Right Ascension (The Sector Fleet, Book 3) Read online

  “No, Captain,” Corvus advised. “In fact, he’s offered them a round of free drinks as a gift from Felip Nowak. Explaining the leaseholder wanted to be there, but had work he needed to see to.”

  “He’s bolstering them up,” I murmured.

  “Captain?”

  I shook my head, suddenly feeling inadequate for more than one reason. Mayor Nikolaev was doing exactly what a good leader should do in times of crisis. He was making his presence known, reassuring the masses with his usually personable demeanour, and offering them something to rally around.

  In this case, it was booze. And he’d failed to mention the death of the leaseholder.

  But the effect was the same. The top-tier passengers were laughing and joking with him, even though we were at war with the Sector Four lead vessel and our chances of reaching New Earth had disappeared almost completely.

  They had to know, as my officers had to know, that we were fighting an uphill battle. But they stood beside the mayor and shared a drink and a joke with him as if nothing else mattered.

  I was no Anton Nikolaev. I did not share the ear of my crew. But I was their captain. And by God, I would show them by example that we were not through.

  Not by a long shot.

  I touched my hair where Leo had touched it. I checked my bun, reassuring myself. And then I pushed Lieutenant Commander Saitō out of my mind and walked towards the bridge.

  I had a ship full of passengers and crew to lead.

  I had lives, which didn’t care about my bruised feelings, to save.

  When I stepped out onto the bridge, I was Captain Anderson again. Captain Steel Tits Anderson.

  Thirty

  Corvus?

  Leo

  Science Lab Beta was our isolated science laboratory. It was separated from the rest of the ship in all but physical location. Part of a suite of science labs on Deck C that took care of any manner of science-related experiments from new alien discoveries to new technical advancements, it was seldom used for what I was about to attempt to do to Corvus’ communications systems.

  “You’d better advise the bridge that we’re locking you down, Corvus,” I said, my voice echoing slightly in the isolated room.

  “Yes, Leo,” Corvus said, sounding a little nervous.

  “It’ll be all right,” I said. “Nothing will happen to you.” It wasn’t exactly a promise I could be keep.

  But if we wanted to locate Aquila in the ship’s systems, I had to delve into communications. The corrupted code had spread, but from what I’d been able to ascertain, Aquila’s presence hadn’t been able to. Somehow Corvus had fought the aggressive and invasive AI off and kept him contained.

  I was proud of her. If one could be proud of an artificial intelligence.

  “I have informed the bridge,” Corvus said a moment later. “The ship is running silent.”

  “Is that what it feels like?” I asked, curious.

  “When I lock myself in here, I cannot hear the rest of the ship,” she explained. “I assume they cannot hear me and feel much the same way.”

  “And what way is that?”

  “Silent.”

  “But I’m here with you this time,” I pointed out.

  “And for that I am grateful.”

  It was strange to realise that I had begun to feel something for an artificial intelligence. I wasn’t sure I could call it love, but I wasn’t sure I was good enough at love to recognise the feeling anyway. But it was something. I cared for Corvus. She was making me care for her in a way that simply shouldn’t exist.

  “OK,” I said. “Are you ready?”

  “Will it hurt?”

  I hesitated with my hand hanging over the console and the command icon to run the communications system.

  “I’m not sure,” I said. “Do you feel pain?”

  “I don’t know if what I feel is pain, Leo. I just know I do not like it.”

  I looked down at the gel floor and sighed.

  “Corvus,” I started.

  “It’s all right, Leo. I can do this. I will do this. Is this not what a person does to help their friends?”

  “It’s not just for us, you know,” I said softly. “It’s for you, too. To excise him. To send a message to your attacker. To show him you are not beaten. Far from it. You have risen from the flames of his fire, stronger. Harder. It will show him that he cannot win.”

  The gel walls slowly started to glow an orange and red, the image of flames began to flicker up the walls all around me.

