Star Carrier (Lost Colonies Trilogy Book 3) Read online

  The following week saw brisk improvements aboard my ship. The damage to the external decks, those near the hull itself, were slowly being cleared and repaired. Gone were the days when we could rely on Stroj-built damage repair robots to do all the work. During our many voyages and battles, the numbers of such machines had dwindled. Crewmen I could replace, but not the robots. Every one destroyed over the last few years had been a permanent loss.

  After breakfast on the eighth day, I reached the command deck fifteen minutes before my shift began. As was my custom, I began the day’s routine surveying the logs of repair activities over the previous twenty-four hours.

  Materials were flowing steadily up from Phobos to our end of the docking tube. The occasional part that had been too large to transport this way had been left on the surface of Phobos, to be later ferried by my crewmen using pinnaces.

  Under no circumstances had variants from Phobos been allowed to come closer than the far end of the docking tube. My own crew and my handful of trusted variants waited at our end to receive the steady stream of equipment and supplies they were sending up in large loads every hour or so. They used muscle and servos to place and attach each item.

  The process was slow, to be sure, but it was clearly safer this way. I didn’t want to end up making a final broadcast to Earth as Admiral Halsey had.

  Vogel sent me a text about three hours after I’d relieved Durris, asking to meet me for lunch. I agreed, and when the time came I found his entire team was sitting with him at the luncheon table in the officers’ mess.

  Before I could take my tray to join them, I found myself accompanied by my stone-faced Marine Commander. He’d apparently been waiting in the mess hall with his tray growing cold until I arrived. Falling into step beside me, he joined us without a formal invitation.

  I didn’t make an issue of it. Zye, if she’d been here, would have done the same.

  Thinking of Zye gave me a pain. I’d sent several messages to Earth regarding her, but I’d yet to receive anything back. Over the last few days I’d stopped bothering. She’d been left behind and doubtlessly had duties to perform for Star Guard that had nothing to do with me. She was a big girl—literally and figuratively—and could take care of herself.

  Still, it seemed out of character for her to be silent via distant connection for so long. I hoped something hadn’t gone wrong, and I vowed to look into the matter upon my return to Earth.

  Shrugging, I made an effort to pay my full attention to the team that now faced me. They looked as wary as my own crew did around their variants.

  “Captain,” Vogel said, “so good of you and this… gentleman… to join us.”

  “This is Marine Lieutenant Morris,” I said.

  Vogel lifted the corners of his mouth a fraction, but he didn’t offer to shake hands. Neither did Morris or any of the others. Dr. McKay was there with the rest, and her red hair was now tucked away. She seemed as sober and watchful as the rest, and she barely nodded to me.

  “Introductions aside,” Vogel continued, “I was hoping this morning that you’d accept some suggestions to speed up and improve the repair process.”

  “Suggestions?” I asked. “Such as?”

  “Well… your restrictions upon us have been severe—”

  “Hold on right there,” Morris said, leaning in and speaking in a low, mistrustful voice. “You can forget it, Vogel. We’re not letting your variants run wild on this ship. You can just forget about that. The job will get done when it gets done.”

  Vogel’s eyes slid to look at Morris in a startled fashion, then moved back to look at me. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  “Please then, explain it to us,” I suggested.

  “It’s about the variants here aboard Defiant. We’ve not been allowed to see them, to service their needs.”

  “They don’t need anything,” Morris interjected again. “They suck up oil, oxygen, protein powder and electricity. Once in a while, they might shit a battery, but they pick those up on their own. They don’t—”

  My hand came up at last. “Morris, please.”

  He fell into a brooding silence.

  “What’s wrong with our variants that might require your attention?” I asked Vogel.

  “That’s just it, we have no idea. They might need any number of service requests handled. The units were built by us, Captain. They weren’t designed to run in a hostile environment full of biologicals for so long without care.”

  “Biologicals?” I asked.

  “He means us,” Morris said flatly. “We’re like some kind of bug colony on a plate to these people.”

  “Hyperbole aside,” Vogel continued, “we need to attend to the variants.”

  I pretended to consider the idea. Then, slowly, I shook my head. “We’ll see. Perhaps it can be arranged after we reach Earth.”

  Vogel released an unhappy exhalation. Morris grinned.

  “Captain, please be reasonable.”

  “I am. When we reach Earth orbit, we’ll take up this matter again. With the help of your units, we’re making progress faster than we’d anticipated. Defiant will fly in a few more days.”

  Vogel now appeared startled. “That isn’t possible. Phobos won’t even have had time to produce and deliver all the parts by then for a full repair.”

  “One week then,” I said. “By that time, we’ll be space-worthy. Not perfect, but serviceable. Thank you for your time, and your efforts.”

  I got up and left the table. They fell to talking irritably behind us.

  Morris fell into step beside me.

  “That’s the way to handle those people,” he assured me. “They’re almost as strange as the variants themselves.”

  “Morris,” I told him, “as much as I appreciate your efforts to safeguard my person—”

  “You don’t have to thank me, Captain,” he said. “I’m glad to do it. It’s my job.”

