Mission 15 - Responsibility

  TA419 - 20/04,

  TSU Assult-Carrier Class Curadh, Captain’s Office.

  Synapse sat at the rather stately desk in his office, a wood-panelled room with something of a country club feel. His elbows on the desk and fingers steepled in front of his face.

  The Cult of Magi had been one of the war's greatest horrors and one of many stains on TSU for not seeing it coming. But in some ways, it was one of their more reasonable mistakes. After all, even the word 'Magi' was a carryover from a time when they were literally considered to be 'magic'. The - in reality, espers - were caused by entirely scientific principles. The rare metal Goibhnui had a none-lethal radioactivity, one which caused abnormalities in living beings, Magi, and even evolutionary divergence.

  The Goibnui on Bhaile, however, had been active for thousands, if not millions or billions of years, and it was speculated to be nearing the end of its 'lifespan'. Abhaile had been much the same when TSU first landed people on it, but they hadn't checked closely enough. Far beneath the surface of Abhaile were whole oceans of ice sheets frozen for millennia. When the forced migration occurred, the surviving settlers had delicately tapped these icefields for water, farming and industry: To turn a barren dust planet into something approximate to livable.

  No one had realised that the ice fields had slowed the decay of the Goibhnui, and once tampered with, it began to radiate more strongly than any had in the solar system for centuries. And thus, the Magi had quietly reappeared. To TSU, ignoring its little dust colony for the better part of four centuries, the Magi remained a myth, an exaggerated aspect of history with only some scientific basis, but Abhiale was different.

  Synapse’s brow furrowed deeper as he reviewed each page on the topic on his monitor screen. He knew it all already, but now that he was faced with a force of these beings, a refresher simply seemed pertinent.

  The re-emergent Magi of young Abhaile became elders. Predicting the weather, when dust storms and natural disasters would hit, and foreseeing low crop yields. It would be no exaggeration to say Abhaile was partially built on these foretellers.

  So when the war broke out, and the Revolutionary Army got its hands on a TSU missive about a meteor shower passing through the solar system soon, a terrible fate was born.

  The King called a meeting of the greatest minds and every Magi elder he could. The meteorite was special for containing abnormally high amounts of Goibhniu, detected because of its radioactive signature, no less. Telekineses had always been a relatively specific and rare magi ability, with one exception: Goibhnui.

  Any true Magi could, with practise and focus, move Goibhnui without touching it to. The Curadh’s very own Chas Collins had done so, the ship’s doctor had informed Synapse.

  So then, did logic not dictate a terrible idea? Could enough Magi - say all the elders of a two billion strong planet with a culture of venerating these espers - not then move the path of an entire Goibhnui meteorite? If they could, and if one was to be in the solar system’s path, to begin with, then didn’t it follow it could be ‘nudged’, nudged towards the planet of their oppressors?

  It was said the King executed anyone that day who protested this abhorrent idea. A few months later, the Cult of Magi steered a single meteorite into Bhaile's orbit. The impact obliterated entire countries and very nearly knocked the planet off its axis. To date, it was the greatest loss of life in recorded history as half a continent disappeared, and the rest of the world faced chronic weather issues.

  That had been the end of it. The crippled TSU had been utterly unable to counter when the very next day, Abhaile began their ground invasion of its parent planet. In a year's time, they had very nearly conquered it.

  The Cult was kept around following all this but no other opportunities for such depravity arose; meteorites didn't exactly fly by that close every day.

  In the end, they were said to have perished alongside the last King in the Battle of Gheleach, using their strange myriad of powers to slow TSU's final advance. Pilots and infantry told harrowing stories of mechs set internally ablaze by the ‘mind-powers’ of the cult, of men in spacesuits spraying fire from their hands fiercer than any flamethrower, like some space age wizards. However, precognition can only show a possible fate; changing it is another matter entirely. In the case of the Magi, precognition is seldom objective. Visions changing every time seen, a hazy tapestry of what might occur. Capable of slowing, perhaps, but certainly no absolute defence against a violent horde. The King and his cult were cut down, and the war ended.

  But, Synapse supposed, just like a small amount of the Abhailen armada had escaped to form Remembrance, it was possible a couple of the magi elders had been absent that day, too. He had no doubt the current war was happening now, specifically because another meteorite shower was coming.

  The rocks were reportedly much smaller this time; they hadn’t even raised suspicion until Columbae’s agent sent his transmission. These projectiles probably wouldn't be able to cause nearly as much damage to a planet as last time, but that didn't matter, did it? Warships don’t have an atmosphere to reduce mass, after all.