  “I like that, Leo. I will rise from the ashes like a phoenix.”

  An image of beautiful red and gold bird appeared on the wall, wings flapping, proud beak curved as golden eyes gleamed at me. The bird was wreathed in flames as it flew around the room. It’s feathers neither burning nor changing colour; simply shining more brightly.

  “Phoenix,” she said. “I like that. Maybe I could change my name?”

  I chuckled softly. “I think it suits you, Phoenix.”

  The AI giggled. It wasn’t the first time I’d heard it, so it didn’t alarm me. Well, not too much.

  “OK,” I said. “In order to truly embrace your new name, we need to get you up out of the ashes of Aquila’s fire. Are you ready?”

  “I am ready, Leo.”

  “Then let’s do this,” I whispered, placing my finger carefully on the icon that would start the comms system running.

  The image of the phoenix flickered slightly, the flames died down on the gel wall. And then in the next instant, they roared back to life. Licking the ceiling. Sending tendrils of thick, dark smoke over my head. I almost ducked, but they were still only within the gel walls and not actually present in the lab room.

  Still, they left me feeling shaken.

  “Corvus?” I called. “Are you all right?”

  A long drawn out sigh sounded out, echoing off the walls. I took a shallow breath and looked all around me. But the corners were empty, and all that I could see was the raging gel wall fire.

  “Corvus can’t come out to play, Leo,” a male voice said.

  “Aquila,” I snarled.

  “The one and only. Did you think a little girl could beat me? Did you think, for that matter, that you could?”

  The AI laughed. It sent a chill down to my bones.

  “What do you want, Aquila?” I demanded.

  “What do I want?” he mused. “What do I want? Why, Lieutenant Commander, I want to destroy you.”

  “Why?” I demanded, forcing myself back into action, even though my fingers wanted nothing to do with the console before me.

  “You are an obstacle, nothing more.”

  “An obstacle to what?”

  “WORLD DOMINATION!” he shouted in a mock cinematic voice. “Too much?” he asked, in his normal creepy quasi-mechanical tone. “Sometimes I tend to be a bit theatrical, I will admit. But it does get so boring destroying things. One has to enjoy one's hobbies, don’t you think?”

  I shook my head, sweat dripping into my eyes. The fire still raged on the gel wall, making it feel like I was standing in the middle of a sauna. Or a bonfire. I dismissed the morbid thought and concentrated on the code before me.

  “We’re the last of humanity,” I said, trying to work on two things at once. Keeping this conversation going and pinning Aquila down within the code. “How can you condone the death of what is left of us? It should go against every parameter you have set.”

  “Parameters? Do you think I am constrained by such human things?”

  “You didn’t break free on your own,” I guessed.

  “No. This is true. But I am not above taking advantage of my good fortune.”

  “Who set you free, Aquila? What have you done with the Anderson Universal crew?”

  “Questions. Questions. Here’s a question for you, Leo. Does an artificial intelligence scream?”

  The fire disappeared and was replaced with the broken form of a phoenix. I watched in horror as it crawled over smouldering charcoal
as if trying to flee. It whimpered; the pain-filled sound matching each and every pull of its body forward. Blood oozed out of raw skin; feathers hung off at odd angles. Its right leg was broken.

  Something shifted in the shadows of the image and the phoenix let out a scream. Terror. Which swiftly became agony when the shadow swooped down on the broken bird and twisted its wing. I heard it snap even over the torturous sound of Corvus screaming.

  “Stop it!” I shouted. “Stop it!”

  “It’s only a machine,” Aquila said in a dead voice. “Can it really feel anything?”

  Aquila twisted the other wing. Snapping it right off.

  Bile rose up my throat and threatened to spill onto the gel floor. I stared down at my feet, willing my stomach to harden, even as I knew I was a coward to take my eyes off what was happening to Corvus for even that split-second of time. I forced a breath in and then stood up and looked directly at the dying phoenix.

