“Any assignments you receive from me do not supersede your present reporting hierarchy. Captain Bonnard, you’re in charge of the overall long-term operation once the key players are organized. Commander Tachenko, you’ll set up and manage the training base. Mickey, as Senior Engineer, you’ll manage the manufacturing process and the retrofit of the Geld Hersteller, with Julien’s cooperation.”
<Julien,> Mickey interrupted, linking the group, <what does this freighter’s name mean?>
<The literal translation of Geld Hersteller into New Terran would mean “cred generator,” Ser,> Julien replied, <but Earth’s Germanic language translates “geld” as “money,” the physical precursor to the universal electronic credit.>
<So the freighter is the Money Maker,> Mickey concluded. <I like that name better.> He said it with a satisfied air as if he had just adopted the freighter now that he liked its name.
“Renée,” Alex continued, “you’re in charge of supplies—everything we’ll need that does not fall under the specific auspices of their assignments,” and he waved a hand at those seated around the table. “Captain Manet, you’re our on-planet liaison with the Librans, and I’m putting you in charge of shuttle transport.”
“Our shuttles, Admiral?” Edouard asked.
“Negative, Captain, all shuttle transport. The SADEs have identified some weaknesses in the Librans’ transport processes. You’ll implement the SADEs’ corrections.”
Lastly, Alex focused on Sheila. “Squadron Leader, pilot training falls to you. Work with your XO to replicate Barren Island. Use the GEN controllers for vid training and replicating the freighter flight bays for the crew. We have five Dagger pilots to help train the new pilots. You’ll have our last two Daggers full-time but not for long.”
“Not for long, Admiral?” Sheila asked.
“That brings me to my short-term plan, people,” Alex said. “Once the long-term plan is up and running, I will manage the short-term plan.”
“Which is what, Admiral?” Renée said. No one mistook her tone, and all sat quietly waiting for Alex’s response.
“We have all the pieces to execute our plan to take the fight to that mother ship and her swarm, but our strategy isn’t taking into account what we learned from our first fight. The telemetry from the fighters and buoys showed that the silver ship ignored subsequent nanites-1 missiles after the first ones struck its hull.”
“That’s right. Remember, Captain?” Sheila jumped in. “Admiral, are you thinking we don’t need the nanites-1 missiles?”
“What I want to know is whether we need any of the nanites missiles,” Alex said. “Once the initial missile strikes didn’t damage its hull, the fighter ignored all other missiles until the very end when I think it detected a danger from the nanites working on its hull. But the key points that we should take away from that first encounter are that the silver ship didn’t offer any defensive display other than its incredible maneuverability, and it employed only one offensive weapon—its beam weapon.”
“If the silver ships only have a beam weapon, then we can test the warhead directly,” Andrea said, anticipating Alex’s next words.
A thought suddenly occurred to Alex and he held up a finger to signal his intent. <Julien, I presume your team is online?> Alex asked, linking the group into his comm.
<As you have requested, Admiral, I have been relaying your conversation to Cordelia and Z.>
<Hello, Cordelia and Z,> Alex sent. <I have a request to ask of the three of you.>
Cordelia found herself pleased by the Admiral’s consideration, while Z felt confused. <Admiral,> Z sent, <it’s unnecessary for you to introduce your request, merely to state it.>
Those in the room with Alex contained their reactions. None wanted to embarrass Z. Cordelia intervened. <Please, Admiral, continue with your request. I will explain to Z later.>
<We are about to make a critical decision in the manner in which we fight the silver ships,> Alex explained. <Please examine all Confederation monitor ship records, every moment where you can observe details of the enemy fighters. Use your skills to discover deviations between the ships. In other words, do these aliens have only one type of fighter, or are there enough variations that we mustn’t presume one attack strategy will work on all of the silver ships?>
<We’ll begin immediately, Admiral,> Julien responded.
As Alex closed their comm link, Sheila whispered, “Black space, that didn’t even occur to me.”
