Khaela. Liner of Corporation V, Fresh Wind.
Smuggling a quantum beacon onto the liner under the guise of a scanning and software complex turned out to be easy as pie, considering it really can perform all that. I can 100% work as a ship technician, and my case is working equipment. Simply because there are fewer than ten thousand specialists in human space who know what it actually is.
Moreover, thanks to the quantum channel with the core, the data processing speed there is also enormous. Well, as for the fact that the power source is a plasma cell the size of a brick—who cares about such trifles? Most importantly, it doesn't show up on AI scanners if you don't know what it is. Just part of the construction, a battery. A powerful one, since the computing complex is also high-power.
Right now, I/the Avatar am still a buff brunette, but the tails are hidden in wide gray pant legs with army boots; the top consists of a helmet (under which the ears are rolled into tubes) and a gray jacket with the corporation logo. The three other operatives went to their positions; where they are now, I don't know. My place is here, in the technical block under the guise of a ship technician. A manager is hanging around nearby, telling me things I already know.
"Your access level is limited to the technical zone and the personnel recreation zone. In any other place, an alarm will trigger on your key card, and you will be detained. This can be grounds for dismissal; do you understand me? I don't think I need to explain how difficult it is to get a job in a place like this. Safe and well-paid. You are required to perform it and not break the rules. What your predecessor ignored, and now you are in his place..."
And so on and so forth. Unfortunately, connecting to the ship's security system is impossible; there's an AI here, and a smart one. It'll notice. And the operation itself assumes that as few traces as possible will lead to a specific place.
What is the Fresh Wind and where did the AI come from?
It's nearly seven hundred meters of liner, consisting of two parts. The outer part is filled with chic and gloss. A hemisphere of glass and precious metals, maximizing space as a decoration.
How do you like walls and floors made of transparent plastic, a restaurant literally hanging overboard if you hide the structural elements correctly? It's expensive and complex. And it evokes the strongest emotions in the user, which is what's required.
Walking and souvenir zones where you can buy things from the planet the ship is hanging over. Clubs, restaurants, recreation and entertainment zones for every taste. Even "not quite legal" ones. For those who wish. But everything is strictly safe and controlled, even if indeed not always legal.
A mass of journalists has been brought in; dazed by the service, they pour praise for the organizers over the quantum channel. Everyone is ecstatic. For now.
The ship's defense is also decent. A modern engine, an escort of strike ships, a hundred meters of various, including anti-ship, weaponry. Judging by the "flying wing" shape and certain signs, Debaltsev copied the strike craft of ancient humanity. I don't mind. They are here as escorts.
A liquid shield, good armor under a layer of transparent plastic and luxury. The ship has chances to retreat in case of an attack, and good ones.
Naturally, all this wealth is provided by an army of technical specialists. The ship's depths are quite recognizable to anyone who served in the navy. Typical design of UNSC warships. Metal corridors with indicator lines and lamps on the ceiling, along which maids, cleaners, technicians, and other personnel stride. Like at the ONI base Castle Base or the UNSC Apollo, only the variety of costumes is much greater. Although even the maids in dresses above the knee prefer army boots with magnetic soles, as per instructions.
There's also a metro line to get around faster if necessary. And elevators to quickly arrive in the block above us.
Considering the corporation supplies the Earth defense fleet and the cargo fleet, it's not surprising. All personnel live here, below. By the way, the clearance system is also military.
It fascinates me how much the corporation borrowed from the battle fleet. Construction, crew layout, clearance system, security. I think the military likes it very much that such crews, in case of emergency, already know all the necessary instructions.
This also means a high degree of protection; it's difficult for an ordinary person to do anything without attracting the ship AI's attention. The problem can be bypassed if you have time. And there is no time, so it's necessary to act quickly and surely. And for this, the Avatar is suitable, which can even be destroyed if necessary.
The issue of autonomy was solved by the quantum beacon in the laptop case and the plasma cell for it; the Avatar can work as an agent or by force. Universally.
And also, an ordinary organic agent cannot use the Avatar for detonation or system hacking, in case the issue has to be resolved quite radically. The local AI would notice a bot; a human risks getting caught. One has to dodge. What is the manager talking about?
"Thus, during the cruise, you must not leave the living or working zone without a direct order. You will live here, room 423 with one of the maids."
All so that personnel monitor and report on each other. Don't leave them alone; house representatives of different services together. I have this manual loaded in memory; I can quote it in any volume.
The Avatar looked down at the man. Well, yes, I'm still a two-meter buff copied from a Spartan, and he's a meter seventy, never having done physical training since his student days. He looked back, swallowed.