  “Well, at least until Zye is back aboard.”

  I said this last with a smile. Everyone knew that Zye was paranoid as my security officer, and she tended to follow me around determined to prevent encounters such as the one we’d just experienced.

  But Morris didn’t respond the way I’d expected. Instead of snorting with laughter, he gave me a blank stare.

  “Did you say ‘Zye’, sir?” he asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Who’s that?”

  It was the utter blankness of his expression that made me stop in my tracks. I faced him fully and began to get a sick feeling.

  “Lieutenant Morris,” I asked, “have you ever met a Beta?”

  “You mean one of those giant freaks that built our ship?” he asked in surprise.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Well no, Captain. I remember seeing them on the screens in battle, and I remember how they marched aboard, hulking in their armor. But I’ve never seen one alive and talked to her. No one on Earth has, that I know of. Why do you ask?”

  I felt thoroughly sick. I wanted to unload the lunch I’d just consumed on the deck, but I did my best not to react visibly.

  “The update,” I said aloud and staring at a bulkhead. “We got one from Earth this morning, didn’t we?”

  “Uh… yes sir. You okay, Captain?”

  “Yes… I’m fine. Maybe the food wasn’t the freshest.”

  He laughed. “The cook on every ship is a marine’s worst enemy!”

  “Just so…”

  He left me then, standing in the passage outside the mess hall.

  Inside my mind and my heart, there was a gaping hole. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that Zye, my companion and friend of several years, a woman who’d I’d entrusted with my life on any number of occasions, was gone.

  She’d become an unperson. I could feel it in my bones.

  Already, my mind was planning to do careful searches online and generate seemingly off-handed questions for various crewmembers—but I knew what I’d find.

  Nothin
g.

  Zye was gone. Her memory had been erased from the mind of everyone who’d known her.

  What had she done back home, on Earth, to deserve such a fate? How had she managed to anger those who ran my world from their dark strongholds?

  I didn’t know, but I meant to find out.

  -21-

  Sick despair over Zye’s disappearance grew steadily in my mind, eventually transforming into cold determination.

  If she still lived, I would find her. It was as simple as that. I’d discover why she was removed from existence, and I’d reverse the process if at all possible.

  Under no illusions, I knew I wouldn’t find these tasks easy to perform. The ancients who ran my world hadn’t done so for a century and a half without being very good at it.

  My efforts would have to be forceful, but my true purposes would have to be hidden. No one would support me if I were to reveal my cause. Even Yamada, whose hack on my implant had allowed me to keep my memories, had no inkling that Zye had ever existed.

  To confront people, to run around the ship insisting they recall an unperson, that would invite disaster. There was no evidence.

  I’d visited Zye’s cabin. Everything was there as it had been, but her effects had been left behind on Earth. This was a standard procedure for crewmen. You unshipped for long stays and often your cabin was reassigned. In the past, there might have been a physical image, a photograph, something of that nature—but not in modern times.

  Images, voiceprints, signatures, recorded events—they were all held digitally. They were universally stored on networks in collective clouds of data. Such evidence of Zye had been meticulously erased.

  Zye’s existence as a data factoid had probably been the easiest element to remove. In retrospect, the very nature of our modern culture, especially in regards to modern record keeping, made such deletions simplicity itself.

  Her database key had been deleted. Her records destroyed. All transactions and vid clips—gone.

  Even DNA traces would prove nothing. They might show that a Beta had at one point been living aboard Defiant—but so what? The ship had been built and crewed exclusively by Betas in the past.

  No, talking about an unperson to those who didn’t remember her would be met with laughter at first, but that would quickly transform into concern. My sanity would be questioned if I persisted. I’d lose my command by the time we returned to Earth. There, those who might take notice of my quixotic behavior and realize my mind hadn’t been properly edited may decide to take further drastic action against me.

  Therefore, I’d have to proceed with care. Every action I took toward discovering Zye’s fate would have to appear to have another purpose. If I revealed my true goal, it would only serve to put my enemies on guard.

  The very idea of hiding my mission grated on me. I hated the whole idea of subterfuge. It reminded me too much of politics.

  I decided to mark down the situation as one more reason to hate the Council and their Chairman even more deeply. I’d never liked the Council or felt their rule was just, but now, they’d made it personal.

  My first move was to meet again with Vogel. This time, I spoke to him privately, taking pains to make sure we weren’t being recorded.

  “Captain Sparhawk,” he began in a pained voice, “your crew—especially that detestable man Morris, who still refuses to—”

  “I’ll fix it,” I said, cutting him off. “I’ll give you full access.”

  He stopped, taken aback. “Full access to what?”

  I shrugged. “The ship. The variants. Whatever supplies you might need. I’ve changed my mind about you, Director. I think you’re just the man whose help I need.”

  Vogel blinked, stared then slowly moved a fingertip to press his glasses farther up his nose.

  I’d never asked him why he didn’t bother to get his eyes surgically altered. Glasses were exceedingly rare these days. Perhaps he considered it to be a fashion statement of some kind.

  “Excellent,” he said slowly. “May I ask what changed your mind specifically?”

