Darklight Pirates

“It is too dangerous. Wait. Wait for Cletus to bring the refitted cruiser and--”

Donal Tomlins waved Leanne to silence. He settled the spidery legs of the control helmet into place on his scalp and leaned back in the captain’s chair. Momentary dizziness passed as he meshed his brain with the electronics in the Shillelagh. A feeling of expansion, of soaring to the limits of the universe seized him when he ventured further, using the dreadnought’s computer to touch the Blarney Stone. Again he felt the throbbing pulse of a nation--a world!

He closed his eyes and probed deeply. Weir’s meddling amounted to little, or so it seemed at first. The more he examined the intricacies of the Blarney Stone’s programming, queried the logs and examined the registers, the more changes he found. These were subtle, careful, thoughtful. It was as if Weir started with a stone chisel and then had switched to an atomic force microscope to make these alterations. Donal skimmed over them, ordering the algorithms he had sequestered to return the machine to its functioning before the changes. Even as he slipped away from the heart of the computer, he saw how allocations changed throughout Burran. Supply would be restored in days, if not hours. He needed to run projections to see the effect of this reallocation, but it had to derive better results than Weir had obtained trying to quell rioting and insurrection.

“I’ve cut off the military supplies for the time being. That will keep them in check, though they can use their emergency stores for some time. You worry for no reason, Leanne. I’ve even deactivated the AI modules Weir installed, though they might reach deeper into the heart of the Blarney Stone than it appears from my quick survey. I don’t think any of this will be a problem for me regaining full control.”

“It cannot hurt to let Cletus join us with the Belfast.”

“I know where the High Guard ships are. We’re in no danger from them.” Donal smiled as he removed the control helmet and placed it down gently in its cradle. “Most of the commanders remain loyal and welcome a return to the old ways. Even Admiral Lamont has yielded his command to me.”

“The way it was when you were Programmer General?”

“That seems to be the case,” he said, nodding. “I appreciate your concern, but this isn’t a trap. I examined Weir’s remains. He is dead. Very dead.” He licked his lips and tasted blood. Leaning back, he gripped the arms of the chair so tightly his forearms began to ache. Only force of will let him relax. The sight of the pieces left of Goram Weir would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. The force of the explosion had mangled the body almost beyond recognition.

Almost. The wide-eyed fear remained on a face curiously untouched by the blast that had turned the rest of his body into gory pulp.

“The timetable for the Belfast might be shortened. With both it and the Shillelagh in orbit, you can guarantee your safety if you choose to return to the capital.”

“I’m going down now. Give me credit for some sense. A diagnostic of the Blarney Stone shows how Weir altered the programming. That is being reversed. I have searched every surveillance camera record for a hint of alteration. The coup is over. Weir is dead and those who supported him have been quashed.”

“Not Riddle. He was the architect of your overthrow.”

“So say your mathematical scenarios. Correlation isn’t causality. He joined Weir for his own reasons, and they are obvious. Riddle controlled the military, even as he remained loyal to me.”

“My calculations say otherwise. He had powerful supporters. What of them?”

“I will ferret out those names later, after I regain full control of the Blarney Stone.”

“So you admit you aren’t in total control, that this might be a trap to lure you in by hiding important facts from you? My cursory examination of your master computer shows Weir and at least one other reprogrammed extensively.”

“It was Weir,” Donal said. “There isn’t anyone else with access or the talent.”

“What of your daughters? Both are genetically advantaged and trained.”

Donal hesitated. A lump formed in his throat.

“You know what happened at the military prison camp. That was my wife and daughter killed there.”

“Neither Cletus nor I saw them die. We were too occupied with saving our own lives.”

Donal shot to his feet. Anger filled him with fire now.

“You retreated too soon. Cletus said you could have endured a few more minutes.”

“He is wrong. If your wife and daughter died because of my actions, then that same decision saved your son. Your entire family could have died if I had allowed Cletus to linger under the MBT barrages.”

“I am going down. If I wait for Cletus, even if he Lifts immediately, the citizens won’t understand. An immediate public speech is necessary to solidify my return. It had to be open and from a public space with an assembled crowd to keep unrest down after having martial law declared for so long. My presence tells everyone things are back to normal.” He glanced up at the chronometer above the fire control panel. “My dartabout launches in thirty minutes.”

“I can pilot you.”

“I have a copilot for the trip, thank you.” Donal took a deep breath. “Captain Sullivan has her orders on how to deal with any treachery, should such action be required on-planet. The Shillelagh is in good hands.”

“I can--”

“Don’t, Comrade Chang. Don’t meddle in this. You are nothing more than an advisor from Far Kingdom and are not in the Burran chain of command. Keep that in mind. You are an observer, so observe.” He started to say more to her, then was distracted. Too much flooded in on him. Not for the first time, he wished Cletus were here, but he wasn’t.

