Razors Edge: Sci Fi Progression

Lev

Lev made his way through the ship's corridors toward the engineering section, ostensibly to assess security protocols around the critical repairs, but truthfully because he needed something to occupy his mind other than calculating the shrinking distance between himself and Sorrel.

Deep in the bowels of the ship, he found Pavel and Chief Las working side by side in the cramped space around engine three's cooling systems. Hours of continuous repairs had created an odd partnership between the young engineer and the veteran chief. Lev positioned himself at the observation station where he could monitor both the repairs and the corridor approaches, old habits from too many combat zones.

He found their chatter relieving.

"Hand me the calibrator," Las said.

Pavel passed him the tool, then watched as Las made minute adjustments to the nanite integration matrix. "Chief, can I ask something?"

"Shoot." Las replied. "Anything is good."

Lev found himself listening with half his attention while the other half ran tactical calculations. Every hour they spent on repairs was another hour Sorrel's convoy drew in closer.

"In all your years of engineering," the kid started. "Have you ever seen repairs like this take?"

Las paused in his adjustments, and Lev could see the hairline cracks visible throughout the injection manifolds. "You want the honest answer or the encouraging answer?"

Lev chuckled at that, and wondered what the kid would pick.

"Honest," he said eventually.

"Well honestly, I have never seen anything this damaged keep functioning. The stress from running beyond maximum should have caused complete cascade failure. I can't for the life of me work out why it didn't." He gestured at the stress fractures. "These engines should be slag.

Lev studied the damage patterns through the diagnostic displays. He knew the reason why they'd not gone 'boom' Only one name popped into his mind. "Major Kuba," he whispered. If the engines failed during pursuit, they'd be dead in space. But if the repairs held and they could reach Sigma-Seven...

"I don't understand…" Pavel's shoulders sagged. "Why are we attempting the impossible?"

Las tapped the metal pipes before him. ""Because sometimes the impossible is just engineering we haven't figured out yet." He returned to his calibrations. "Thirty years I've been fixing things that shouldn't be fixable. The secret isn't knowing it's impossible. It's being too stubborn to accept that as an answer."

Like Sorrel following us into a war zone, Lev thought. Any reasonable partner would have said a medical officer had no business chasing damaged ships toward an alien invasion. But Sorrel had never been reasonable when people she cared about were in danger, he couldn't fault her, he would be doing the exact same if the roles were reversed.

"The nanite's are showing integration rates better than my projections," Pavel admitted a minute later. "The Faulkner's nites are adapting in ways I didn't anticipate."

"That young woman was brilliant. If I hadn't seen her research myself. I wouldn't believe it, it keeps surprising us even now." Las activated a diagnostic sequence, watching as the nanites responded. "What's your background before the Faulkner?"

"I'm fourteen," Pavel replied. "Nearly fifteen."

"Fourteen and smarter than even some tech graduates." Las looked at him. "Why is that?"

"My mom," Pavel said. "Ever since we were small, she never stopped feeding Katya and me information."

"Your mom's helping Dr. Martinez and Xian, right?"

"Yes, we were research station born and bread, till…"

They worked a moment before he continued. "Till one of my dad's jobs went wrong."

"He get into trouble?"

"Yes," Pavel admitted. "We moved to Cali undercover shortly after."

"Wait… the old man said. "Pavel isn't your real name?"

"No," he replied.

So, who was Markov? If those weren't their real names? All the time Lev and Mac had known him and he was himself undercover himself. Lev grinned, and then laughed. Damn… they were being watched by Mac's parents all along, Markov was ONI, he was 100% sure of it.

"Well kid, you're holding together engines that should have exploded hours ago." Las clapped him on the shoulder. "You've got instincts that can't be taught, and a tenacity that would charm the hind leg off a donkey."

"I've never seen a donkey, have you?"

"Something my grandfather used to say, just stuck with me." Las shook his head.

"I think…" Pavel managed a tired smile and finished up his work. "I think we can actually get fifty percent power, now."

"With the way these nites are working. I'm starting to think we might get sixty percent. Maybe more." Las studied the integration readouts with growing optimism. "But we'll need to test everything carefully before we trust the engines for complex maneuvering."

"How long before testing?"

"Two hours minimum. We need to verify integrity under stress before we can attempt to leave the asteroid field."

Two hours. Lev sighed and ran the math automatically in his head. By the time they completed engine testing and escaped the asteroid field, Sorrel's convoy would be almost there. Hopefully, close enough to provide assistance if things went wrong or if Ranger decided to show his face again.