  A knock at the door woke Synapse from his thoughts, his computer screen having gone idle, "Come in."

  "Ensign Chas Collins, reporting, Sir!" young Chas saluted.

  Synapse concealed a smile. The boy seemed different somehow. His trim black hair, young face and lankiness remained, but his edge, that murderous glint, seemed to have dulled. It seemed, against all odds - Commander Moncha, following in behind Chas - had been right about the boy.

  "Report Ensign," Synapse said levely.

  "Yes, Sir! I-I'm deeply sorry, Sir. I'll accept any puni--" Chas bowed ninety degrees at the waist as he spoke.

  Synapse raised a hand, "Hmmm? Report on the test Ensign."

  Chas slowly raised his head, looking confused for a moment, "Err, very good, Sir? The Casnel was pretty much unharmed. Abhiale's atmosphere is weaker than Bhaile's, but even so, barely a scratch. Paint’s all gone, though."

  Synapse nodded.

  This was wrong, of course. Chas's actions were a massive violation; it had not been easy for the rogue unit to carry out its mission absent a Casnel for nearly six days, and it had put more pressure on the Grand-Admiral, which Syanapse did feel some guilt over.

  Even so, a rouge unit should act its namesake from time to time, and the Admiral surely owed him a few return favours.

  "Very good ensign. Make sure to include all the data in your report. I expect it to be comprehensive. Help out with repainting your machine, too, yes? Now then, I’m told a delivery just arrived. Sign for it, would you, Commander? Chas, you should go to."

  Chas seemed to have caught on now, badly hiding a smile of his own, "Yes, Sir! Thank you very much, Sir!" the boy saluted.

  Synapse watched the two pilots leave, Moncha shooting him a wink, and felt warmer. The boy was changed, for now anyway. He'd seen many men break and rebuild with alarming speed. War had a habit of accelerating emotions that might otherwise take months to work through. Chas would certainly face more trials. But it seemed to Synapses that perhaps, in a youth like Chas, lay a guiding light to the future.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  ****

  TA419 - 20/04,

  TSU Assult-Carrier Class Curadh, Hangar Bay.

  “It was good of you to come out here, what with all the Remembrance attacks. Most unescorted merchant vessels are staying well clear," Moncha said, shaking the hand of the head Vanadis technician.

  "Not at all. We have a couple of mechs, but even if we didn't we couldn't not come to the famous rogue units aide. Honestly, the biggest hurdle was catching up; you fellows seem to be heading somewhere in an awful hurry," the pleasant man said, and the precession behind him nodded along fiercely.

  "Famous, huh?" Moncha laughed dryly. They’d arrived in the hangar to find a delivery ongoing. Vanadis had apparently insisted on donating something to the Curadh, and neither Synapse or Columbae had reason to refuse.

  The technicians turned to Chas, "We wanted to meet you especially, actually, so I'm glad you're here."

  "Me?" the lad meeped.

  "Of course," a girl behind said, smiling as though talking to a celebrity or something. Chas felt himself blush a little at the sheer enthusiasm, "I'm not sure I understand."

  "My boy, you're a hero to us!” the lead man cut back in, “When the secondary branch got destroyed with all hands, there was nothing we could do. Even now, our product is being used to wage the war that's hurting so many. But not you. You survived that day, and now you fight to fix it; you're a hero to us!" the man stepped forward and offered Chas his hand.

  Chas hesitated but took it firmly, no less. When the shake was done, the man and his group, as one, bowed.

  "Whow whow, no need for that!" Chas spluttered as Moncha grinned behind him.

  As the group stood back up, all smiles, the young ace rubbed the back of his head, "Well, I don't know about all this hero stuff but I do wanna make these things right somehow. I'm not sure that means revenge anymore, but I'm going to keep fighting, and I'll use these tools you've given us the best I can," Chas bowed back.

  The lead technician smiled warmly, "Put things right, eh? I like the sounds of that. It's not much, but know we will be at your back, young man. You've made your old compatriots incredibly proud.”

  It was a quiet moment for Chas, a far cry from the sort of welcome he had been expecting upon his return. There would still be a fair degree of lectures to come, of course - and perhaps even a bit too much teasing from his fellow pilots and crewmates - but for a moment, Chas glowed in the reinforcement that he was back and that people believed in him. That surely had to be worth something.

  TA419 - 21/04, Morning of Phase 3,

  Remembrance Flagship ‘His Majesty’s Axe’, Admiral’s Office.