Donal worked on the HUD to settle details before going to the cargo bay. He closed his eyes and let the data flood over him. He tweaked bits of it here and there. In spite of the Shillelagh’s successful refitting with the super darklight battery, many of the lesser subsystems required maintenance. Keeping the dreadnought in fighting condition had required a triage he disliked. Every system aboard a ship this size carried a purpose into battle.

“Almost over,” he said softly.

“Programmer General, please.”

“Leanne. I’ve got to go. A public appearance will put the rebellion to rest once and for all.”

“This ship! The Shillelagh!”

“I can’t land in it, of course. That’s why I’m going down in the dartabout.”

“I know that,” she said. The sharp edge to her voice contrasted with the soft way she usually spoke. He looked at her, wondering at her reaction to learning the fight was over and that he had won. He was going to sit once more in the Programmer General’s control chair in the Residence, where he belonged.

Where he belonged with Kori, Bella, Ebony and Cletus. A tear welled in his eye. With the victory came defeat. His family was sundered. That meant he had to redouble his efforts to bring prosperity and peace to all of Burran so it never happened to other citizens. And perhaps Weir hadn’t been far wrong. Eire and Uller had undoubtedly contributed to the uprising. Bringing them to heel might be required in the near future.

“This ship isn’t a fit battle craft.”

“What do you mean? Of course it is. It is even more powerful a weapon with the new power supplies.”

“Programmer General, please listen. Your skill as a commander is ... underdeveloped. Burran has never had a navy capable of serious battle. Your efforts are directed inward, not out where a proper fleet with experienced commanders are necessary. The ease with which Weir uprooted you shows the soft belly of your system. It is too dependent on your master computer.”

“The Blarney Stone has given us unprecedented affluence. Study our history on Earth you would know how difficult it was for us there. We have gone from a small island no one respected to a Class 3 civilized world.”

“I’ve read of it. Even then, even with blight and famine, your history isn’t filled with the struggle needed to build a warrior society, not for centuries.”

“Of course not. We seek peace. I seek peace for my nation. For my world. Now excuse me. I need to give Captain Sullivan her final orders.”

“As you wish, sir.” Leanne drew herself up to her full height and still only came to his shoulder.

He almost called her back as she pivoted and marched from the bridge as if she went to her death. Donal glanced around, saw a half dozen displays glowing and double-checked to be sure no threat awaited him below. His closest examination showed only celebration in the capital and preparation for his landing.

“Will you have time to prepare a speech, sir?” Sullivan stood beside the captain’s chair. He motioned her to sit and don the control helmet.

“I’ll have a few minutes. This isn’t the time for a long speech. Just a few heartfelt words to assure everyone the worst is over.” He pushed the thought of his family from his mind.

Sullivan winced as the rush of data filled her head with details. She wiped her lips and blinked to focus on him.

“I have received your orders, sir. Is it wise to eliminate a potential threat in such a fashion?”

“I don’t want this ship’s weapons turned against the capital, should anything go wrong. The civilian casualties would be horrendous.”

"“With our additional capabilities, I can pick off one person from an entire platform full, should there be a risk to you, sir.”

“One mistake and half the city vanishes in a whiff of plasma. I don’t think there will be a problem. I have scoured the newscasts and not found any evidence of hidden uprisings. Only celebration at my return from one side of the country to the other.”

“I’ve checked myself, sir. There are pockets of protest, but they are along the borders.”

“Likely malcontents or even guerrillas from Eire or Uller.”

“That might be so, sir.” Sullivan settled the helmet more firmly. “I am to withdraw and establish complete interdiction of trade?”

“I won’t have the citizens killed outright, not by anyone aboard the Shillelagh. It’s better to cause an uprising that deposes anyone seizing the Programmer General’s chair. Support the populace, don’t use our weapons to kill those who would aid us.”

“I think I understand, sir. Should I contact Commander Tomlins via message capsule? I’ll need a preprogrammed Lift.”

Donal considered letting his son know of their victory, but he would learn of it soon enough when he finished refitting the cruiser and returned to the Ballymore system.

“The message capsule isn’t required.”

“I can have a new Lift engine put together in a day or two from spare parts.”

“Captain Sullivan, you might need those parts later.” He wondered if he made a mistake not informing his son to prevent him from returning with all weapons blazing. Sending a message capsule required a LiftDrive almost the size of the one powering the Shillelagh. Worse, only he knew Scrutiny’s coordinates so he had to protect that destination by programming it himself. That might require another week of work. The people of Burran required his return to the Programmer Generalship now, not in a week. He brushed aside the idea of trusting Sullivan with the coordinates required to drop the capsule just about the main settlement on Scrutiny. He had kept it as a secret for years. Letting Cletus know where the TZO lay troubled him, even though he trusted his son.

He heaved a sigh and came to a decision running counter to all he thought.

“Prepare a message capsule with news of our victory to send to Cletus.” Donal worked on the HUD for several minutes, using the most esoteric programming methods he knew to prepare a guidance pack. “The guidance computer memory cube is frangible. The smallest scratch destroys the circuitry, so be very careful installing it.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Be on the lookout for Cletus’ return. When he Drops back, contact him immediately. You have the security codes to authenticate anything you transmit.”