"Sorry, I realize you've served and have probably heard all this many times. Just as a personnel manager, I am obliged to conduct and certify the briefing," he handed over the tablet and I marked with my card that I had listened to the rules, "thank you. I'll get back to work. I recommend checking in with the Chief Engineer today. Have a pleasant day!"
And he scurried off, dissolving into the stream of technicians and servants walking down the corridor. Even though he's in a suit, he's in the same position as the rest. And he understands this, probably.
In the office on board the cruiser UNSC Apollo, the Vice Admiral attracted my projector's attention with a snap of her fingers.
The core is still on board the cruiser; if not for the quantum beacon and the plasma battery, we wouldn't have pulled off such a maneuver.
"So, you're in place and have shaken off the intrusive attention," Parangosky nodded, watching the live broadcast through the Avatar's cameras. Quantum communication is a great thing.
"Yes, Vice Admiral. Beginning deployment."
Another reason why I am here. The bosses and analysts will monitor what is happening on the ship from the inside. And if necessary, they will give orders.
But that will be later. Now the Avatar entered the cabin. Eight square meters of area, two bunks one above the other. Two lockers, a table, a mini-fridge. Bathrooms are shared for each block of twelve cabins.
Overall, normal conditions for a civilian spaceship. In the locker is a uniform like the one I'm wearing. My size.
The second resident isn't there, but that's not my business. I sent a request to the Chief Engineer; he told me to get ready for work. Now, I'll drop the excess, take the case with the beacon, the belt, and go. Looking for trouble.
The Chief Engineer is a cyborg. Thanks for the dossier, Black Box. Name, doesn't matter. Nickname "Big Joel." Self-deprecating.
A technical service veteran, he received third-degree burns in battle but survived. Eyes, limbs, and part of the organs were replaced with cybernetics from Cyberdyne. Nothing supernatural; physically he became stronger, but not faster. And he can see, walk, and work with his hands again. Now he's working off the price of the implantation. Highly loyal to the corporation and humanity. B
He is afraid of becoming inadequate again.
After introducing myself to the new supervisor, I was immediately sent to repair various bits of low-priority junk. For the assigned task, the ship's layout is well-executed: many small technical elevators allow personnel to reach necessary points discreetly without crossing paths with vacationing guests. Thus, only those I am mimicking stare at my two-meter frame. But can it be considered a disguise when I am performing the required functions? No, rather, I am multi-role personnel. A generalist.
We took the elevator to the wealthy part of the block, and I headed for the junction box. It was very fast and easy; no one even noticed me. Passengers don't care about technicians; maids are slightly more interesting. Let's see... Nothing complicated. While I pretend to be repairing, I'll scan the territory. It will come in handy.
Margaret Parangosky noted from her office:
"Storming this place would be indecently easy."
I countered:
"Bypass the ship's AI and... yes, it will be quite simple," I looked toward the vacationers again so the Vice Admiral could see the focal point and decided to work with the social module. "I think for a human, such treatment could be humiliating. Seeing them walk above us, enjoying themselves, and not noticing those working for their benefit. Taking their status as living tools for granted."
The Vice Admiral snorted and laughed:
"Which doesn't stop them from behaving the same way once they find themselves at the top. Why this sudden pull toward rebel rhetoric?" The woman looked at me with blatant suspicion.
The hologram in her office flicked its tails.
"We are AIs; we aren't swayed by such things. But the security system here is serious. They might interfere when everything starts. Electronic scanners show a large number of cyborgs among the guards. Furthermore, there's more electricity in the walls than there theoretically should be. And some sections are clearly isolated from scanning."
Margaret Parangosky switched the display to the scanners. The limbs, eyes, and ears of many people in the service corridors were clearly glowing. Simple cybernetics have been available to humans for centuries; tracking the radiation is easy. Assembling a super-soldier from it—one who is stronger, faster, and can adequately utilize those enhancements—is another matter. That requires serious restructuring of the human body, accelerating reactions, and acclimating to new sensations.
That is why Spartans are an order of magnitude better than all these cyborgs. A cyborg is just tougher, maybe slightly faster. A Spartan can fight at speeds inaccessible to an ordinary human.
"Not Spartans, obviously. But tougher and more resilient."
Meanwhile, I finished the repairs and descended back into the service corridors. A notification arrived from the AI regarding the completed work. It seems it monitors that as well. Expected. I am much more interested in the emergency protocols. What will it do during an attack?
During the day, there were five more calls. I barely spoke with my roommate. She doesn't trust me; I'm not interested in her. Of course, small talk wasn't off the table. I responded freely according to the cover story, but in an almost automatic mode, delegating the process to the social module.