Pavel returned to the calibration sequence and asked the inevitable, Smart, but still a kid at heart. "What happens if we don't reach Sigma-Seven in time?"

Las was quiet for a long moment, considering the question. "Then I have no doubt we will adapt. Captain Tachim will find another way. Major Kuba's research isn't just about reaching one specific destination, it's about changing the outcome of the war her father is fighting and the one that cost her, her brother."

"I wish I'd got to know her," Pavel said. "She sounds really smart, I'd have learned a lot from her."

"I could say exactly the same," Las replied.

"Mom mentioned the war a few times, but I don't know much else."

"Do you want to know?" Las asked. "War is dirty."

"That's why Kuba lost her brother right during the very early AI testing? They wanted AI out there to man the ships they were building… but didn't have Captains for?"

Las paused to look at the kid, and so did Lev. "Your mom had classified information." his voice changed. "Even I only know some of it now, because of the Faulkner's logs."

"I—" Lev heard the kid gasp.

"What was your name, kid?"

Lev strained his ears, he wanted to know as well. "I shouldn't…"

"Who am I gonna tell? The engines?"

Pavel laughed at that. "It was Andrew," he admitted. "Andrew Garston."

Las was clearly thinking. "That makes your father Dante Garston, right?" Pavel nodded. "Do you know anything about your father's past?"

He shook his head. Lev however asked the one person who would. <<Lia, are you hearing this?>>

<<I hear everything on this ship,>> came her reply.

<<Who was Dante Garston?>>

<<Checking all resources now.>>

There was silence once again as the pair worked. Lev tried a database search, but nothing came up. Lia however pinged him a moment later.

<<What gives,>> Lev asked.

<<The name Dante Garston only came up once.>>

<<Once, that doesn't make any sense.>>

<< The record says, he died on the Second Dawn defending the Artemis outpost.>>

<<That was…>>

<<Marcus Kuba's Ship,>> Lia replied.

Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

<<But he didn't die? So how did he get off that ship and survive?>>

<<Unknown, I cannot find out anything else.>>

Pavel's voice drifted to him one again. "What if Commissioner Ranger finds us first?"

"Then we make him regret it." Las's voice carried grit, and Lev smiled at that. "Frost's faced impossible odds before. They're still here because they don't give up, and they don't abandon each other. Neither will we."

We don't abandon each other. Those words hit Lev harder than they should have. He hadn't abandoned Sorrel, their duties had separated them. Peyton had separated them.

Lev thought to their last moments, his finger touching his lips gently.

After being chased away by Peyton, Lev had walked back to find Sorrel and he had held out his hand for her. Peyton's words echoed in his mind, while his heart thumped in his chest.

Go. Take her somewhere private.

When she looked at him questioningly, then glanced at Peyton, he just nodded toward the door, insisting they go.

Lev had thought for a moment tha she wouldn't go with him, and his soul died a little. She did however take his hand and then follow him out to somewhere quiet, and very private.

A medical storage room, away from the bustle of preparation, away from the urgent conversations about fuel transfers and fleet separation. Finally, they were alone.

Sorrel closed the door behind her and leaned against it, studying his face.

"You said something to Peyton," she said. It wasn't a question.

"I did."

"And?"

Lev ran a hand over his shaved head, thinking about how to approach this. Peyton had encouraged him to be honest, but Sorrel's history with workplace relationships, falling for "the wrong person at the wrong time," as she'd told him when they first me, made this all so very complicated.

"He told me to take you somewhere private and really talk to you," Lev said finally.

Sorrel's expression shifted, because he wasn't talking no doubt, words were hard.

"So, talk to me. I'm here. I'm listening."

"Why is this so damned hard," he said. The clinical way she stated it made it sound reasonable, tactical, necessary. But the way her shoulders tensed told him a different story.

"Splitting the fleet is the right call," Sorrel bumbled, though her voice wavered. "The research convoy needs security expertise, and the medical ships needs more people who understands consciousness extraction and recovery."

He was nodding along, but his words weren't forming on his lips. Instead, he stepped forward, cupped her chin in his hands, and leaned in to kiss her.

She responded to him with a moan that set his whole body on fire. Her hands seeking out flesh from his semi destroyed uniform. The more she touched him, the more he had to force himself back. "That's not why I brought you here. I don't want to seduce you in cupboard."

"But you do want to seduce me?" Sorrel squirmed against the door, and he could see the conflict in her eyes. The same conflict he'd been wrestling with for weeks. "Then what?"

