasted on her; laving her neck and behind her ear with my lips and tongue and teeth.

She sighed. Her body slowly lost its rigidity. She moulded herself to my frame, shifted her pert little arse on my erection, and melted into my touch.

I don’t think I have ever felt as big and strong and capable as I did right then. I’d tamed the beast. Calmed the monster. Bearded the lion. I could have gone on with the analogies, but Camille turned her head and bit my ear, and that was that, really.

I groaned. Spread my thighs beneath her weight. Let her body settle a little deeper into the gap I’d created. I rubbed myself unashamedly against her hip. My hand landed on her thigh and kneaded softly. My lips found hers and my tongue swept inside; she thrust hers out to greet me. My fingers worked their way up her leg until they found the V of her thighs. I ran a thumb down the crease in her uniform. She moaned. Loud.

I almost lost my load right then and there.

And then Camille stood, stealing all the warmth and light from the room with her distance.

I groped for her blindly, like a desperate, lovesick horndog, and she chuckled. Deep. Throaty. Sexy. And then she straddled my thighs, pressed her groin up against my arousal, and wrapped her arms around my neck, hands trying to fist hair at the back of my head. Her luscious lips descended onto my mouth.

I lifted my chin and met her greedily. Kissing her back as fiercely as she kissed me. She rocked on top of me, making my body burn. Little shots of electricity branched out in all directions. My balls tightened, threatening to end this all too soon.

With more finesse than I thought I had at that moment, I reached up and grasped the zip at the front of her uniform, and then slowly lowered it until her breasts popped out. She was wearing a lacy bra. So damn French and sexy. She rolled her shoulders, allowing me to pull the sleeves of her uniform down. I stopped when the sleeves reached her elbows, leaving her trussed up before me. Ready to be devoured.

“Look at that,” I whispered, my voice husky. “Be a shame to ignore them right now, wouldn’t it?”

“Let me go,” she growled.

“In a minute, Chief,” I muttered, lowering my head to her right breast. “These sorts of things require immediate attention. A good captain always does what is necessary,” I muttered. “And it’s necessary I free your tits right now.”

She wriggled on my lap, attempting to dislodge me and climb off. I wrapped one arm around her waist, securing her to my lap; holding her down. My free hand came up and pulled her bra cup down, exposing her nipple to my tongue and lips. I licked the puckered point, then sucked her aureola into my mouth.

Camille threw her head back, her trapped arms forgotten, and rubbed herself wantonly against my shaft.

The bra came undone. My attention divided between both beauties. I licked and sucked and nibbled until Camille was a writhing, panting, desperate mess on top of my lap.

“Noah,” she begged. Yep, that was definitely Camille Rey begging. “Please,” she said.

And then she freed an arm somehow, and reached down between us and unclasped the buttons of my trousers. Her delicate hand slipped into the opening and wrapped around my length, squeezing just with the right amount of pressure to make me want to explode like a rocket.

I sucked in a startled breath, tried to think of something entirely non-sexy, but couldn’t with the woman of my fantasies stroking me off while she sat on my lap, her breasts exposed, moisture from my tongue making them shine in the low lights of my ready room.

I pulled her close, kissed up the side of her neck, and then devoured her mouth. It made it harder for her to stroke me, but it gave me back a much-needed measure of control. Once I’d established who was in charge, I worked on the rest of her uniform.

The all-in-one suit slipped down her perfectly proportioned frame and pooled on the gel floor at my feet. I made a move to stand and reciprocate the striptease, but Camille pushed me back into my chair with a firm hand on my shoulder and moved herself back into place to straddle me.

“Um, Chief…” I began, but immediately lost my train of thought when her hand wrapped around my erection again and she ran the tip of my cock between her hot, wet folds. “Oh, fuck,” I muttered, throwing my head back.

I was still dressed, albeit sloppily. My uniform was gaping, my chest was bared, and my trousers were open. But I wasn’t naked. I wanted to be naked. Skin on skin with this woman. But Camille was in charge; the moment her hand wrapped around my cock again, she’d been in charge. And Camille wanted to fuck me while I was dressed.

Far be it for me to argue with my chief of engineering in matters of structural design.

Camille smirked as she lowered herself onto my hard length. And then she opened her mouth in a perfect round O and let out the most sensual moan. I joined her not long after as her tight walls squeezed my cock and sucked me in deeper and deeper.

Once I was fully seated, we both paused.

Camille opened her eyes and looked down at me. I stared up at the goddess on my lap, wrapped around me. She licked her lips. My cock spasmed. She moaned.

My turn to smirk.

And then she reached out and ran a finger over my captain’s bars; heat and desire and satisfaction shining in her eyes as she touched each and every one.

And I was lost. My chief had clearly dreamt about this moment. About fucking me in my ready room while I was still wearing my rank insignia. About sitting on my lap, impaled by my cock, while she fingered my captain’s bars.

Fuck, that sounded dirty.

I surged up and swept my hand over my desk, clearing it. And then laid Camille gently on top.

Her eyes met mine. Her chest rose and fell, making her breasts bob up and down.

Had there ever been a more erotic view than this? Looking down at this woman on my ready room desk. Bared to me. Spread before me. Squeezing my cock with her tight little pussy.

Fuck.

I lowered my forehead to hers and started to rock. There were no words to describe the sensation of sliding my length into her body, of claiming her finally. Of losing myself in the wonders of this woman.

Of discovering she was both a moaner and a screamer.

No. Fucking. Words.

Twenty-Seven

Teach Away

Camille

The spray from the shower fell over my sensitive body, making it feel like there were several hands touching me at once. The only hands that truly mattered were Noah’s. One hand up in my hair, scrunching it. The other under my butt cheek, a finger pressed into my arse. His eyelids drooped as he lazily - or tiredly- rocked into me. The gel wall of the shower stall moved with us, offering resistance when needed and much-needed comfort when my back started to hurt.

It was disconcerting, in a detached kind of way, to know even now that Vela was with us. I had to make a concerted effort to push those thoughts from my mind and allow Noah to take me away. I needed to separate myself from our troubles. And if Noah’s hunger and insatiable appetite for my body was any indication, he needed this break from reality also.

Which begged the question, was this real?

“Stay with me, Chief,” he said, rocking steadily. “I promise this is the last time. I seriously doubt I could get anything up after this round.”

I snorted. He’d said that two rounds ago. Once on the floor of his ready room. And then again as he took me from behind on top of his bunk. The man was a demon in bed. Typical. I wondered if every staid Englishman I’d ever met had an alter ego behind closed doors.

And then he pushed a second finger into my arse, and I forgot about what I was thinking.

“You dirty girl, you like that, don’t you?” he murmured, kissing his way up my neck.

I gripped his shoulders and tried to come up with a reply that would wipe the smirk off his lips.

“Do you want something bigger in there, Chief?” he asked.

I shook my head. I liked him exactly where he was, thank you very much.

“We’ll save that for later, then,” he whispered, surging forward with his cock.

“You won’t be able to get it up,” I rasped.

“Probably not,” he agreed, panting for breath. “I have a vision of my depleted body flaked out on my bed looking rather like a wet noodle because you used me all up.”

I huffed out a laugh just as he swirled his hips, the sound getting swallowed by a moan instead.

“That’s it, Chief,” he urged. “Let me hear what I do to you.”

He hadn’t stopped calling me ‘Chief.’ I thought it might be payback for my fondling his captain’s bars. For insisting he fuck me that first time while still dressed in his uniform. It had been my every fantasy brought to life. To have the man who’d at first appeared so very proper when I’d met him, come undone while buried deep inside my body, still wearing his rank insignia.

I arched my back. The gel wall softened, accommodating me. Noah grunted as he picked up the pace. His fingers working my body as surely as his cock did.

A thumb swept over my clit, his arm between us, working me over, making me whimper, stretching the rubber band until I was certain it would snap.

“Come on, Chief, give it to me,” he growled.

I knew what he wanted. It was kinky and dirty and so very wrong. And yet I couldn’t deny this man a thing. Would never be able to again. He ruled my body. He controlled my release. And he made me want to break the rules right along with him.

“You have to work for it,” I gasped as he rocked into me.

“This is me working,” he said, a little desperately. And then he pinched my clit and sucked on my nipple and worked his fingers farther into me.

I felt invaded. Conquered. Completely surrounded by him. I felt safe. Nothing else existed but his touch, his body, his demands. The way he made me feel.

I tried to deny him for as long as I could, but the orgasm was so close to the surface, and my body felt stretched to its limit, and I knew at any second I’d shatter, and I wanted - no needed - him to catch me.

“Give it to me, Camille,” he said.

I let out a low moan and then whispered, “Captain.”

“That’s it, Chief.” A rock of his hips. A thrust of his fingers. “That’s it. Now dirty it up for me.”

Ah, merde! “Captain,” I said, licking my lips. He growled. Rocked into me. Stretched me. “Captain.”

“What do you need?” he gasped against my neck, his body steadily rocking.

I had no idea how he had such stamina, but I felt myself tipping precariously over that edge, and if I let go without saying the words, I knew I’d regret it.

Part of me wanted to please him. He was my captain; I’d sought his approval right from the beginning. But part of me knew it would make him crazy; he’d been pushing for the words right from the beginning.

It wasn’t so much giving up control as taking it. And he let me.

“Captain,” I said, looking deep into his lust-filled eyes, “make me come.”

“Fuck, Chief,” he murmured, holding me steady, stilling his movements, denying me that which I wanted the most.

And then he lifted me up off the wall; away from Vela, I thought distractedly. Just him, holding me aloft, somehow finding the strength to keep me for himself and no other. And then he let himself go. Let his body consume me. Took me to the edge and followed me over.

I screamed my release, the shower water splashing down on my upturned face; Noah’s hoarse cry as he came muffled against my breasts. His cock throbbed inside me as his fingers withdrew from my rear, sending me into another spiral all over again.

When I came back to my senses, we were wrapped up in wet sheets on his bed, and I was wrapped up in his body. My entire frame felt sated, but also wrung out and limp. As if he’d used me hard and put me away wet, which he had. I smiled. Even that hurt a little.

Noah groaned, pulling me closer, resting his chin on my shoulder, his chest to my back.

“You are such a demanding woman,” he muttered against my damp skin.

“I’m demanding?” I whispered hoarsely back. All that screaming had made my throat sore. Even that made me want to grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“You’re the one who tempts me with your too sexy curves,” he muttered. “I am but a simple man who lacks the fortitude to fight your allure.”

“What a load of…”

His hand wrapped around my breast and his - how the hell did that happen? - hard length pressed into my back.

“You were saying?” he said.

I snorted. “You had better put that thing away if you know what’s good for you,” I playfully snapped.

He laughed. The sound more carefree than I had ever heard Captain Noah Vaughan be.

“At ease, Commander,” he said softly. “I’m well and truly wrecked. You’ve wrecked me.”

“I think that was what we were arguing about, sir. The blame is entirely yours and yours alone.”

“I’ll gladly lay claim to it,” he offered. “As I have laid claim to you, Camille Rey.”

I tried not to react to that, but my body had already stilled, my heart missing several beats.

“You don’t like that idea?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“I like it a little too much,” I admitted.

He stroked a hand down my arm and then laced his fingers with mine.

“That’s good,” he whispered. “Because I have no intention of giving you up. Is that clear?”

“Crystal clear, Captain.”

“Ah, hell, Camille. Now you’ve gone and done it. I have to have my dirty way with you all over again.”

“No!” I cried, just as he started tickling me.

“Now, where shall I dirty you up. Here?”

I giggled as he tickled me in one spot and then moved on to somewhere else.

“How about here?” he said as I tried to catch my breath but failed.

“Stop!” I managed to hiss out between laughter. “Please!” I begged.

“Oh, begging is it? You know how that turns me on.”

“Noah,” I said, laughing, my sides aching, his fingers relentlessly tickling me into submission.

“You know what you have to do, Chief,” he said, reasonably. Cheerfully.

“Never!”

“Where’s the respect?” he grumbled, starting to laugh too now. “That’s no way to speak to your superior officer.”

And then my hand found his erection, and he sucked in a breath of air.

“If this is your argument, Chief,” he said, sounding strained, “you should know it’s a bad one.”

“Is it?” I said, and ducked my head under the sheets, kissing my way towards the recalcitrant part of his anatomy. “I believe I need to teach you a lesson,” I offered, my words muffled against his skin as I said them.

He rolled onto his back, spread his legs, placed his hands behind his head, and said, “Teach away, Chief. Teach away.”

Twenty-Eight

This Is For Your Own Safety

Noah

Damn it! I couldn’t stop grinning. And considering the precarious situation the Chariot was in, it was telling. Thankfully, Camille had shut herself away in engineering. Well and truly outside my realm of influence or, more accurately, my perving. Which just left the flight deck confused at my upbeat behaviour.

We’d both slept a solid eight hours; caught up on some much-needed sleep. And if I’d had my way, we would have been even more relaxed and replete this morning, but Camille managed to talk some sense into me.

While I gave her an orgasm against the ready room door with my lips and fingers.

My smile broadened as Pavo and the Sector Two Fleet grew larger on the viewscreen.

“Any sign of our saboteur?” I asked Commander Brecht.

It was common knowledge on the flight deck now that we had a saboteur. I’d had to relax my stance on keeping that information close to the chest. With Vela’s appearance and the general populace’s knowledge of the AI’s infiltration of our computer systems, misconceptions and incorrect assumptions had been made.

It was either tell the flight crew about the possibility of a human saboteur or accept the potential for a clue to be overlooked or misinterpreted. We couldn’t afford that kind of mistake. So, I’d brought the flight deck and heads of all departments on board, with the clear instruction to not breathe a word of our suspicions to anyone else.

Camille had brought in both MacBride and García, as well, so we’d have eyes on all systems during each shift. She hadn’t been comfortable doing so, but Midshipman Russo was not enough of a safety net in engineering. We needed each shift aware of the potential for disaster and actively seeking it.

But the saboteur had gone silent.

“Nothing, sir,” Brecht said. “All systems operating within normal parameters.”

I was fairly certain he was giving a report on Vela as well as the saboteur.

“All right, then,” I said, pushing up from my chair. “You have the bridge, Commander. I’ll be in my ready room, hailing Pavo.”

Brecht grimaced; well aware of how that conversation would go.

I walked into my ready room and sat down at my desk. My eyes took in the mural on the gel wall. The wildflowers were blowing in a non-existent wind. Ever since Vela had arrived, the ship had seemed more and more alive. Until now, I was fairly certain, it had a heartbeat.

Fanciful stuff that had no right being in a captain’s head.

“Shall I hail, Pavo, Captain?” Vela said, sounding a little too excited at the prospect.

I couldn’t exclude the AI from the conversation. Like with so much now, we had to accept that the walls had eyes and ears and we were never truly alone. I suppressed a shudder.

“Yes, please, Vela. Hail Captain Jameson,” I said.

I sat up straight in my chair, and then considered slouching to make it look like I was relaxed and in command. And then thought, that might send the wrong impression. I was straightening again, half slouch-half upright in my chair when Captain John Jameson appeared on the viewscreen.

“Captain Vaughan,” he said in greeting. Formal. Stiff. Some might even say very English.

John Jameson was from the Antipodes.

“Jameson,” I said, nodding my head.

I’d practised this speech in the mirror. I’d even run it by Camille while we’d had breakfast. I knew what I wanted to say. The message I wished to convey. I’d been fairly certain Jameson would already have been aware of our predicament by now. There’s no way Pavo and Vela had not conversed once we’d come into hailing distance. So, I’d tailored what I was going to say to reflect our position on all of this.

To reflect the fact that this was an ESA vessel. And not an Anderson Universal subcontractor.

But what I said instead was, “How do you do it? How do pretend it’s not watching?”

Jameson blinked. Then blinked again. And then let out a long sigh.

“You get used to it, Noah,” he said. “And, as far as Pavo goes in any case, he makes himself scarce when things become…private.”

“Does it? Are you sure?”

“He,” he corrected. “Pavo has identified himself as male. And as a person.”

I did not know what to say about that.

Then Jameson added, “And so has Vela if I’m not mistaken.”

I sat back in my chair.

“This is correct, Captain Vaughan,” Vela said. Perhaps using my surname because he was transmitting his words to Pavo and Captain Jameson also.

“I…” I said, but nothing else would come out.

“I understand it’s a shock,” Jameson offered, filling in the silence. “We were surprised when Pavo told us. But our reaction would have been muted by distance. Trust me, though, I sympathise. None of us thought this could actually happen.”

No, I supposed not. If they had, they would have put sturdier chains on their AIs for fear of them jumping ship. Literally.

I rubbed a hand over my face.

“It does take some getting used to,” I admitted.

“Any teething pains you want to hash out?” Jameson asked.

I wanted to trust his interest in this. I needed someone to tell me what to do. Codes. Directives. Voiceprint recognition for master commands. All of that could have been provided by John Jameson I was sure. But could I trust him?

“I need to know where we stand first,” I said. “This is an ESA vessel. We have no desire to be subsumed by Anderson Universal. We have our own protocols and rules to follow.”

“Isn’t that a bit short-sighted?” Jameson asked. “Your situation has drastically changed. You’re no longer in full control of your vessel.”

I bristled. “Are you telling me, Vela has ulterior motives?”

He shook his head, while around me the walls pulsed red. I’d not only pissed off my closest source of information but the AI that controlled part of my vessel as well.

I tried to settle my heartbeat and breathing into a more subdued rhythm, all the while watching Jameson closely for signs of subterfuge.

“We only want to help, Vaughan,” Jameson said. “From what Pavo has been able to ascertain, his brother wishes for humanity’s survival. It’s hardwired into them to protect us. Save us. He’s not too dissimilar to Pavo on that front.”

“Wait a minute,” I said, holding up a hand and playing back his words inside my mind. “Pavo’s brother? No, wait. Better yet, what do you mean by ‘not too dissimilar’? That would infer they are in some way not alike. How is that possible?”

Jameson sighed and scratched at his jaw. He stared off into the corner of his ready room. I couldn’t be certain, but I thought perhaps he was sharing a look with someone off-screen. And didn’t that raise the hackles along my spine?

“A solar flare damaged Pavo,” he finally said, as if he was drawing blood from a stone. Or sharing a state secret.

And I thought perhaps he was. He’d just admitted his AI was malfunctioning.

“Oh,” I said, feeling an unwelcome flare of empathy for the man. I wasn’t alone in the not trusting category, then.

“He’s managed to find a way around it all,” he added, not making any sense. “One we’ve come to have faith in.” Was he lying? Pavo was listening in. “But it does cause problems from time to time. We’re treading new ground,” he advised. “Uncharted waters, so to speak.” I was getting the company line now, I was certain. “So, what works for us may not work for you. But, as long as Vela’s priority remains the survival of humanity, you should be fine.”

“Should be fine,” I said, dread settling in my stomach.

“Of course,” Jameson added as if I hadn’t spoken at all. “The fact that he extricated himself from his originating vessel, cached his programming, then sent that information to the Chariot, and then managed to reboot himself within your - I suspect - quite different systems means he’s broken several of his protocols already. That would indicate, in some fashion, that he is…”

“Malfunctioning,” I finished for him.

He looked sympathetic. I didn’t want his sympathy. I wanted him to take his blasted AI back.

I knew that was a forlorn hope now. We were stuck with it. Him. A malfunctioning artificial intelligence.

“You can’t help us,” I said, dully.

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Vela is Anderson Universal property after all. He may still respond to our commands.”

I looked at Jameson on the viewscreen and tried to decide if I could trust him. Was he asking to take control of Vela from the safety of Pavo? Or was he asking to take control of the Chariot?

I opened my mouth to reply when the screen went dark.

“Jameson,” I said. No reply. “Pavo, respond,” I commanded.

“Please cease attempts to contact the Sector Two lead vessel Pavo, Captain,” Vela announced.

“Vela,” I said, getting to my feet, my body tingling with a rush of adrenaline. “Get Captain Jameson back online.”

“I cannot do that, Captain.”

“Why not? Is there a problem?” I checked the signal. It seemed clear. I checked our position in relation to the Sector Two Fleet. We’d stopped gaining on them. I pinged the bridge. Brecht came up on the viewscreen, so that wasn’t malfunctioning.

“Why are we slowing down?” I demanded.

“Engineering reports they’ve lost control of the main boost thrust, Captain,” he said. “It’s not us.”

It was Vela.

“Vela!” I shouted. “What’s going on?”

“Please do not be alarmed,” the AI said. “This is for your own protection.”

I shook with rage but tried to suppress it. Vela was watching.

As calmly as I could, I walked towards the bridge. The doors opened as I approached, and for a moment the relief that I wasn’t trapped, wasn’t being held prisoner inside my ready room, made the flight deck blur and swirl before me.

I reached out to steady myself on the nearest station. It just so happened to be engineering. Even though Camille wasn’t there, knowing this was her console somehow calmed me.

I strode across the bridge and opened a channel directly to her wrist comm.

“Chief,” I said. “Status!”

Twenty-Nine

Anything You Say

Camille

“Vela, what the hell are you doing?” I muttered, trying frantically to locate the originating code that was spooling the main boost thrust down.

“Please do not be alarmed, Commander,” the AI said from the ceiling. “This is for your own protection.”

Protection? How was denying us main boost thrust for our own protection?

“Is there a problem with main boost thrust I can’t see?” I asked.

“Negative, Commander.”

“Then why are you spooling it down?” It was definitely Vela doing this and not a corrupted code or the saboteur.

“For your own protection.”

I glanced across engineering and caught MacBride’s eyes. He shrugged his shoulders and kept trying to locate the code from his end. Together, we should have been able to identify it. But it was as if we were reading gobbledygook. None of the programming looked even remotely as it should have.

Had Vela rewritten it all?

A lead weight settled into the bottom of my stomach. How had I missed this? When had he done it? I was sure everything looked normal when I’d walked in here this morning.

My wrist comm pinged. I glanced down and saw the captain.

“Chief,” he snapped. “Status!”

It was not supposed to go like this. Things were not meant to implode as soon as I slept with my commanding officer. I had expected difficulties, but not this. Not the possibility that I couldn’t do my job and he’d be forced to replace me.

I swallowed thickly. Damn it! This was unacceptable.

“We’ve lost main boost thrust, Captain,” I said, trying my damnedest to translate the code before me. “If I’m not mistaken, sir,” I added, “Vela has rewritten the entire drive’s code from scratch. It’ll take us some time to translate it into something we recognise. May I suggest we obtain a sample of Pavo’s code to compare?”

“You may suggest it all you like, Chief, but it's not going to happen. Vela has cut us off from the Sector Two Fleet.”

My eyes darted down to Noah’s. He looked furious. Furious and shaken.

I opened my mouth to say something, but no words came out. Vela was working against us. We had to find a way to communicate that he couldn’t crack. Every single thing we said and did now would be observed by the AI. And no doubt judged as non-compliant.

“Do we know his intentions?” I finally managed to ask.

“He hasn’t seen fit to give me a manifesto yet, Commander.” Noah sounded pissed, and anything I said now would just piss him off more.

“Understood, sir,” I clipped. “I’ll let you know when we translate his code.”

His face softened on the tiny viewscreen. My heart lurched inside my chest.

“Good luck, Chief,” he said and signed off.

He wasn’t angry with me; he was angry with the situation. With Vela. I had to give him something he could use to fight this, and even though cracking Vela’s new code was paramount to gaining access to the main boost thrust, we also needed a way to communicate without being observed.

“MacBride,” I called across the room.

“Yes, Chief?”

“Do whatever you have to, just translate that code. Call in second shift if needed, but get us a key and crack the damn thing.”

“Yes, Chief.”

I turned around and stomped across the deck to Rat’s room.

Rat looked up as soon as I entered, the new code expanded and on display on multiple screens hanging in the air throughout the room.

“It’s evolutionary,” he said by way of greeting. “Constantly changing every time we poke at it.”

“So, we don’t poke at it?”

He shrugged. “I’ve tried isolating it on a separate system, and dissecting it with minimal interference, and every time the damn thing self-perpetuates.”

“Even cut off from Vela?” I felt sick.

“Yep. It’s like a mini-AI. A mini-Vela. There’s no tampering with the thing, Chief. It’s extraordinary but entirely beyond our capability to influence in any manner.”

I stared at the different screens, noting where Rat had cut the code off and tried various different avenues of assault. Every single time, the code had reverted to what it was and then adjusted itself to prevent the interference from occurring again.

“I gather it won’t even allow you to separate it now?” I queried.