  “Someone took over Halsey’s ship. They used the variants to do it. At first, I’d assumed the variants themselves had gone mad or rebelled against—”

  “Couldn’t happen. Not in a thousand generations!”

  “Yes, so you’ve said many times. I’ve come to believe you. I’ve come to understand that your variants aren’t the enemy, but they may have become the unwitting tools of our real enemy.”

  Vogel cautiously nodded. “Logical. Inescapably logical.”

  “Yes… The question now is what you and I are going to do about it.”

  He blinked again. “Do? About what?”

  “Weren’t you listening? Someone managed to hack your variants and give them orders to rebel. That individual, or group of individuals, must be from this star system. They aren’t an external threat, they exist within our ranks.”

  Perhaps my intensity and lack of humor was getting to the man. What he’d expected to consist of a fruitless argument for access had turned into something much different. He looked very uncomfortable.

  “Well… Captain Sparhawk, I don’t know quite what to say. What you’re claiming may be true, but we don’t have any way of knowing how events progressed aboard Victory. It could be that—”

  “Let me show you something,” I said, interrupting him.

  Without waiting for his reply, I tapped at my desk. I called up the vid file of my last conversation with Admiral Halsey. After going through a series of passwords, I played the file.

  He watched with a mixture of fascination and surprise. At the end, when his variants stepped into the scene and slaughtered the man I’d been talking to, his emotions switched to horror. His fingers spread over his face, long and thin, with his eyes staring between them.

  “Captain… I’m so sorry. I had no idea this video existed. Why did you—?”

  “It was classified. I’m sure you understand why CENTCOM didn’t have you at the top of the list of people to be trusted with this information.”

  “Yes… of course not. I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Halsey was your friend, wasn’t he?”

  “My mentor.”

  He looked at me with new understanding. “Your resentment and mistrust suddenly make more sense to me. Up until this moment, I never quite believed that the variants did it. I didn’t want to believe it. You understand, don’t you?”

  “I suppose that I do.”

  “What puzzles me now,” he said, “is your sudden change of heart. Under the circumstances, you have every reason to want me and my creations off your ship. What has changed?”

  Looking down, I considered how to answer his question. As I’ve said, I don’t like to lie. It took me a moment to come up with a truth that would set his mind at ease without giving away my true intentions.

  “Director, there are more pieces of evidence that I’m not at liberty to share with you. Do you understand?”

  He nodded, staring at me. “I do indeed, Captain. I must say, my estimation of your intellect and judgment is soaring.”

  “Good. Now, I must ask again: do you want to find out who took control of your creations and turned them into weapons against us?”

  “I do indeed,” he said, his face becoming thoughtful and intense. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “What do we do now? How can I help?”

  There it was. I had him where I wanted him. It was manipulation, to be sure, but it was for the best of reasons. I comforted myself by recalling that it was all for a good cause.

  I began to outline my plan then, which for me was only a series of conjectures and schemes. He was both impressed and fearful of the consequences.

  “Are you sure?” he asked in a whisper when I’d finished. “Are you sure this action is justified?”

  “I’ve been involved in internal affairs of state before,” I told him. “At times, things become messy. The public at large has never known the true depths to which our command centers w
ere compromised in the past.”

  “Astounding. If I hadn’t seen the vid of Halsey, I would have thought you to be a madman.”

  My lips twitched into a smile.

  “I might have thought the same,” I told him.

  The rest of the journey back to Earth went smoothly. Each day, we rapidly repaired Defiant’s subsystems. Allowing the variants full access to the ship, and Vogel’s team full access to the variants, sped things up dramatically.

  By the time we docked with Araminta Station, we were ninety-one percent operational.

  But all through that time, Vogel and I worked on another project. We put our heads together and plotted. We worked long hours, and when we were done, I thought our plan might just work.

  At least, there was a chance.

  -22-

  Araminta Station looked cold and lonely outside my window. Gone were the cluster of proud battleships Earth had produced just a few months earlier and sent on their doomed voyage into the unknown.

  There was a brooding nature to the place when I disembarked and walked the passages. The crowds were muted. The atmosphere was laced with anxiety. Those who did recognize me and my crewmen examined us with foreboding. There were no shouted greetings or congratulations.

  After all, hadn’t we done battle with Victory? Hadn’t we destroyed the only Earth vessel to return home? The sole survivor of our most glorious fleet?

  Rumors were rampant. Some depicted me as a would-be dictator. A man who’d engineered a mass mutiny, and a mass scuttling of the armada for my own gain. Others painted me as incompetent, a petty man of mean spirit—or even as a Stroj agent.

  Such was the depth of my reputation I found I didn’t have to worry about bodyguards. I was universally reviled and avoided. Men all but ran when they saw me coming down the echoing halls.

  Most puzzling of all, however, was the lack of activity. I’d expected Earth’s navy to be licking its wounds and rebuilding. I’d thought to find a sense of desperate urgency, a fear of the unknown from abroad.

  After all, what if the rest of the battleships had survived out there somewhere? What if they came back one day and returned to wreak havoc on our pathetic defenses?