“Two weeks, sir? That’s your guess when he’ll be here?”

“At least that. The Belfast has to be more completely outfitted, and Cletus will want to have a few training maneuvers to be certain the crew is using the new weapons and that everything functions properly.”

“And to learn their limits,” Sullivan said.

Donal knew there was more to it than that. Cletus needed to find if there were any traitors among his new crew. Captain O’Malley had surrendered his command a little too quickly for Donal’s liking, but the man seemed straightforward and loyal. Still, Donal had to learn this for himself and replace the ship’s commander if even a hint of insurrection turned his heart black.

“The dartabout is ready, sir.” Sullivan turned her bright blue eyes up to him. “I can break orbit and follow you down until we touch the upper atmosphere.”

“A dreadnought isn’t designed for atmospheric maneuvering, Captain. Maintain orbit. You have your orders.” He tapped the side of his head to remind her his orders had been recorded and left in the onboard computer. All she needed to do was bring up a special packet of orders, should anything happen to him.

“Yes, sir. Good flight.” She stood and saluted. He returned the salute, feeling awkward. The Programmer General was a civilian position, in spite of the control he had over the military.

He hurried from the bridge, slowed when he passed his compartment, then lengthened his stride again to reach the cargo bay as quickly as possible. What belongings he had aboard could be transferred later. Or replaced. He smile wryly. Once again at his desk in the Residence, he need only issue a tiny thought and receive whatever he desired. No matter how little or how extensive, everything provided by the Blarney Stone came quickly. He never abused this power, unlike many of his predecessors.

More security should be put into place, especially after seeing how easy it had been for Weir to seize power.

As he entered the cargo bay, the crew snapped to attention and saluted. He made no effort to hide his grin. Regaining control on-world had been easier than he expected, thanks to Riddle and his double dealing. A speech would fire up the crew, but he wanted to save his passion and thanks for the crowd gathering near the Residence. A nationwide broadcast would rally support throughout Burran.

“Chief,” he acknowledged. “All ready?”

“Just finished sealing up the dartabout’s cargo, sir.”

“Cargo? You mean cargo hatch?” Donal was distracted when the pilot came to the hatch and waved him aboard.

“That, too, sir. Ensign Milliken’s ready to launch.”

Donal swung up the ramp to where the ensign gave way in the hatch and motioned him to the pilot’s chair.

“The captain said you wanted to pilot, sir.”

The woman sounded angry. He read the signs immediately. She was a pilot and as humble as the dartabout was, it was her ship. Her mission might be nothing more than moving cargo or being an orbital garbage collector, but it was her command. Hers.

“Take us down, Ensign. I need to go over my speech and don’t want to be distracted.” He saw the clouds of anger blow away.

“As you wish, sir.” She swung about and landed lightly in the pilot’s chair. He settled next to her and found that she had already reset the contour chair for him. “Strap in. We launch in one minute or lose our orbital insertion window for another ninety minutes.”

Donal barely got the safety harness connected before the engine cut in, sudden acceleration slamming him back but not with the force he expected. He frowned. The dartabout moved sluggishly as it slid from the dreadnought’s bay. Once in free space, the small craft felt as if it moved through treacle.

“Is everything all right, Ensign?”

“Shipshape, sir, Why?”

She showed no hint of distress, and the control panel flashed nothing but green. Donal shrugged it off as his own anxiety at returning to a country profoundly changed by civil war. He settled back, closed his eyes and began working on his speech. Before he realized it, the atmosphere screamed past the sleek ship and heavy buffeting began as they braked for descent into even denser atmosphere. He watched as the pilot worked the controls. Again he wondered if something was wrong with the craft. It handled as if it was thousands of kilos heavier.

Then the sky exploded in front of them.

“Evasive action! Take evasive action!” He gripped the armrests on his chair and heaved to one side, as if this would turn the dartabout.

“Nothing to worry about, sir. Fireworks to welcome you. Nothing harmful in it. I’ve scanned it all.”

Donal worked through the readouts and finally settled on a vidscreen showing a newscast from outside the Residence where tens of thousands of citizens cheered.

“Have you been cleared for landing on the Residence roof?”

“Your choice, sir. The roof, the landing field or at a pad about a half kilometer off. A private landing area, restricted now.”

“The roof,” he decided. Donal raced through what he would say, but his attention fixed on the landing pad on the roof. The dartabout settled down heavily, then the engine died with a throaty sigh.

“You may exit whenever you like, Programmer General,” the ensign said. “They’re expecting you.”

He unhooked, went to the hatch and waited for it to open. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath of air. Fresh air. Free air. The sunlight warm on his face, the pull of gravity familiar once more, he walked across the roof to a raised platform at the edge of the Residence roof, already outfitted with full audio and video feeds. He stepped up.

The crowd below roared.

He raised his arms and acknowledged them.

“Welcome to a new era in Burran’s history!”

The End

Darklight Pirates