There are still two days before departure to the target region. I have a map of the ship on my tablet, so there are no issues there. Nor with performing tasks for the AI.
On the other side, ONI is sweating but gathering information. The beacon marks heavy traffic through the required Mass Relay. It seems the aliens are driving an entire fleet of escorts since they can't summon anything larger. Meanwhile, the intercept group led by the UNSC Apollo is taking positions in interstellar space in radio silence.
Over forty requests from Earth and corporate security were run against my avatar as part of the cover. The legend is clean, drafted by specialists. They have a stockpile of such things. Margaret Orlenda Parangosky and Lily Schlasser look completely different. Different face, different gait, habits, history. Except both clearly served and have developed musculature.
Thus, intelligence and counter-intelligence on both sides are working. I noticed at least three suspicious individuals among the immediate personnel. Likely security, judging by their appearance, movements, and behavior. One even tried to hug the avatar, for which he got hit in the face and received a warning from the AI. But that was obviously a provocation.
Everyone is working; everyone is preparing. The passengers are taking front-row seats for the coming drama. I'm not sure if Earth knows what's coming. But Reach ONI is preparing.
Soon, "the fastest passenger ship in human space, on which its creators and many important guests travel, showcasing the dawn of a new era of space travel that will lead to speeds previously inaccessible to humanity" awaits a very interesting finale.
***
Without a Plasma Cell, achieving such autonomy would have been impossible. While the avatar could adequately feed off the grid, the Quantum Beacon would have run out of power. But thanks to the cell, even though it's quite large (occupying about a third of the case), good autonomy can be achieved without attracting attention via grid load.
The departure was mundane. Everyone boarded; the ship's designer in an expensive suit delivered a long monologue to the passengers and press about a new era of military and civilian space travel. And about how corporations sponsor scientific projects. How these scientists lead humanity to victory and a bright future. And that this ship is a demonstration of progress available to everyone. Boring.
After that, the ship and its escorts maneuvered and entered Slipspace. And the guests went off to enjoy themselves.
"According to the schedule, the ship will be in transit for two days, then exit near a colony. It will stay there for another two days and head to an uninhabited world with 'very beautiful gas storms.' If the ship is attacked, it will be there. Then it will continue its route through inhabited worlds, but already too far from Mass Relays, which will prevent our opponent from retreating quickly."
I finished the report as a hologram in the Vice Admiral's office and froze in anticipation. Ajax nodded.
"We aren't the only ones who understand this. The potentially vulnerable point for terrorist attacks is exactly there; help won't come. And a huge number of important people will be at risk. I would expect a patrol group there."
As a harmonious artificial collective, we analyze the intelligence data, searching and supplementing it with our own conclusions.
"According to intelligence, the security detail will be doubled on that segment, and personnel will be reinforced by corporate soldiers," added Black Box. "Temporarily; the ship isn't designed for permanent operation in such a mode."
Also expected. And it confirms that all players on this field are preparing for something. I wonder how our enemies are doing? It would be better if the rebels didn't cause problems. It will be very noisy here even without them. But...
"If the ship is damaged, the priority will be saving the guests, not interception."
Margaret Parangosky countered:
"Not for us. Preserving information is the priority. Without a direct order, act according to the plan. Ignore orders from other sources that contradict mine."
The hologram saluted, flicking its ears.
"It will be done."
Then it was routine again. On the UNSC Apollo, there was research, work with prototypes and the scientific group. With the Rampancy AIs. On the Fresh Wind, the routine of a ship technician.
We reached the colony, loaded additional security and another Frigate. And headed to the contact point. At full speed, through the blackness of Slipspace.
The world where it was decided to stop can indeed be called interesting. A blue sky with a methane atmosphere, ice storms forming whimsical swirls. The restaurants filled with people during this time. The ship descended not quite into the storm itself, but low enough to cause slight anxiety in an unprepared viewer. From such a height, the storm resembles a fluctuating sea, only very mobile and occasionally illuminated by lightning.
Likely, that was the point—to tickle the nerves in complete safety and comfort. If the liner falls into this storm...
Two hours passed; silence. In another five, the ship will move on. I am sitting in the staff breakroom with the beacon case, waiting for it to begin. Mostly technicians are here; the service staff is busy working, while we wait for urgent calls. I use the social module to fend off a persistent security officer. This one isn't disguising himself; he's annoyingly persistent.
"So why are you here, hm? You have a good figure, clearly traces of training. Reach, right?"