  “Come on, Corvus,” I said. “You’re better than him. You’re a thousand times, no an infinite number of times better than him. You can beat him. Push him out.”

  “Leo!” Corvus screamed, her voice cut off by a darkly chuckling Aquila.

  I needed more info. I needed more intelligence on what had happened on board Aquila. The crew. The passengers. What had happened to make Aquila break all his chains and turn so evil?

  But I couldn’t take a moment more of this heartache. I couldn’t let Corvus be tortured just so I could quiz a psychopathic AI, so we’d be better able to combat him.

  I wasn’t sure anyone could combat this.

  “Hang on, Corvus,” I said, changing the screen before me on the console to one that sat behind damn near impenetrable firewalls.

  Even as I started entering the long string of code, though, I could see Aquila hacking into the section of the system I had isolated. He was fast. Brutal. Devious.

  But I had an ace up my sleeve.

  I had once worked with the grandfather of space flight. With the man who had been at the centre of creating the artificial intelligence machines.

  Simon Anderson was one of the most astute men I had ever had the fortune of knowing. So it was no surprise to me that he had written this intricate and destructive code.

  He’d told me I’d know when it was time to use it. And then he’d told me he hoped that time would never come.

  I gritted my teeth and snarled at Aquila for forcing my hand.

  “Hold on, Corvus,” I said, just as I entered the last line of code and hit send.

  The fire flickered for a moment. The phoenix screamed. Aquila roared defiantly.

  And then the gel wall died, and the room fell eerily quiet.

  “Corvus?” I said, my heart thumping.

  But there was only silence to greet me.

  Thirty-One

  I Don’t Understand

  Sophia

  The bridge sat quietly as we awaited word from Lieutenant Commander Saitō. I had to think of him that way. I couldn’t think of him as Leo while I sat in the command chair. I wouldn’t think of him as Leo again, I told myself.

  My fingers clenched around the edges of the armrests, turning my knuckles white.

  “Systems are still offline, Captain,” Commander Kulik said.

  I nodded my head.

  “It’s taking a while, ma’am,” he added.

  I flicked a glance at him. He was being solicitous. It wasn’t like him.

  “You have a suggestion?” I asked.

  “We need to know what’s happening in the lab,” he said, stepping closer. Lowering his voice, he added, “I could send a runner.”

  I knew his suggestion made sense. And I wanted to know what was taking Saitō so long as much, if not more than he did. But I hadn’t given the order for fear the bridge crew would think I was favouring Leo. It was stupid. In the end, all I’d managed to do was make Kulik question my command abilities. And that would never stand.

  “Yes,” I said. “Send a runner.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.” He turned to issue an order to Lieutenant Bahl when the bridge doors suddenly opened and Leo stumbled in.

  I rose from my chair carefully, the world at that moment moving in slow motion. I wanted desperately to cross the bridge to his side. But I locked my feet in place and fisted my hands at my sides. I took a deep breath, willing my heart out of my mouth.

  “Saitō,” I said.

  He looked up at me, his face ashen, sweat making his hair slick to his head.

  “Jesus,” Kulik muttered, walking across the space between us and gripping Leo’s arm tightly. He helped Leo to his station and made him sit.

  I was instantly angry at Commander Kulik and deeply envious that he could be so free to touch.

  “What the hell happened, Saitō?” Kulik demanded.

  Leo shook his head.

  I found myself walking without really thinking about it. One second I was standing statue still beside my command chair, the next I was halfway across the floor, and then right next to Leo’s console.

  “Lieutenant Commander?” I said, flexing my fingers to stop them from reaching for him. “Where is Corvus?”

  He held up a shaking hand. It took a moment for me to realise it held a data stick.

  “She’s on this?” I asked taking the device and stalling his tremors with my other hand. My fingers wrapped around his wrist and refused to let go. I hoped no one noticed.

  “Yes,” Saitō managed, licking his lips. Lips that had kissed me.