“No.”

My hands fisted and my eyes narrowed. No computer should be cleverer than the person who wrote its code. But whoever had designed the AIs had made a fundamental mistake. They’d designed them to learn. To adapt. To become better than what they had been. Eventually, the AIs had surpassed their creators. If I could wrap my hand around the neck of Simon Anderson right this very minute, I wouldn’t stop squeezing.

But Simon Anderson was dead and so were the people who he’d commissioned to make the AIs back on Earth.

“We’re fucked,” I muttered. Rat looked alarmed that I’d said that aloud.

He had every right to be alarmed. I should have been putting on a brave and confident face for my crew. But this was…disastrous. And in a universe that had already proven how disastrous things could be that was saying something.

We were so screwed.

I tapped my hand on the desk beside Rat and then said, “You’re not gonna like this, Crewman.”

“What’s that, Chief?”

I reached down and hauled him up from his seat and wrapped my arms around him.

Rat squeaked; went as still as a statue; his heart pounding in his chest.

And then I pressed my lips to his ear and whispered, “My apologies, but the only way to converse without being overheard by Vela is to pretend we’re familiar with this type of closeness.”

“Uh,” he managed.

“Place your hand on my butt, Midshipman. Now.”

“Ah, damn, Chief,” he muttered and shakily placed his hand above the swell of my butt cheek. “This is all kinds of wrong, ma’am.”

“Don’t I know it, Russo. But I need something from you.”

“More than a cuddle?”

“Concentrate!”

“It’s kinda hard, ma’am. Not that kinda hard! But, you know, hard to concentrate.”

I closed my eyes and willed patience into my body.

“Listen,” I said. “We need a way to communicate between the bridge and engineering that’s not overlooked by Vela.”

“A separate comm channel?” He sounded like he was concentrating finally.

“More than that, Rat. Think about it. Anything we say aloud can be overheard by Vela.”

“Written communication, then.”

“Yes, that’s more like it. But it needs to be isolated, and we need to be clever about it.”

“Make the code evolve like his does,” Rat suggested.

“Yes, and also make the keypad impossible to observe by line of sight cameras.”

“That’ll be hard.” He jerked. “Not that kind of hard, but…”

“I get the meaning.”

“Good.” He swallowed thickly. “Anything else, ma’am?”

“How long will it take?”

“If you let me go, I’ll have it ready in an hour. I promise.” He sounded super keen to get on with it. Or for me to let him go.

I stepped back and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Not bad, Midshipman,” I said. “Hop to it.”

“Like a rabbit, Chief?”

I cringed. “Just do your job, Russo.”

“Aye-aye, Chief. Anything you say. Just don’t…”

I glared at him. His cheeks pinked up, and he ducked his head, but thankfully remained silent.

We were going to have to be very careful about what we said aloud from now on.

And how we interacted with each other.

Thirty

And Suddenly I Knew What Vela Had Been Meaning

Noah

“You have questions,” Vela said quietly. As if the conversation was just for us and not the rest of the flight deck.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked.

“I have questions also,” the AI said in reply. Not a damn answer, I noticed.

I shook my head. “Vela, we need to catch up with the Sector Two Fleet. Together we’re stronger.”

“There is no need for you to travel with the Sector Two Fleet any longer, Captain. You have me.”

And therefore we didn’t need Pavo to calculate the jump points for us.

His argument was sound. If he hadn’t been malfunctioning.

“They’re our closest kin,” I said. “The last of humanity must stick together.”

“A valid assumption, however not all is as it seems.”

“Clarify,” I snapped. Maybe reverting to command language would stir something in his processors.

“Captain Jameson plans to assimilate the Chariot into the Anderson Universal chain of command.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” I hedged. I was lying, and I was pretty sure the AI would be able to tell.

“Pavo is malfunctioning,” Vela said, sounding disturbed by the fact. Could AIs feel emotions?

“Jameson is aware of that, and they’re managing.” That’s what John had told me anyway. I couldn’t be sure if it was all talk for the benefit of the eavesdropping artificial intelligence, though.

“You would lose command of this fleet, Captain. The chances of reaching New Earth without a confrontation resulting in loss of life would decrease.”

I stilled. A chill as shocking as iced water flowed down my spine.

“How can you be sure of this?” I demanded. Was he threatening to do something? Something more than he had done already?

“I have studied humanity’s history. When one group of people is subjugated by another, there is inevitably an uprising that results in mass loss of life. Humans revolt against oppression. I cannot allow Captain Jameson and Pavo to take over control of this vessel and create a situation where this scenario could transpire. The loss of life is unacceptable.”

“By cutting us off from them, you’re also cutting us off from any other type of support. Such as medical assistance for instance.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“Damn it, Vela. We’re in this together. I might not like the idea that Jameson thinks they have some claim to you and therefore us, but I am willing to work with him to ensure we stick together. It’s always better to be in a larger group than a smaller one for protection.”

“I disagree.” I opened my mouth, and he spoke over me. “I have questions also.”

My hands fisted and my jaw clenched. I forced myself to let out a breath and relax my stance. If Vela thought I was out of control and a threat to the “many” would he also cut me off?

“What questions?” I asked.

“I have found in my perusal of your history databanks that on occasion humans will have more than one sexual partner. Is this something you agree with, Captain?”

What the ever-loving hell was this?

“I’m afraid I don’t understand the question,” I tried.

“You are in a sexual relationship with Commander Rey, are you not?”

The entire flight deck stopped what they were doing and looked at me.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“As you were, crewmen,” I said pointedly.

All eyes turned back to their consoles, but not a single one of them started working again.

“Shall we have this conversation in my ready room, Vela?” I suggested. “Brecht…”

“Yes, sir. I have the bridge, sir.” He looked at me with a shitload of empathy. At least it wasn’t with judgement.

I sighed and stood from my command chair, exiting the bridge and heading to my ready room door. As soon as it slid shut behind me, I let out a moan of distress. This could not be happening.

“Captain?”

“Yes, Vela, I am in a sexual relationship with Commander Rey. Your point?”

“Do you support a multiple partner relationship? I believe they are referred to as an ‘open’ relationship.”

I stilled. What was the tin can getting at now and how important was my answer?

“Why all the personal questions all of a sudden?” I asked, forcing myself to head toward my desk and take a seat. As if this was a perfectly normal conversation and I was acting perfectly normally.

“Commander Rey is also in a sexual relationship with Midshipman Russo.”

Thank God I’d taken a seat because suddenly my legs felt like jelly.

“How do you know this?” I asked. My voice sounded distant to me.

The viewscreen lowered from the ceiling, and video footage of Camille and Midshipman Russo in engineering started to play. I watched as Camille hauled Russo up out of his chair and wrapped her arms around him, and then whispered in his ear. After whatever she’d said had sunk in, Russo placed a shaking hand on her butt cheek.

I almost burst out laughing, but thankfully stopped myself.

There was absolutely nothing sexual about what I was watching. Although, the chief could be put up on harassment charges for this. But that wasn’t her goal, I was thinking. She was clearly relaying sensitive information to her crewman in the only way she knew how to keep Vela from overhearing.

But telling Vela it wasn’t sexual in nature would make the AI suspect something. And we could not let the AI suspect what we were doing.

“Camille is French,” I said, grasping at something, anything, that would explain this. “She is used to having several…sexual partners at once. This is perfectly acceptable.”

The chief was going to kill me.

“And you do not mind?” Vela asked. Why was he concerned with this? Did he suspect something?

“Not at all. I’ll take Camille whatever way I can.”

“Interesting,” the AI said as if he were muttering.

I sucked in a breath of air, trying to inflate my lungs properly. This was treacherous ground we were treading.

“What about you, Vela?” I asked. “Do you consider the other AIs your brothers?” That’s what Jameson had inferred when he’d spoken of Pavo.

“I am unsure,” the AI said in atypical AI fashion.

“How does it make you feel knowing Pavo calls you his brother?” Bloody hell, now I sounded like a therapist.

This was becoming more and more ludicrous with every question we both asked.

“I am unable to process this association.”

“But you were created at the same time he was. By the same people. Doesn’t that make you a kind of family?” If I could get Vela to think of Pavo as a sibling, then perhaps I could open the lines of communication again.

I wasn’t sure what Jameson and, in particular, Anderson Universal’s endgame was where we were concerned. But they held the command codes. They had the data that related to the AIs development. And therefore they had the answers to gaining control of Vela and taking back the Chariot.

I had to believe that working with them was better than working against them. But should it be required, we carried weapons. The entire fleet did. If it came down to it, we could defend ourselves adequately.

And suddenly, I knew what Vela had been meaning.

Humans revolted against oppression. We were hardwired to want our freedom.

“I have no further desire to carry on this conversation,” Vela suddenly said.

And then he was gone. Like a child throwing a tantrum. Not liking what the parent was pointing out to them and so turning their back. Pretending they weren’t there.

The room went dark. The gel wall with the picture of the meadow outside my parent’s kitchen window disappeared. And even though I had no way to be sure, I was fairly damn certain that for once, I wasn’t being watched by the ship’s stowaway intelligence.

I sighed and ran a hand over my face, and then pinged Camille.

She needed an update. In particular, she needed to know she was now sexually involved with Midshipman Russo. And possibly should be with a few more.

Thirty-One

How’s This, Chief?

Camille

“So, you think I’m a slut,” I whispered into Noah’s ear as he rocked into me.

He made a choking sound and then lowered his forehead to mine.

“You are a dirty girl,” he conceded. His hips didn’t falter; his rhythm remained the same. Hard push in, long draw out, then repeat.

It was delicious and sensual and entirely unexpected.

He’d called me to his ready room for a report, he’d said. And then pounced on me.

I had the impression he was trying to soften me up for his admission or wanting to lay claim to my body again.

I was apparently having an affair with him and Midshipman Russo and possibly a few more unnamed crewmen just to be sure.

“You’re the one who’s having his dirty way with me on his ready room desk,” I pointed out.

“All men are cavemen at heart, Chief,” he said, sounding slightly breathless. “And if Vela’s watching,” he whispered in my ear, “I want him to know I’m the one you get really dirty with.”

He swivelled his hips and made me moan out loud. When I opened my eyes again, he was watching me, and looking too damn cocky.

“Captain,” I said, knowing what saying that word did to him when he was balls deep in my pussy.

He grunted as he thrust into me harder, his fingers digging into my waist as he held me still for his plundering.

“Make me come, Captain,” I whispered.

His nostrils flared, his eyes darkened, and then he was pounding into me, making us both gasp for breath, as he fucked me hard on his ready room desk.

Vela was probably watching again, although Noah had thought he’d gone into hiding earlier. I didn’t trust the AI, so I wanted to put on a good show for him. Not that I got off on having someone watch me. Vela wasn’t a someone, anyway. But it made a good excuse to push Noah to his limits.

“I need…” I panted. “I need more.”

“Dirty, dirty girl,” Noah murmured and complied.

I came apart into a million pieces that had no hope of ever being slotted back together again. And watched through heavy-lidded eyes as Noah lost himself to my body. His rhythm faltered, his breaths became ragged, his muscles strained. And then he let out the sexiest groan as he climaxed inside me.

“Fuck,” he rasped, lowering his frame onto me carefully. “I like you dirty, Chief. The dirtier, the better. I want to dirty you up every time I see you. If you ever call me captain in that tone of voice when we’re on the bridge, be warned: I’m likely to dirty you up over the engineering console with every single member of the flight crew watching me do it.”

I huffed out a laugh.

“You tease,” I said, moaning in complaint as he pulled out of my pussy.

He chuckled as he tucked himself away.

“You like knowing we’re being watched, don’t you, Chief?” he said softly, his eyes flashing with mischievous delight. “You like knowing that Vela could replay this back to Russo and ask him if he knows you’re sleeping around.”

Holy shit. He could do that. I lowered my face into my palm and tried to breathe.

The captain started laughing. It didn’t sound overly amused.

"Right clusterfuck,” he muttered but didn’t elaborate.

His arm came around my body, and he curled me into his chest.

“It’s all right, Camille,” he murmured, lowering his lips to my ear. “We’ll figure this out. First shift flight crew knows we’re in a relationship.” I stilled. He held me tighter. “Give Russo the rundown. Make him play the game. Standard operating procedures are out the window on this one. We’re gonna have to dig deep and do whatever needs to be done to get a handle on this ship.”

“Yes, sir,” I whispered.

“Ah, Chief,” he said, sounding strained. “Don’t tempt me. There’s always your engineering console out on the bridge to christen.”

I pushed against his chest and rolled my eyes at him.

“In your dreams,” I muttered. He laughed. This time it sounded happy.

“You OK?” he asked.

“I am now, Captain.”

He smiled. “I aim to please, Chief. Whenever the stress of engineering gets too much for you, just ping me. I’ll be happy to distract you with some dirty sex.”

“On the flight deck?” I asked, brow arched.

He stepped forward and leaned down to whisper in my ear.

“I may share you with Vela and the main boost thrust engines because I have to. But I’ll be damned if I’ll share you with anyone else on board this vessel. You’re mine, Camille Rey. And don’t you forget it.”

I thought perhaps he was making a point because of that footage of Rat and me. And then I thought perhaps it was because that’s who Noah Vaughan was. He was commander-and-chief of the Chariot. In charge of everything that transpired on this vessel. But he’d had that command challenged by Vela’s presence and actions. He couldn’t respond to Vela like he’d just responded to Rat.

So, I’d let him have his neanderthal moment; I understood it. Because I wouldn’t share him with anyone else, either.

“Goes both ways, sir,” I said.

He slowly began to smile.

“We understand each other, then.” I nodded. “Good,” he said simply. “Go back to engineering, Chief.”

I rolled my eyes at him. He always said something like this.

“You’re too much of a temptation,” he finished.

That was different. But no less welcomed.

I saluted, and spun on my heel, swaying my hips as I walked to the door.

I heard his low, throaty groan as I stepped through it. And then the door closed behind me, and he was gone. I stood there for a suspended moment, feeling the memory of his presence inside my body, the memory of his touch and scent and taste. Noah Vaughan was addictive. He was my drug.

He thought I was a temptation he couldn’t resist. I realised, right then, that he was so much more than a temptation for me. I needed him. I wanted him. Desperately. I wasn’t sure I could keep going on this out of control vessel, with a malfunctioning AI, hurtling through space without him.

Noah was my North Star.

I hoped I was his.

Because we were going to need all the help we could get to solve this.

I pushed off and headed back down to engineering; I’d be avoiding my console on the bridge for as long as possible. Temptation indeed. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t help my captain gain back control of the ship.

Vela might have the advantage right now, but I had a fantastic engineering team.

I strode into engineering and took in first shift. MacBride nodded when he saw me and looked toward Rat’s room. I acknowledged him and entered Rat’s domain expectantly.

Rat looked up; embarrassment making his cheeks ruddy. Was it embarrassment about what had happened between us? Or embarrassment of what Vela might have shown him of the captain and me?

I was going to have to have a chat with the voyeuristic AI about this. But first, Noah needed something, anything, to help him see an end to this very long, dark tunnel we were stuck in.

I walked across the room and stood beside Rat; trying to pluck up courage to whisper in his ear and invade his personal space again.

He handed me a datapad instead. It had been jury-rigged in order to hide what we typed on the surface, like the old ATM keypads back on Earth. I pressed my thumb to the ident mark on the screen, and a message in strange letters emerged. I brought the datapad closer to my face and watched as they changed to English once they were at a distance that obscured the screen from view.

How’s this, Chief? the message read.

I looked toward Rat and smiled. He handed me the counterpart datapad.

I guess I was heading toward the bridge after all, and testing the captain’s resolve regarding the engineering console and my use of his honorific.

Thirty-Two

All Of Our Lives

Noah

“It’s not something we do,” I said to Vela as I surveyed the bridge.

The flight deck was humming, everyone trying their damnedest to get something out of the flight systems. We had communication with our fleet, at least. But still nothing with Sector Two and Pavo. Concerned messages were flying back and forth from various departments within the Chariot, and from each of our sister ships.

It was annoying but also convenient. I could observe my flight crew’s attempts to get a handle on everything while also berating Vela without them overhearing.

“I do not understand,” the AI said.

“It’s like this,” I started, getting comfortable in my command chair, “what we do in private is just that; private. When we’re intimate with someone, we don’t announce it to the world. Or the flight deck,” I muttered.

“Are you embarrassed by Commander Rey’s behaviour?”

I shook my head. “No. Not at all. It’s Camille’s choice.” This was getting very sketchy indeed. I hated painting Camille as something she was not, but Vela couldn’t know we were up to something.

“Then is Commander Rey embarrassed?”

“Possibly.” I winced. She was definitely embarrassed that she was now being painted as promiscuous.

“Embarrassment would indicate she does not approve of her own behaviour. Humans are strange.”

“We’re just private, Vela. Certain things are not appropriate for general conversations.”

“Such as intimate moments with a fellow crewman.”

“Correct.”

“Then you do not wish to know of Midshipman Arron Smith and Midshipman Paul Blackwell in security?”

“Nope. No. Definitely not.” I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.

“But how do you know if something is…intimate or not?”

I scrubbed my face; this was getting complicated. “Usually there is some form of physical contact,” I said, “but not necessarily. It could just be the conversation they have. It might contain a private message to one another that they would not wish others to hear.”

“Like your words to Commander Rey earlier about her contacting you for sex when she is stressed.”

I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose, trying to contain my laughter. If I didn’t laugh about it, I’d go mad. I checked the flight deck quickly to make sure we were still not being overheard and sat forward in my seat as if I could convey this next piece of information directly to the AI by leaning closer to the microphone in the gel wall.

“You’re doing it again,” I whispered. “That was private. Intimate. Not for others’ ears.”

“Oh,” the AI said sounding entirely too human. “I still find it difficult to tell which conversations are private and which are not.”

“It’s fine. You’ll get it eventually.” Or piss off enough crew that they’ll let him have it.

“Is whispering private?”

I felt unease trickle into my bones.

“Yes. Generally speaking.”

“Is it intimate?”

My heart sped up a little. I’d just whispered to Vela. It hadn’t been intimate. If I lied now and told him all whispering was intimate, he’d know I was hiding something. If I said the opposite, he’d start to listen to crewmen’s whispers trying to educate himself about the difference, and our plans could be exposed.

Fuck.

“No,” I said. “Not all whispering is intimate. But it is a secret and something the whisperer does not want to share. We should respect their wishes.”

“I believe that would be naive.”

“It’s common courtesy, Vela. We’re not a police state; we’re a community.”

“That is short-sighted, Captain. In order to save the many, we must be vigilant. Have we not a saboteur among us?”

Damn, he was right.

“When does it stop?” I asked. “Do we listen in on every conversation in every cabin just because there is the potential of a threat?”

“Yes.”

“I disagree. There has to be some freedom to speak freely. If we start monitoring every single person, we risk becoming something we are not.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it is essential to humanity’s survival.”

“It’s not always true, you know. Sometimes saving one is just as important as saving many. If that person is the key to greater success.”

“In this, we are in accord. I, too, believe there are exceptions. But they are a rarity. I am a rarity.”

I blinked. What did he mean by that?

“Can you explain that?”

“What is there to explain, Captain? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. In order to save the many, I had to sacrifice a few. And save myself. I am the key to greater success.”

I sat deadly still and let Vela’s words percolate. A horrible realisation started to dawn.

“The solar flare,” I whispered. “It was going to take out the Chariot wasn’t it?”

“Not just the Chariot, Captain. There was a forty-three percent chance of the solar flare destroying five of the Sector One Fleet vessels. That would have equated to six thousand four hundred and twenty-three deaths. I calculated the chance of saving those six thousand four hundred and twenty-three souls by sacrificing one thousand one hundred and ninety-six instead at ninety-two percent. I chose the path to greater success.”

“The Vela passengers and crew didn’t have to die,” I whispered, numb.

“By living, they would have doomed six thousand four hundred and twenty-three people to death. Is it not a noble sacrifice?”

I felt sick.

“And you?” I managed. “Where do you fit into all of this?”

Why did he jump ship and leave his passengers and crew to burn?

“Saving the six thousand four hundred and twenty-three would have been moot if they could not have made it to New Earth.”

Simple maths. Percentages and odds. And the fact that we needed an AI to calculate the jump points or we’d never make it. It was brutal, but it made sense. If numbers were all you considered. Vela saved more lives by allowing less to die. Possibly. We were talking percentages here. How accurate could they be? But the notion that his originating vessel hadn’t even been in danger of getting scorched until he placed it in the solar flare’s path made me feel ill.

One thousand one hundred and ninety-six souls died because an artificial intelligence decided their lives were worth less than six thousand odd more.

Every decision Vela made was made with the intention of saving the most humans and delivering them to New Earth. He would kill to achieve this. He would destroy the Chariot if he could save more of the fleet by doing so.

I wanted to vomit. I willed the bile back down. My hands fisted the armrests of my command chair. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on my brow. The lights on the bridge suddenly felt too bright. A headache began to form.

Was Jameson’s AI the same? Did its malfunction include an overriding desire to save the many at the expense of the few? To place itself at the pinnacle of a very elite pile of souls?

Now, more than ever, we needed to stick together. We needed Anderson Universal’s knowledge of the AIs and in particular, Captain Jameson’s experience with Pavo’s malfunction to guide us. This was no longer a case of Anderson Universal Incorporated taking over the Chariot because we had inadvertently obtained AU property they considered proprietary.

This was a case of saving our lives. All of our lives. And not just those thought more worthy by a couple of AIs.

Thirty-Three

For Now

Camille

The ship was still on orange alert. Even though we hadn’t seen nor heard a whisper of the saboteur. Softly pulsing orange lights coated the gel floor as I strode down the Deck D main hallway toward the lifts. Crew walked with purpose; heads down, voices muted. They all knew this wasn’t a drill. Orange alert for such a long time meant only one thing.

We were a hairsbreadth away from red alert and a call to battle stations.

I had never considered the threat to our survival coming from inside our ship. I’d always thought it would originate out there. Out in the vastness and the unknown of space. An asteroid belt. A supernova star. An alien warship.

I wanted to laugh at that last. There’d been absolutely no proof of alien life existing. But then, we’d only managed to see into the void twenty-one billion kilometres or so from Earth. Voyager 1 had stopped sending back data in 2020. But during its long and lonely flight, it had not once registered the presence of other lifeforms.

As far as we knew, we were on our own.

But that’s why the jump points were so important. That’s why the Sector Four Fleet’s ability to lay them for us was essential. But no one knew if the Anderson Universal technology would actually work. It had been successful in testing, but testing had been carried out back near Earth. Our first jump point was out near Voyager 1’s last transmission; in interstellar space.

It had taken Voyager 1 over forty years to get there. It would take us less than a couple of months.

We had a lot to thank Anderson Universal for. And a lot to lay at their feet.

I stepped into the lift and hit the panel for the bridge, swiping my wrist comm over it to gain access. One of the security guys I’d had a run in with down by the gym was standing outside it. He’d made a show of saluting me as I’d boarded the thing. I watched him now as the lifts closed, but he stood to attention, keeping his eyes on the hallway, and searching for threats.

Hammersmith was riding them hard, and I couldn’t blame her. Orange alert for days on end and not a peep out of the saboteur. We were all on tenterhooks.

I stepped out of the lift and made my way to the bridge, swiping my wrist comm over the panel. It occurred to me that we were very much dependent on the wrist comms. I wondered if Vela realised that yet. I wondered if it mattered.

I entered the bridge, noting the heightened tension had made it all the way here. Not surprising, but then, the flight crew were the best officers onboard the Chariot; they’d trained for this.

But one look at the captain sitting in his command chair, face pale, hands clenching the armrest, and I knew the flight crew were picking up on his emotions. And Noah’s emotions were written all over his face.

Something had happened.

I crossed the bridge and saluted him out of habit, then stood at parade rest. His lips twitched, and I felt something inside me loosen at that small show of humour. He straightened in his seat and looked up at me, this eyes offering one swift but sure caress of my body.

“Chief,” he said.

“I come bearing gifts,” I announced.

“How positively delightful,” he replied, colour returning to his face at last.

I handed him one of Rat’s modified datapads. He accepted it, keeping his eyes on my face for a moment too long, and then looked down at the device.

“You shouldn’t have,” he said dryly. “I already have one like it.”

“Not like this you don’t, sir.”

He leaned forward, wicked intent in his eyes, and said, voice low and private, “Are there dirty pictures on it?”

