Chapter 17
“Establish plans for the future, then turn your focus to the living moment. Now is the only time you ever possess.”
Devlin Sinclair-Maru, Integrity Mirror
Inga Maru stood next to the hatch for Tanager’s small primary bridge as they cut loose from the two tugs outside the Strand’s safety cordon. This was the first moment of Saef Sinclair-Maru’s actual independent command, and Inga wanted to be present for some reason. Although she appeared idle, Inga’s UI flickered with constant traffic from Loki, as all the crew and Marines settled into their various territories. She wanted physical security established from the very first moments, and she wanted to begin sifting the ship for spies and assassins that were surely present.
“Comm, transmit our regards to the tugs, and send our position to flag,” Saef commanded in a quiet tone. Was there the slightest hint of nervousness in his tone? She saw the weight of responsibility on him every day, though only in the most subtle ways. “Nav, there’s your heading. Light them up, and let’s make for our transition point.” Both crew members affirmed, and Inga passed her eyes over everyone present. Loki should detect nearly any projectile weapon or explosive and she had already set rigid wartime limits on what ordnance Loki would tolerate on the bridge. Saef’s position, slightly behind his bridge crew, should allow him to deal with any assassin among their number with his own skills.
She listened briefly as Saef began the first stages of molding his bridge crew, then she turned and quietly left the bridge. Her stroll down the keyway eventually brought her to the waist hatches, the recreation area, and main galley. In just a short time, Inga had managed to get the ship facilities upgraded to a modest standard, considering the tight confines, and the result was fairly pleasing, she had to admit. The transparent fish tank full of edible fish added a nice, natural distinction along with the interlinked horticultural system that Loki had helpfully described.
Since Tanager’s full crew, including Marines, stood at just over fifty, divided into two or three watches, depending upon the section, the rec area need only ever accommodate twenty people at a time. As Inga entered the compartment, only a handful populated the space. Two ratings stood gazing at the swirling knot of fish, another two sat with their heads together at a corner table, and three bulky Marines sat against a wall in their standard shipboard greens.
Inga already knew they were present since she had the waist hatches keyed to inform her whenever a Marine came forward, but she valued the feedback obtained by sizing them up in person as they responded to her scrutiny. Aside from a normal tendency to form a sort of joint bulwark against all non-Marines, she detected nothing untoward from them.
A beefy heavyworld sergeant raised his mug. “Chief,” he said by way of acknowledgment.
“Sergeant,” Inga returned with a nod.
“You the captain’s cox’n?” he asked.
“I am.”
“What’s he like, if you don’t mind me asking,” he said. “I’m Kabir, by the way, Sergeant Kabir.”
Inga crossed her arms and leaned against a stanchion. “Chief Maru,” she returned. “The captain? He’ll do. Young. Your lot will probably like him well enough.”
His brows lowered. “What’s that mean?”
Inga fished into a pouch and got a food bar. “He spent time in the ground forces before going into the System Guard. Should think it gives him a bit more perspective than most Fleet officers.”
The sergeant shrugged. “It might at that…not that it will matter on this float from what I hear.”
“Really?” Inga asked encouragingly, smiling.
“Well, from what I hear…” Sergeant Kabir tapered off. He swigged his mug and nodded to his mates. “We’d better shag off. The old man’s a tartar and we better be handy when he starts laying out the lashes.”
The three Marines rumbled off to the wet-side waist hatch, heading aft. Inga waited a moment before taking the dry-side waist hatch and heading back to engineering.
Tanager stood remarkably blessed in engineering crew, a vital boon, since their only acting engineering officer was ostensibly the bridge Ops officer. When Inga stepped into engineering she found Chief Amos Cray running sensor diagnostics with a handheld test tablet.
“Ship geist’s only as sharp as its eyes and ears, missy,” he explained, and Inga forgave his informality as a sort of endearing anachronistic field that seemed to envelop the old geezer. “Geists is notional, too,” he added, “like horse-critters…and women.” He shot Inga an arch look, cackled to himself, and returned to testing. Despite his half-educated babble, Inga knew his credentials too well to be taken in. Metallurgy and advanced mathematics were his hobbies, while his experience in starship engineering elevated him to a high standing within Fleet.
“Tell me, Chief,” Inga said after absorbing a near-constant barrage of his monologue, “however did Tanager draw such advanced ratings? Pretty remarkable showing for such a crusty little barque.”
“Luck,” Chief Cray responded immediately. “And the captain’s cox’n is said to be on the toothsome side.” He cackled again and waggled his eyebrows.
“Perhaps,” Inga hazarded, “these stellar ratings couldn’t find a berth in any other ship because of the vast pile of sexual harassment complaints in their files?”
“Complaints? Nah, couldn’t be!” Cray pulled a field sensor probe and examined it. “What really binds a man…you know what really binds a man?”
“Three-cheese soup, I’ve heard,” Inga offered.