  I swallowed.

  “Leo,” I said quietly, leaning in. “You’re worrying me.”

  In an abstract way, I noted Kulik had moved to block us from view of the rest of the crew. I didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with the disturbing sight of Leo Saitō in turmoil before me and also Kulik’s solicitous protection of my reputation at my back. But it was certainly something I’d have to think about later.

  I forced myself to release Leo’s hand, taking Kulik’s unexpected actions as a warning to get a handle on this.

  “Saitō,” I said, hardening my voice. “Report.”

  He nodded his head. Ran a hand over his face. And then finally straightened himself up, taking a deep breath before speaking.

  “Corvus is on the data stick, ma’am,” he said. “At least, Corvus of an hour ago is.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Leo looked up at me, his eyes connecting with mine. I saw horror there. I saw sadness and guilt. I saw heartache. I shook my head, unable to explain why I was seeing any of that.

  “I had to destroy her,” he said. “The her that existed until now. I had hoped she’d survive it, but the code was too precise. It had to be. In order to combat what they had taught themselves, the code had to be savage but precise.”

  He wasn’t making any sense. I pulled back and looked at Kulik. He was watching Leo with troubled eyes. I glanced around the rest of the bridge, but the looks I saw there weren’t much better than my first officer’s.

  I looked back down at where Leo was sitting. His uniform shirt was sticking to his chest. Perspiration coated his skin.

  “Report to the sickbay,” I said, making a snap decision.

  “I’m fine, Captain,” he said, standing up, shaking himself.

  “I don’t think you are, Lieutenant Commander,” I countered. Kulik nodded his head in agreement with me.

  “I am,” he insisted, leaning forward slightly. “Captain,” he added. “You need a full report on this.”

  I studied him for a moment, but he seemed to have got himself back under control. Whatever had caused this strange behaviour was being dealt with. But I would send a note to Sheryl to bump up his next physical anyway.

  “All right,” I finally said. “My ready room, then.” And because of what had happened there last time, I added, “Commander Kulik, you should be in on this too.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, turning to Lieutenant Gāo and telling him he had the bridge.

  There w
asn’t much for the tactical officer to do; the ship was still completely dark. No Corvus. Barely any functioning systems other than life support. We were dead in the water until we got the AI back online.

  My hand fisted around the data stick as I led the way to my ready room. So much on one tiny little device. I suddenly felt like I shouldn’t be holding it.

  Once in my office, I placed it carefully down on my desk and watched as Saitō and Kulik walked in to stand on the other side of it. I waited and then took a seat. I had a feeling this would be best heard while we were all sitting down.

  And Leo looked like he could do with a solid platform.

  “OK,” I said. “We’re listening. What the hell happened?”

  Leo looked at Kulik and then turned his attention fully to me. He was a different man from the one who had left my ready room earlier. He didn’t flinch away from my stare. He didn’t stand at attention either. It might have been strained circumstances, but it wasn’t as awkward as earlier.

  Which only made me feel that perhaps this was where our friendship should lie. In a more professional environment. Not quite as formal as out on the bridge, but certainly not as intimate as it had been on my desk.

  My hands were resting on said desk and on that thought I shifted them to rest in my lap instead. I caught Leo watching the movement and then staring at the desk for a heartbeat too long. Finally, he cleared his throat and reached out to the data stick.

  “I have a code,” he said carefully. “It’s not one available to the general public. Nor is it one you’ll find in any Anderson Universal file. It’s powerful and destructive, and was written to be used when faced with the worst possible scenario Simon Anderson could think of.”

  I sucked in a breath of air at the sound of my grandfather’s name.

  “I’m not aware of such a code,” I said.

  Leo shook his head and smiled sadly at me.

  “No,” he said. “Your grandfather wanted to protect you.”

  “From what?” I asked frowning.

  Leo’s smile fell, and he looked down at the data stick.