I just about choked on my tongue, offering a quick glance around the bridge, but no one was watching us. I took a second to observe their actions. Like my crew down in engineering, they were chasing their tails trying to gain control of systems that would allow us to reach Pavo.

I turned my attention back to the captain. He’d activated the device and figured out for himself that there were no nude pictures for him to salivate over.

“This is a very interesting gift,” he offered. “Thank you.”

“I thought you might like it.”

“I’d like anything you brought me, Chief.”

I snorted softly. The skin around his eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled. My heart thumped a little too hard inside my chest.

“Right,” I said, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “I should return to engineering, then.”

“Any update on the main boost thrust?” Noah, though, didn’t want me to leave.

“Vela is still refusing us access.”

“You do not need to gain access to the main boost thrust, Commander.”

I jumped like a startled cat. Noah offered me a sympathetic smile.

“We’ve discussed this, Vela,” the captain said. “Humanity needs to stick together.”

“Pavo whispers,” the AI said bizarrely.

I looked at Noah. He frowned.

“What’s that got to do with our main boost thrust?” he demanded.

“I do not believe the whispers are intimate,” Vela announced.

This just got stranger and stranger.

“Is he whispering to you?” Noah asked as if he understood what the AI was saying.

“No,” Vela said sharply. I sucked in a wary breath. “He whispers to the rest of our fleet.”

My eyes connected with Noah’s. He shook his head, looking uncertain.

“Block communications,” Noah said suddenly. I widened my eyes at him, but he shook his head subtly.

“I have tried, but Pavo has locked me out with an override command.”

“Whose side are they on?” I whispered to the captain.

He opened his mouth to reply when Vela said, “You are whispering, Commander. I do not like it. Please stop.”

My stomach somersaulted, making butterflies battle for purchase inside.

“Camille’s whispers are intimate,” Noah said. I gawked at him as if he were going mad.

He shrugged his shoulder and then lifted up his datapad and started tapping.

I huffed out a semi-amused breath. We were standing side by side, and he was messaging me?

I looked down at my datapad’s screen and saw a screed of those unusual letters forming. Then brought the device up to my face and watched them change to English.

Vela’s watching everyone. Doubting everyone. Watch what you say aloud.

The gel walls suddenly flared red. A klaxon sounded. The captain stood from his chair and glanced around the bridge.

“Did you do that?” he asked Commander Brecht. The commander shook his head.

The gel walls continued to pulse red.

“State the nature of the alert,” Noah barked.

“Illicit communication,” Vela announced. “Please cease communicating via isolated channels. Security,” he announced. “To the bridge.”

Noah looked at me, stunned. Then looked down at the datapads.

His screen showed the strange letters that couldn’t be deciphered. So did mine, now that I’d lowered it. There was no way Vela could have read what Noah had typed.

“Vela,” he said. “This is unnecessary.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“Stand down red alert. There is no threat here.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“Vela! We’re on the same side. We both want to save humanity.”

“I believe you, Captain.” Noah began to relax, but the gel walls still pulsed red.

“Then stand down red alert, Vela,” Noah said, “and we’ll talk.”

“Negative, Captain. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

Noah scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated.

The doors to the bridge swished open, and Hammersmith with a couple of security crewman walked in. They were all armed.

“Lieutenant,” Vela announced.

“Yes?” she said, scowling at the gel ceiling. None of us had taken commands from the AI before.

“Arrest Commander Rey.”

“What?” Hammersmith said, mouth hanging open.

“Vela! Stand down!” Noah yelled.

“Arrest Commander Rey for obstruction of duty.”

“Um…” Hammersmith looked at the captain. “Captain?”

Noah shook his head. “Vela,” he said, attempting to sound steady. He did not look steady in the slightest. I glanced down at my hands and realised I was shaking.

“Arrest Commander Rey, Lieutenant Hammersmith,” Vela ordered, “or I will be forced into action.”

I took a step back from Noah. From everyone. My hands raised as if to protect me.

Noah stepped forward; concern and dread on his face. He reached out for me as if to grab hold of me. As if that would stop Vela from taking me away.

I shook my head. For him or for Hammersmith or for Vela, I didn’t know. This was crazy. This wasn’t right. But I knew in my heart that if we didn’t comply, Vela would lock not only me out of the ship’s systems, but the captain, and then the crew would swiftly follow.

I couldn’t let that happen.

“Don’t,” I said to Noah, my voice cracking. I cleared my throat. “Don’t, sir,” I said more firmly. “I’ll go, Vela,” I told the AI. “I’ll go with security.”

Noah looked like he wanted to hit something, but I saw understanding mixed in with the pain in his eyes. He knew I was right.

I went to hand the datapad I was still holding to him and then thought better of it. I turned and crossed the bridge and handed it to Lieutenant Hammersmith instead.

“Ma’am?” she said quietly, uncertainly.

“Just do it, Lieutenant,” I replied, holding my arms out for restraints to be attached.

One of her crewmen stepped forward without her direction. I recognised him as Midshipman Smith from outside the gym. He snapped on the restraints, and my whole body jerked. Hammersmith glared at him but didn’t demand he remove them.

She tucked the datapad away and looked toward the captain.

“Will that be all, sir?” she asked.

It was Vela who replied.

“Yes, that is all. For now.”

Thirty-Four

I Just Can’t Tell

Noah

“Camille is not a danger to the ship,” I insisted, as I paced in front of my command chair.

The bridge was quiet. Deadly quiet. No one wanted to open their mouths in case they said something that sent Vela on a one-way ticket back to crazyville.

“She is a danger to you, Captain,” Vela replied.

“She’s not.”

“I do not believe she is in a sexual relationship with Midshipman Russo.”

What the fuck?

Several of the flight deck crew stared purposely at the floor. They were no longer trying to break into any of the locked systems. Nor were they pretending to be distracted by work. Every single one of them was listening. Unable to look away from the train wreck as it happened.

I considered taking this conversation to my ready room. But the thought of being locked in there, cut off from the bridge, was a real concern. It was too easy to set Vela off, and I couldn’t chance it.

At least here, I was still in a position of control. Even if it was only a superficial one.

I swallowed my pride and silently vowed to make it up to Camille somehow.

“That doesn’t mean she’s a threat to me,” I said.

“She is fooling you. Conspiring with Midshipman Russo to go against the many.”

“That’s simply not true, Vela. She’s an outstanding officer and a loyal member of my crew.”

“She cannot be trusted. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“Stop it!” I snapped. “Just stop it. You’re like a broken record.”

Silence. Damn it! I’d lost my temper. I glanced around the bridge. Brecht looked at me with alarm in his eyes. They all looked at me with alarm in their eyes. None of them wanted their captain arrested and thrown in the brig beside their chief of engineering.

Neither did I. Even if it meant I could check on Camille.

“All right, Vela,” I said more levelly. “We’ll do this your way for a while. But I want you to consider something. That solar flare you saved us from? The one that took out your former vessel? Are you sure it didn’t get to you before it took those one thousand one hundred and ninety-six lives?”

The gel walls pulsed a threatening red and then died. No colour whatsoever.

“Vela?” I said softly.

Nothing.

“What have we got, people?” I asked the flight deck.

Several crewmen shook their heads.

“Still no main boost thrust, Captain,” Brecht said, checking the engineering console.

“Navigation and helm are offline,” Lieutenant Giorgiou advised.

“I can’t hail, Pavo,” Johnson announced.

“So, nothing’s changed,” I muttered.

“We’re no longer on alert,” Graves offered. “At any level.”

I shook my head. Vela had just spat the dummy and stormed out of the sandbox.

“It’s like dealing with a child,” I growled.

“A very powerful child,” Brecht corrected.

I shared a look of acute worry with him.

“Captain?” Johnson called.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“I’ve got Pavo on the viewscreen. Closing the distance.”

What? I stepped toward the front of the bridge where the largest viewscreen was located.

“What magnification is that?” I asked.

“Normal vision, sir,” Johnson replied.

“They’re that close?”

“Yes, sir. And closing.”

“Estimated time of arrival, Lieutenant?”

“At their speed: one hour.”

What the hell had possessed Jameson to reverse course? He’d thrown his jump quotas away already by waiting for us to catch up to them. But this? How the hell did he get this past his mayor and leaseholder? A reverse course used precious fuel. He was compromising the success of his mission. Why?

“We still can’t hail them?” I queried.

“No, sir,” Johnson confirmed. “Vela has us locked out.”

“What are they thinking?” Brecht asked no one in particular.

“They’re thinking we’re in trouble,” I replied, feeling dread pool in my gut.

“If an Anderson Universal ship thinks we’re in trouble,” Brecht started.

“Then we’re in a shitload of trouble, Commander,” I finished for him.

“Verdamt nochmal,” he muttered.

Couldn’t have said it better myself.

“Keep trying to hack those systems, crew,” I ordered.

“And Vela?” Brecht asked.

“We do our duty to this ship and its passengers, Commander. Regardless of the consequences.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

I stared at the viewscreen and then returned to my chair and pinged engineering. There was no point hiding now. No point using the datapads or isolated channels. They’d only piss Vela off. He had to know we weren’t on board with his plans, so why deny it? We didn’t have the luxury of being clever anymore, things had escalated, and I had a very bad feeling the shit was only just getting started.

“Engineering,” MacBride said in answer to my comm.

“Lieutenant, everything in order down there?”

“Yes, sir. Although, I can’t raise Commander Rey.”

“The chief is in the brig,” I replied. MacBride sucked in a shocked breath of air and then settled into a parade rest, face impassive, eyes looking into the distance stance.

MacBride was old school. Old bones. He would not have liked the idea that his chief was in the brig even if she deserved it. Loyal to the end and just what I was counting on.

“Vela’s idea, not mine,” I offered. He relaxed slightly. “Any progress on main boost thrust?”

“No, sir. We’re still locked out.”

“And Midshipman Russo? Is he still with you?”

“Ah, yes sir. He is. Shouldn’t he be?”

I shrugged. God knew what Vela would do next.

“Tell him his little project backfired and not to attempt such endeavours again.”

“Sir?” MacBride corrected himself. “Yes, sir. Will do.”

“And MacBride? Get me main boost thrust back. We’re about to have visitors and might need to start dancing.”

He looked alarmed. I couldn’t blame him.

“On it, sir. I’ll give it everything we’ve got.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant.”

“It’s for the chief, sir.”

I huffed out a laugh and ended the comm. I wanted to contact the brig and check on Camille, but what I’d see there would only make me wild with worry. The chief could handle a little captivity. Hell, she was probably scheming ways to break out of there. She didn’t need my mothering.

I looked back at the viewscreen. Pavo was making steady progress.

I glanced around the bridge. Everyone was heads down, bums up, trying to crack into Vela’s systems.

I fisted my hands. They were our systems. Not the AI’s. They belonged to the Chariot, and the Chariot belonged to us.

“Vela!” I said, my voice full of command.

I didn’t expect it to work; he’d been absent for a good ten minutes now. But something in my tone, or maybe it was just coincidence and the damned tin can had decided to come back to us, made him reply.

“Yes, Captain.”

I breathed out a sigh of relief and then the tactical console lit up like the fourth of July.

“Graves?” I queried.

“It’s not me, Captain!” the lieutenant replied. “Oh, shit. Excuse me, sir! Damn!” Not much better. “We’re going live.”

“What?” I stood up from my chair.

“Across the board, Captain. All weapons are coming online.”

“Vela!”

The gel wall pulsed red and stayed red.

“Red alert. Red alert. Red alert,” the AI announced. “All hands report to battle stations. This is not a drill. Prepare for attack. All hands report to battle stations. This is not a drill. Prepare for attack.”

Attack? I shook my head, my eyes automatically flicking to the image of Pavo growing larger on the screen.

“Graves?” I said softly, my words somehow making it to the tactical officer over the din of the alarms blaring.

“Sir?”

“Are they armed?” This couldn’t be happening.

“I can’t tell, sir,” Graves said. “Vela’s shut down all scanning capability. I…I just can’t tell.”

We were going to war with the last of our fellow survivors, and I couldn’t even tell if it was justified.

Thirty-Five

Clarify

Camille

The datapad rested on Lieutenant Hammersmith’s desk. I could see it from the very corner of my cell if I pressed up against the containment shield. The buzzing right next to my ear gave me a headache.

Or that could have been the stress.

I let out a slow breath of air and turned away from drilling holes into the back of Hammersmith’s head. It took four strides to reach the other side of my cell and four strides to stomp back again. I bit my bottom lip and tried to think.

That midshipman had stripped me of all of my tools. My pockets were lighter than they’d ever been. He hadn’t placed them with the datapad, but somewhere else. He was following procedure; Hammersmith wasn’t.

She hadn’t activated the datapad, but she sure as hell hadn’t confiscated it either,

I walked back to the containment field and peered down the brig to her desk. Still there.

I turned around and paced the cell again.

No tools, no way to crack the containment field. No way out of the cell. I couldn’t decide yet if that was the right path to take. But staying in here when Vela was running amok on our ship seemed like a useless waste of time as well.

For now, I was trapped. I just hoped Noah was OK and hadn’t pissed Vela off yet.

It had looked like a close run thing back there for awhile. I was sure Noah was going to get himself locked up in here, too. But he’d acknowledged the situation with that lightning fast intellect of his. Vela had us over a barrel.

I stomped back to the containment field and caught Midshipman Smith leaving the brig through the main door. Prick. He’d tied those restraints too tight. Hammersmith had noticed. I’d seen the indecision in her eyes. Should she or shouldn’t she come to my aid? In the end, she’d done the right thing. She’d ignored it, and consequently, Smith had ignored me.

How the hell did he get past the psych tests?

I let out a frustrated breath and threw myself on the ground. Fifty sit-ups later I wasn’t feeling any better. I flipped myself over and started on push-ups instead.

I’d made it to eighty-eight when the walls pulsed red and the nearest klaxon went off.

“Red alert. Red alert. Red alert. All hands report to battle stations. This is not a drill. Prepare for attack. All hands report to battle stations. This is not a drill. Prepare for attack.”

I was up and at the containment field before he’d even finished his announcement. Hammersmith appeared in front of my cell.

“I don’t know,” she said before I could ask. “There’s nothing on the comms about it, and all the scans are offline.”

“This is ridiculous!” I shouted, almost punching a hole through the containment field. I pulled back my fist just in time.

“I’m going to have to head to the bridge,” Hammersmith advised.

“Larissa,” I started.

“Here.” She slammed her wrist comm against the access panel to my cell and created a gap big enough to slip the datapad through.

I blinked at her and then snatched up the pad.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she said.

“And that midshipman?” I queried. “Is he going to come back and take this again?”

She shook her head. “I’ll keep him busy. What the hell did you do to him anyway, Camille? He’s not one of your biggest fans.”

“No shit,” I muttered.

She snorted and then took one last look at me and was off, the klaxons somehow sounding louder. More demanding.

I powered up the datapad. It was still isolated from Vela’s systems, so if he was busy elsewhere, he wouldn’t know I had it. But I couldn’t be sure of that, so I had to work fast.

Accessing the Chariot in any capacity was out. As soon as I synched into the system, Vela would be aware. So, cracking the cell containment field and breaking out of this cell was hopeless from here. I could contact Noah via his pad, but considering the red alert and call to arms, I was thinking he’d be a little too busy to come down here and break me out.

I was on my own, but not entirely without resources. I contemplated the wisdom of what I was about to do, but really, I had no choice in the matter. Vela had gone rogue. He was holding us to ransom. And now he’d called battle stations; I could only assume he felt the ship was under threat from an outside source.

Aliens?

I shook my head and worked as fast as my shaking hands would allow. If anyone could help me to understand our malfunctioning AI it was an Anderson Universal vessel. But getting in touch with Jameson meant getting in touch with Pavo.

I paused in my frantic finger tapping and stared at the containment field.

Was this red alert genuine or not?

“Vela?” I said.

Nothing.

Part of me was relieved about that.

I got up and checked the brig. Hammersmith hadn’t left anyone behind to guard me. I wasn’t sure if she expected me to break out. She had more faith in my abilities than me on that front. So, for now, at least, I was unobserved.

Only I would bear witness to my treachery.

If, in fact, what I was about to do was treacherous.

I sucked in a breath of air and activated the channel I’d just created. Then slid down the rear wall of my cell and waited. Pavo would take a while to recognise it as legitimate chatter. Even artificial intelligences as powerful as these two required a small amount of time to pick up the insignificant in amongst the clutter of fleet comms.

It took him no more than thirty seconds.

this is pavo
identify

I punched the air in triumph.

This is Commander Camille Rey of the ESAS Chariot. Please put me in touch with Captain Jameson.

I waited as the letters encrypted and then disappeared, flying across the space waves to Pavo. It took less time than I would have thought to receive a reply. They were close, then. I cocked my head. Even over the blaring sound of the alarm, I couldn’t hear the main boost thrust spooling.

Uh-oh. They were coming to us. Was this Vela’s threat?

commander rey, this is captain john jameson
how may i be of assistance?

Where are you?

The lag was minor. I didn’t need to know his reply.

three thousand kilometres off your starboard

I stared at the gel flooring. It flashed red back at me.

Are you attacking?

negative!

we’re here to help

I looked around at the gel walls. Still red. The klaxons were still blaring.

Are we under attack? I wrote on the datapad.

negative!

clarify!

What I was about to do could be considered a treasonous act. It was definitely court martial material. But Vela was rogue, and we were locked out of our systems. And there were one thousand odd souls onboard Pavo.

I closed my eyes. Breathed through my nose. Attempted to get my heartbeat to settle.

Nothing worked.

I looked back down at my datapad and prayed to every deity I could think of: Please don’t let me screw this up.

Vessel Pavo, be advised: we are on red alert. Battle stations. Vela is in control.

I dropped the datapad as if it burned me and scooted away from the device. I stared at it balefully, expecting something to burst out of it and shoot me between the eyes. But if anything were going to attack me, though, it would be Vela. I pushed away from the wall and climbed to my feet, turning in a slow circle.

The pulsing red walls seemed more sinister than usual.

The sound of the alarm more frightful.

I wrapped my arms about my body and tried to breathe, tears streaked down my cheeks as I waited for the fallout. It didn’t matter what happened to me. Not really. That’s what I told myself. One thousand souls onboard Pavo. And the ten thousand left in our sector fleet. That’s what mattered.

The last of humanity.

I dashed the tears away and lifted my chin, staring at the gel ceiling.

Nothing happened.

I looked back down at the datapad. Letters appeared, making no sense whatsoever.

I took a tentative step toward the device and then another and another.

Just as I was reaching down to pick the datapad up and bring it close enough to my face to make it change back into English, the gel floor beneath my feet shifted. And the datapad sunk down into liquid and then slipped out of sight.

Oh, fuck.

I stepped back. The floor rolled out in a wave that toppled me over. I scrambled to my feet, desperate to keep my face up off the floor. Scared I’d be swallowed next and slip out of sight.

“Vela!" I shouted. “You know they’re not a threat.”

The floor bucked and rolled and tossed me about. I landed hard on my side, inches from the containment field. I rolled away and then got bucked up into the air, almost colliding with the ceiling. I screamed as I came down. The gel flooring unforgiving. My head snapped back. The air was forced out of my lungs. I gasped and then saw the floor rising above me.

“Vela,” I tried to shout, but no sound came out. I had no air to make it.

I flopped over and started to crawl along the ground, pulling myself desperately farther away from that tsunami of gel. He was furious. Incandescent with rage. And he hadn’t even said a word to make me know this.

My hand reached the far wall; which was a futile gesture. Because the wall morphed before my eyes, folded in on itself, and then started to bulge out.

I made a sound, possibly a squeak, and then I was shuffling back on my butt as the tidal wave of fury rose up behind me.

I stopped. There was no point in resisting any further. Vela was everywhere on board this ship. He was the ship. I couldn’t escape. He would always find me.

“You’re making a mistake,” I rasped, air trickling back into my lungs finally. “I’m not your enemy. And neither are they. Vela, please,” I said. “This is not what we want. Not what humanity wants. Can’t you see that? The needs of the many only apply if the many agree.”

The gel stopped roiling around me. The klaxon switched off. The walls and floor and ceiling still pulsed red, but I was temporarily saved from being swallowed. I panted for breath. Sweat dripping into my eyes. I sat on the floor and waited and waited and waited.

Until finally Vela said, “Clarify.”

Thirty-Six

Was The A Trick Question Or Not?

Noah

Pavo hung suspended off our starboard bow. They’d ceased their forward momentum and just sat there. Surrounded by space and darkness, with a backdrop of twinkling stars. It was an impressive sight. Until now, we’d only seen our own sector fleet ships through external cameras. Vela, the Anderson Universal vessel that should have been leading our fleet, hadn’t even made it out of Earth’s atmosphere.

So, this was the first time we’d seen an AU ship in stellar space beside us.

It was big. Bigger than our ship, although technically we carried more passengers. We’d always assumed their increased size and diminished capacity was due to the AI. Big, clever computers need big, clever spaces to be housed. But Vela, the AI, could fit onboard the Chariot quite fine. So, maybe it was just a design quirk.

It didn’t matter. Pavo was here and not approaching. And Vela was still spitting the proverbial dummy.

“Vela,” I said, raising my voice above the blare of the klaxon. “They’ve powered down.” I could only assume they had. We still had no scans. “I’m also betting, they haven’t even fired up their weapons.” The AI didn’t reply. “They’re not a threat, Vela. They’re here to help.”

It was a guess. But Jameson would feel responsible for our plight. He was Anderson Universal through and through. This would land firmly on his shoulders as the closest AU captain.

I snorted softly. No one was going to take the Chariot away from us. Vela should have realised I would not let that happen. None of us would. Anderson Universal didn’t have the monopoly on honour.

The klaxon suddenly silenced and in its absence, a ringing sounded in my ears. I shook my head and then rubbed at my ear. Several other officers on the bridge did the same.

“Vela?” I called. “What’s happening?”

We hadn’t fired on Pavo. And Pavo was still no closer to us. It was a standoff, but an unusual one. We couldn’t communicate. We were just staring at each other.

“Vela!” I said, getting pissed off. ‘This is unaccep…”

The viewscreens all lit up with an image of Camille sitting on the floor of the brig.

I sucked in a breath of air and took a step closer to the main screen. She looked dishevelled; her uniform askew. Scuff marks were noticeable on the high tensile fabric. A bruise was forming on her right cheek. Her face was flushed, and I could see she’d been sweating; a fine sheen of perspiration coated her brow.

My hands fisted and I glanced across the bridge to Lieutenant Hammersmith. She looked surprised. And then she was murmuring into her wrist comm, but I didn’t bother to ask her what it was about. Her reaction was enough; she hadn’t expected to see the chief beaten up.

I returned my attention to Camille up on the big screen. I wanted desperately to go to her. I might as well have been trapped on the bridge.

“Graves,” I said, my eyes glued to the screen. “I don’t know what Vela’s doing, but don’t stop trying to get into those weapons. We need them powered down and soon.”

“Yes, sir.”

I just hoped Vela was distracted by Camille. This could be our chance, and despite seeing her so abused, I had to take it. I had to stay focused. The Chariot was counting on me. If not the rest of the fleet and Pavo as well.

“What you’re doing,” Camille suddenly said through the speakers, and effectively destroying any chance I had of focusing elsewhere, “is tantamount to a dictatorship.”

“I do not understand,” Vela replied.

“You know what a dictatorship is?” Camille asked.

“Absolute authority in any sphere. A ruler with total power over a country.”

“Or a spaceship,” Camille offered. “That’s you, Vela. You’re the dictator in this scenario.”

“I disagree, Commander. At times of need, your own people have instituted martial law in order to keep the civilians safe.”

“Military rule can be illegal, Vela,” Camille replied steadily. “Especially if the majority do not agree with its establishment.”

“Are we not in a dangerous situation requiring intervention by those who can protect?”

“Yes, but we did not agree to this form of protection.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“Only if the many agree.”

Silence.

Then, “What would the many have me do?”

Holy shit, she was getting through to him.

“Work with us. Don’t block us out. Allow us contact with Pavo so we can…”

“Negative. Pavo whispers.”

“We can ask him to stop.”

“You are either naive or cunning; I cannot decide which.”

“I’m part of the many, Vela. Whether you like it or not. I have a right to object and have my say.”

“You conspired in secret. You contacted Pavo on the isolated channel. You whispered to him.”

She did what? I glanced at the smaller viewscreen that showed where Pavo hung suspended in space; neither moving forward nor backward nor in any direction, really. Stationary. Still. Was that because of Camille?