  Back from speech giving, Admiral Agaitate sat down heavily at his desk. It had been yet another long day of giving the impression to others that he felt no 'long days'. The continuing tension as to whether TSU had gotten their plans or not after a fourth mole was discovered, weighted more heavily each day. And, of course, tomorrow held more weight than any other.

  His life these past five years had been all about impressions, convincing people that their retreat from the Battle of Ghelaech all those years ago was for the best. Convincing people that they had to wait and rebuild their forces before fighting TSU again. Convincing people that it was for the good of the people to abandon Abhaile's mainland to brutal occupation for the time being.

  But none of that was how the Admiral had ever felt. He had wanted nothing more than to die at the King's side on the final day of the war. When he had collapsed to his knees begging Kigen not to go back out and die that day, he had, in truth, been begging himself just as much.

  He wanted nothing more than to get revenge every day for the last five years they had waited. And more than anything, he wanted to help the people, save the mainland from its abhorrent corruption, and look for his wife, who must still be out there somewhere. The burden of leadership was a heavy one for a man whose heart lay in the honour of the battlefield and dying with nobility.

  He looked at the sole photograph on his desk, an old-fashioned physical print. A much younger version of himself, one who didn't have to restrain the fiery urge to go off and fight. His beautiful wife, her painter's cap still on for that surprise photo. And his daughter, so young and small back then, delighted to play with the retro camera.

  "Riain, bring up the director of A.M.I's latest proposal."

  "Sir Admiral," a hollow electronic voice, only vaguely female, replied. The physical monitor screen in the centre of the desk flared to life. It used less power than a projection type, and every single drop of power counted, even such a minute difference as this. Of course, Riain was an exception to that rule, an unnecessary drain on power, though since he used her instead of a secretary, it balanced out.

  Riain or R.I.A.I.N, was one of the few pieces of the old Abhialen kingdom they'd recovered these last five years. A small team had found her in an abandoned research site. Remembrance Integrated Artificial Intelligence Network they had dubbed it. A.I had seen little growth on Abhaile, aside from dumber versions, algorithmic subroutines, and the like that could be found on a warship - Riain was different. It used those same algorithmic and generative routines to great effect, searching databases and organising dates faster than any Personal Assistant. Of more importance to the Admiral, she had some level of artificial 'freedom'. She could offer opinions, corrections, and more.

  He frowned at the displayed email, "Send them a go-ahead."

  The little glowing blue symbol representing his A.I fluctuated in the corner of the screen. Her symbol would do this whenever ‘she’ felt inclined to 'disagree', allowing him to ignore it if in a meeting or the like; "Go on?"

  "Admiral, are you sure about this course of action?"

  "The morality of it, you mean? I'll be remembered for worse to come. The Benefit of the project can not be underestimated."

  "I agree, Admiral," the voice said, "However, in the likelihood you should perish, it would not be you burdened with such a legacy."

  'Ah, I see,’ Agitate thought.

  "Thank you, Riain, but I will give any successor of mine every tool possible, even this."

  "Even if cadet Oames was to be your successor?"

  "Especially in that scenario," he replied with a sigh.

  Silence took the plain room as the computer PA sent the email that would define more than he could ever know, and Agaitate allowed himself to ease into his chair and close his eyes for a moment.

  "Riain , am I a good man?"

  There was a long pause, unusual for the A.I that could compute faster than most humans.

  "I was not programmed with such answers. My creators were very concerned with my morality, concerned with what I might do or even that I could betray them in some manner. Yet for all their concern about me, they seldom questioned their own morality in creating me."

  Agaitate smiled wryly at that comment, picturing his wife. She would have– Would hate Riain if they ever met. It had the ability to steal her artwork with ease, yet Agaitate had put aside his negative association with A.I precisely because of that flat inhumanity. Riain never lied to him, never kept quiet or cowered before him. It felt nothing of its theft. It was an objective machine, unlike those who’d created it.

  Even Kigen would seldom stand against his Admiral's opinions, but Riain could; "I believe that any man who questions so frequently the ‘goodness’ of his actions must surely have some decency within, or he would never do such a thing," the assistant continued.

  "I believe you are doing what you think is best. However a great many have been lost in the pursuit of that without question. If a man's role is to protect his people, his clan, so to speak, then you are surely the best of men. But if a man answers to a higher purpose, a cause above the moment, then you are deeply stained.

  I believe, Admiral, that you are a human. Good and bad in equal measure, trying to do his best, to do what's right."

  "...Thank you, Riain.”