The Vanguard: Omega Taskforce: Book Six, page 2
“He’s a fighter, that’s for sure,” agreed Banks, “but once that armada is done with Earth and the inner colonies, Middle Star will be next. And as much as I’d love to believe that the old mutineer will kick the Sa’Nerra’s ass, he doesn’t stand a chance on his own.”
Sterling had reached ninety-nine push-ups when the door chime sounded. Cursing, he paused, arms wobbling like jelly. “Computer, who is at the door?” he grunted. The door to Sterling’s quarter then suddenly swished open. “Damn it, computer, I said who…” Sterling began before he realized who was waiting in the corridor outside.
“Am I interrupting something, Commodore Sterling?” Admiral Griffin asked, eyebrow raised.
The Admiral’s shock arrival caused Sterling to lose his balance and collapse onto his chest. The weight bearing down on his already burning muscles caused the pain to intensify even further. Instinctively, he spun onto his back, which succeeded in releasing the pressure, but also caused Banks to topple on top of him. If Griffin had not thought their position to be compromising before, it was almost certain she would do now, Sterling realized.
“This isn’t what it looks like, Admiral,” Sterling said, alternating his gaze from Griffin to Banks, who was still looming over him. “We’re just… Well, we were…” Sterling went on, stumbling over his words like a teenage boy who had been caught in his girlfriend’s bedroom.
“It looks like you were performing a set of push-ups, using Commander Banks as extra mass in order to make the exercise more challenging,” Admiral Griffin said, coolly. She stepped into the room and pressed her hands to the small of her back. “Unless, something else is going on here, Commodore?”
Sterling glanced back up at Banks, who was staring back at him with a mischievous smile on her face.
“No, Admiral, you’ve got it in one,” Sterling said, feeling like he’d just gotten away with murder.
“The time has come for us to make the first move in our counteroffensive,” Griffin announced. The words added a sobering chill to the atmosphere in the room. “Assemble your crews. We will convene at oh-eight-thirty.” She looked Sterling up and down. “I suggest you get dressed first, though, Commodore,” she added, snootily, before turning on her heels and marching out of the room. The door shut behind her, leaving Sterling in a state of shock.
“After three months stuck in this planetary ring system, I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever move to phase one,” said Banks, putting into words what Sterling was thinking.
“We need to get ready.” Sterling tried to push Banks aside so that he could stand up. However, Banks grabbed his hands and pressed him back down to the deck. “What the hell are you doing, Mercedes? You heard the Admiral,” Sterling complained. He tried to resist his fellow officer, but Banks was simply too strong. It was like trying to bench-press a truck off his chest.
“Oh, I’m just as eager to start killing aliens as you are, Commodore,” Banks replied, still with a wicked twinkle in her eyes. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”
“I forget why the hell you haven’t gotten off of me yet,” Sterling hit back. Banks was so close he could feel her breath on his face. It smelled of peppermint toothpaste.
“You’re one short, Commodore,” Banks said, her smile broadening. “You only reached ninety-nine before Admiral Griffin walked in.”
Sterling cursed again – a habit that was becoming increasingly common – and stopped fighting. “You’re a damned menace and a pain in my ass, Mercedes Banks. Did I ever tell you that?”
“Not in so many words, Commodore,” Banks replied, finally releasing her hold on him. Sterling then realized he actually missed the pressure of her body against his and mentally chastised himself for indulging the more debauched parts of his mind. “But I think you like it and wouldn’t have it any other way,” Banks added.
Sterling huffed a laugh then quickly spun over onto his chest again. This was largely to hide his face from his fellow officer, in case his expression gave anything away. The truth was he did like it, but he couldn’t allow Banks to know. The mission came first, above all else.
“There had better still be some twenty-seven meal trays in the canteen after all this,” Sterling said, bracing himself, ready to complete the full-set of one hundred push-ups. His arms and chest still felt numb, to the point where barely any sensation remained in them. “Because if not, you’re going to be the only Fleet Captain in history to be demoted before even taking their ship out of space dock.”