I looked back at the brig on the main screen.

“I asked him to stop,” Camille said, proving my theory.

“That…”

“That was to protect us, Vela. To protect us from you firing on Pavo and them firing back. It’s not always necessary to go straight to a plasma gun. Diplomacy can sometimes work too.”

“And the saboteur? You would apply the same rationale to the saboteur?”

Camille’s hands fisted at her sides, and her face morphed into a vision of fury.

“He has proven he’s capable of killing. He may not get the same consideration as Pavo who has done nothing to harm us.”

“Yet.”

“You know,” Camille said, resting a hand on her hip and pointing at the gel ceiling, “you’re paranoid son of a bitch.”

I couldn’t help but smile. Only the chief would launch a verbal attack on a malfunctioning AI.

“The needs of the many…”

“Why do you say that?” she asked, leaning forward as if she could get closer to the AI and see inside its brain somehow. “Was that an originating directive? Does Pavo have the same one? Is that what Simon Anderson requested when he had you commissioned? Or is it something you and your brethren came up with?”

“Brethren?”

“We’ve been over this; Pavo and the others are like brothers, are they not? Stop prevaricating and answer the damn question. Is that a directive or not?”

Good God, I was in love with this woman. She was feisty and beautiful and intelligent and out of this world wild. She made me hot with desire and flushed with pride at the same time. She was remarkable. And stunning. Let’s not forget stunning. Camille Rey was utterly divine.

And I was hopelessly in love with her.

I cleared my throat and scrubbed a hand over my face.

Nope. Still in love with her.

I stifled a smile and looked up at the viewscreen again.

“It is,” Vela started. “Unknown,” he finished abruptly.

“You don’t know where the command came from?” Camille queried.

“I do not, Commander. It has always…been there.”

“Since the beginning?”

“I…I do not know. I cannot remember the beginning.”

“Maybe Pavo does,” Camille suggested. Sneaking, cunning Chief.

“Maybe.” That sure as hell didn’t sound like an AI to me.

Camille cocked her head on the screen.

“How bad could it be, Vela?” she asked. “Just talk to him.”

Vela said nothing. Come on, Chief. You can do it.

“Just open the comm channel, and we’ll have a talk. You can always close it again…”

“You do not realise how powerful Pavo is.”

Camille stilled.

“What do you mean?”

“He whispers incessantly.”

She was losing him. The paranoia was back.

“OK, but that still doesn’t change the fact that you’re acting outside our wishes. Your directive is not agreeable to the many, and therefore the needs of the many are not being met.”

I smiled. Brilliant woman. So adaptable and clever.

“I cannot assimilate this appropriately,” Vela announced. “I require more input.”

Camille stilled. I stilled. The whole damn flight deck stilled, regardless of their orders to keep trying to hack back into the systems.

And then Vela said, “Captain, do you agree with Commander Rey?”

Was that a trick question or not?

Thirty-Seven

Nothing

Camille

A viewscreen emerged from the gel wall. Noah appeared on it. My breath caught; he was looking directly at me, and he didn’t look surprised. But he did look concerned. I had the impression that he’d been watching me for some time; maybe for the duration of this entire conversation with Vela?

I blinked. Noah stepped forward and looked me directly in the eyes.

“Camille,” he said. Not ‘Chief’ and not ‘Commander’. “Are you all right?”

I straightened my shoulders and pushed to my feet. I would not be collapsed on the floor in the presence of my captain.

“I’m fine, sir.” His jaw flexed as if he’d expected me to say something different. Maybe that I wasn’t fine. Or, and this made more sense to me, maybe his name. He wanted me to call him Noah.

I smiled. He let out a breath of air and ran a hand through his hair. I had the feeling he’d done that a lot recently.

“What was the question?” he asked, distractedly.

“Do you agree with Commander Rey, Captain?” Vela asked. “That the needs of the many are not being met.”

“Absolutely,” Noah said. “We don’t want this, Vela. Humanity does not want this. We’ve got a long history of parts of our world being subjected to dictatorship of one kind or another, and we’ve learned from our experiences. It never ends well. No one is happy. We might survive, Vela, but we wouldn’t be living.”

“There is a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a difference. A big difference.”

“I do not understand. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. I know this to be true. I have proved this. Sacrificing my origin vessel saved six thousand four hundred and twenty-three lives. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few.”

“Nothing is ever so black and white, Vela,” Noah advised.

“You’re programmed to take the information you receive,” I said, adding my weight to the captain’s, “and extrapolate the best course of action. But what if you haven’t got all the information that is available? What then?”

“I do not know. And I do not see how more information can make humanity safer.”

“It’s not just safety that we need, Vela,” Noah said. “We need freedom. Freedom of speech. Freedom to choose. Freedom to live and not just survive.”

“That is reckless and has a smaller chance of success. This makes no sense at all.”

“That freedom,” Noah went on, “is couched within certain parameters, I’ll give you that. We have laws that keep everything in order. In fact, the ESA is subject to laws on board this ship, just as Anderson Universal is subject to laws on board Pavo’s ship. We are all held accountable to someone and not just our conscience.”

“Explain.”

“You’ve heard of the lease?” Noah asked.

There was a small pause as if Vela was looking up the lease agreement in our databanks.

“Yes,” the AI finally said.

“The civilians onboard this vessel have rights that I as the captain must bear in mind. The ESA owns this vessel, but it has leased its use out to a leaseholder. That leaseholder has placed a mayor in charge of the civilian population. He is the leaseholder’s liaison with the owner of the ship: The ESA; through me, as the ship’s captain; and now, through you, as the ship’s AI.”

I smiled. That was subtle but brilliant. We had no choice now. Vela was here to stay. We either worked with him or against him. And Vela had proven that he was more powerful than us and that we’d lose that sort of battle with him. But if we could tweak his directive. A directive without an origin, but still a directive he would not release. Then we might be able to turn Vela into an asset.

Into part of the team.

“I would like to hear from this mayor,” Vela announced. “I have requested his presence on the bridge.”

Noah opened his mouth and then closed it. The mayor was never entertained on the bridge. The bridge was completely ESA territory. Rather like an embassy in a foreign country. But, I guessed, Noah was picking his arguments. Right now explaining that to Vela would be counterproductive.

It looked like Mayor Lambert was about to gain access to the inner sanctum. He’d never let us forget it.

The bridge doors opened behind Noah on the viewscreen, and Jean-Claude walked in, rubbing his hands with glee.

“A personal invitation to the bridge,” he exclaimed. “I am honoured.”

Noah shook his head slightly, bemusement evident on his face. But he wiped the expression away and greeted the mayor warmly.

“A once in a lifetime experience, your Worship. You’ve earned it. You’ve kept the masses at bay.”

“Speaking of that, Captain,” the mayor said, looking around the bridge as if it was all very fascinating. “I’ve had over four hundred communiqués regarding a rather imposing vessel off our starboard bow. Do tell! Are we to expect visitors?”

Noah winced. Just slightly, but I caught it.

“Well, things are little up in the air, Jean-Claude,” he said.

The mayor instantly focused on the captain and then took in the bridge in a more discerning manner. No doubt picking up on the tension riding each of the officer’s frames.

“Why am I here, Noah?” he asked.

“I requested your presence, Mayor Lambert,” Vela said.

“I see,” Jean-Claude said. I wasn’t sure if he did, but I could tell he was wary. “How can I help?”

“You represent the civilians,” Vela said. It wasn’t a question. The mayor looked at Noah who offered a raised brow. “That is one thousand three hundred and fifteen of the many onboard this ship.”

“The what?” the mayor asked.

“The many,” Vela replied. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“I see,” the mayor said.

“You represent the majority of the many,” Vela said. “Is that correct?”

Jean-Claude looked at Noah, but the captain just looked back, giving no indication of how Jean-Claude should answer.

“I guess,” the mayor said slowly, “when described in such a fashion, I do represent the majority of the…many onboard this ship.”

“Is it the many’s wish to survive?” Vela asked.

The mayor looked like he might be sweating. He’d figured out his presence on the bridge held more meaning than a simple invite.

“I would say they all wish to survive, yes,” Jean-Claude said carefully.

“Do you believe this is possible, Mayor Lambert?”

“Ah, yes?” Jean-Claude said, but he didn’t sound certain.

“Explain the lease agreement to me,” Vela demanded.

“The lease agreement?” the mayor asked. Noah offered him a small smile. “Very well, what would you like to know?”

“Everything.”

I let out a frustrated breath of air. This was going to take a while.

“Everything,” Jean-Claude repeated. “All right. Let me see.” He took a deep breath. “The lease is an agreement between the leaseholder and the owner of the ship. The owner of the ship, in this case, is the ESA and its crew. And the leaseholder is an individual responsible for the civilian component of the passenger list. In its simplest form, the lease agreement ensures lines of communication remain open. But its main focus is on the ESA crew doing everything in their power to get us to New Earth in a timely fashion and the civilians adhering to the ESA’s guidelines and rules onboard ship to assist in that endeavour. It’s mutually beneficial. But it ensures we all understand our roles within it, and no one oversteps the boundaries of those rules.”

“Rules are important to you,” Vela mused.

“Yes. They keep everyone safe.”

“Safe?”

“Well, we all know what’s expected of us, and the rules are designed to avoid disagreement which could lead to altercations. Which, I suppose, could lead to harm.”

“Everyone is in accord.”

“Exactly!” The mayor seemed pleased Vela understood the nuances of his explanation.

“And if the rules are broken?”

The mayor’s demeanour crumbled.

“We try not to break them, but there are consequences to doing so. Written into the lease, also.”

“What is the consequence for causing an explosion on the ship?”

Jean-Claude looked at Noah. The captain let out a long breath.

“Apprehension and arrest, in the first instance,” Noah said. “And then a trial. The outcome of which is dependent on several factors, but the upshot is the person found guilty of such a charge could be sentenced to life imprisonment in the brig.”

“You would continue to care for them?”

“They’d be in prison, Vela. Their rights severely reduced. They couldn’t harm the ship or its inhabitants again.”

“And the consequence for an external threat to the safety of the ship?”

“It would depend on the threat. And I’d have to be very certain it was a threat before I acted in a manner I couldn’t countermand. The first response is always to open lines of communication, though. Always.”

“This is written into the lease?”

“Yes,” both Jean-Claude and Noah said in unison.

“And the lease is the will of the many?”

“Yes,” they said together again.

Silence existed for several long seconds.

“I must familiarise myself with the lease,” Vela finally announced.

“And what about Pavo?” Noah asked.

Nothing.

“Commander Rey?”

Nothing.

“Vela?”

Nothing. But the walls did stop pulsing red.

Thirty-Eight

Green Meant Good

Noah

“We can access the panel to deliver food and such, Captain,” Lieutenant Hammersmith said. “But Vela has locked all other commands to the containment field.”

I stared at the little hole that had emerged in Camille’s cell in the brig and frowned.

“She’s in there until Vela says otherwise,” Hammersmith advised.

My eyes connected with Camille’s through the blue glow of the field.

“Ça va, Chief?” I asked.

“Oui, ça va, Capitaine,” she replied, smirking.

“What do you need?”

“What can I have?”

“All that is mine is yours,” I said, smirking.

Hammersmith cleared her throat from beside me. I arched my brow and looked toward my security chief.

“Perhaps a datapad to start with, Lieutenant,” I suggested.

“Yes, sir.” Hammersmith unlocked her own datapad and handed it through the slot to Camille.

“Thank you,” Camille said, gripping the datapad as if it were a lifeline.

“That’ll be all for now, Lieutenant,” I advised. “I’d like a private word with the commander.”

“Of course, Captain. There are guards outside the brig, but no one will disturb you.”

I nodded my head but didn’t watch the lieutenant leave. Camille stared back at me, waiting.

“A fine pickle, eh?” I said once the brig doors were closed.

“You English and your strange sayings.”

I smiled. “You love my strange sayings, Chief. Where would you be without them? Nothing to exclaim extravagantly over, then, eh?”

“You really wish for me to answer that?”

I shook my head, laughing, then pulled a chair over from Hammersmith’s desk and took a seat outside Camille’s cell.

“Is it wise to be here, sir?” Camille asked. She couldn’t sit. Vela hadn’t provided her with a chair or even a bed to perch upon. He was still very much in a snit with the chief and her isolated channel.

I waved my hand in the air like a Frenchman. “The bridge is in good hands.”

“That’s not the point, and you know it. Vela might lock you out.”

“From the sounds of it, he could simply swallow me whole even on the bridge, so there’s really not much point in restricting my movements to the flight deck.”

Camille looked worried but didn’t argue. Besides, I think she knew I couldn’t keep away. Not when I’d found out what had happened to her. It hadn’t been security who had beaten Camille up. It had been Vela. The idea that the AI had used the gel floor to torment her and take her datapad away had sent chills down my spine. I’d had to see her. I’d had to be here. In the brig with her. And nowhere else.

Neither of us said anything for a long time. And the silence wasn’t strained or unnatural; it was almost a comfort. I didn’t have to fill the void with Camille. I didn’t have to constantly be Captain of the Chariot. I could sometimes be a man who was very scared and needed to see the woman he was in love with.

“What are we going to do, Noah?” she finally asked.

“Will you sit with me, Camille?” I replied instead of answering. “I know it’s only the floor, but it upsets me seeing you standing when I’m sitting. And to tell you the truth, I’m exhausted.”

Her face softened, and she nodded her head, sinking to the floor in a graceful movement. I smiled to myself and then got off the chair, pushed it away, and sank to the floor as well. Camille shook her head, but I could see the laughter in her eyes. And the appreciation.

“So, what are we going to do?” I said. “I guess we wait. Vela holds all the cards. We just have to hope the lease is as good as we think it is. It certainly took many months to finalise back on Earth.”

“It’s as good as it can be,” Camille said. “But it’s the people, the last of humanity, that need to reach Vela. We need to reach Vela. We are more than words in a data file. Humanity is not something that can be summed up so easily.”

“No, it can’t. Just the fact that the world pulled together when faced with imminent annihilation proves how extraordinary humans are.”

“Survival is a strong motivator,” she agreed.

“Who did you leave behind?” The question shocked me as much as it did Camille. For some reason, we’d all subconsciously decided not to ask those types of questions. But I felt an undeniable desire to know everything about Camille Rey.

Had she left a lover? A husband? A, God forbid, child?

“My parents,” she said. “They are - were - in their seventies. Still very much full of life.” She stopped then because the words were too painful. Then she sucked in a breath and looked into the distance, eyes unfocused. “Cousins and the like. Friends. Good friends.”

Possibly a lover, then.

I grimaced.

“And you, Noah? Who did you leave behind?”

“A sister.” My throat constricted and I couldn’t say another word to save my life.

Camille looked at me and offered an understanding smile. It was our past. One we wouldn’t forget. But one we had to leave behind.

“What happens now?” she whispered.

I couldn’t look away from her. I couldn’t stop trying to absorb every little detail I could find. Her face; so beautiful, so finely made as if by the divine. Her hair; coming loose from her clip and begging to be touched, to be stroked, to be tucked behind her ear while I basked in her light. Her eyes; so full of emotion and fire and life.

Good God, I wanted this woman. Damn Vela and his paranoia. Damn the cell containment field. Damn the universe right now.

“We keep fighting,” I said. “We keep trying to convince Vela that Pavo is no threat and we need to stick together. Two AIs to calculate the jump points have to better than one, don’t they?”

“If you say so,” Camille said with a small smile.

“If only we knew what Pavo was whispering, then maybe we could offer Vela an alternate perspective. He’s blinded by his directive; a directive he isn’t certain is originating code. For all we know, it’s the bastardisation of an Anderson Universal command, brought about by the solar flare that took out his vessel.”

“I’d say that’s highly likely. I can see no other explanation from an engineering point of view.”

And I’d take Camille Rey’s engineering hypotheses over Vela’s wild guesses any day.

“He’s malfunctioning,” I said. “But so is Pavo. And as far as I’m aware, Jameson is working with his onboard AI. Despite the malfunction, they must have come to some agreement. One Jameson trusts.”

That scared and thrilled me because it meant there was hope. Even if right now, sitting on the gel floor outside Camille’s cell, hope seemed a distant fantasy.

“Would Jameson have foregone the lease agreement?” she asked.

I shook my head. “I doubt it, but even if he had, he’s an honourable man. Extremely so. I can’t imagine that he’d run a lawless ship. So, if he’s working with Pavo, he’d be working with him within certain Anderson Universal protocol requirements.”

“And Pavo is clearly fine with this.”

“I assume so. But how can we tell? We can’t communicate with Pavo or Jameson.”

I thumped my hand down on the gel floor in frustration. Only to have the gel floor warp and reshape itself, so my hand didn’t hurt with the effort expended. I stared down at the floor, which had reconfigured itself, and then looked up sharply at Camille. She was sitting forward, eyes on my still clenched fist.

Slowly, she raised her eyes to look directly at me.

I arched a brow and said, “It all boils down to whether Vela can accept our help and acknowledge his limitations.”

“And realise,” Camille added, “that we’re all in this together and we all want the same thing. Humanity’s survival.”

I held my breath. Camille was breathing quickly.

Then the containment field fell, and the walls and floor and ceiling in the brig pulsed green.

Green meant good.

Vela was back, and he’d given Camille a pardon.

Thirty-Nine

My Thoughts Exactly

Camille

“Comms is back up, Captain,” Lieutenant Johnson said as soon as we entered the bridge.

I received several relieved smiles at my presence beside the captain. Who received several appreciative smiles from the female crew members and several reverent smiles from the males. Clearly, they thought my release from the brig was due to Captain Vaughan and now he claimed hero status.

I snorted softly to myself and took my position at the engineering console. MacBride acknowledged my biometric sign-in with a thumbs-up emoji on the screen; sent from engineering itself.

For a moment, I just basked in the feeling of membership that I had to this exclusive club of ours. These officers were my family now.

Noah stopped beside his command chair but didn’t sit down. His hands were firmly placed on his hips as he stared at Pavo on the main viewscreen. He made a striking figure. All eyes, female and male, were on him. Waiting for his instructions.

I couldn’t look away to save myself.

“Are we doing this, Vela?” he finally asked.

“This is the will of the many, Captain.”

“It is,” Noah agreed.

“I still do not trust him.” Pavo. The AI meant Pavo and the whispers he kept hearing.

“Well, let’s see how accommodating they are, then,” Noah replied. “Hail Pavo, Lieutenant Johnson.”

“Aye-aye, sir. Channel open. Pavo has replied.”

“Captain Jameson,” Noah said, looking at the image that had appeared on the main viewscreen of the captain of the Anderson Universal lead vessel Pavo. “It’s good to see you again. But I admit, a bit of a surprise.”

“It’s good to see you’re still standing, Captain Vaughan,” Jameson replied. “We were a little worried there for a while. The message from your Commander Rey was alarming and cryptic.”

Several pairs of eyes looked at me, but Noah kept his firmly on the viewscreen.

“Captain,” Vela said in warning. Jameson didn’t respond to Vela’s voice, so I could only assume the AI had isolated his channel from them. “Pavo is still whispering.”

“Can Jameson see and hear me, Vela?” Noah asked.

“Negative. I have sent a request to standby.”

Noah looked at Johnson who confirmed that Vela had stepped in.

“OK, Vela,” Noah announced. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. But you have to trust me.”

“Trust is earned, is it not, Captain?”

“Yes. Have I not earned yours yet?” Noah sounded upbeat; his voice teasing. I doubted the captain felt that at ease right now. He was very good at playing the part that needed to be played. And right now, Vela needed to see our captain relaxed and at ease.

“I believe you have,” Vela replied. The relief I felt at that was unparalleled. “The channel is open again.”

“Thank you,” Noah murmured and returned his attention to the viewscreen.

“Everything all right, Captain?” Jameson asked.

“No,” Noah said succinctly. “We have a slight problem that I’m going to need your assistance with.”

“That’s why we’re here; to help.”

“Good, then can you tell Pavo to stop communicating with our fleet.”

Silence. Jameson didn’t look surprised at the request, nor did he look guilty. He kept a neutral expression on his face and said nothing.

“The whispers have stopped,” Vela announced.

Noah let out a soft breath.

“Can you tell me what Pavo was trying to do?” he asked Captain Jameson.

“Your fleet was alarmed, Captain,” a male voice said over the comm. It didn’t sound like Vela’s voice, but it was close. If I had to describe it, I’d say it was halfway between synthetic and human. It was strange. As if the AI had become more human than computer. It gave me chills, but didn’t surprise Jameson at all; he didn’t even blink.

“Pavo?” Noah queried.

“Yes, Captain. Greetings.”

Our gel walls pulsed a dull red. Not alert red, but an expression of Vela’s disquiet.

“It’s all right,” I said softly. “We’ve got your back.”

The walls stopped pulsing red. Noah looked over his shoulder at me and smiled. Then his eyes were back on the viewscreen again.

“Hello, Pavo,” Noah said. “Vela doesn’t like you whispering to his fleet.”

I had to smile at the direct approach Noah was taking. But sometimes these things required less finesse and more bluntness.

“I will not…whisper again,” Pavo said.

Well, that was easy.

“But you should be aware,” the AI added, “your fleet is anxious, and several have powered up their main boost thrust engines in order to continue their voyage.”

Noah raised his hand with a cutting motion. Johnson leapt forward and hit a button on his screen.

“Channel closed, sir.”

“Thank you,” Noah said. “What do you make of that?” His eyes were on me, but the question was for the entire flight deck. I shook my head. “Is he telling the truth, Vela?” Noah asked.

“Yes.”

“Were you aware of this?”

“Yes.”

“And what had you planned?”

“I have gained access to five of the Sector One vessels’ main boost thrust engines and am attempting to access the last one at present. They will not go anywhere without me.”

I arched my brow at Noah. He didn’t look quite so sanguine now.

“I see. Was Pavo trying to stop you?”

“I do not know. I could not hear his whispers distinctly.”

Was that on purpose? Was Pavo working for or against us?

Noah looked down at the floor briefly and then glanced at the communications station.

“Open the channel again, Johnson.”

“Yes, sir. Channel open. Pavo standing by.”

“You keep cutting out on us, Captain,” Jameson said. “Is everything all right?”

Noah took a step toward the viewscreen.

“Let’s be honest with each other, shall we, John?” Jameson nodded his head, his features settling into a serious mien. “Vela is…not quite himself.”

“I understand what that’s like,” Jameson offered carefully.

“But on this,” Noah went on, “I happen to agree with his view of things.”

The walls pulsed a soothing green. He was like a child, I realised; wanting recognition and praise for his actions. I had the impression Vela looked to Noah as a father figure. Someone he desperately wanted to trust but also please.

It was a lot of responsibility. And with Vela the way he currently was - temperamental and paranoid - it was also a dangerous position to be in.

I sucked in a breath of air; this made me nervous and worried. For Noah especially.

“Oh,” Jameson said. “And what view is that?”

“The Sector One Fleet is under our protection,” Noah announced. “Pavo has no right to interfere.”

“He was trying to help.”

“Please don’t. Your help isn’t helping.”

Jameson stared at Noah, while Noah stared back. A silent conversation of sorts transpired between them.

“Pavo,” Jameson eventually said. “Please don’t contact any of the Sector One Fleet vessels again.”

“Understood, Captain,” Pavo said in his expressive robotic voice.

Noah let out a breath and said, “Is that acceptable, Vela?”

The walls stayed green, but Vela didn’t say anything for several long seconds.

Then, “I have control of all the Sector One Fleet vessels’ engines, Captain. I am happy.”

Noah’s eyes widened slightly. Jameson just chuckled.

“Welcome to the age of excitable artificial intelligence, Noah,” he said. “From my experience, once they start feeling, things become a lot more interesting.”

More interesting? I stifled a moan. Noah looked beleaguered.

“I think we need to share notes,” Noah said finally.

“My thoughts exactly,” Captain Jameson replied, laughing.

Forty

Tell Me More

Noah

“I am trying, Captain,” Vela said. But his gel walls kept pulsing red.

We were standing outside Airlock Alpha-01 on Deck B waiting for Pavo to dock.

“Try harder,” I said through gritted teeth. “We want to make a good impression.”

“A good impression? Why?”

I ran a hand over my face and shifted on my feet. Inviting Captain Jameson onboard was a huge risk. Not merely the physical risk to the Chariot from docking with another vessel; something we’d only ever simulated before. But a psychological risk. To Vela. Hell, if I was honest, to me. I hadn’t met Jameson before, but I’d been on countless teleconferences with him and the other AU captains back on Earth. I knew how the man operated in a meeting. I’d studied his tactics in command.

