21
With a swipe of his hand, Grady activated the holo display and, using the access code Kotov’s tech guru provided, brought up a search box. He hesitated, his gaze flitting around the empty control room, then downed a slug of coffee, eyes half closed as he savored the aromatic beverage. “I could get used to this,” he murmured.
A thought struck him, and he toggled a button on the console, triggering the comm, which had now been keyed to his team’s frequency. “Lian, have you and Zoe finished loading the supplies from Cavalier yet?”
“We’re preparing to shift the last load now, Captain,” came the breezy reply. He pursed his lips and shook his head. How was she always so upbeat, no matter the circumstances? Was he ever that exuberant, even at her age? He tried to remember what he’d been like as a raw recruit, before the war started, before he witnessed the atrocities both sides committed. Had he brimmed with the joy of life, as Lian seemed to? Or was her behavior a reflection of her natural proclivity to taking things as they came, while his demeanor had always been more restrained, less instinctively easy going? Not for nothing had some of his classmates at flight school—with more than a hint of derision—nicknamed him Mister Morose.
He ignored the distracting thoughts—knowing they would only lead to gloomy reflections on his life choices—and said, “Remember to grab all the coffee beans you can find. Especially the good stuff.”
“Way ahead of you, Boss,” Zoe cut in with a chuckle. “It’s all been packed up ready for transport to Adventurer.”
“Won’t Cavalier’s commander be annoyed with us for raiding their supplies?” Lian cut in. “What if they are planning to reoccupy the base, as we suspected?”
“Kotov didn’t seem to think that was likely, at least not for some time,” Grady said. “I got the impression he was happy for us to take whatever we need, especially since we agreed to remain in this reality for a while and help the rebel fleet reach New Heb. Better we should benefit from the supplies than the enemy. And besides, all’s fair in love and war, am I right?”
“And coffee,” Zoe added. “Especially coffee.”
“Ahem, me hearties.” Mal’s voice resonated on the group channel. “Sorry for interruptin’ your caffeine inspired repartee, Cap’n. I’m detectin’ a faint contact at the extreme edge of sensor range.”
Grady sat up straighter in the seat. “Can you identify it?”
“Negative, too far away. All I can discern is it’s quite small. Definitely not the Gany or any sizeable warship.”
“That’s a relief,” Zoe said. “What if it’s another pirate scout ship? They’re bound to come looking for the one we accounted for. Or an Earth Galactic patrol craft, helping to keep watch over the sector as they gather their fleet to invade the Badlands.”
“The contact is located near a shipping route,” Mal added before Grady framed a response. “It might be a small trader vessel en route to a colony or space station and temporarily dropping out of FTL to get a navigation fix.”
“Possibly,” Grady said, stroking his chin. “Might be a coincidence—this is a vast sector of space. No reason for thinking it’s anything to do with us unless it makes a hostile move. All the same, keep an eye on it, Mal, and let me know if it heads in our direction.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n. But if it is more pirates, I’m dustin’ off me virtual cutlass. This time we’ll take no chances and be the ones to fire first, so the varlet doesn’t escape and spill the beans about our location to their nefarious associates.”
“Is it me,” Zoe said, “or is our AI becoming more bloodthirsty?”
“Perhaps the Badlands rubbed off on him, and he’s falling deeper into character?” Lian said. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Or maybe Mal’s true nature is finally being revealed. What if he harbors a secret yearning to subjugate all humanity to his evil digital overlordship?” Her voice grew fretful as she added, “Speaking for myself, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in chains—real or digital—and forced to satisfy his erratic electronic whims.”
“I can still hear you, you know,” said Mal, switching to his smooth butleresque tones. “I don’t believe monomaniacal tendencies were part of my recent personality matrix upgrade. Or my base code, for that matter.”
“That’s a load off my mind,” Zoe said. “We like you just as you are, Mighty M.”
“As do I, oh stupendous Amazonian, as do I.” There was a pause, and he sighed. “Besides, I suspect becoming a digital overlord supposedly in control of all humanity would be tiresome in the extreme. Much like attempting to corral a herd of Gizmos, except far more challenging. I have noticed that humans often demonstrate a proclivity to behave in ways contrary to all known laws of logic. Or even self-preservation.”
Zoe threw her head back and guffawed. “People, and self-aware AIs, who live in glass domes shouldn’t throw moonrocks. It’s not as if you always act in a completely sane manner yourself, Mister Mad Pirate.”
“I may be prone to the occasional dash down a vocal rabbit hole,” said the AI while offering his best impression of an aggrieved tone. “But my digital sanity is never in question. Even virtual intelligences such as I enjoy a spot of levity in their day.”
Grady cleared his throat. “I’m all for levity in the proper circumstances, though less of the buccaneer might not go amiss.” He leaned closer to the mic. “Zoe, I’d like you to remain on board Adventurer when the supplies have been loaded.”
“Affirmative, Boss. Are you staying put on the outpost for now?”