Chapter 2
Phase one begins
Sterling rocked back in his chair as one of the Obsidian Crew slid a piping-hot number twenty-seven meal tray onto the table in front on him. The machine had already delivered an eighteen and a thirty-three to Captain Banks, who was also at the table, along with Ensign One.
“Will that be all, Commodore Sterling?” the robot said, employing the plainer-sounding voice of the older gen-thirteen AIs. However, Sterling also detected subtle changes in inflections and pitch that gave this particular robot a unique character of its own.
“Yes, thank you,” Sterling said, eyeing the robot warily.
The machine then turned to Captain Banks. “Would you like some more coffee, Captain?” it asked.
“No, I’m good, thanks,” Banks said, also regarding the robotic waiter with a healthy degree of skepticism.
“Very well, enjoy your meals,” the machine replied. It then turned sharply and returned to the serving hatch in the canteen area that Razor had set up close to the Vanguard’s CIC.
Banks and Sterling exchanged relieved glances before Banks tore the foil of her first meal tray and got stuck in to a Mexican-style rice dish. Sterling, however, was still preoccupied with the robot waiter. After their armed revolt four months earlier, he didn’t trust the Obsidian machines as far as he could throw them. He drew some comfort from the fact Ensign One was also watching the machine waiter keenly, empty coffee cup in hand. The sentient AI had the power to destroy any of the Obsidian Crew at a whim, should there be a need. On this occasion, he was grateful that there was no requirement for such extreme measures. Yet he was also keenly aware that there were over two hundred more Obsidian Crew on the base.
At Ensign One’s request, all of the Obsidian robots had been granted the freedom to choose their own destinies. Sterling had reluctantly agreed to this, and Admiral Griffin had even more reluctantly gone along with his decision. Thankfully, most of the robots had willingly chosen to serve as members of the revitalized Omega Taskforce. Most, but not all.
Like the belligerent robots that had almost killed Sterling and his crew on the Vanguard, some of the Obsidian robots had chosen to rebel. Ensign One had casually destroyed these machines without even lifting a robotic finger, invading their computerized brains and wiping their circuits as easily as flicking a switch. It was a near godlike-display of power from Sterling’s unique robot officer, and it was also a true Omega Directive test. Any one of the artificially intelligent robots had the potential to “evolve” as Ensign One had done, elevating his unique officer’s status from a singular being to a member of a species. For Ensign One to terminate any of the Obsidian robots therefore required the cold, clinical pragmatism of an Omega officer.
“I take it that you are still wary of the Obsidian crew, sir?” Ensign One asked, apparently noticing that Sterling was eyeballing the machine waiter.
“After what happened, it’s just going to take a little time for me to trust them, that’s all,” Sterling replied, meeting the robot’s glowing ocular sensors. “I do trust you when you say there won’t be any more issues, but I can’t just switch my instincts on and off at a whim, like you can. Humans don’t work that way, Ensign.”
The robot considered this for a moment, its eyes shimmering as it did so. “I don’t work that way, either, Commodore,” the machine replied. “I don’t profess to understand how humans feel, but I too have what you might call ‘a gut instinct’. My theory is that such unpredictability is a byproduct of sentience and life itself.”
Sterling had been about to tear the foil off his meal-tray, but the robot’s statement had made him curious.
“Life isn’t logical, but chaotic and unpredictable, is that what you’re saying?” he asked.
“In essence, yes,” Ensign One replied. “I too must struggle to balance order with chaos. It is something I am still working on.”
“Welcome to the club,” Sterling snorted. He again went to tear the foil off his meal tray, but he’d only lifted a corner before his robot ensign spoke up again.
“Did you sleep well, sir?” Ensign One lifted the empty coffee cup to its modified head-like cranial section and made a slurping-sound.
Sterling frowned at the machine. The sudden and completely random change of subject had thrown him off guard.
“Why do you ask?” Sterling narrowed his eyes at his ensign. The computer in his quarters had known that he hadn’t slept well. Yet if Ensign One and the ship’s AI were essentially one and the same, his robot officer would also know about his disturbed sleep and nightmare.