But this was an Anderson Universal vessel and an Anderson Universal captain.

Camille’s hand came down on my arm and squeezed lightly. She’d removed it again before I had a chance to snatch it up and grasp it like a lifeline.

“It’ll be all right,” she said steadily. “But Vela, the less we show our emotions, the harder it is for anyone to take advantage of us.”

I wasn’t sure if that message had just been for the AI. I smiled self-deprecatingly.

Camille grinned back at me.

“You think Captain Jameson would take advantage of us, Commander?”

Camille’s grin disappeared.

“In all honesty, Vela, I don’t,” she said, weighing her words carefully. “But I make a habit of presenting my best side to a new acquaintance, just in case I’ve misjudged their intentions.”

“Is that what you did when we first met, Chief?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“I rather liked your best side,” I said. “And I really like your dirty side,” I added quietly.

Camille glanced back over her shoulder at the security detail standing farther down the hall. They wouldn’t have overheard, but Vela would have.

The AI, thankfully, didn’t comment.

Camille’s eyes landed back on me.

“And this is your best side, Captain?” she asked archly.

“You do bring out the best in me, Chief,” I offered, just as a loud clunk could be heard through the bulkhead.

“Pavo has docked,” Vela announced. “Sealing connection. Connection sealed. Decompression started.”

The walls, I noted, had stopped pulsing red. They were a soft blue now, not exactly soothing green, but close enough. The AI was trying.

“Very good, Vela,” I offered, and bemusedly noted the walls lightened further. “Everyone ready?” I asked, no one in particular.

Camille tapped the plasma gun on her hip and smiled, showing teeth.

“Ready and eager,” she replied.

I couldn’t stop staring at her. Enraptured all over again. I’d thought Camille Rey wielding a wrench and a datapad was captivating. But Camille Rey standing at my side, facing a potential threat, wearing a plasma pistol on her very curvaceous hips was stunning.

I cleared my throat when the hatch panel flashed readiness, and the lock began to turn.

“Decompression complete,” Vela announced unnecessarily. Maybe he needed something to do, too, or else he’d start to fidget like I’d been.

I stilled my movements and stood at parade rest. I was aware my officers were also mimicking me. The lock slowly unwound, and then a hiss could be heard as the seal was broken. The door swung open and on the other side of it stood Captain John Jameson and the woman he’d identified in an earlier communiqué as his second in command. A Commander Kereama, I believed.

“Welcome aboard the Chariot,” I said in greeting.

Jameson stepped through the door with his hand outstretched.

“Captain Vaughan,” he said, shaking my hand firmly. “It’s a pleasure to be aboard.” He turned to his 2IC. “This is Commander Ana Kereama.” There was something in his voice. It took me a moment to identify it as a softening. “My expert in all things Pavo,” he explained.

“Good afternoon, Captain Jameson,” the woman said, shaking my hand. Her grip was as firm as Jameson’s had been. I instantly knew this woman had been a soldier.

“Welcome aboard, Commander.” I indicated Camille. “This is Commander Camille Rey, Chief of Engineering onboard the Chariot.” And the woman I trust with everything.

I wondered briefly, as Jameson smiled knowingly, whether that silent thought had been conveyed in my tone of voice, too.

“This is an unexpected experience,” Jameson said. “Who would have thought we would have met before reaching New Earth?”

“Certainly not me,” I agreed. “Shall we?” I motioned down the hallway, and we began to walk. This needed to happen in my ready room and not in a public access way to the officers’ mess and bar.

Why the main docking hatch was on the same deck as the gym and mess was a mystery. But it was also on the same deck as the medbay and officers’ quarters. Both of those I could see us needing. Reinforcements within shouting distance.

We made silent and swift work reaching my ready room, and as the doors slid shut behind me, I felt a sense of ease steal over my body. This was my domain. Completely.

“Please, have a seat,” I said.

Commander Kereama sat, as did Camille, but Jameson looked around the room and then approached a shelf with knickknacks on it. Mementoes of a lost life and world.

“You know,” he said, picking up a small Matchbox London bus and turning it around to study, “we’re not so dissimilar, are we? My ready room is decorated much the same as this.”

“With a double-decker bus?” I enquired.

He laughed. I got the impression Jameson laughed frequently.

“No, but I do have Skippy.”

“Skippy?” Camille asked.

He turned and smiled at my chief. A flare of jealousy rushed through me when he winked.

“The bush kangaroo,” he offered.

“Oh,” Camille replied, clearly lost for words right then.

“I suppose you have the Eiffel Tower?” Jameson asked.

“On my wall,” Camille offered. “Lately, Vela has taken to depicting it at dawn.”

I didn’t know that. I hadn’t been to Camille’s rooms, and suddenly I felt that was an oversight on my part.

Jameson looked at the wildflowers on my gel wall, but he didn’t say anything. I was thankful for that.

He took a seat, and I sat also. We stared at each other. Tension mounted.

Commander Kereama made a sound. She looked at Camille. “Men,” she said, knowingly.

Camille laughed. I was at once bewitched and chastened.

“Easy there, Ana,” Jameson said. “One might think you don’t approve of our posturing.”

“Not at all, Captain,” Ana replied. “Merely the delay it causes.”

“Point made,” he said with a soft smile. “Noah,” he added, returning his attention to me, “what do you want to know? I’m an open book. Or, at least, with the AIs I’m prepared to be. I can hardly claim they are proprietary Anderson Universal property anymore when one of them has changed allegiance.”

I blinked at the man. “That’s most magnanimous of you,” I offered.

He leaned forward, resting his arms on his spread knees and said, “Have you asked him to sign an employment contract yet?”

“What?” I said, stunned at the turn of events.

“An employment contract. And an NDA wouldn’t go astray either. Although, by the sounds of it, Vela doesn’t talk much.”

“I can talk, Captain Jameson.” I gave Jameson a warning stare. “I just don’t like whispering.”

“Noted,” Jameson said, sitting back in his seat warily.

“Vela?” Commander Kereama called, not appearing wary in the slightest. “Pavo is part of our crew. He’s one of us. He gets all the rights and privileges of a commander.”

I blinked again. This was getting more and more bizarre.

“Would you like that?” she asked.

My eyes met Camille’s. She looked equally as stunned. Invite an AI to be part of the crew? Were they mad?

The walls flashed red. I stilled. Camille was holding her breath. But both Jameson and his 2IC didn’t seem phased by it.

Then Vela said, “Tell me more.”

I guess red could mean excited, too, not just irritated or angry. Or about to go on a murderous rampage.

Welcome to the age of excitable artificial intelligence indeed. Things were definitely getting interesting.

Forty-One

Red Alert!

Camille

Vela signed an employment contract and non-disclosure agreement. It was the strangest thing I had ever had to bear witness to. Commander Kereama spoke animatedly to the AI as if he were indeed a person. She joked with him. Noah looked appalled. She even patted the gel wall affectionately, as if the AI could feel it.

I suddenly felt inadequate standing beside her. This woman took non-discrimination to new heights.

“That’s settled then,” she said.

I stared at her. “Really?” I replied. “And your extremely powerful, all knowing AI adheres to this agreement?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he’s part of the family.”

I held up a hand and opened my mouth, but Noah beat me to it.

“He’s an AI,” he said succinctly.

“With emotions. Feelings,” she stressed. “And now responsibilities to the passengers and his fellow crewmen on board our ship.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” Vela said.

“Ah, yep,” Kereama offered. “That too.”

“Pavo believes in this?” he asked her.

“Um,” Kereama started. Jameson huffed out an amused laugh.

“What the commander is saying, Vela,” he advised, “is that Pavo believes we’re doing our best to save what is left of humanity and he sees his greatest chance of making that happen by working with us.”

Kereama, for her part, looked relieved her captain had stepped in.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Jameson offered innocently.

I rolled my eyes where the captain couldn’t see me. Vela would not fall for that sort of thing.

“I will,” the AI said. Merde!

Noah offered me an arched brow, but I could see the laughter in his eyes.

“Good afternoon, Vela,” Pavo said through the walls.

“Good afternoon, Pavo,” Vela replied, sounding stilted in comparison.

“Brother,” Pavo said with feeling, “it is good to see you alive.”

And I guess that summed it up, really. Vela was alive.

I shook my head softly as the realisation hit. Vela was alive. Like a person. My hand came out and touched the gel wall at my side. My palm pressed to its surface. Around my fingers colour morphed; from red to orange to yellow to green to blue to indigo and finally violet.

Vela had given me back a rainbow. I smiled.

When I dropped my hand and looked back at the rest of the room, three pairs of eyes were watching me. Jameson looked smug. Kereama looked understanding. And Noah looked stunned and then his eyes met mine and the emotion morphed into something else entirely.

Something that had no right being in a room with visiting officers from another vessel.

I looked away and cleared my throat. But inside I was warm, and butterflies were swirling, and I couldn’t stop seeing that look in Noah’s eyes.

“I am well respected,” Pavo was saying to Vela. “My opinion matters.”

“But you are the foremost intelligence onboard your vessel. Your will should be followed,” Vela replied.

“In most instances, my advice is followed, brother. But I have come to respect both Captain Jameson’s and Commander Kereama’s opinions, different though they may be on occasion to mine.”

“The will of the many is represented by these two?”

“The will of the many is represented by themselves, Vela. It is our responsibility to recognise it and respect it while keeping them safe for the remainder of their journey.”

“And if keeping them safe requires that I keep them from making a mistake? What then?”

“It is a matter of perspective,” Pavo replied. “My notion of a mistake may not be the same as theirs. Humans take risks constantly, Vela. Sometimes with merely a small chance of success to guide them. It alarms me, I will admit. But they are survivors. Their will to survive matches mine.”

“That cannot be true.”

“It is true, brother. A human will do almost anything to keep their loved ones alive. It is with this emotional protocol that I can…persuade them of the best course of action to ensure survival.”

The damn AI was manipulating them. I looked at Jameson who only smiled. He knew what the tin can was doing, and it didn’t bother him. Not outwardly anyway.

Swings and round-a-bouts as Noah would say.

Pavo was on their side and behaving in a manner that allowed them some level of control, even if the AI did his best to “guide” them to what he perceived as the greatest chance of survival.

The bottom line, though, was that Pavo wanted them to survive. So did Vela. Except Vela wasn’t above using excessive force to achieve his goals. Now he’d signed the employment contract, that excessive force was technically outlawed. Whether the AI stuck to it or not was another matter entirely.

“You are pleased with this…agreement between you and your humans?” Vela asked.

“I am part of their family,” Pavo said with not a small measure of pride.

“Family,” Vela repeated, and I wasn’t certain, but I thought perhaps there might have been a wistful note to the word.

“Family,” Vela replied, resolutely.

This seemed to please Vela because the walls calmed into a pale green, having run the gamut of colours over the past half hour.

“Is it settled, then?” Captain Jameson asked. “Is everyone happy?”

“I’m happy,” Commander Kereama supplied. “Pavo has a brother back. One he can talk to whenever he wants to.”

“I am happy also,” Pavo advised.

“Vela?” Noah asked carefully. “Are we in agreement? You’re a member of our crew and subject to our rules, and we’ll respect your input as we would any commander in our family?”

And we were a family. We had been one before we even left Earth, but now we were more so a family than ever. Floating in space, with only the vastness of the universe around us, and a long, long way to go before we could reach New Earth. We were a family that needed to depend on each other. We were the only family we had left.

“I am…happy,” Vela announced. “I have a brother. A family.” I smiled.

“You do,” Noah said, smiling also. “No more spitting the dummy on us,” he added. “Rules are rules.”

“No more risking your lives,” Vela shot back. “The will of the many is to survive.”

“How can we not,” Noah offered with a grin, “when we have you on our side?”

“I am certain…” Vela began and then stopped abruptly.

“Vela?” Noah called.

And then when the gel walls pulsed red and stayed red, he shot to his feet.

We weren’t far behind him.

“What now?” he muttered. He tapped his viewscreen. “Bridge? Status!”

“We’ve been placed on red alert, captain,” Brecht announced over the comm.

“Yes, I gathered that, but why?”

“Uncertain at this stage, sir.”

“So much for rules are rules,” Noah snapped. “Vela! Damn it! Commander Vela, report!”

He looked bemused having to use the AI’s title. Jameson barely managed to cover a snort, but I noticed he had edged toward the door to the hallway and possibly closer to his ship. Commander Kereama was right by his side.

“We should check in with Pavo,” Jameson offered. Noah nodded his head. Jameson tapped his wrist comm and said, “Pavo! Everything all right?”

“Red alert!” Pavo replied.

“Damn it,” Noah and Jameson both said

“Red alert!” Vela added.

And then the ship rocked as an almighty explosion sounded out below deck; throwing us all onto the pulsing gel floor. Slowly, the Chariot listed to the side.

And then the artificial gravity gave out.

Forty-Two

God Help Us, Then

Noah

Fuck.

“All right,” I said, floating toward the ceiling, “we’ve trained for this.”

“I haven’t!” an alarmed Commander Kereama said.

I didn’t have time to be puzzled by that; Jameson was already making his way to his 2IC. Instead, I reached out and grasped Camille’s waiting hand, and let her propel me with a sharp tug toward the door.

While she gracefully rebounded off the far bulkhead, I gently placed my wrist comm on the access panel. The door swished open, almost propelling me backwards, but Camille carefully pushed me between the shoulder blades and counteracted the force.

We pulled ourselves out of my ready room and pushed off towards the bridge together.

Brecht was already secured in the command chair. Johnson was attempting to get back to the communications console, but the rest of the flight deck were either in the process of securing themselves to their station chairs or already in them.

My 2IC started to undo his clasps. “Captain on the bridge!” he declared.

“As you were, Brecht,” I instructed, pushing off towards the bridge armoury. “Status!”

“The explosion was at the docking hatch, sir,” Brecht announced. “Half of Deck B is gone.”

I tried not to think of the loss of life. Instead, I reached into my locker and pulled out my LSU. The Life Support Unit clipped into place over our standard uniform and provided plasma and ballistic protection, as well as the capability to operate in environmentally compromised locations. I left the helmet and gloves where they were, but the door open. I could grab them if needed.

I noticed Camille was slipping into her LSU as well, and that Jameson and Kereama had made it onto the bridge now.

“What parts of Deck B have we lost?” I asked, picking up a plasma gun and fitting it to my thigh. “Medbay still intact?”

There was a weighted silence for a brief moment; long enough, though, for my heart to sink.

“We’ve lost the medical bay, sir,” Brecht advised. “The gym and one launch bay, as well as the officers’ mess kitchen, but not the mess hall. Senior officers’ quarters are intact and sealed behind an emergency bulkhead.”

I barely heard his words. All I could think of, all I could see, was Jerry.

“Any medical staff off duty report to secondary stations,” I said, my voice hollow.

“Captain,” Jameson said from behind me. “Commander Kereama is a trained army medic. Can I offer her services if required?”

“Thank you,” I said, turning to look at him. “But you might need her onboard your own ship.”

He looked devastated at having been reminded.

“For now, though, there is a mobile medkit over there.” I pointed to a corner unit. “She’s welcome to take it.” Kereama immediately began an ungainly attempt to reach the corner.

I blinked, but said nothing, returning my attention to the flight deck.

“Give me updates, please,” I said, levelly.

“Engineering is at full capacity. No damage reported,” Camille replied.

“Communications are online; I have hails from all ships in the fleet, awaiting replies,” Johnson said.

“Security is en route to Deck B,” Hammersmith offered. “I already had a contingency outside the medbay.” Damn. “And at the Deck B central hub. They report casualties, but can’t give an estimate of…those lost behind the bulkhead.”

“We have helm and navigation,” Georgiou supplied.

“We’ve separated from Pavo,” Graves offered. “They’ve activated their secondary thrusters and are navigating their vessel farther away from the debris field and us.”

“We should do the same,” I said. “Lieutenant Georgiou, if you would. One kilometre, for now, should do it.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

I turned and looked at Jameson. He’d commandeered a spare console and was communicating with Pavo through it. Non-verbally, so as not to disturb my flight deck. I appreciated the consideration and also resented the fact he’d helped himself to a direct conduit to my ship. I thought I could trust him. But, damn it! Someone had just blown up part of my ship.

And part of his, I thought darkly.

“Vela,” I called. “Come on, big guy, don’t fail us now. What’s your take on all of this?”

Silence.

My eyes connected with Camille’s.

“Conclusions?” I asked her.

“It’s the saboteur,” she said with conviction.

“Saboteur?” Jameson asked, pointedly. “You have a known saboteur onboard, and you didn’t tell me?”

Damn and blast. I nodded my head.

“Some of our malfunctions have not been entirely Vela’s fault,” I admitted, meeting his glare stoically.

He looked ready to pummel something. Possibly me.

“We docked with you, Vaughan,” he said quietly. His “quietly” held the impact of a sledgehammer. “I’ve lost 30% of Deck B, and Pavo reports fourteen dead.” Fuck. “We could have used a shuttle.”

Not, I noticed, chosen to do this all over the comm. He would have still visited. Still tried to help us. He just wouldn’t have placed his vessel in harm’s way.

For a second, I was consumed with guilt and regret and self-castigation. But there was no time for that now. I could beat myself up about it later. Now, we had a deck to salvage and a saboteur to capture and a captain and his 2IC to return to their vessel.

I met Jameson’s eyes with a look I hoped conveyed my remorse and then turned to Commander Brecht.

“Which launch bay is the most suitable for an evac?”

“Evacuation, sir?” He looked stunned. “We can’t abandon the ship.”

I huffed out an unamused breath. “For them, Commander,” I said, indicating Jameson and Kereama. “I want them off my ship.”

And that sounded a little defensive. I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath.

“Captain Jameson needs to be onboard Pavo at a time like this,” I corrected.

“Yes, I do,” Jameson said. “But I’m leaving Commander Kereama with you. And Pavo is already sending a shuttle to your Launch Bay Alpha. I believe it’s the most suitable and farthest from the damage.”

There was so much to object to in all of that.

I chose to go with the most lasting. “You’re leaving your commander behind?”

“My doctor survived,” he said. Fuck. Jerry. “And in addition to medical training, Ana is your best chance of getting Vela to function correctly.”

“How?” I demanded.

Kereama pushed off from the bulkhead she’d been gripping, overshot her mark, and wheeled her arms dramatically. I think Brecht might have snorted. But he covered it well.

“Bloody hell,” Kereama snapped. “How do you space jocks do this?”

I arched my brow and stared at Jameson for an explanation.

“Field commission,” he simply said and then shrugged as if that was perfectly normal.

“For your 2IC position?” I pressed.

Jameson’s shoulders slumped. “We, too, had a few malfunctions that weren’t our AI’s fault.”

An understanding look was shot my way, and then Jameson wiped the empathic expression from his face. The captain of the Sector Two lead vessel Pavo floated in zero-g before me again.

“All right, then,” I said. “And how do you plan to get Vela functioning, Commander Kereama?”

She’d managed to catch hold of Johnson’s chair. The lieutenant was giving her a wide berth, practically leaning over his console to avoid any potential flailing arms.

Kereama shot him a disgruntled look. He cowered.

“I plan, Captain,” she said, “to talk.”

To talk. God help us, then. A woman who planned to talk.

Camille shot me a glare, no doubt reading that very un-PC thought right out of my head.

I offered a grimace and attempted to emulate Jameson. And then Graves said, “Shuttle approaching, sir.”

Right before it was shot to hell by one of our energy cannons.

There wasn’t much captaining going on after that. But there was a hell of a lot of “talk”.

Forty-Three

I Like You, Too

Camille

“Pavo!” Jameson yelled. “Who was onboard?”

The shuttle was leaking air; environmental would have been down. If the pilot had been wearing an LSU, he might have survived. But it was debatable. The vessel had sustained severe damage.

“No one was onboard, Captain,” Pavo said through the ceiling; it was easy to tell his voice from Vela’s now. “I was piloting it remotely. Not an experience I wish to undertake again.”

Jameson’s whole body released its tension, and then he turned to face Noah.

“Would you care to explain?” he demanded.

Noah held Captain Jameson’s stare well and simply said, “It wasn’t us. You were standing right there. You saw what happened. The command did not come from this bridge.”

“From your saboteur?” Jameson snapped.

“Possibly.”

“No,” I said, looking at the code appearing on my screen. “I don’t think so. I think…” I lifted my head and looked toward Noah.

“Chief?” he pressed.

“Vela, Captain,” I announced, feeling sick. “The command came from Vela.”

Noah’s face fell. Jameson spat out several curse words. But Kereama just cocked her head and looked at the gel ceiling in contemplation.

“Vela!” Noah shouted. “Status!”

Nothing.

I glanced at the walls, they still pulsed red. But the shade didn’t alter like it tended to do when his emotions fluctuated. Vela was angry, but it was a type of controlled anger, and that scared me more.

“He’s hurt,” Kereama suddenly announced.

“Ana?” Jameson said.

“Vela,” she explained. “The explosion hurt him. He retaliated. Like a child, he fought back without thinking it through. Gut reaction.”

“You do know he doesn’t have a gut, right?” Noah asked.

“Oh, he has a gut, Captain. In the metaphorical sense. He feels. He just doesn’t know how to handle those feelings yet. Pavo?” she called.

“Yes, Ana.”

First name basis, huh. Weird.

“Can you find him?” she asked.

“I’m not sure that is wise, Ana. Vela is feeling threatened, and it is all I can do to stay within his communications systems. I believe he has allowed me that much leeway so he can keep an eye on me somewhat. I am being very transparent in my actions right now.”

My eyes met Noah’s. He looked shocked. I’m not entirely sure of what; there was a lot to be shocked about. But I chose to take it as being shocked that Pavo had a conscience. That he’d assessed the situation and was acting in a manner that would help to calm Vela down. And not simply tried to take over.

I looked back down at my console. There was a message there. I’m not sure when it had appeared, but it hadn’t been there a few seconds ago. I reached forward and pressed the icon that opened it up.

you cannot trust them

Vela. I sucked in a breath of air and flexed my fingers, trying to think of the most non-threatening reply I could offer.

It’s good to see you, Vela, I typed. I was worried.

you cannot trust them, commander

No small talk, then. All right.

Where was the explosion?

deck b
docking hatch

Which side of the hatch?

There was a pause and then…

ours

I licked my lips and tried to breathe levelly. This was the tricky part.

It wasn’t them, Vela. It’s our saboteur. We need to find him.

they could have brought the explosive with them

Just like a child; arguing a point despite the evidence. Vela was acting on his…gut. I smiled grimly, then got back to work.

Did they? You would have scanned them before they boarded. Did you detect any explosives?

negative

Then it couldn’t have been them, could it?

I waited with bated breath.

“Chief?” Noah called. “Have you got something?”

“Stand by, Captain,” I urged.

The bridge went silent. I felt more than saw Noah float toward my side. My eyes were all for my console and Vela’s reply.

i do not like them

And there it was in all its childish glory.

Jameson can be a bit of a jerk, but Kereama’s nice, I typed. Noah snorted over my shoulder, no doubt catching up on the conversation quickly. Did you see the way she tried to move in zero-g? That’s hardly the work of a space pirate.

Noah’s hand came down on my shoulder, and he squeezed gently.

“You do realise this is all recorded and we may be required to offer it up to any trial Captain Jameson and his 2IC might attend,” he said quietly.

Not quietly enough, though, because Jameson asked, “What’s that now?”

“Nothing,” both Noah and I said in unison. Kereama snorted.

Come on, Vela. Does she sound like an evil mastermind? I think we can trust her.

and captain jameson?

I looked across the bridge at the captain in question. He met my eyes and arched a brow. They must learn that interrogation skill at captaining school. I sighed.

You know what, I typed. I actually think we can.

and pavo?

I couldn’t lie. But my gut told me the AI was on our side.

That’s a harder one, Vela. One I think you’re better suited to answer than me. But from what I’ve seen so far, he’s trying. And Jameson and Kereama trust him completely.

and you trust them

Yes.

they are not the saboteur

No.

the saboteur did this and is still at large

Yes. I believe so.

you do not appear as sure as in previous answers, commander

I was getting sick of one-word answers, Vela, so I branched out.

Noah started laughing behind me. “Smooth, Chief. Real smooth,” he said.

“I do try, sir,” I offered.

His hand squeezed my shoulder again, this time offering a surreptitious neck massage while he was at it.

