HMSS Broadside Day 320: Trust Issue

Personal Journal Serene Falk Captain, HMSS Broadside

Mission parameter – Hunting Ghosts

Classification – Secret (Captain’s eyes only)

In the darkness, the red warning lights now burning across the bridge cast strange shadows over the faces of the crew.

But why had the emergency systems not activated?

They should have come online within microseconds.

“Clyde, do we still have control of the emergency backup systems?”

“Yes, Captain. For resilience during situations such as this, the emergency systems are kept separate. They have their own power supplies and isolated control systems.”

“Then why are we still in the dark?”

There was a slight pause as Clyde analysed the problem.

“Because, as far as the emergency systems are concerned, nothing is wrong. Environmental Control is reporting no faults.”

In the darkness, I found Hux standing on one side of me and Flight on the other.

“Chief, I don’t care how you do it, but get those backup systems online. That will quite literally give us some breathing space.”

I turned towards Flight.

“Bring the Broadside to a dead stop manually. I don’t want us going anywhere.”

My head was spinning.

As whoever or whatever was messaging the Broadside had breached our security and taken control of NavCon. That in itself should have been impossible considering the multilayered protection running throughout the ship.

But then it had also circumvented the lockout protocols and gained access to Environmental Control.

There were very few entities aboard the Broadside capable of doing that.

No.

Correct that statement.

Neither the Chief nor I could access certain systems without dual authorisation. The lockout codes we had just used were one example.

Which led me back to the same suspicion.

The AIs and their sudden change in behaviour.

If one of them had been compromised, which one was it?

Or was it both?

There were too many questions piling up, and I felt as though I were drowning beneath them.

As I continued to rack my brain, I realised several minutes had passed since I had issued the All Stop command.

No further message had appeared on the screen.

I felt my way across the darkened bridge to Flight, who confirmed that the Broadside had now been at All Stop for four minutes.

Which was interesting.

Surely the AIs would have noticed our lack of movement, even if they had been locked out of NavCon.

Then, to my relief, the bridge lights returned.

A wash of cool air brushed across my face as Environmental Control came back online.

When Hux returned to the bridge, he looked surprised.

“Good job, Chief.”

A smattering of applause moved around the bridge. But when Hux reached me, he lowered his voice so that only I could hear him.

“I’d like to take the credit for that, Captain.”

He glanced towards the nearest environmental console.

“But it wasn’t me.”

I rubbed my eyes.

The Chief, Flight and I had been on the bridge for thirteen hours. I had now been awake for thirty.

Ordinarily, we could rely on Bonnie and Clyde to check and then quadruple-check every command decision.

But not now.

Now, we were on our own.

Sick of coffee and protein pills. A combination commonly known as the officer’s cocktail. I was about to suggest that we find some proper rations.

It would also provide a useful excuse for a private conversation away from listening ears.

Then Clyde spoke.

“Captain, another transmission.”

“On screen.”

INCOMING TRANSMISSION

Broadcast CommunicationPara-location: 289.444.314.988.774

Carrier Frequency: 4 GHz

Received: 11:04 SST

Encryption: Standard Naval Encryption

Signature: 347394873987v

For the attention of Captain Serene Falk

SERENE, THANK YOU FOR STOPPING.

SCAN QUADRANT 004 1200 550 778.

Yours faithfully

“Captain, do you want me to sc—”

Bonnie’s voice cut across Clyde’s.

It sounded thin and weak, as though she were speaking from the bottom of a grav-shaft.

“Captain, do not scan that quadrant.”

Clyde continued as though Bonnie had said nothing.

“Confirmed, Captain. Scanning the designated quadrant now.”

“Clyde, negative. Do not initiate that scan. I repeat: do not scan that quadrant.”

There was a pause.

“Confirmed, Captain. Standing by.”

At that moment, Flight interrupted.

“Captain, I’m receiving reports from the Firestorm patrol.”

The officer hesitated.

“They’re seeing activity in quadrant…”

Flight’s voice trailed away as the coordinates appeared on the console.

Then came the quiet confirmation.

“Quadrant 004 1200 550 778. They have visual contact with something emerging from the nebula.”

“Route their video and sensor feeds to the bridge screen plate.”

The internal display vanished, replaced by the external feed from the patrol.

The nebula filled the screen.

Deep within its shifting clouds, the bow of a ship was slowly resolving.

A pilot’s voice broke through the audio channel against a wall of static.

“Flight, are you seeing what we’re seeing?”

“Confirmed, Patrol. Do you have an identification on that vessel?”

“Yes, Captain. She’s hailing us over short-range transmission because of the background interference from the nebula.”

A burst of static flooded the channel.

Then the pilot continued.

“I can confirm the vessel is the HMSS Hood.”

There was a pause as I absorbed this latest twist.

Against my better judgement, I asked Bonnie and Clyde for confirmation.

“Yes, Captain,” Clyde replied. “According to all available identification data, that vessel is the HMSS Hood.”

I muttered the words to no one in particular.

“The same destroyer that disappeared in dead space more than three months ago.”

I turned towards the central console.

“Clyde, are we still receiving the tight-beam transmission from the Penrose?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Captain,” Flight interrupted. “The Hood is hailing us.”

Ice flowed through my veins as I watched the destroyer move out of the nebula and turn towards us.

“Flight, are we configured for combat?”

“Yes, Captain. We haven’t stood down.”

“Good.”

I stared at the returning warship.

“Lock every weapon we have onto the Hood.”

The bridge fell silent.

“Engage on my command.”

Unrecoverable data.

Corrupt data 317 -318 00000000000XXX11111XXXXX1111111100011000110100010001001XXXXXX100011001000100100000000000XXX11111XXXXX1111111100011000110100010001001XXXXXX100011001000100100000000000XXX11111XXXXX1111111100011000

Want to read more. Get the next instalment straight to your inbox

About the Author

HMSS Broadside is created, authored, edited and published by Rob Frankson. Artificial intelligence is used to assist with research, initial drafting and supporting imagery. All articles are reviewed and, edited by Rob Frankson before publication. The opinions, editorial position and final decision to publish remain the author's.