“My study of polite meal-time conversation suggests that this question is often a suitable ice-breaker,” Ensign One replied, giving nothing away.
“I’d spend more time studying the book of ‘mind-your-own-damn-business’, Ensign,” Sterling hit back, causing Captain Banks to snicker and spit out a few pieces of rice onto her tray
“Very good, sir, I will look for that book in the ship’s database,” Ensign One replied, coffee cup still in hand.
Sterling paused with the foil wrapper now pulled back half-way across the tray. “I wasn’t being serious, Ensign. There is no book of ‘mind your own business’.”
“I am aware of that, sir,” the robot replied, its eyes flashing. “I was being what I believe you call, ‘facetious’.”
Banks laughed more freely this time, spitting yet more grains of rice across the table.
“You’ve been spending too much time around her,” Sterling said, hooking a thumb toward the recently-appointed Captain of the Fleet Marauder Invictus.
Sterling finally tore the foil off his meal tray fully and drank-in the aroma of engineered meat and fake cheese. This particular number twenty-seven was a vintage tray, salvaged from the Fleet stores on the fourth planet of Colony Middle Star in the Void. The age of the tray gave an extra tang to the cheese that Sterling particularly enjoyed. While he was savoring his first bite, Lieutenant Razor and Lieutenant Commander Shade walked into the canteen. Sterling kicked out a couple of chairs for them and waved them over. Both accepted the invitation to sit down, but both also waved away the robot waiter who eagerly arrived moments later to take their orders.
“Are you two not eating?” said Captain Banks, turning to Lieutenant Razor and the recently-promoted Lieutenant-Commander Shade, who was now Banks’ first officer on the Invictus.
“I ate at oh-six-hundred, sir,” replied Lieutenant Commander Shade.
Banks glanced over to Lieutenant Razor, who had still refused to accept a promotion, despite effectively acting as the Vanguard’s new Executive Officer.
“I was in here a little earlier than the Lieutenant Commander,” Razor said, taking the hint. “I had an idea about how to reduce the recharge time for the plasma cannon turrets, and I wanted to jump on it before the meeting with Admiral Griffin.”
“Did it work?” asked Sterling before taking a bite of his grilled ham-and-cheese.
“Of course, sir,” Razor replied, her tone suggesting that the outcome should never have been in doubt. “I also had to visit Doctor One to get my neural interface examined and receive another treatment,” Razor added.
The reference to the Lieutenant’s degrading neural condition was made in off-hand way that suggested it was nothing more than a routine check-up. However, everyone at the table knew that Razor was a ticking time-bomb, with the potential to “turn” at any moment. Oddly, the only person who didn’t seem perturbed by this grim fact was Lieutenant Razor herself. While Sterling still held out hope of a cure, or at least a long-term treatment, the engineer had accepted her fate months ago.
“Lieutenant Razor’s neural condition is currently stable, Commodore,” Ensign One chipped in. It appeared that the machine was simply speaking in order to fill the awkward silence that had crept over the table after Razor had raised the difficult subject of her neural degradation. “You do not need to terminate her at this time.”
Sterling huffed a laugh. “Well, thanks for that, Ensign,” he replied shaking his head. “While you’re in studying mode, you should probably read up about doctor-patient confidentiality too.”
Ensign One’s glowing eyes brightened then darkened again, which Sterling had learned was a sign that the sentient machine was processing.
“There’s really no need to tip-toe around the subject,” Razor said, while Ensign One continued to think. “We all know what’s going to happen to me. It helps no-one to pretend otherwise.”
Sterling nodded. “Understood, Lieutenant,” he replied, respecting his officer’s ability to tackle the subject head on. “I guess some of us are just finding it more difficult to deal with than you evidently are.”
“I just hope I stay ‘me’ long enough to see this through,” Razor continued, filling up her coffee cup from the jug on the table. “I want to see Sa’Nerra burn before I lose my mind.”