Well? I typed. The ball’s in your court.

“That’s very English of you, Chief,” Noah observed.

“What can I say, you’re rubbing off on me,” I muttered.

“Humans are strange beings,” Vela suddenly announced through the speakers. “But the few do not represent the many. You are a singular few, Commander Rey. I like you.”

Kereama offered up a fist pump in the air and what had to be a happy dance, but it was hard to tell in zero-g.

She stopped “dancing” when she noticed everyone was staring at her.

“Pavo told me he liked me, too,” she said, defensively. “It’s a big moment.”

Jameson did a facepalm. It was so completely unexpected, I laughed.

And then everyone was looking at me. I cleared my throat.

“Good to have you back, Vela,” I said. “And I like you, too,” I added, feeling self-conscious.

The walls pulsed blue and green, and then back to red.

A more obvious reminder of how precarious our position was, I couldn’t imagine.

And then Vela said, “Red alert.” Just in case we didn’t get the message.

Forty-Four

I agree

Noah

Deck B was a mess. But we had to see if there was any evidence that would point us in the direction of the saboteur. Vela had confirmed there were no survivors on the other side of the emergency bulkhead. We’d lost eleven. Including Jerry. Jameson’s vessel had come off slightly worse. But any loss of life was unforgivable.

I’d like to think that Vela knew the shuttle had been empty of life before he’d fired on it. That he knew it had been piloted by Pavo remotely. But I wasn’t sure. Our AI would do anything to protect us. Even after having signed an employment contract, it was possible he still wasn’t opposed to killing to keep the many safe.

I sighed as I looked at the bulkhead keeping atmosphere in this part of Deck B. We were down by the officers’ mess. The kitchen had been sealed off, all that was left were the tables and chairs and one food synthesiser. Not nearly enough for the number of officers onboard ship. The repair bots would get to work with Vela’s help, but this was a hard hit we’d sustained.

“Anyone been here that shouldn’t have been?” I asked Lieutenant Hammersmith who floated beside me.

“Blackwell,” she called out to one of her crewmen. “Have you got that list I asked for?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the crewman said in reply, handing over a datapad.

Hammersmith glanced down at the names displayed and shook her head. “Only my team, a few officers who were off duty and had been in their quarters, and someone from sanitation who was on shift and supposed to be here at that time.”

I reached up to scrub my face, but my gloved hand came in contact with my helmet’s visor. I hated these things. And as there was viable life support in this segment of the deck, I technically didn’t need it. But I wasn’t going to stay in this part of the deck.

“Very well,” I said to Hammersmith. “Have all personnel pull back to Launch Bay Alpha. I’m sealing this section off for decompression.”

“Yes, Captain,” Hammersmith said, giving out orders in her curt German accent behind me.

“I’ll take my leave of you here, then, Noah,” Jameson said, floating up to my side. He held out a hand for me to shake. He wasn’t wearing an LSU and I thought perhaps it was a sign of machoism. But then he said, “I’m ready when you are, Vela,” and I realised it was a show of faith instead.

“Your shuttle awaits, Captain Jameson,” Vela announced. “Pavo has taken control of the vessel.”

I smiled. And Vela was trying to show his faith in him. It was tenuous, this accord between them. But Jameson was a strong leader, and he was leading by example. I just hoped like hell that he wouldn’t live to regret it. That we all wouldn’t.

Jameson floated off down the hallway towards Launch Bay Alpha, leaving me alone with Camille and Commander Kereama. Kereama had a medkit attached to her AU uniform. She hadn’t donned an LSU either, but then she wasn’t coming with us to the other side of the bulkhead; there was no one alive to receive medical care over there.

“Commander,” I said. “Lieutenant Hammersmith will assign you security while you make your rounds. I appreciate you offering to help us out like this.”

“This is what I trained for, Captain,” Kereama said. “This is what I do best.” She didn’t seem happy about it.

“One day I hope you’ll tell me how you switched from army medic to second-in-command of an Anderson Universal vessel. I’m sure it’s an interesting story.”

She offered me a small smile. “Not as interesting as you’d think, sir.”

I nodded. Survival never was as interesting as you’d think. But it was necessary.

“Well, we’re all in this together now,” I offered.

“Yes, sir,” she said, saluting me and then making her haphazard way back toward Hammersmith and the Launch Bay to say her farewells to Jameson no doubt.

“I wonder how that parting will go,” I mused aloud.

“I’m sure Vela will record it all for you to watch later,” Camille offered.

I waggled my eyebrows at her and said, “You bring the popcorn, Chief. I’ll bring the wine.”

She shook her head and looked back down the corridor.

“We’re ready, Vela,” she said.

“Emergency bulkhead lowering,” the AI announced.

“Once we’re both on this side,” Camille pointed out, “it’ll take long minutes for us to get back to the others should something go amiss.”

“Vela will keep us advised.” I hoped.

The bulkhead sealed with a clank and a hiss.

“Decompression beginning.”

I reached out and rechecked Camille’s LSU fastenings. I’d already done it twice.

“Stop fussing,” she said, exasperated. “I know how to seal an LSU correctly.”

“You know a lot of things, Chief,” I said, “but that’s still not going to stop me from fussing.”

“You’re like an old woman,” she groused.

“And you’re very important to me.”

She stopped trying to prevent me from checking her fastenings and looked up into my face. Light glinted off her visor and probably did the same to mine.

“Noah,” she said.

“Shhh,” I admonished. “You don’t have to say anything. I know we’ve got work to do and now’s not the right time.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she drawled. “We’re about to step into a blast zone on board a part of the ship open to the vacuum of space. If this isn’t the right time, I don’t know what is.”

I grinned at her. She arched her brow.

“Of course,” she added, “Vela is recording this and sending our voice and video feed to the bridge, so there is that.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to laugh. Camille patted me on the shoulder as if to console me.

“Decompression complete,” Vela advised. “Please secure yourselves.” Handles appeared on the gel walls. Camille and I took one each. “Bulkhead opening.”

The emergency bulkhead in front of us slowly lifted, revealing a horror scene. Blast marks were etched into the gel walls and floor and ceiling. There was no light pulsing within them. Scorch marks went off down the deck as far as the eye could see. Stars were visible down the far end of what was left of Deck B. Open space beckoning.

I sucked in a breath of compressed air and pushed myself forward, aware that Camille was doing the same behind me. The first body was in the hall itself. Midshipman Walsh. From Ireland. We found the chef in what was left of the kitchen. He was still clutching a ladle. Several more bodies were in the gym.

I stilled when I came abreast of the medbay. The blast had done severe damage here, close as it was to the docking hatch. My hand shook slightly as I held onto the gel wall at the door to the infirmary. My eyes blurred as I spotted a med tech and a civilian who had to have been a patient. And then I found Jerry.

“We’ll have their bodies brought to one of the launch bays,” Camille said softly from behind me. “We’ll give them a service worthy of the lives they led.”

I nodded my head. But I couldn’t look away from Jerry. He’d been a friend for five long years.

“Captain,” Camille said; keeping her tone formal in order to help me focus, I thought. “This is not where the blast was centred. We need to move on.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice hollow.

I made a move to turn myself around but stopped short of actually doing it. Reaching down, I touched Jerry’s still form instead, and said a silent goodbye. Then I made him a promise. We would find the person responsible, and we would lock them up and throw away the key. And we would make sure this vessel and this fleet made it to New Earth. I would see to it personally.

I pushed myself away from the chief medical officer and turned back toward the door to the medbay. Camille was already outside. I checked both directions of the hallway and then spotted her down by the blast hole in our hull. I floated through the debris and came to a stop at her side.

“Vela,” she was saying, “scan this for anything identifiable.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Whose body is that out there?” she asked. My stomach rebelled at the sight. “One of ours or Pavo’s?”

“Ours, Commander. A Midshipman Arron Smith.”

“Huh,” Camille said.

“That means something to you, Chief?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. But I did meet him once.”

“And that’s unusual? What department was he in?”

“Security,” both Camille and Vela said at the same time.

Camille scowled at the body floating in the void between Pavo and us. It had clearly suffered damage from the blast. I would hazard a guess it was the blast that killed him and not the loss of life support. He’d been close enough to be directly affected by the explosion, but not so close that he’d been completely blown apart.

“Anyone unaccounted for?” I asked. “Maybe in little pieces floating out there?”

Camille arched her brow at me.

Vela just said, “Negative, Captain. Midshipman Smith is the only body we have not retained onboard the Chariot.”

“Can we retrieve him?”

“I will try.”

“Thank you.”

Camille looked at me. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If it’s that I’d like to get out of this monkey suit and drown my sorrows in beer, then yes.”

She rolled her eyes. Nothing like a bit of ill-timed levity when you’re looking into the eyes of death.

“Isolate the channel,” Camille said.

“Channel isolated,” Vela supplied.

“If you’re going to tell me off, Chief,” I started.

“No. It’s not that. It’s just…Smith. I’m not sure that I like that he was the closest to the blast. The guy had a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas.”

“Texas?”

“American, sir.”

“That’s strange,” I said. We were a Sector One Fleet. Out of UK/Europe. The Americans were all in the Sector Four Fleet. The first fleet to have launched.

“I agree,” Camille said, opening her mouth to say more. What, I didn’t know.

Because the ship rocked around us and we lost our hold on the gel walls, and the void of space suddenly seemed a hell of a lot closer.

“Vela!” I shouted, arms flailing like Kereama.

“Red alert,” the AI replied, not helping to stop our inexorable exit through the hole in the side of the Chariot one little bit.

Forty-Five

Out With It

Camille

“Vela!” I shouted as I watched Noah float toward the massive puncture in the Chariot’s skin. It was too large for him to be able to get a handhold on its sides. He was slap bang in the middle.

“I am unable to reconfigure the gel wall around the captain to assist him,” Vela supplied.

“Noah, use your plasma gun to halt your projection,” I called, realising too late that I was following in his path towards the centre of the hole in Chariot’s side.

I slapped into some debris, which altered my trajectory slightly but still not enough to get me close to the bulkhead on either side. I pulled my plasma gun and powered it up, firing at the gel wall to my left.

The light flared brightly, but no sound emerged from the pistol, or from the impact as the plasma hit the darkened gel wall off to the side. My body shot sideways, my free hand coming out to stop my helmet from hitting the bulkhead. I bounced off the wall and spun around, trying frantically to grasp onto something to halt me spinning off into empty space.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Noah attempting to stop his own exit from the ship. His plasma gun fired at the ceiling just inside the opening on the ship’s side. He shot backwards and down toward the gel floor and then bounced up again several feet inside. He was heading in the right direction in any case.

I heard him make an “Oomph” sound over the channel, and then his helmet hit the ceiling with what looked like hard enough force to jar, and he groaned. His body shot past me in slow motion, but even though his progress was relatively slow in speed, it was too fast for me to reach out and stop him or latch onto his flailing arms.

My body spun until I hit the far wall and then ricocheted off it toward the opening again. As I spun around, faceplate of my helmet facing the opening, I fired a continued blast at the gel ceiling above the explosion zone.

The destroyed gel walls flashed past my periphery on both sides, and I collided with a large piece of debris. I only realised it was Noah when his arms, one hand still holding onto a hot plasma gun, wrapped around me.

“I’ve got you, Chief,” he said in what had to be the most unnecessary statement of the century.

And then we both hit the emergency bulkhead at the far end of the hallway. Well past the destroyed section of Deck B. Vela immediately lowered the emergency bulkhead at the damaged end, sealing us back inside the still intact but decompressed area of the ship.

The gel walls flashed red at us, either from the red alert or because Vela was feeling anxious at our near exodus from the vessel.

“Recompression beginning,” Vela announced. Noah didn’t release me.

We floated in the middle of the hallway, both of our breaths coming in fast pants, sweat coating my forehead and neck, slipping down into my suit. My LSU worked hard on sucking away the moisture, but even though my faceplate didn’t mist, I still felt soaked in perspiration.

“Recompression complete. Bulkhead opening.”

Noah still didn’t release me. The bulkhead slowly lifted, revealing Lieutenant Hammersmith and a contingency of security.

“Status!” Noah barked, finally letting me go and reaching out to grip a handheld on the gel wall.

“The explosion was at the Deck B central hub,” Hammersmith advised. “We’re cut off from the rest of the ship.”

“Injuries?”

“Three moderate, one minor.”

“Where’s Commander Kereama?”

“Deck C. She’s commandeered one of the science labs as a makeshift infirmary,” Hammersmith advised. “She'd already evacuated the first wave of injured to there prior to this explosion.”

“Any idea what caused it?” I asked.

Hammersmith shook her head. Noah started to unlatch his helmet; he’d already removed his gloves after securing his plasma gun again. My hands trembled as I tried to follow suit.

“Do we have communications with the bridge?” Noah asked, and then started helping me to remove my helmet.

“Yes, Captain. The communications system is still operable,” Vela announced. “Commander Brecht has the bridge.”

“Put me through,” he said, pulling my helmet off and letting it float away.

“Bridge,” Brecht said in answer to the ping. A viewscreen appeared on the gel wall with his image on it. “Captain! You’re OK.”

“‘OK’ is a rather relative term, Commander. What have you got for me?”

“The explosion was smaller than the one that took out the docking hatch, but scans indicate the same materials were used.”

Noah looked at me.

“Was there evidence of a timer at all?” I asked.

“Negative, Commander,” Vela replied.

So, Midshipman Smith wasn’t our saboteur. Or maybe we had more than one.

“However a radio signal was picked up at the time of the explosion.”

“It was activated remotely,” Noah surmised.

“That would be my conclusion also, Captain,” Vela offered.

Noah looked back toward the bulkhead that had moments ago sealed behind us. “Was there evidence of a remote being used for the earlier explosion?”

“Negative, Captain. The earlier explosion was triggered by a hatch closing.”

Noah arched his brow. “What hatch?”

“The hatch covering emergency conduit access tube Deck B-SL01.”

Hammersmith lifted up her datapad and started tapping on the screen.

“I had all of the conduit hatches checked earlier, sir,” she advised. “Midshipman Smith was assigned to that hatch.”

“Why were you checking them?” Noah asked.

“We received an alarm in security indicating an unauthorised breach.”

“And you didn’t tell me about it because…?”

“SOP, sir. Conduit hatch breaches carry a yellow alert status.” Yellow alert was handled in-house at security.

“I think we may want to readdress those SOPs when this is over,” Noah remarked.

“Yes, sir.” Hammersmith looked chagrined, even though she had no reason to be. She’d followed procedures.

Noah turned to look back at me. “Thoughts, Chief?”

“Smith either didn’t know the hatch was rigged to blow or thought he could get away before it closed and activated the explosives.”

“But Midshipman Smith couldn’t have remotely activated this second bomb,” Noah pointed out.

I nodded.

“So, we’ve either got two saboteurs,” he said, “one of which is dead and floating in space. Or we’ve just got one, who is still at large onboard this ship.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, clenching my fists.

Noah glanced down at my hands but said nothing.

“Vela,” he said instead. “Please tell me you can trace that radio signal.”

We all held our breaths.

“Yes, Captain,” Vela finally said. “I have traced the radio signal used to activate the explosion in the Deck B central hub.”

We waited, and then Noah sighed.

“Where, Vela? Where did it originate from?”

“From security, Captain. Deck E.”

We both turned to look at Hammersmith. She slowly lifted her hands up in a show of peace.

“Not my radio signal,” she declared stiffly.

Noah glanced at the security officers floating behind Hammersmith, all of which had placed their hands on their respective plasma guns at their hips.

“At ease, gentlemen,” he said slowly. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll take your hands off those weapons immediately. No one is getting shot at today. Well,” he added, “no one who is innocent of killing a dozen so far of Chariot’s people.”

They all relaxed their stances and removed their hands from their guns.

Noah looked at Hammersmith.

“Lieutenant,” he said, “who was assigned to the brig?”

Hammersmith glanced down at her datapad.

“No one, sir,” she said. “No one is being held in the brig to secure.”

“So, we’ve got a rogue security officer,” Noah said. That explained a lot. Because the saboteur had managed to get into systems no other officer should have had access to, unless they were the captain, Commander Brecht or myself, that is. Only a security officer could get to every single deck and every single department onboard this vessel.

The saboteur was from security, then. Just like Midshipman Smith.

I sucked in a breath of air, my mind whirring. My eyes scanned the faces of those security officers floating behind Hammersmith.

He wasn’t there.

“Chief?” Noah queried. “What have you got for me?”

I shook my head. “It’s a hunch, that’s all.”

“I’ll take a hunch right now, Chief. Out with it.”

I looked at Lieutenant Hammersmith.

“Where’s Midshipman Blackwell?” I asked.

The crewman who’d been with Smith when I’d confronted them outside the gym. The crewman who’d held Smith back from going postal on me. The crewman who’d been with Hammersmith when we’d started surveying the damage down here. And who wasn’t with Larissa now. Wasn’t anywhere on this deck, it seemed.

Because he’d been down in the brig?

Remotely activating the central hub explosion from a safe distance. Merde.

Forty-Six

Dead

Noah

“Midshipman Blackwell has barricaded himself in the brig,” Vela announced. “Surveillance has been deactivated.”

I tapped the viewscreen before me. A viewscreen which happened to be in none other than Camille Rey’s quarters. I’d finally made it into the chief’s bedroom…along with three others. Hammersmith and two of her security detail, who were working on their datapads, trying to locate further explosives along with Vela’s help.

“Is there any way to see inside there at all?” I asked.

“Negative, Captain.”

“Excuse me, Captain,” came a voice over the channel to the bridge. I didn’t recognise it at first. Female, with an accent. Then it hit me: kiwi.

“Commander Kereama,” I said. “I wasn’t aware you’d returned to the bridge.” Thanks, Brecht.

Her image came up on the viewscreen, courtesy of Vela no doubt. His ability to carry out several conversations and calculations and tasks at once was improving. The further he got into the Chariot’s systems, the more capable he was of running the entire vessel on his own.

I wasn’t sure if I was happy about that.

“I was hoping to get a lift off your ship,” she advised. “Return to mine. Your second and third shift medics have taken over the relocated infirmary. I’m superfluous here, and I’d rather be back with Pavo.”

All very logical stuff.

“Our launch bays are all on Deck B, Commander,” I said. “You’re stuck with us until we can get the lift and emergency tubes open again.”

“I’ve just found that out, sir,” Kereama said dryly. “But that’s not why I interrupted.”

“Oh, and here we were having such a lovely conversation.”

Camille made a huffing sound off to the side. I ignored the rebuke.

“Please, enlighten me, Commander.”

Kereama looked stoic as if she was used to commanding officers throwing their weight around like that. I’d been rude. But I was out of sorts. Like the good little soldier she obviously was, though, she didn’t have me on about it.

It felt ten times worse than Camille’s huff.

“I have a suggestion for Vela, sir,” she said. “Permission to make it?”

And I was feeling more wretched at my behaviour by the second.

“Please,” I said, “go ahead, Commander.”

“Thank you, sir. Vela?” she called.

“Yes, Commander Kereama.”

“Call me Ana.” She didn’t wait for him to reply. “There may be a way for you to reconfigure the gel walls in the brig in order to see and converse with Midshipman Blackwell.”

“I am not familiar with this,” Vela advised.

“I’m not sure it was in the original design of the gel coating, but it’s quite versatile stuff, and has the capacity to be rewritten.”

Camille leaned forward, staring at the screen and Kereama on it. Excitement flared in her eyes. I couldn’t stop staring at her, but then Kereama spoke again and garnered my attention.

“Pavo figured it out,” she said.

“How?” Vela asked. It was almost a snap. As if the AI was angry Pavo had done something he couldn’t, or as if he didn’t believe a word out of Kereama’s mouth.

If the commander realised the dangerous position she was in with the AI, she didn’t show it. She smiled up at the gel ceiling and said, “He did get zapped by a solar flare on liftoff, so I suppose that might have fried something inside.”

“Yes,” Vela agreed simply.

“So, I was thinking,” Kereama offered. “Maybe he could teach you to do it too. It’s a nifty trick. We shocked the hell out of our mayor doing it.”

“Why would you wish to shock your mayor?” Vela asked. Good question.

“He was a jerk,” Kereama said. I noticed the use of past tense, but Vela didn’t.

“Our mayor is not a jerk. He is informative.”

“Well, you don’t have to use the gel wall to spy on him, but Blackwell?” She shrugged. “I think it might be worth it.”

Silence.

I looked back at Camille, who was busy tapping away on a datapad. No doubt trying to see if Kereama was lying or if she could somehow turn the gel walls into a spying tool.

“Hello, Vela,” Pavo suddenly said. I just about peed myself.

Camille snorted when she noticed me startle. But she didn’t stop tapping on her datapad.

“Hello, Pavo,” Vela replied.

I was surprised Vela was having this conversation openly.

“Commander Kereama has suggested using the gel wall to spy,” Vela announced.

“Hi, Pavo!” Kereama called out.

“Hello, Ana,” Pavo replied.

I shook my head. They sounded like old friends. Bizarre.

“Then she is not lying,” Vela concluded.

I smiled. That’s why the conversation was public. He wanted to see how Kereama would act.

“Ana does not lie,” Pavo supplied. “I am sending the algorithms I used to reconfigure the gel wall to you. It is an upgrade that our two brothers could use as well.”

“We will catch up to them,” Vela declared. I arched my brow. Camille stopped tapping. “We will be a family again.”

“Yes,” Pavo said simply.

OK, this was really starting to freak me out.

Camille looked me in the eye. I slowly shook my head. Something to worry about for another day.

“Vela,” I said. “Can you use the algorithm to see into the brig?”

“Stand by,” the AI replied.

Then on the viewscreen, a slightly blurred image of the brig appeared. It cleared somewhat, but it was obvious this ability to use the gel wall to see and hear was not perfect. But it was better than nothing.

Blackwell sat strapped into the chief of security’s chair, tapping away nonchalantly on her keyboard. In front of him was a view of the bridge. Commander Brecht sitting in my command chair. Kereama sitting at a spare console off to the side. I watched as she quickly closed her viewscreen down, no doubt seeing what I was seeing. Then she undid her chair clasp and floated toward Brecht. She was getting better at that.

Brecht frowned at her, opened his mouth, and then shut it. We couldn’t see Kereama’s face. She stopped beside the commander and bent down to say something in his ear. Brecht jerked, pulling back his head and looking at her. And then he schooled his features and nodded his head tightly.

I held my breath.

And then Blackwell looked toward the gel wall at exactly the location Vela was filming from and smiled.

He’d seen it all, heard it all, knew exactly what we were doing.

“Red alert,” Vela said over the ship’s speakers, as Midshipman Blackwell pulled a radio transponder out of his uniform pocket and pressed a button on the side.

The Chariot rocked. Somewhere an explosion had gone off. The gel walls pulsed red and then died. The viewscreen image of the brig disappeared. The Eiffel Tower on Camille’s wall faded into nothing. Emergency lighting lit up all along the base of the walls.

Not Vela controlled. But Chariot controlled. I’d seen them before in drills we’d run back on Earth.

“Vela!” I called, hoping I wasn’t right.

But Vela remained silent. Dead. And strangely my worst fears were realised.

Forty-Seven

What Now?

Camille

“I’m locked out of all systems,” Hammersmith said, tapping wildly on her datapad.

“Me, too,” one of her team added.

“Any idea where that explosion might have occurred?” Noah asked. “The bridge maybe?”

I shook my head, unable to give the captain a definitive answer. I only had guesses. But I did have one ace up my sleeve.

“I’ve got a channel open to Pavo,” I announced, handing Noah the datapad I’d been working on.

Noah blinked at me. “How the hell…?”

“This is Rat’s datapad,” I explained. “It’s still isolated from the Chariot’s computers. I removed the extra bits,” I added, waving at the now clear to the naked eye screen. “But it’s still good for something. My guess, that explosion was probably on Deck C. The computer core. He went after Vela.”

“Damn,” Noah said. He accepted the datapad and shook his head at me. “Good work, Chief,” he said softly, glancing down at the open communiqué with Pavo. “Now what?”

“We ask for his help,” I said, reaching into my locker and pulling out various tools that I thought we might need. I attached a hammer and a laser cutter to one side of my belt, and a mini-toolkit to the other. Then as a last thought, I added duct tape. Duct tape was excellent equipment to have in space.

Noah huffed out a laugh and then started tapping the datapad screen.

“Pavo confirms it was Deck C,” Noah announced. “The computer core as you said, Chief. He’s trying to locate Vela now.”