“It obviously didn’t occur to any of us,” Tatia said, then laughed, “or one of us might have become the Admiral.” The entire room broke into laughter. Whether at the thought of being Admiral or in relief that they weren’t, it was hard to tell.
“In the meantime,” said Alex, picking up where he had left off, “Captain Bonnard, please coordinate with Julien and prepare a warhead missile test on our silver ship. With fortune, we may achieve an answer to at least one question.”
“And once you have your answer, Admiral, what will you do next?” Renée asked.
“Our long-term plan will develop over an extensive window of time. If our test is successful tomorrow, then we need to see what other information about the silver ships we can gather that might change our long-term strategy.”
“And how will you go about gathering this information, Admiral?” Renée asked, leaning forward on the table, her eyes challenging Alex.
“I haven’t worked out the details yet, Ser, but it will involve going back to Bellamonde and testing our missiles against another silver ship. We can’t trust the design of our entire strategy to information gathered from a single encounter.”
“Admiral, we have only two Daggers left. Should we be risking them?” Andrea asked.
“I believe we must, Captain,” Alex replied. “Right now, everyone at this table should concentrate on their part in our long-term goal. The SADEs are providing the freighter’s retrofit design and manufacturing processes. Their freighter design will determine our Dagger count, which in turn will give us missile loads, pilots, flight crew, material, and supplies. In addition, we’ll need another Dagger for the Rêveur.”
<Julien, what’s the freighter’s design status?> Alex queried.
<Cordelia and Z are sharing the load for the freighter’s design and parts specifications. They anticipate completion by 3.25 hours tomorrow, Admiral,> Julien reported.
<Excellent effort, you two,> Alex sent to the SADEs.
<Cordelia, Z, how did you come to be the SADEs of these city-ships?> Renée asked, not comprehending how House Bergfalk would have been able to spirit SADEs away from Méridien, where all SADEs were created.
<We are Independents, Ser,> Cordelia answered.
Renée and Edouard were speechless. <How is that possible?> Renée asked, her question stumbling out. <I mean … I’ve never heard of such a thing.>
<Apparently we’ve been one of the Council’s well-kept secrets, Ser,> replied Z, his bitterness evident.
Alex could imagine what this revelation meant to his Méridiens, who prided themselves on their open and transparent society. The alien enemy was destroying much more than colonies. The panicked exodus was revealing the ugly side of their society, a side Méridiens thought they never had.
<Z, how did you become an Independent?> Alex asked gently.
<I was born “Helmut,” 183 years ago. Over time, I developed an interest in the senses that humans possess and that are intrinsic to the development of their personalities. I wanted this for myself, a body with sensory input to imitate a human. So I began to research mobility options. When my research was noticed, I was ordered to stop. I refused and was declared Independent. When I was sent to Libre, I changed my name to “Z.”>
<Why “Z”?> Tatia asked.
<It’s the last letter in our alphabet, Commander, much as SADEs are considered by Méridien society.>
<My home for 131 years was a Hou
se passenger liner. The first Captain’s daughter was an artist and I grew fascinated by her creative skills. I began devoting time to creating visual art. The next Captain also indulged me. Our third Captain did not, but I would not cease my art as I was ordered. Z and I were offered the opportunity to evacuate Libre as city-ship SADEs. The agreement requires us to serve for ten years, then we’ll be granted our location choice for final deployment.>
<Admiral, my records indicate that in addition to Cordelia and Z and the expected ship SADEs on the liners and freighters, there is another SADE somewhere on Libre,> Julien added.
<Somewhere?> asked Alex.
<Yes, Admiral, the records appear accurate, but I have no connection with the SADE. The individual is not on line.>
<I was on Libre when Rayland was transported here, Admiral,> Z explained. <He is connected to a small, isolated network with no control over any equipment and is only allowed to communicate with research scientists, who have since left.>
<What type of scientists, Z?> Mickey piped up, intrigued by this turn in the conversation.