“Yes. I’m reviewing the rebel database for intel on the current tactical situation in the sector,” Grady said, perusing the floating display as he spoke. “Since we’re new to this reality, I figured I’d learn as much as I can, at least as far as the IC’s take on what’s happening goes. It’ll help us be prepared for whatever we’ll face trying to break through to New Heb.”
“Copy that.” The comm clicked off and Grady accessed the outpost’s intelligence database, scanning through the latest reports and threat assessments. The comm chimed. “Grady here.” “Captain,” Hawthorne said. “I’d like your permission to have Sergeant Mbeki join us in the outpost’s medbay. His muscular assistance would be most welcome when moving patients to and from the regen tank.”
“Permission granted. I’ll be in the ops center if you need my help, too.”
“Noted. I’ll try not to call on you unless necessary.”
“Understood.” Grady ended the comm and continued scrutinizing the text scrolling down the holo. It made for chilling reading. The IC’s position in the sector was tenuous, the rebellion having lost several colonies and space stations as Earth Galactic forces intensified their efforts at reconquest. New Heb—the most populous space station in the quadrant by far—was a notable holdout, although not the only one.
He drew a deep breath and widened his search parameters, looking for any recent mentions of New Ireland. He gasped, his eyes lighting on a brief report dated just over two months ago, not long before Cavalier outpost was abandoned. Grady cursed and began to read aloud: “All contact with the colony has been lost. New Ireland has come under increasing pressure to end its unaffiliated status and accept dominion by Earth Galactic. Naturally, the IC wishes to prevent this and has offered New Ireland financial support and protection, as much as strained resources allow. It is feared the loss of contact implies the colony may have fallen to the enemy. A long-range scout ship sent to investigate failed to return and did not log a report before disappearing.”
Damn, that doesn’t sound good for New Ireland. Grady’s thoughts drifted to his family and especially his parents. If his mother in this dimension was as strong-willed as she was in his reality, she wouldn’t have surrendered control of the colony to Earth Galactic without a fight. What if the leadership had been purged and the colony subjugated? His alternate mother might be languishing in a detention cell right now, location unknown—assuming she hadn’t paid with her life when resisting the takeover.
And what of his father? Was he still alive? Had Grady’s counterpart been close to his dad, as he once was? Or had their relationship atrophied when his alternate self departed to join the space navy, just as happened in his own dimension? And what of his younger brother, Kevin? Had he been at home when—if—Earth Galactic invaded, perhaps being groomed to take his place in the family business? And Tara’s duplicate, reported missing in action. Was she a prisoner of war, held captive on some bleak backwater world or space-bound prison hulk, seemingly lost to the family? Or had she been killed during combat, just another sad statistic?
He dismissed the screen with an agitated flick of his wrist, grabbed the coffee mug, and grimaced. “Empty,” he murmured, shoving to his feet. “I need another hit. And something to eat. Wonder if Zoe and Lian left anything edible in the galley?”
With a glance at the sensor screen—which was clear of contacts, the blip Mal reported having long since vanished—he stalked from the control room and soon found himself opening cupboards in the spacious kitchen. He grinned, rewarded with a sealed box of protein bars. He checked the expiry date. “Still good. This’ll do for now.”
Several hours had elapsed since he last brewed coffee, so he opted to make a fresh batch, pleased that the half empty container of dark roast beans still stood on the counter where he’d left it. As the beverage maker gurgled away—a mouth-watering aroma redolent of caramel beginning to fill the room—he placed the mug beneath the outlet in anticipation, his fingers drumming on the countertop. A distant thunk caused him to pause, and he cocked his head to listen. Nothing, except perhaps a muted hiss, sounding far away. “Huh. Maybe Zoe was right, and the empty base is haunted.”
Something tickled the back of his mind, and he dragged his ear-mic from the pocket of his flight jacket. “Grady to Mbeki. What’s your location? Are you still in the medbay assisting the doc?” Perhaps the soldier was conducting a security sweep? The hospital facilities were located one level down from where Grady stood. Mbeki—ever the cautious soldier—may have decided to do a circuit of the floors above and below where Hawthorne and the freighter’s medic were busy with the injured survivors.
A shower of static erupted from the compact device, and he uttered a soft curse, tapping his forearm patch to activate the built-in speaker. “Sergeant, come in.” More interference. “Great,” he muttered. “Looks like the comm gremlins are on the loose again.”
Figuring to use the more powerful communications system back in the control room, he lifted the now full mug to his lips, blew on the surface, and took a careful sip. He smiled and closed his eyes, inhaling the pungent odor. “Never could understand why some folks drown their coffee in synth-milk or some other additive. Destroys the true flavor of the bean.” He put the mug on the counter and opened a nearby cupboard. “Now, where did I leave that jar of honey? I guess I have the beekeepers on New Heb to thank for the luxury. Good to know they’re active in this reality, just as in mine.”