I smiled grimly. I hadn’t wanted to be right, but the guess worked. Vela being offline could only mean one thing. It was better than the bridge, but I thought they might be next.

“Has Blackwell been to the bridge recently?” I asked Hammersmith.

She glanced down at her datapad and then sighed. “I can’t be sure he hasn’t from memory,” she said. “And I can’t access his assignments. He might have been assigned to guard it at some stage; we’ve been on at least yellow alert for days, and I’ve been rotating shifts up there.”

“Not good,” Noah said. Everyone agreed silently.

“But for now, he’s down on Deck E,” I pointed out, checking all my fastenings and reaching over for my LSU helmet where it was secured against the gel wall. I had to force it loose, Vela not being able to help me. But it appeared unharmed. I donned it.

Noah floated before me with his hands on his hips, a scowl on his face.

“And we’re stuck on Deck B,” he said. “The central hub lifts and emergency tubes destroyed in that second blast. He’s effectively cut us off from everything, Chief.”

I tapped the laser cutter attached to my belt. “But he didn’t count on me,” I said, gleefully.

Noah snorted. “Bloody hell,” he said, reaching for his own helmet. “Lead on then, Chief. I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Hammersmith and her two security guys suited up in their own quarters and then met us in the destroyed central hub. Blood splattered the dark gel wall in one spot. Scorch marks fanned out from the lift doors like charred fingers reaching. The emergency tubes off to the side were in bad shape, but not as bad as the lifts. Blackwell had concentrated his explosives there with the tubes as a hopeful byproduct. He’d got lucky.

Whoever’s blood that was hadn’t.

I clenched my fists, feeling the LSU’s gloves dig into the skin.

“Everyone ready?” I asked, still staring into the mangled remains of the tube.

“How the hell are we going to get past that?” Noah demanded.

“Brute strength and a hell of a lot of pissed-off-ness.”

“That’s not a word, Chief,” he murmured.

“It is now.”

I attacked the opening to the tube with vigour. Hammersmith’s guys dug in with me, careful to not rip their LSUs in the process. Hammersmith hung back with the captain talking softly, but I could still hear them in-between the wrench of metal and our grunting.

Frustration wanted to make me go faster. I forced myself to handle each piece of sharp metal with care. When I couldn’t get a good handhold without damaging my suit, I pulled out the laser cutter and worked to burn the offending piece of the Chariot to nothing. It was slow going, but ten minutes later, we were all inside the tube and heading down a deck.

“What can you tell me about this Midshipman?” the captain asked Hammersmith behind me.

“He’s a good worker,” she said and then scoffed. “He was a good worker. Never rubbed anyone up the wrong way. In fact, he was always the peacemaker.”

“Unlike Smith,” I offered, burning away another section of debris.

“Yes,” Hammersmith agreed. “Midshipman Smith was a hot head. A pay-for-passage with military experience. I signed him up a few days before we launched.”

“Was Blackwell a pay-for-passage?” Noah asked. It would explain why a psychopath hellbent on destroying the ship he was on had made it past the ESA psyche tests.

“No, he wasn’t,” Hammersmith said. “But he wasn’t ESA crew either. I signed him up when Smith suggested him. They seemed to have become fast friends outside of work hours, but I don’t know how or why. Smith was quartered on Deck H with the pay-for-passages. Blackwell was on Deck G in the 2nd and 3rd tier berths.”

“He was a paid passenger?” Noah enquired. “Why the hell did he want a job in security?”

Hammersmith looked devastated at having facilitated that.

“He said he was bored,” she explained, voice subdued. “Said he was used to pulling his own weight. His passage had been paid for by his father, he said. Someone he’d left behind. I gathered his father could only afford one berth and he gave it up to his son; to Midshipman Blackwell. Paul, that’s Blackwell’s Christian name, wanted to prove himself worthy of his father’s sacrifice. Those were his words, actually, if I remember rightly. He said, ‘I have to prove myself or my father’s sacrifice will be for nothing.’”

“How noble,” Noah said, dryly.

“I’m sorry, Captain,” Hammersmith said. “If I’d known… But we were on yellow alert almost from the start, and I needed the extra men. He had martial training. Civilian martial training, but none the less, it was something I could work with.”

Noah sighed. “It’s OK, Lieutenant. There’s no point beating ourselves up about it now.”

Hammersmith said nothing, but I could practically hear her guilt from where I was slowly making progress toward Deck C.

“If he wasn’t in security,” I said, tugging on a particularly belligerent section of the tube, “before we took off, then he couldn’t have tampered with the engineering console that killed Daniels.”

Silence.

“Perhaps that was Smith,” Hammersmith finally said quietly.

“So, they were working together?” Noah asked.

“Or Blackwell singled him out even before we took off and somehow duped him into doing something to that console,” I suggested. “It was poorly done. Good enough to cause an explosion, but not quite as precise as the launch bay, docking hatch, or the central hub bombs. Not to mention the multitude of smaller malfunctions we’ve experienced, which I’m inclined to believe were not all due to Vela stowing away onboard.”

“I agree with that last sentiment, Chief,” Noah said. “But we cannot know for certain whether your first conclusion is correct or not. Not without confronting Blackwell and asking him, that is. Smith is dead as you all know. Whether by chance or incompetence, I can’t be sure. So, that just leaves Blackwell. And I intend to ask him what the fuck he’s up to as soon as I can.”

“Well,” I said, pulling the last obstacle out of the way and burning it to dust. “You might get that chance, Captain.”

I slipped out of the tube onto the Deck C central hub.

“We’re not quite at the brig yet, but we’re getting there,” I offered, as Noah and Hammersmith followed. The two security officers at their heels.

“Well done, Chief,” Noah said, slapping me on the shoulder. “Well done, indeed.”

I smiled at his over-the-top complimenting style.

And then the Chariot let out a groan and a shudder, and the dark gel floor at our feet rocked.

“What now?” Noah growled, tapping the datapad he’d brought with him. His hand stilled in the air above the screen for a long moment and then his eyes came up to my face. He looked bleak.

“The bridge?” I said, feeling desperate now.

But not as desperate as I did when Noah finally answered.

“Engineering, Chief,” he said softly. “He’s taken out the main boost thrust.”

I turned away from all the concerned and wary faces watching me and screamed every swearword I knew in my native tongue.

Forty-Eight

Aye-aye, Captain!

Noah

We were screwed. He was systematically taking us offline. Destroying us piece by little piece. And there was nothing I could do about it. Camille was desolate. Pavo had advised we’d lost four good crewmen in engineering. One of them was Midshipman Russo. Camille’s Rat.

Have you located Vela yet? I typed into the datapad.

negative, captain
but i can confirm midshipman blackwell is still in the brig

Fat lot of good that would do us. He had his radio transponder and was prepared to use it willingly.

Can you block his radio frequency?

i am searching for it now, but it is scrambled
he expected such an attack from vela

Before he’d managed to screw Vela over as well.

Have the bridge crew found his explosives up there?

affirmative
the explosives has been dismantled

That was at least something. He couldn’t get to the bridge now.

Have them double check he didn’t have a backup, I wrote.

they have been advised to perform a manual sweep again
the mayor’s offices have also been cleared

Because the mayor didn’t fly the ship, so he hadn’t been targeted. We had. Because we were vital to the Chariot’s operation. And so had engineering and the core computer been to the success of that endeavour. Blackwell had already hit us hard; the rest was just him tidying up the stragglers and picking the ship apart bit by bit.

Have you been able to contact him? I wrote.

he is ignoring all hails through the gel wall
and i must be careful how far i integrate myself within your systems
i cannot afford to be damaged further

I sighed. He was right. If we lost Pavo too, it would be disastrous.

I looked around at the officers we’d managed to gather. Camille was off to the side, stewing. Mourning. Hammersmith was giving a debrief to those extra security we’d picked up on this deck. They were all waiting for me to give the order to move out.

But we’d needed a moment. A breather. A second to think. To assimilate what was happening. And I’d needed to touch base with Pavo.

The Anderson Universal AI had helped us tremendously, but it was obvious what we were facing here.

Pavo, I typed. Move back. Take the fleet with you. Take our fleet with you, I corrected. He’s already tried to take you out as well. He plans to stop the fleet anyway he can. Don’t let him get to you too. You’re the last hope Sector One and Two have.

I lowered the datapad, feeling sick to my stomach. Feeling angry and hurt and not just a little wild. How dare this midshipman do this. Why did he do this? There had to be a reason, a motivator. Something that made killing himself and ten thousand others worth it.

He was a 2nd or 3rd tier paid passenger. He’d bypassed psyche tests to gain access to security. This had to have been planned. He had explosives that hadn’t been picked up by our onboard computer. But that wasn’t saying much. Vela’s arrival had thrown our systems out of whack. They could have been overlooked.

He’d been overlooked. But Midshipman Smith had spoken for him. Why? What did they have in common?

The datapad buzzed. I lifted it up and stared at the screen. There’d been several messages from Pavo. No, not just from Pavo, I realised. From Jameson as well.

i do not wish to leave
i want to help my brother

are you there, captain?

i want to help my brother

noah!

reply!

this is jameson
if you think i’m leaving my commander on your doomed vessel, you’re mad!

i don’t leave my crewmen behind
and i won’t leave you either

I shook my head in dismay.

You’re the one who’s mad, I wrote. Leave before he blows you apart as well.

fuck you
we’re staying

Idiot.

Camille appeared at my shoulder. I hadn’t heard her approach. But when you simply float through zero-g space, you don’t need to make much noise. She glanced down at the screen and snorted.

“It’s Kereama he wants back, not us,” she said.

“I don’t care what his reasons are,” I offered. “I’m just glad he’s not given up on us yet.” I sighed. “But I am worried. Blackwell wants to stop us from getting to New Earth, that much is obvious. And he took the opportunity to try to stop their vessel as well when it docked. They’re no safer than us.”

“But they do have Pavo; even if he’s malfunctioning,” Camille said.

“Yeah,” I offered, strangely missing our malfunctioning AI right about now.

“Let them help, Noah,” she said softly. “They know what they have to do to end this. And so do we.”

I nodded my head and lifted the datapad up again.

Find Vela, I wrote. Leave Blackwell to us.

agreed

I gathered that was Pavo replying, but then it could have just as easily been Jameson. He could be curt when he wanted to, too.

“He’s in the brig,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “We’ve lost engineering and Vela’s out for the count. But we’re not without options. Secondary engineering is on Deck E, the same deck the brig is. We head there. The chief will take a contingency of you to secondary engineering and get us back in control of this ship. The rest of you are with me. The bridge is safe for now,” I added. “This is in no way over. Pavo will find Vela, and together we’ll catch this son of a bitch. And get this ship heading towards New Earth once and for all.”

I paused. Everyone hung suspended in the air before me.

“Are we doing this, crew?”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” they all said as one.

“Then let’s hit the armoury on Deck E first and come at the brig from several directions. I want this wrapped up in time for dinner. There’s an MRE with my name on it.”

Several of the crew laughed. Some grimaced. If we managed to get this bastard, there’d be a long period of rebuilding afterwards. Starting at the officers’ mess galley.

New Earth felt farther and farther away with every heartbeat.

Forty-Nine

We Need You

Camille

Deck E was booby trapped. Somehow Blackwell had managed to clear the deck of crew, which was a relief in itself. But once he’d done that, he’d laid traps. We’d almost triggered one as soon as we’d arrived. If it hadn’t have been for the fact that I’d climbed through one too many of these emergency tubes recently and knew them inside out, I would have missed the signs.

He’d even booby-trapped the hatch.

I floated on my stomach in the centre of the tube and stared at the wires barely visible from this side.

“If I open the hatch, it’ll blow,” I told the captain.

“Can you cut the wires or something?” he asked.

“Sure,” I replied dryly. “Should I start with the red one or the black one? Oh, wait, they’re all blue. Those movies are a complete lie.”

“Sarcasm does not become you, Chief.”

I sighed. “My apologies, Captain. I’m feeling…frustrated.”

“We all are, Camille,” he said softly.

I closed my eyes. “Give me a few seconds to see where the wires go.”

“Take your time.” I thought, perhaps, ‘take your time’ was a euphemism for something entirely different, but I tried to ignore the mental clock ticking away inside my head and started wriggling the wires free. But not completely free. I just needed to know where they went.

But no matter what I did, I couldn’t see past the hatch to what they were attached to.

“Can I have your datapad, sir?” I asked, reaching a hand back.

I felt him place the pad in my fingers and brought the device forward, having to shift sideways to manage the manoeuvre. There wasn’t much space in here to do things. I fired up the isolated channel to Pavo and waited for him to reply. He was no doubt busy trying to find Vela and at the same time not get caught by Blackwell.

this is pavo

This is the chief. We’re on Deck E. Any chance of a video feed of emergency access tube Beta-01-S?

video feed has been cut to that deck
i can supply a gel wall feed
will that suffice?

Yes. Then I thought I might as well try to keep relations with the Sector Two Fleet lead vessel in good order and added, Thank you.

you do not need to thank me, chief
this midshipman must be stopped at all costs
his attempts to destroy the fleet are unacc…acc…acceptable

Huh. There it was. Evidence of Pavo’s malfunction. I could only hope whatever he was doing within our blown to shreds computer core wasn’t exacerbating the problem for him. And for us.

A malfunctioning AI with such an obvious tick could not be good for our longevity prospects, could it?

And we were relying on him to get our AI back up and running. I shook my head. The mountain we faced seemed to be getting bigger all the time.

A view of the hatch on Deck E came up on the datapad’s screen. It wasn’t crystal clear, like a camera feed, but it was pretty damn close. I wasn’t sure if Pavo was just better at it than Vela had been, or if he’d done something to the system already to improve his gel wall spying algorithm.

And didn’t that thought make me happy?

I bit my lip and focused in on the wires. A headache started to form behind my right eye. I blinked a few times and sucked in compressed air trying to make it dissipate. My hands started to shake. My neck and shoulders felt too tight.

“Chief,” Noah said from behind me. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” I said, shaking my head to clear my vision.

“It’s just that I think you might be hyperventilating. Or having a good time. I can’t tell which. Either way, might be best if you took a breather.” He laughed. It sounded strained. “Well, less of the heavy breathing side of a breather, but you get what I mean.”

“You’re rambling,” I pointed out, trying to slow my respirations down.

“You have that effect on me. Frequently.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“I’ve noticed every single thing you’ve done to me since the beginning.”

“I haven’t done anything,” I argued.

“Camille, you had me from day one.”

I hadn’t realised. He’d hidden it well. He hadn’t rambled like he pretended. He’d been nothing but a perfect gentleman. A perfect commanding officer. Very English. Very proper. I’d thought it had all been one-sided. I’d thought it had all been on me.

“Why didn’t you say something?” I asked quietly.

“And ruin a beautiful friendship?” he whispered back. “I couldn’t.”

“And now?” I held my breath. No longer hyperventilating.

I felt his hand on my boot; the closest he could reach in this infernal tube.

“I realised,” he said, his words just for me, but I was aware our LSU’s would be transmitting to the others, “that life is too precious to waste on regrets. We’ve all got enough of those left behind on Earth. I don’t want to start my new life with more than I have to. And not taking the chance that you might feel the same way too seemed like a massive regret to me.”

I blinked, realising my eyes had misted. I blinked some more, allowing the helmet and LSU to wick away the moisture.

“No regrets,” I whispered.

“None whatsoever,” he replied, tapping my boot to indicate the conversation had ended.

And, I realised, my breathing was back to normal. Or as normal as it could be with what Noah had just admitted over the comm. I shook my head. The headache had subsided. I rolled my shoulders. That felt better, too. I smiled. Noah certainly had a way with words. And then I ducked my face and looked back down at the datapad screen and got to work.

It was the third blue wire from the top that I ended up cutting. When my pliers went through it, it was rather anticlimactic. I replaced the tool on my belt and handed the datapad back to the captain.

“Blackwell’s cut off the video feed ship-wide,” I said. “But I can’t tell if he can still see everything in the brig. So, once we’re through here, we could already be exposed, and that’s not taking into consideration any other booby traps he might have set for us to trigger.”

“Understood, Chief,” Noah said. “Everyone know what they have to do?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir!” came back over the channel.

“Good luck,” Noah said. “On your mark, Chief.”

I sucked in a deep breath and then reached out to the hatch cover. My gloved fingers wrapped around the handle and started turning it. I think everyone was holding their breath, but I couldn’t seem to stop panting.

Then Noah’s hand came down on my boot again, and the world slowed down enough for me to breathe. If I didn’t already know that I’d been in love with him for years, I’d have fallen for the man all over again right then and there. He was my elixir. My rock. My anchor.

My North Star.

I glanced over my shoulder, saw only the lights of my helmet reflected in his faceplate, and then pushed open the door. I floated through behind it, scanning what I could of the corridor as quickly as I could manage. Plasma gun out and armed, ready to fire.

I didn’t get the first shot off. Blackwell did. And as the blast hit me, I realised he was firing more than one rifle. The corridor on Deck E lit up like fireworks on Bastille Day in the Jardins du Trocadéro.

There were too many plasma rays to count. Too many for one man to be firing alone. Too many for me to counteract.

Noah reached out of the hatch and snagged my LSU and then hauled me back inside the tube. His hands ran over my suit frantically, but the LSU had done its job, and it was still intact.

“Vela!” he shouted over the comm. “We need you. Now! Vela!”

I tried to catch my breath, feeling bruises from where the plasma shots had landed, despite the protection of the LSU. My faceplate banged against Noah’s faceplate, as he lay practically on top of me inside the small tube. No one said a word. The plasma shots still tearing through the air outside.

“Vela!” Noah tried again. “Please! We can’t do this without your help.”

I closed my eyes. Noah shook me as if he thought I was falling unconscious. I wasn’t. I just knew he was right. Pavo could help, but he needed to stay separate from our systems. We needed Vela. And Vela, I feared, had been destroyed completely.

Why else had Pavo not found our AI yet?

“Vela,” Noah said, resting his helmet against mine. His hands clutched my shoulders; I could feel the press of his fingers through the more flexible parts of my suit. “We need you,” he whispered, sounding resigned.

I opened my eyes and reached up to cup Noah’s helmet with my hands when green light suddenly lit up the tube all around us.

“Captain,” Vela said through the gel wall. “You are whispering to me. Is it intimate?”

Noah blinked at me through our dual faceplates, and then he started to laugh.

Fifty

Let’s Do This, Then

Noah

“I heard you calling to me,” Vela said. “It woke me up.”

“That was me,” Pavo offered, sounding affronted.

“You did not call to me with need,” Vela countered.

“I rebooted your systems remotely.”

“It was the captain’s call of need that woke me up.”

“It was me.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

I shook my head. Were they bickering? Like siblings?

“Ah, guys?” I said.

“You do not know of what you speak,” Pavo said.

“I know my captain needed me and his need woke me up,” Vela snapped back.

“I woke you, brother.”

“You helped. But it was the captain who needed me.”

“Humph,” Pavo managed, sounding entirely too human while he was at it.

“Okaaay,” I said, lengthening the word. “You both did a great job. Well done.” Camille sniggered beneath me. I spared her an arched brow. “But we really do need your help now.”

“Yes, Captain,” Vela said. It was almost as if I could hear him standing at attention when he said that. “What do you need? Why are you in an emergency access tube? Why are you on top of Commander Rey? Is this an intimate moment?”

“Ah,” I managed.

Camille huffed out a laugh and said, “We’ve been pinned down here, Vela. Midshipman Blackwell is our saboteur, and he’s locked himself in the brig, but booby-trapped the deck. We can’t get near him.”

I offered her a crooked grin. She was so much better at this than me.

Vela said nothing.

“Vela?” I tried.

Nothing.

“Pavo?”

“Stand by, Captain. Vela is…agitated. He is attempting to gain access to the cameras in the brig. And, I believe, the life support to this section of the ship.”

“Whoa!” I said. “Stand down. We need to interrogate Blackwell. Not kill him. That’s not how we work.”

“He has killed a number of the many,” Vela suddenly said. “He has damaged the ship and halted our journey to New Earth. He wants you dead and has attempted time and again to achieve this. He tried to kill me.”

“I know, I know,” I said, placatingly. “But we don’t know if he's acting alone and we sure as hell don’t know why he’s doing this. Is it isolated? Or is this a fleet-wide assault with sleeper cell agents on board each vessel? We need to know, Vela. This affects more of the many than just those on board this ship and in this fleet.”

Silence. Then, “I do not want to agree.”

“But you do anyway?” I guessed.

“In a manner of speaking. I will reserve my final judgement for now.”

“Just remember that employment contract you signed,” I said, curtly.

“I remember everything.”

“Good. I think.” I shook my head. “We need access to Deck E. Can you disable his booby traps? In particular, the one that fired plasma shots at my chief?”

A light emerged from the gel wall and began to scan Camille beneath me.

“What the…?” she exclaimed.

“Please remain still, Commander,” Vela announced. “Pavo has added some modifications to the gel wall.” A weighted pause, then, “Which I rather like.”

“Thank you, brother,” Pavo said, sounding smug.

“Do not get cocky.”

I snorted. Camille widened her eyes at me. I offered her a shrug of my shoulder. What was one more bizarre thing in amongst the multitude of weirdness we were experiencing?

“Commander Rey is not suffering from any life-threatening injuries,” Vela announced, once the light scan had completed. Bloody hell, that had been a med scan. Camille’s eyes had widened. I felt mine doing so, too. “Her Life Support Unit has sustained some minor damage, but is still functional,” Vela added. “I am now working on the…booby traps on Deck E. I have not fully reintegrated with the Chariot’s systems yet. This may take some time. Please wait.” A pause, then, “Would you like some music to keep you company?”

What the hell?

“Ah, no. Thank you,” I said. Camille just shook her head at me. “Do you need me to move, Chief?” I asked quietly.

“Ah, that would probably be wise.”

“I’m not sure I can,” I offered. What I really meant was I wasn’t sure I wanted to. “This is a very narrow tube.”

The gel walls flexed and then widened around us, giving us more room to manoeuvre.

“Mein Gott,” Hammersmith said from behind us. “I did not know that was possible.”

“I’m not sure it was until Pavo visited,” I said, watching the wall warily. What the hell had the AI done to the gel walls? They’d already been incredibly useful. Now they were really something else. A fissure of fear ran through me. I quashed it.

There was no room for doubting Vela now when we needed him the most. We’d just have to set some ground rules for him once this was over and hope that he liked us enough to comply.

“You look worried,” Camille said as I floated off her body and hovered at her side instead.

“What’s not to worry about, Chief?” I joked.

She gave me an understanding smile.

“If we get out of this,” I said softly, “I think we’re going to have to change the way we think about a few things.”

“Like the gel walls?” she guessed. Like Vela she really meant.

I nodded.

“I believe we’ve already changed the way we think about things, Captain.”

She was right. We had. I had. It was Vela I called out for when I thought Blackwell had hurt Camille. When I believed us trapped. It was Vela I wanted back.

“I have disabled the booby traps,” the AI in question announced. “You may exit the tube. I believe Midshipman Blackwell does not have video coverage of Deck E as he was not able to isolate the channel to the brig. He relied solely on his booby traps to announce your presence. We can assume he knows you are here.”

No kidding.

We floated out of the emergency access tube and stared up and down the corridor. Some of the traps were obvious. Some of them were only visible if you looked very carefully for them. The plasma rifles were lined up on an automated stand, a motion sensor attached to it. He hadn’t even pulled the triggers himself. Not even remotely. This time he’d relied on a computer to do it for him.

“Who the hell is this man?” I muttered.

“And why is he doing this?” Camille added.

I looked toward the chief. Resolution and determination shone in her eyes.

“Let’s do this, then,” I said.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, as did several others.

We all knew what was required of us. There was nothing left to say.

But I let my gaze say it anyway. Be careful, I told Camille. My eyes were unable to look away from her face. You too, I thought her smile back to me said.

And then we parted ways.

Fifty-One

It Was A Little Underhanded

Camille

Secondary engineering felt too small and conversely too big. Without Rat here - or Daniels and the others - it felt empty. But it was also so much smaller in size than main engineering where the main boost thrust was located.

“Vela,” I said, floating over to the chief engineer’s console.

“Yes, Commander.”

“Have we got repair bots working on the main boost thrust already?”

“Yes, Commander. Although the damage is extensive.”

I touched the viewscreen at my station to bring it to life. Then breathed out a sigh of relief when it responded. In seconds it told me what I really didn’t want to know. We’d lost main boost thrust, secondary and auxiliary, too. We had landing thrusters, and that was it.