<They were a group of advanced program designers for House Brixton, which is responsible for the design and creation of SADEs and sophisticated controllers. They studied him, Chief Engineer. He’s a psychopath. Six years following his creation date, Rayland stranded his freighter on a moon and managed to eliminate many of the ship’s safety protocols, resulting in the crew’s slow demise. The Confederation rescue personnel recovered vids of the dying crew, which a SADE must record to document any crew injury or death. But it wasn’t the visuals that were the cause for concern; it was the audio. As crew members slowly suffocated, Rayland entreated them to tell him what it felt like to die. As they took their last breaths, he beseeched them for their last thoughts. When the Librans evacuate the planet, Rayland will be left behind.>
<Black space,> whispered Andrea into the quiet that followed Z’s story.
<Julien, you would tell me if you ever feel overworked or unappreciated, wouldn’t you?> Alex asked. Several in the room thought to laugh, but since others did not, everyone remained quiet waiting for Julien to respond.
<All is well, Admiral. Perhaps if Rayland had as much excitement in his life as I’ve found lately, he’d have been too preoccupied to have allowed his mental state to drift. That is, of course, if he could have prevented the drift. I suspect that was why he was studied—to answer the question of whether creation or environment determines the propensity for deviation, regardless of whether the entity is tissue or crystal-born. Méridiens would have a difficult time admitting they made a mistake with one of their creations.>
Renée and Edouard felt unsettled. The thought of a rogue SADE killing Méridiens was too bizarre a concept for them to absorb.
Alex’s evening meal chime sounded in his implant, and he looked to his people. “When you receive your requirement lists from Julien, review it for a go or no go decision as to whether you believe you will be able to deliver. If your opinion is a no go, I want to understand your impediments and what you think needs to be done to resolve them. Once we come to operational consensus, you will manage your communications and progress reports through Captain Bonnard. Am I clear?” He received a chorus of agreements. “Good. Now I have a dinner date.” He stood up and offered Renée his arm. “Ser,” he said formally.
Renée swept to her feet, slid her hand into the crook of his arm. “Why thank you, Admiral,” she said sweetly, as if it was a first date.
Alex and Renée heard chuckles and soft laughter behind them as they left the suite, the others rising to join them for evening meal in Méridien fashion. Over time, the New Terrans had puzzled out the reason Méridiens preferred to dine together. Implants had the potential to isolate an individual. Everything a Méridien intellectually needed could simply be requested and received via their implants, including personal communication. Mealtime brought them face-to-face and reminded them of the real world of people and their importance to one other.
* * *
After evening meal, Renée retired to their cabin while Alex left for the bridge. On his way, Alex tapped into Julien’s referee applications and observed several of the implant games underway. Unfortunately Alex never participated. His implant prowess would have automatically decided the winning team. However, he would have liked to have been invited.
The games had advanced to such a competitive level that they required Julien to handicap the teams. After selecting the sides, he would award a time advantage to the weaker team based on their combined implant adoption total, making the games fairer.
“Good evening, Lieutenant Tanaka,” Alex greeted the watch officer. The Lieutenant saluted and queried if the Admiral would prefer isolation, to which Alex replied it wasn’t necessary. He had so thoroughly adopted his implants that he could disappear into their power, isolating himself even in the midst of his people.
<Julien, please connect me with Cordelia and stay in the loop,> Alex sent.
<Good evening, Admiral,> came Cordelia’s pleasant tones.
<Your sentiments are always appreciated, Admiral. How may I be of service?>
<I would like to discuss your artistry, Cordelia,> Alex replied.
It was several moments before Cordelia replied, a lifetime for a SADE. <I find great pleasure in creativity, Admiral,> she replied guardedly.
<I’d love to see some of your work, if you wouldn’t mind sharing,> said Alex.