"Because I'm terrified," he admitted. "Not of the mission ahead. Not of the tactical situation. I'm terrified we're about to be separated for weeks or maybe even months, and I never got to tell you that somewhere along the way, this… this between us… stopped being professional."

Sorrel touched her lips. "Lev..."

They were way past professional now.

"I know your history with relationships." His words were coming fast now, and he couldn't stop them. "I know you swore you'd never fall for a colleague again. But I can't change what I'm feeling right now, what this is... it's nothing I've ever had before."

"What are you feeling?" she whispered.

"You really want the truth?"

She didn't answer him, or maybe she didn't want the truth? But then she nodded, ever so slightly.

Lev put a hand over on the door, leaning in closer to her. "I'm head over heels in love with you, Sorrel, and it's been affecting my judgment for weeks." The admission felt like stepping off a cliff. "That I've been trying to keep this professional because I knew about your past experience. I can't do it anymore. I want more."

Sorrel stared at him for a long moment, and he could see her processing his words. "This is exactly what I swore I wouldn't do."

"I know."

"Fall for someone I work with." She put a hand on his chest, easing him back some. "Someone whose life depends on me making clear-headed decisions."

"I know."

"Someone whose safety I care about more than my own objectivity."

"Sorrel—"

She stepped closer though, close enough he could smell the mixture of blood and antiseptic on her clothes, close enough to see the exhaustion around her eyes. "The difference is, last time I was the only one who felt that way."

Those words, they penetrated his panicked mind, and he needed to know. "And this time?"

"This time, I'm terrified too," she said. "I'm terrified you're going to do something heroically stupid to protect Peyton and I'm terrified I'm going to spend the next few months treating people while not knowing if you're alive or dead."

"I'm not planning on doing anything stupid."

"Lev." Sorrel's exasperation came through. "Your tactical assessments consistently recommend solutions that put you in maximum danger to protect everyone else. It's not stupidity—it's who you are. But that doesn't make it any less terrifying."

She was right about his tactical approach, but … and he'd almost missed it, she'd admitted her feelings.

"What do we do?"

"We do our jobs," Sorrel said. "But we acknowledge this isn't professional anymore."

She leaned against him, and he put his arms around her carefully, aware of her injury.

Silence prevailed, but Lev never let her go.

"Promise me something," Sorrel mumbled into his shoulder.

"What?"

"Promise me you'll make survival the tactical priority. Not just mission completion. Survival."

"I promise," he lied, then decided to add. "If you also promise to take no unnecessary risks."

"I can't promise that."

"Then I can't promise to prioritize survival over mission success."

They stared at each other, locked in understanding, neither of them budging.

"Then how about we promise to be as careful as we can while still doing our jobs?"

"How about we promise to find each other when this is all over."

"No matter how long it takes."

"No matter how long it takes." Lev kissed her again, his hands sliding down her back, gripping her ass. She melted into him, and he never wanted it to end. It was too soon, there was never enough time.

When they broke apart, both of them were panting. The storage room several degrees warmer and yet all the more claustrophobic.

"I should go," he said. Though he made no move to leave, holding her even tighter.

"You should," Sorrel agreed, though her hands still gripped his shirt.

"The convoys separate in two hours."

"I know."

"And we both have final preparations."

Finally, Sorrel was the one to step back, smoothing down her uniform. "Go," she said. "I'll try not to worry about you doing anything heroically stupid."

"And I'll try not to worry about you arguing with marines."

Lev moved toward the door, then stopped and looked back at her. He'd keep that image in his mind for a very long time, hair tousled, uniform out of place despite her trying to flatten it. "Sorrel?"

"Yes," she said her breath still fast.

"When this is over, and we're both safely back at Ring-14…or wherever we end up...Let's have dinner. Somewhere that isn't a ship's mess hall or a military base."

"I'd like that."

"Me too. It's a date, then."

She beamed at him. "It's a date."

Lev shook himself back to the present, watching Pavel make final adjustments.

Promise me you'll consider survival a tactical priority.

For the first time in his military career, Lev found himself running calculations that included variables beyond mission parameters.

But as he watched Pavel work he realized his tactical assessments had changed. The mission still mattered, but so did his promise to come home.

"Integration at eighty-seven percent completion," Pavel reported. "Estimated time to fifty percent engine capacity: four hours, thirty-three minutes."

Four and a half hours until they could attempt escape. It would be the slowest four and a half hours of his life.

"Then we'd better get back to work." Las returned. "Those engines won't fix themselves."

Peyton

Four hours later, with our engine repairs holding, Mac called me to the CIC with news that made my blood run cold. Lev was already there, his face pale as he studied the tactical display before them.