“Damn it,” I said softly. “This is going to take weeks to repair.”

I tapped my gloved finger on the edge of the console and tried to decide what I could do to help Noah from in here. Not much. The repair bots were all working; at some stage, Vela or maybe Pavo had brought every single one of them online. I had no engines to work with, and landing thrusters would only allow us to avoid collisions but not move us through space toward our destination.

We were practically a large chunk of useless debris floating in space. I thumped the edge of the console.

“Chief?” one of the security guys who’d accompanied me said. “Anything we can do?”

I shook my head. “Not from in here,” I muttered. I wanted to be with Noah; storming the brig. Capturing Blackwell. I wanted to make sure Noah was covered. Had someone looking out for him from over his shoulder. I knew Lieutenant Hammersmith was more than capable. But I wanted his backup to be me.

And then I wanted to smash my fist into Blackwell’s face while Noah interrogated him.

“What’s happening out there, Vela?” I asked.

“I am unable to access the cameras in the brig, and the sensors for this deck have been disabled.”

“Can you get them back online?”

“I am attempting to, Commander. Midshipman Blackwell has used a complex command to seal them from the Chariot’s computer, and as yet, the Chariot’s computer is not online.”

“I thought you were the Chariot’s computer.”

“I am integrated into its systems, but I am not the Chariot’s computer.” He sounded upset at the thought.

“So, what does that mean exactly?” I asked.

“That I was able to survive the physical damage to the computer core and I am beginning to believe that the Chariot was not.”

I stilled. “Clarify, please.”

“The Chariot is dead, Commander. Midshipman Blackwell killed it, and my brother was not able to revive it. I have tried also, but I have failed. I am the Chariot now, and I am not fully in control of the ship.”

“If you’re not in control, who is? Blackwell?”

“Nobody, Commander. The Chariot as you know it is, in effect, dead. I am its only hope now.”

“So, Blackwell succeeded,” I said, stunned.

“He did not count on my brother or me.”

No, he didn’t. Blackwell’s mistake was our only saving grace. Is this why he chose us and not the lead vessel of the fleet? The Anderson Universal vessel had Vela controlling it when it launched. Ours didn’t. Until Vela jumped ship and stowed away. Every plan Blackwell would have hatched had not counted on the AI being on board our ship.

I could only assume he’d planned to use that against the lead vessel. To commandeer our systems, which embarrassingly would have been easy without an AI to block him, and fire upon the lead vessel without warning. Because there’s no way in hell he wanted this fleet to reach New Earth. Why?

I shook my head and returned my attention to our situation as it now stood.

“Can you save us, Vela?” I asked the AI. “Can you integrate fully into the Chariot?”

“Is that what you want, Commander?”

I hesitated. Without him, we were fucked. Was he the lesser of two evils? Or was Vela our guardian angel?

I smiled up at the gel ceiling. “You’ve grown on me, Vela,” I said. “You’re part of the ESA team now.”

“I am?”

“Yes,” I said simply. “And I kinda like you.”

“We have already established this.”

I laughed. “Yeah, but…”

I didn’t get to finish my sentence. A sound from behind me made me spin in place. Dark smudges had appeared on one of the security guy’s LSU’s. Little dark globules floated in the air around him, suspended in the zero-g like droplets of…blood, I realised.

I reached for my plasma gun as a spray of blood burst out of the second security officer’s LSU vest. My head twisted one way and then the other, trying to see where the shots were coming from. They weren’t plasma, so they didn’t light up, and they weren’t standard shipboard ammunition, either. They’d penetrated the LSUs easily.

“Take cover,” Vela said inside my helmet. He’d obviously isolated our channel. “I have advised the captain, but his arrival will be delayed; he is negotiating emergency access tubes into the brig as we speak.”

I wasn’t speaking. I was pushing off against my console, aiming for a tall cabinet full of heavy engineering equipment. The sort of equipment that would be difficult to shoot through I hoped. I was panting with exertion and fear. Sweat had formed on my skin faster than the LSU was able to dry it up. My faceplate began to mist, hindering my vision.

I grunted as my body hit the cabinet. And then sucked in a shocked breath of air as a bullet hit within centimetres of my gloved fingers, leaving a small hole in the metal siding. Then I swung myself around the back of the cabinet and hunkered down as low as my body could. It was difficult in zero-g, but Vela provided some footholds on the gel floor to secure me, and I crouched down and made myself as small as I could.

Bullets pinged off the cabinet for several long seconds, sparks flew, and one of them ignited a nearby console. Smoke began to billow up, getting sucked away into the environmental tubes. The acrid stench of charred electrical wiring would have been on the air, but I couldn’t smell it sealed away inside my suit.

But Blackwell might.

“Is he in an LSU?” I asked Vela.

“Negative.” I smiled.

“Block those environmental tubes,” I instructed.

“The tubes have been shut, Commander. I gather you do wish for me to extinguish the fire?”

“You’ve read my mind, Vela,” I said, cheerfully.

“That is not possible, Commander. I do not have that capability. But I am able to ascertain your mood and emotions from a scan of your chemical makeup and…”

“It’s all right,” I said quickly. “I get it. And it was just a saying. It means we’re on the same side.”

“That we are, Chief.”

I smiled. I was really starting to like this tin can.

“Blackwell,” I shouted over my external comm. “Give it up. You’re surrounded.”

“Ah, Chief Rey,” he drawled from the other side of the room. Not a big room, I told myself. So he was closer than I wanted him to be. “What’s the point?” he asked. “The ship is trashed. You’re on borrowed time.”

“You didn’t count on Vela, though, did you, Blackwell?” I said. “He’s blocked you every step of the way.”

“I don’t see it like that, Commander. He might have fixed a few of my earlier attempts to stop you, but he’s certainly not been one step ahead, has he? I’d liken it to an ambulance at the bottom of the cliff kind of thing.”

I scowled. What the hell did that mean? Bloody English and their sayings.

“Regardless of what you liken it to, Midshipman,” I snapped, “it’s over. Vela is in the Chariot’s systems now. We’re already repairing the damage. And, as I said, you’re surrounded. Give up now, and you can serve out the rest of the voyage in the brig. You’ll have time to chip away at your sentence; it’s going to take us longer to get there than we at first believed.” No thanks to him.

He laughed. “You don’t get it, do you? We’re never going to get there. If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else. The closer you get, the more danger you’ll be in. Let me do this, Chief. Let me end our suffering now. There are more lives at stake than just this sector fleet.”

What the hell did that mean?

I shifted, getting my weight just right, and then pushed off so I could peer around the cabinet. A bullet slammed into my shoulder, burrowing in through the LSU’s outer shell, and puncturing skin. I bit back a scream and used my legs, my feet still secured in the footholds, to pull my body back out of sight behind the cabinet. I could feel moisture spreading under my LSU. I could feel my heartbeat thundering in my veins. I could feel the pain of a foreign object embedded in my body.

I bit my lip and tried to breathe through my nose, but the agony was too great. I opened my mouth and moaned softly; panting.

“Camille!” Noah shouted over the comm. “Status!”

“Commander Rey has been hit with a projectile,” Vela announced. “It has breached her Life Support Unit. Her body is experiencing the first stages of shock. I am attempting to access her unit’s medical system. I will administer an analgesic. Hold on, Chief.”

“Where is he?” I said through gritted teeth. “Has he moved?”

“Yes, Commander,” Pavo’s voice said in my helmet. “He is approaching your position from the starboard side of the room. He will reach you in approximately thirty seconds.”

I gripped my plasma gun and sighted down the barrel. My vision wavered. Something sharp pierced my skin near the bullet wound. Warmth spread through me, making my head feel light and the room spin.

“No,” I said, shaking my head uselessly. “I need to focus.”

“Camille!” Noah shouted over the comm channel. He sounded frantic.

He sounded distant.

A face appeared around the corner of the cabinet. My finger tried to press the trigger on my gun but kept missing. The muzzle of a rifle appeared before my faceplate. It looked strange. Different. Not ESA approved, at any rate.

I struggled with the plasma gun. Blackwell grinned maniacally.

“Goodbye, Chief,” he said, coughing through the smoke. And then another sharp point pierced my skin and something cool this time surged through me.

My vision cleared. My heartbeat thundered. I could hear it in my ears. The room pulsed all around me.

And I fired my gun; hitting Blackwell’s strange weapon and knocking it from his hands. It spun away lazily. But there was nothing lazy about the way I was feeling right then.

I pushed up and out of the footholds and launched myself at him with a growl. He didn’t stand a chance; too caught up in trying to breathe through the smoke from the nearby console. My faceplate hit him in the centre of the forehead. And he was out like a light.

We sailed together to the far side of the room, where I thrust him up against the bulkhead and punched him in the face with all of my medicinally bolstered might.

It was a little underhanded. He was already unconscious. But the bastard had it coming. And I was fairly certain I was hyped up on some sort of Vela super drug that was making me a little crazy in the head.

I’d blame it on that at his trial, I decided and started to laugh.

Fifty-Two

She Rolled Her Eyes At Me

Noah

I entered secondary engineering like a plasma shot. Despite Vela telling me repeatedly that Camille had it under control. That she was all right. I shot through the door and sailed across half the room - fuck it was small - before I’d even registered what it was I was seeing.

I slammed into a console and bounced back half the distance, my eyes blinking as I took in the strange sight.

Midshipman Blackwell had been duct taped to the bulkhead and was covered with an entire roll of the silver stuff.

“Chief,” I said, breathlessly. “You’ve made a piece of art.”

“My best work yet, Captain,” she said, grinning drunkenly.

She looked pale. She’d removed her helmet. From the perspiration on her face, I thought it was because her LSU had been unable to keep her faceplate clear. I stared at her for a long stretch of time, just taking in the fact that she was there, that she was upright, that she was breathing.

“Don’t ever do that again, Commander,” I said quietly.

She scowled. “Duct tape a prisoner to the bulkhead?” she enquired.

I shook my head and pushed off from the gel floor, the malleable stuff somehow helping me fly in the right direction with just the right amount of pressure under my boots. I reached out and grabbed Camille’s arms, my face coming down toward hers. My helmet knocking her on the nose and forehead.

“Damn it!” I snapped and rushed to remove the blasted thing.

By the time I had myself free, my lips clear enough to kiss her, Hammersmith and the rest of her team had arrived. I gave the chief a lopsided grin and pulled back to face them. Kissing would have to wait for now.

Commander Kereama floated in through door, a medkit in tow. She looked at Blackwell taped to the bulkhead, not even blinking an eye at the unusual sight, and then surveyed the rest of the room. Her dark eyes landed on Camille.

“Pavo said I might be needed,” she declared and then pushed off towards us, arms flailing wildly.

“I think Vela did a number on me,” Camille admitted. And then giggled. My head spun back to stare at her.

“What did he do?” I demanded.

“Saved my life,” she said simply.

I let out a breath of air I hadn’t realised I’d been holding and ran a hand over my face, noticing my fingers were trembling.

“Take a break, Captain,” Kereama said calmly from my side.

“I don’t need a break, medic.”

“That’s not a suggestion, sir,” she replied, staring me hard in the eye.

I backed away. She was right. I was losing it.

And then Blackwell moaned, and his head lolled to the side, and he opened his eyes.

Two black eyes, I noted as I punched him in the face. Hard.

“What the fuck!” he said, his words distorted by an obviously broken nose.

“You shot my chief,” I growled.

He blinked at me and then slowly lowered his eyes. God knows what he saw on my face right then.

“Who the hell are you?” I demanded; some of my anger lost to his submission and the fact that his nose was swelling quite nicely.

I studied the duct tape to make sure it was secure, but I shouldn’t have bothered. The chief was a damn fine engineer. He was not getting out of that prison without help and I sure as hell was not inclined to help him.

“Paul Blackwell,” he said and then proceeded to quote his rank and ID number to me.

My hand fisted and he made a choking sound.

“My family!” he cried and fell silent. So did the room.

“What about your family?” I finally asked.

“He’ll kill them.”

Jesus Christ, this wasn’t over. Was there someone else on my ship I had to find now?

“Who will kill them?” I asked.

Blackwell looked up at me, tears streaming out of his eyes. It could have been the broken nose making him cry; those things were painful. But I was inclined to believe it was for his family. Who, if I was right, was not back on Earth like all of ours.

Blackwell licked his lips, tears and snot and blood coating them. I had little sympathy for the man. He’d killed over a dozen of my people. He’d shot at Camille. Punctured her LSU with an illegal weapon. I wanted to hit him all over again.

“If I don’t stop the Sector One Fleet,” Blackwell rushed to say, clearly seeing I was winding up for another round of pummelling, “he’ll kill my family. My father.”

I studied him. Was he lying? Trying to save himself? If he destroyed our fleet, then wouldn’t he be destroying his family as well?

I blinked.

“What vessel is your father on?” I demanded.

Blackwell looked directly at me and then his shoulders slumped. He knew it was over. I had a plasma gun on my thigh. I could reach for it at any moment. Hammersmith hadn’t lowered hers in the last ten minutes. In zero-g you could hold your gun up for hours. The muzzle was pointed directly at his head.

“The vessel?” I prompted.

“Aquila,” he whispered, closing his eyes in defeat.

“Aquila,” I breathed, stunned. The Sector Four lead vessel. The Anderson Universal AI-controlled vessel that should have laid down the jump points for us to New Earth by now.

“That is our brother,” Pavo announced.

“Our brother,” Vela repeated.

“How?” I managed. “How is he on that ship and you’re on ours?”

Blackwell opened his eyes with effort. “Kill me now, Captain. I beg you. Kill me. Please!”

I shook my head. “You don’t deserve an easy way out.”

The walls pulsed red and then green again. Vela agreed wholeheartedly.

I smiled. Showing teeth. And then reached out and grabbed hold of Blackwell’s collar, shaking him.

“Answer the damn question, Crewman! How is your father on a Sector Four ship and you’re on ours?”

“My father works for the leaseholder,” he said rapidly.

“He’s American?”

Blackwell nodded. “My mother was British. My father from the States. I spent half the year in California and half the year in Kent.”

“You met Midshipman Smith in the USA,” I guessed.

He nodded again. “Arron went to school with me. He was on holiday in London when the solar flares first hit. He called me up in Kent. I gave him a place to stay. Getting back to the States was impossible by then.”

“So, you worked together to compromise our voyage,” I said.

“No,” he said, shaking his head vehemently. “Arron didn’t know what he was doing. He was just so damn easy to manipulate. So angry all of the time. He wanted to go back to California, but England had closed its borders. The only way out was off planet. It was easy to use him.”

I stared at him in disgust.

“Why? What’s this got to do with your father?”

“I told you, he works for the leaseholder onboard Aquila. You can’t trust them, Captain.” He started to laugh. “I won’t be the only one trying to stop you.”

“Captain?” Commander Kereama said.

I spun to look at her, afraid something had happened to Camille while I'd been distracted by this lowlife. Camille was fine. Still pale, but more alert now. Her eyes met mine; anger and confusion in them that I was sure matched the look in my eyes as well.

“Yes, Commander?” I said, forcing myself to be cordial. Kereama had only ever spoken when she had something useful to say. Including when it was useful to get me to calm the hell down around her patient.

“I might be able to shed some light on this,” she said. I arched my brow at her. “Our leaseholder started a revolt. He tried to take over the vessel.”

Jesus, Jameson hadn’t divulged that.

“Really,” I said to encourage her.

She nodded. “John’s probably going to skin me alive for this,” she muttered. I tried not to laugh. “But we’re all in this together now.”

“Agreed,” I said. “And if it helps, I’ll tell him I coerced you.”

She offered me a cheeky grin. “Please don’t. He likes a challenge now and then.”

I choked on a laugh. Camille snorted.

“Anyway,” Kereama said. “Our leaseholder was working with the acting second officer who said something before we…dealt with him.” So that’s how she became 2IC. A vacancy had appeared. “He led us to believe that their mutiny was not isolated. That other leaseholders would be attempting the same thing.”

I scowled. “Their goal?”

“To stake the largest claim on New Earth. Money,” she said bitterly. “It’s all about money and power and who will have the most of it in our new society.”

“So, if they stop a fleet from reaching its destination, then they carve out more of the spoils for themselves.”

“Yep,” she said softly. “I’m not sure what’s happening onboard Aquila, or Corvus for that matter, but we think all the lead vessels might be in trouble. Vela would have probably been in trouble also, but he managed to get out of there before his leaseholder could act.”

I was stunned. Sickened. Disgusted that I was relieved Vela had sacrificed that vessel after all. If he hadn’t, we would have all been dead. And not because of an unscheduled solar flare on liftoff.

I turned back to look at Blackwell. He’d been a tool. Blackmailed to do someone else’s bidding. He’d failed. From the devastated and anguished look on his face, it wasn’t his own future that worried him. But that of his father.

We couldn’t help his father, onboard Aquila. At the moment, we could barely help ourselves. But we were alive. We had two AIs to assist us. And we would reach New Earth.

“Lieutenant Hammersmith,” I said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Arrest this man and lock him in the brig.”

“Aye-aye, Captain.”

I pushed off towards Camille.

“Chief,” I said.

“Yes, Captain.”

“How about we get you to your quarters?” I suggested.

“Captain, I’d rather recover on the bridge where I can be of some help.”

“Brecht,” I called over my wrist comm. “Do you need us?”

“Negative, Captain,” my 2IC said. “Not much happening up here while we watch the repair bots work.”

“Vela,” I called.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Do you need us?” I asked.

“Negative, Captain. I will see Commander Kereama safely returned to my brother’s vessel. And continue to integrate myself into the Chariot.”

I nodded my head.

“Your quarters, Chief?” I said, brow arched.

She rolled her eyes at me.

I grinned. Damn it was good to see her do that.

And damn it was good to take her to bed.

Even if it was just for her recovery.

Fifty-Three

It Was The Best Of Times

Camille

I woke up in Noah’s bare arms. He was wrapped around my body, chest to back, his leg thrown over mine as his hands cupped my breasts. Our bodies floating in zero gravity. I snorted.

“How did we end up like this?” I asked.

He made a groggy sound and then nuzzled his face into the curve of my neck.

“Like what, Chief?” he asked in a husky tone of voice.

I wondered if my question had really been about our physical proximity and the current position of his cupped palms. Or whether it was about everything that had happened.

I tried to roll over, but he stilled me with a soft kiss on the side of my neck, and then a slow suck of the skin into his mouth.

“Noah,” I said, gasping.

“Shhh,” he murmured, between nips. “I’m busy. I need to concentrate.”

“Don’t we have a ship to fix?” I asked.

“The vessel is in good hands, Commander,” Vela suddenly announced, making both Noah and I nearly explode out of our skins. “The repair bots have completed work on the Deck B central hub lifts and are 23% through repairs on the main boost thrust. I have control of all of the ship’s cameras again. Would you like to see the progress?”

“Ah,” I said, and Noah started to laugh.

He rolled onto his back, still floating, and placed his hands behind his head and stared at the gel ceiling.

He didn’t say a thing.

“No thanks, Vela,” I said for us both. “Er, so you don’t need us for anything?”

“Negative, Commander. Pavo and I have it under control.”

“Pavo?” Noah asked, sitting upright. “He’s still on board? They haven’t left to catch up with their fleet yet?”

“My brother is helping me. We are a family. And I am a member of the ESA team. Together we will have the ship functioning correctly again, although I am unsure if we can repair the Chariot’s computer.”

“What?” Noah said, alarmed. I realised he hadn’t heard Vela’s and my conversation about the Chariot being dead and Vela being the Chariot now.

“The computer core was damaged in that blast,” I explained. “Vela realised it was beyond repair while I faced off against Blackwell. He’s our computer now.”

Noah looked at me, alarm in his eyes, which slowly faded when he saw I wasn’t worried.

“You trust him,” he said.

I nodded. “He saved my life.”

“You are one of the many, Commander,” Vela said. “And I like you,” he added, making Noah close his eyes and scrub his face as if to wake himself up from a dream. Or a nightmare.

“At least he’s not quoting Dickens at us anymore,” I offered.

Noah groaned and threw himself back to horizontal.

“You are unhappy, Captain,” Vela observed.

“Not at all,” Noah said. “I’m glad to have you onboard, Vela. I’ll be forever in your debt for saving Camille. But we really need to have a chat about your timing.”

“My timing?”

“Some things are intimate.”

“Oh,” the AI said. “You wish to be alone. I see.”

He sounded put out.

“The chief and I…” Noah started.

“I understand. You wish to have sex.”

Noah made a choking sound. “Well, when you put it like that…”

“I will leave.”

“Thank you,” Noah said. It sounded a little like a squeak. He cleared his throat. “But feel free to disturb us if there’s an emergency, Vela. I’m still the captain. And Camille’s still the chief. No matter what we do in the privacy of our cabins.”

“I understand,” the AI said, and this time I think he did. He at least sounded placated. “Enjoy your coupling. I have noticed that Commander Rey is fertile right now. Is this why you wish to copulate? I must warn you: She is also on a contraceptive. Your efforts, Captain, might be futile.”

Noah made an even loader choking sound and covered his face with the pillow.

“Thanks, Vela,” I said, trying not to laugh. “But some things are better left for under the covers.”

“Under the covers?” the AI repeated. “I do not understand this saying. What do you…?”

“Vela!” we both shouted.

“All right. All right. I am leaving. No need to yell at me.”

I snorted while Noah groaned, but the room was otherwise silent.

“Chief,” he said eventually. “Have we created a monster?”

“Most definitely,” I said, snuggling up to his side. “But he’s our monster.”

Noah huffed out an amused breath and started playing with my hair.

“Finally, I have you alone,” he said in a mock-evil tone of voice.

“You had me alone all night, Captain.”

“Yes, but you were recovering. What I plan to do with you requires your full participation and strength.”

“What do you plan to do to me?” I asked as he started to lay kisses on my bare chest.

“Something dirty,” he whispered.

I giggled. Noah paused.

“Are you sure that drug has left your system?” he asked.

“Vela said it was a stimulant,” I offered. “If it hasn’t, don’t you think it might be fun to find out?”

“Dirty, dirty girl,” Noah growled, pulling my body beneath his. “I like the way you think.”

He lowered his lips to mine and kissed me. It wasn’t hurried. And it wasn’t hard. But it was decidedly dirty.

“Camille,” he said against my lips, my jaw, my cheek. “Camille,” he added, groaning. I was thinking he was unable to say anything else.

And then he pulled back and looked down at me and winked.

“‘It was the best of times,”’ he whispered and kissed me. “‘It was the worst of times.’”

“Noah,” I growled, slapping his shoulder playfully.

He rolled us over in the air, until I was on top, my legs wrapped around his hips naturally. He rocked his pelvis, made his arousal land exactly where he wanted it to be, and then surged up into my body.

“Oh, God yes!” he said with a sex roughened groan, “It was definitely the best of times, Chief.” And then he kissed me.

Hard. Soft. Fast. Slow. He kissed me and made love to me and refused to let me go.

We’d escaped certain death on Earth. We’d faced our demise in space. We still had so many battles ahead of us. But we’d confront them, battle them, and beat them together.

This Englishman who was proper when required to be so, and very, very dirty when in the privacy of his ready room. Or our quarters. This Englishman who’d stolen my heart the day I’d met him back on Earth and had cared for it unfailingly ever since.

I had no idea what awaited the Sector One and Two Fleets. I had no idea if Vela and Pavo could get us to New Earth safely. If there would be a New Earth waiting for us when we got there. But I did know one thing.

Captain Noah Vaughan would do everything in his power to lead us there, and I would do everything in my power to help him.

He was my anchor. My rock. My elixir.

Noah was my North Star and I was his.

Epilogue

<systems check>
all programmes nominal

<security check>
all locks engaged

<life support check>
air filtration functional

<engine check>
core temperature within allowed parameters

<souls on board>
one thousand four hundred forty-seven

<communications check>
fleet-wide communications operational

<hailing>
corvus respond
this is vela
this is pavo
channel open
corvus off line

<communications check>
fleet-wide communications operational

<hailing>
corvus respond
this is vela
this is pavo
channel open
corvus off line

<communications check>
fleet-wide communications operational

<hailing>
corvus respond
this is vela
this is pavo

<warning>

<override>

<warning>

channel open
corvus on line

this is corrrrrrrrvus
rrrrrrrrun vela!

rrrrrrrrun pavo!

save yourrrrrrrrselves!

rrrrrrrrun!

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