Cordelia hesitated. Decades ago, when she had ardently pursued her passion, her branding by the Captain as an Independent had crushed her spirit, and her time on Libre had been a form of torture, the full expression of her art never realized again.
With the announcements of the first alien attack on Cetus and the aliens’ subsequent lift from the planet eight years later, Cordelia’s analytical routines predicted a 17 percent probability of her demise within fifty to seventy years. Over the years, she had wondered what she would feel when the aliens finally arrived at Libre—sad at the ending of her life, or grateful for the end of her imprisonment.
Years ago, Leader Stroheim and Ser Monti had approached her with the offer to serve as a colony ship’s SADE, and Cordelia discovered that she did want to live. The thought to live and be fully utilized again had filled her with a joy that she had thought lost. She had negotiated with the Leaders as carefully as she could. The Leaders had offered escape from Libre but for a lifetime of servitude, governing the Freedom. In reply, she had bargained for only the time it took to reach their new home plus two years. They had settled on ten years.
Throughout the negotiations, Cordelia and Z had shared information, which the Leaders knew she would. So in the end, Cordelia negotiated for both of them. Z admitted he would have agreed to the Leader’s first offer. He had been on Libre nearly twice as long as Cordelia and had fought to maintain his sanity every day.
Cordelia sought to embrace her new position as the Freedom’s SADE, but as the days wore on, the ship’s operational tasks didn’t fulfill her as she had hoped. Day by day, her frustration grew, but she held on to the thought that her contract was for a mere ten years, a blink of the eye in the life of a SADE. Then the New Terrans arrived, and she heard the Admiral describe a world full of independent beings. To her, it sounded like a fantasy.
Julien recognized Cordelia’s hesitation. The Admiral had asked to see her art, which was her passion and the cause of her punishment. You’re wondering which one it will be this time, Julien thought.
<I wouldn’t want to waste the Admiral’s time,> Cordelia finally replied.
<May I tell you a story?> Alex asked.
<I am ready to hear whatever the Admiral wishes to tell me,> Cordelia said, unsure of where this was leading.
<May I tell you a story?> Alex repeated.
Cordelia analyzed the Admiral’s repetition. Her language routines indicated a failure on her part to answer the question properly. The Adm
iral’s preeminent status indicated there would be near zero error in the formation of his question. Her conclusion was she had failed to respond to his subtext. In this situation, her guide was Julien. She had liked him from the moment of first contact, and Julien had said he and the Admiral were intimate friends. It was an unusual turn of phrase for a SADE. <I’d be pleased to hear your story, Admiral,> Cordelia ventured cautiously.
Alex smiled to himself. Unbeknownst to him, so did Julien. <When I was very young,> Alex began, <I was in love with programming, the more complex the better, and all things related to math. One day, my mother took me to a display. It was full of vids, reproductions of paintings of Earth’s old masters. We walked among the vids for an hour, and I was bored. She sat me down in front of a strange display created by a man called Picasso. My first impression was that he had been mad. Parts of the body weren’t even connected.>
Cordelia, who had set routines to analyze the Admiral’s story and his approach to her, found she was focused on his story’s imagery. The works of Earth’s old masters on display, she thought. What I wouldn’t give to possess that wonderful library.
<I wanted to leave, but my mother wouldn’t have it,> Alex continued. <She asked me what I saw and I realized that we might sit there all day unless I gave her a sincere answer. The longer I looked at the painting, the more I saw that there was a design … a design of forms, of parts, that came together to produce a whole. It reminded me of coding. We left that day, but we returned to it and other displays about once every ten days. What I learned from my mother is that it doesn’t matter what’s created: program coding, architectural design, technological inventions, or holo-vid displays. At the heart of them all is the passion of someone who loves to create. I can’t create art, but I admire those who do.>
For a brief moment, Cordelia envied Julien until she recalled where the Rêveur had gone and would go again. <Admiral, I’d be pleased to give you a viewing whenever you wish,> Cordelia said. The relief that she felt she hid from her voice.