“Huh? Soup? What?” Chief Cray squawked. “Soup’s got nothin’ to do with it. Nothin’! On a cruise, we’re talkin’, you know?”
“Tell me,” Inga said breathlessly, “what binds you, on a cruise? I’m so intrigued.”
“Well, officers, ’course, but not just any of ’em.”
“No?”
“Most of ’em? Worthless!” he barked. “Worthless. Keepin’ ship? Don’t mean nothin’ to them. Crew? Don’t mean nothin’ neither. So answer me this, what keeps us from fallin’ to bits with all them spiffin’ and graspin’ and kissin’ arse all the time?”
“Hmmm,” Inga mused, “engineers, surely.”
“Engineers—!” he snapped, breaking off, glaring at Inga. “Missy, am I flappin’ my gums to no purpose here? Or you gonna open your ears and learn up a little?”
“I do beg your pardon,” Inga said, properly chastened.
Cray glared at Inga a moment longer, snorted, and turned back to his testing procedure. “…Engineers,” he grumbled. “I’ll tell you sumpin’, Chief. A little secret like.” Cray’s voice held a tone that sent a message of its own and Inga’s eyes narrowed. “When you been twenty, thirty floats, maybe served a dozen old sods with cap’n tabs you’ll be learnin’ why this Fleet don’t fall to bits, sure as sure.” He turned and fixed Inga with a sparkling eye. “It ain’t hulls, nor geists. Sure as shit ain’t admirals.”
Inga held his gaze, surprised at his intensity, afraid to say anything lest it dislodge Cray from his stream of wisdom.
“It’s a rare spark, ya hear me? A rare spark here and there in a soul that lays a hand to do right and don’t give a shit for medals nor climbing the tree with all the arse-kissers. Them’s all that keeps Fleet. Them rare sparks and nothin’ else.”
Cray continued testing down the row of modules, and Inga waited a long spell for him to continue. Finally, she prompted, “And our captain?”
“Threw his commission in their teeth and threatened that old shit, Nifesh!” Cray barked, slapping his thigh. “Damn! That’s a spark, sure ’nuff!”
* * *
As much synthetic pleasure as Loki experienced at the start of a cruise he felt now. His attention spread a thousand directions at once, actually touching a measurable fraction of his resource cycles for the first time in many decades. Beyond the pure business of monitoring Tanager’s functions as the ship peeled away from the Strand, Loki hungrily monitored all the external sensors and optical scopes, interacted with a dozen painfully stupid crewmembers and their predictably ignorant demands, answered any questions formed by the bridge crew, and sifted every piggybacked Nets feed he could. Above and beyond that, a frightening array of his sensors homed in on what Loki perceived as the most vital activity in the Tanager.… At the aqua tank, every microsecond his sensors returned vital data that sparked analysis and adjustments in Loki’s actions. At one micro-moment he realized that his one-percent increase in water acidity reduced fin activity by about an equal margin, but an increase in filtration flow quickly balanced the level and—oh!—was that pattern of movement indicative of mating behaviors? Loki’s attention was similarly running digital circles around the rows of green plants, only adjustments and variations took longer to realize.
All the while, Loki answered the inane questions from the bridge about engine calibrations, hull sensor errors and the like, while also playing a couple of moderately skillful games of chess with a few crew members in their respective quarters.
He had paid desultory interest to Chief Maru’s conversation with the engineer, Cray, just as he paid desultory interest to all conversations on board. He had noticed Chief Maru’s walk forward to her own private quarters in the same disinterested light, less intent upon that than he was upon a sizeable turd one of the fish had just produced. The turd, at least, might indicate the fitness or health of that particular fish. He resolved to study the frequency and dimension of all defecation activity and determine the correlation with overall fish health. That was important.
One second of time generally represented a near-eternity of activity for Loki, in most moments, but at this stage, with his attention so divided, the burning, alarming disturbance in the bowels of Loki’s demesne took several seconds to properly focus his resources. Perhaps it was because the intrusion came from a quarter Loki hadn’t encountered in his many long decades of existence, or perhaps it was because there was an element of subtlety despite the expanse of his exposure. Someone swept through the vast dungeons of Loki’s being.
A microsecond detached all Loki’s immense capability from the myriad tasks, turning all available resources to the intrusion. An additional microsecond located the breach in physical space, and a third found the subtle frequency of the carrier.
His entire ancient might scalded through the fibers of Tanager’s networks, rushing to every sensor in and around a particular cabin in a torrent of synthetic panic and rage.
Inga Maru sat cross-legged on her bunk, her eyes flickering as data streamed across her vision, pouring from the dumb-mech’s shielded ports. Her arms suddenly prickled with the explosion of power in her cabin, her head jerking slightly from the invisible web of energy. She felt the intensity even as alarms shrilled within her UI. She tilted her head slowly back, gazing up at the ceiling, waiting expectantly for the presence she felt to manifest.
Inga could not stifle an involuntary gasp at the potency of the voice that rose up around her: “What,” Loki’s voice roared, “are you?”