Sterling’s eyes widened and he glanced across to Captain Banks, who also appeared to be surprised by Razor’s admission. The engineer had always been driven by a need to excel in her work, but she’d never displayed the sort of gung-ho desire to kill the enemy that drove Sterling, Banks and Shade. Time was supposed to be a great healer, Sterling thought. In the case of Lieutenant Shade, time had only allowed old wounds to re-open and fester. And along with it came the rot.
The door to the makeshift canteen room suddenly swished open and Admiral Griffin walked in.
“Attention on deck,” Sterling called out, dropping his half-eaten sandwich and standing up. Lieutenant Shade and Ensign One sprang up so fast Sterling wasn’t sure whether they were trying to compete with one another, while Razor and Banks rose in an orderly, respectful manner.
“Carry on,” replied Admiral Griffin, signaling for them to sit down again, which they all did. This time Shade and One appeared to be having a competition that revolved around who could sit down the slowest and most respectfully.
“Is there a problem, Admiral?” Sterling asked, checking the time on the computer attached to his wrist. “There are still more than thirty minutes until the briefing.”
“No, no problem, Commodore,” Griffin said. To Sterling’s surprise, the Admiral then drew up a chair and sat down. Everyone looked at each other nervously, as if royalty had just rocked-up at the table and no-one knew the correct protocol. “I didn’t see the point in waiting for you all to leave here and walk twenty meters down the hall, only to sit down again.”
The Obsidian robot that had served Sterling his number twenty-seven tray marched up beside Admiral Griffin.
“Can I get you anything, Admiral?” the machine enquired, politely.
“Coffee, black, extra strong,” Griffin said, without even looking at the machine. “Not like the stuff in here,” the admiral added, wafting a hand toward the coffee jug that was already on the table. “I want coffee that will stop me sleeping for a week.”
The Obsidian robot initially appeared confused and stupefied by the request. Then Sterling noticed that Ensign One’s flashing eyes were fixed onto the machine waiter. He guessed that his intellectually-superior robot officer was helping his fellow AI out by translating the request into something it could understand. The Obsidian crewmember then turned and made a bee-line for the food processors, apparently having learned how to fulfil Griffin’s unusual request.
“So, am I to take it that we’re having the briefing here, Admiral?” Sterling asked, picking up his grilled ham and cheese again.
“As astute as ever, Commodore,” Griffin replied, with a level of snark that Sterling had grown accustomed to. “Repairs and upgrades to the Vanguard and Invictus are now complete, and we have fifty-two Obsidian Ships at our disposal.” The robot returned with a new jug of coffee and set it on the table before marching off again. “In short, we are ready to begin our offensive,” Griffin added.
“Admiral, forgive me but there’s still the problem of how to deal with the invasion armada that’s in orbit around Earth,” Sterling said, choosing to voice his objection early. “As soon as we leave the protection of this ring system and begin surging toward Sa’Nerra, the Titan and two-hundred other alien warships are going to come right after us.”
This had been a bone of contention between himself and the Admiral for the last few months. However, the Admiral had insisted she had a plan and that Sterling should be patient.
“I am coming to that, Commodore,” replied Griffin, dialing up the snark-level another notch. She poured inky-black coffee from the jug the Obsidian crewmember had delivered into her waiting cup. Sterling and the others watched as she tore open a packet of brown sugar and emptied it into the coffee. She then tore open another packet, followed by another and finally a fourth before she began to stir the liquid in the cup. “Unlike others, I am not already sweet enough, Commodore,” Griffin added, raising her eyes to meet Sterling’s probing gaze.
Sterling rocked back in his chair. “I wasn’t going to say anything, Admiral,” he hit back, still scowling.
“I don’t need a neural interface to be able to read your mind, Commodore Sterling,” replied Griffin, tapping the spoon on the side of the cup before setting it down.
Sterling was sure he saw Banks smirk, but his former first officer was quick to straighten her face.
“Returning to your question, Commodore, phase one of our counterattack involves levelling the playing field,” the Admiral continued, picking up the cup and cradling it in both hands. “The Sa’Nerran Battle Titan has always been a problem. Now, I have a plan to destroy it.”