"Admiral Kuba's entire defensive line has collapsed," Mac reported without even looking my way. He zoomed in on the 3D view before them, highlighting the system ahead. "Three systems have been lost in the past eight hours. He's now in full retreat with what's left of his fleet."

"What's left?"

"He reported he's down to seven ships."

"Seven…" my voice shook, and Lev looked mortified.

The scale of this defeat was just staggering. I stared at the display showing vast swaths of Coalition territory now marked in red. "How many people did they lose?"

"Over a thousand ships now confirmed destroyed, the rest have been taken, but that's not the worst part." Mac's fingers trembled slightly as he highlighted more areas of the captured systems. "We're calling them the Harvesters, and they stopped following..."

Nothing but silence.

I sucked in a breath before I spoke. "They choose to harvest the planets instead, didn't they?"

"How did you know?"

"That's what I'd do," I replied. "If I needed minds, that's where I'd go. The Admiral's ships were just in the way, the planets…that's what they want." My legs wobbled, I needed to sit down, like right now sit before I fell. "How many people are on those planets?" I asked, dreading the answer.

Mac was shaking his head, and looking to Lia for confirmation.

"I don't like to estimate that," Lia answered. "I—"

"I need to know," I said. "Please."

"Somewhere in the region of a hundred billion."

"A hundred billion…" that number… I found a chair, and collapsed. "Humanoid?"

"Various species," Lia replied.

"Peyton," Mac said. "They're—they're..."

"What are they doing with them?"

"There's been footage cross the streams from those planets." Lia answered. "Essentially possessing and using them to fight. Drones."

Lev's fists clenched. "Straight out of a fucking Sci Fi nightmare..."

"What are they even planning to do with that many people?" I asked. When Lia opened her mouth, I put my hand up. "Please, don't answer that."

She did however look to Lev who nodded for her to continue. "Sorry, you also need to hear this. At this scale we believe they only have one goal.

"The Coalition?" I asked. "They're coming for us?"

"From their trajectory," Lia said. "Yes, they are coming for us. The closer they get to our colonies, the more they're going to need. Not just in ships, but boots on the ground, and it seems they don't have them."

"How many people are at Sigma-Seven? Kuba said they were at what capacity?"

"He never specifically said," Mac confirmed. "Sadly, we have no idea what's at Sigma-Seven."

"They reduced Kuba's fleet to seven ships, they have to have at least that at Sigma, right?"

"Hopefully. It must be a fleet worth bringing Nyx here for."

I felt her sadness, and that pained me. <<This isn't your fault.>> I said to her. <<None of this is.>>

<<I'm supposed to be the AI to do all of this, and I'm failing, how is this not my fault?>>

"The strategic situation has completely changed," Mac continued. "But we're not done for yet."

"You can't say that," Mac said. "No one can."

"Can anyone estimate the timing here? How long till they reach Sigma?"

"It's still a guess, but five to seven days. After that, they'll advance fast."

"We've managed to get some initial data with Lia's help," Mac said. "There are references to unmanned assets and automated defensive systems."

"That's good, right?"

"Maybe, the details are encrypted beyond my capability."

Mac hesitated. "Some transmissions reference massive shipyard construction projects. Ships built but never crewed."

I studied Lia's projection, noticing how she'd gone unusually quiet during Mac's explanation. "Lia, what's wrong?" She hesitated. "Lia."

"There's a reason Admiral Kuba specifically requested Nyx instead of asking me to handle Sigma-Seven's coordination."

"Which is?"

"The scale," she paused. "Sigma-Seven likely has over ten thousand ships."

"Ten thousand ships? Will that be enough to face them?"

"Looking at their numbers and what the enemy will bring with them from the frontline, yes." Lia said.

"If you look," Lev moved to the tactical display, tracing retreat patterns with a finger. "Kuba's drawn enemy forces away from the largest civilian based planets."

"He's positioning everyone for a final stand." Lia said. "The shipyards at Sigma-Seven represent Admiral Kuba, not just the Coalition."

"If he has industrial scaling for building a fleet that size. We can deliver Ashley's research to those facilities," I said, "maybe we could mass-produce protection protocols for everyone left."

"Assuming we reach Sigma-Seven before it's overrun." Mac updated the display with probability projections. "Current odds aren't encouraging."

Lev's expression hardened. "Then we make better odds."

"We need to contact Nyx," I said. "See how far out they are." I waved around, "besides, we're not going anywhere yet."

"I'll keep trying different waves." Mac said. "We'll get them."