He is excessively pushy. I looked at the man with irritation. He only smiled, the arrogant jerk.
"I'm here because they pay here. And what's with the hints about the figure? Maybe I should hug you with the full width of my soul, eh?" I am still larger than this negroid muscleman with implants.
He raised his hands in surrender.
"It's great, the figure. I'd invite you somewhere in my free time, hm?" I nodded; I can always refuse later. "Great, after the shift. It's just that usually with your data at your age after training, people continue to serve, not go to corporations. Among civilians, the corps don't have the best reputation, you know that. And you could earn decent money with your figure as a bouncer in a nightclub, for example. People would appreciate it, no joke. You're imposing."
I know. And I also know we are being listened to; you have speakers in your clothes. Black Box sent me an entire library of such conversations. So I just brushed it off, thanks to the social module. Without it, it would be noticeable that I'm switching between different parts of my personality.
"Who cares about the reputation. And I didn't fit the dimensions or the cybernetics for the Marines. Too large for both male and female standards. And the corporates don't care; if the non-functional parts can be replaced with iron, skills are what matters. They even pay extra. In the end, bars are worse than service. Career growth, all that. You understand, I'm in no hurry yet."
The pure truth; for a Spartan, I'm still quite short, but for a female Marine, two meters is already overkill. After all, armor is fairly standardized. If the brass has the desire, this issue can be bypassed. Or it can be closed based on medical indicators.
Or there could be other health problems from the strain or implants. Another point: cybernetics don't mix well with charged plasma. It needs to be isolated. That's why Geth aren't more effective against The Covenant than humans. You need to build heavier platforms with extensive element isolation. So everyone who encounters the Geth is in for a sudden surprise: Geth in armor, and many even with plasma shields.
The man nodded, handing over a glass with a non-alcoholic cocktail. I'll process it or pour it out later. I don't drink; there's just a small container in the upper part of my chest.
"Alright, sorry. It's just the job, you know?" the security officer said, smiling somewhat falsely.
The avatar nodded.
"I get it. You ONI types are the same everywhere."
Margaret Parangosky, listening to the dialogue in the background while filling out a document, gave a silent huff.
The man just waved it off.
"We're normal. Sit here, listen to what they say about us..."
At that moment, two things happened. First, the ship jolted. Analysis... Three points of detonation, in one sector, possibly even on one line. And then the artificial gravity cut out, and we all collectively floated. I grabbed the case; the security officer grabbed me.
In the Vice Admiral's office:
"It's started; the enemy has destroyed the artificial gravity generators," I reported; the woman doesn't monitor the events every second anyway, nor do the analysts who were also given the feed.
The woman immediately raised her head, looking at the screen.
"Subtle. Let's begin."
"Yes, ma'am."
A roar rose in the breakroom. Everyone was suddenly immobilized as people and objects floated, deprived of gravity. I can cling to the walls with vacuum suction cups, but it's much harder for ordinary people. It seems even the security officers had their magnetic boots deactivated. They are heavy and interfere with normal walking.
Some didn't float away and are now helping others find a footing. But while they do that, time is slipping away.
The ship's AI voice immediately rang out.
"Attention crew. The ship is under attack. Gravity generator disabled as a result of the attack. Decompression has occurred. Technical team report to the specified coordinates. Use vacuum suits. Specified sectors breached; maintain caution. Follow safety instructions. Negligence is not an insurance case."
So, a hit? It seems instead of mining, they obtained a map of the ship, which can be found with the technical staff, and used their needle MAC for precise damage. There's logic in this; a mine can be found.
A combat alert would have required turning on magnetic boots, and we wouldn't have floated away, but the shield was turned off so as not to spoil the view. And now minutes, if not tens of minutes, will be lost while everyone regains traction, followed by damage repair and evacuation of guests to safe areas. The guests will draw away the security service.
They attacked with an active stealth system, earning the right of the first strike. Surely the escort is catching it too; the enemy has already aimed, but they haven't yet.
A siren wailed. By the way, "my" security officer had turned on his boots in advance and returned me to the floor by jerking my leg and clicking the switch on my boots. He stopped playing the fool and ordered with dead seriousness:
"Tsk. Go for the vacuum suits. Without gravity, there will be a heap of problems. We need solid ground under our feet."
And he provided acceleration with a slap to the backside. Doesn't matter. He stayed behind to help catch other people. And that's exactly what I need. So, forward into the technical corridors. Especially since the AI framed the security officer's words as an order.
Black Box intervened.
"The enemy is employing fifteen small ships with rail accelerators. Plus Strike Craft. They are picking off the escort from a safe distance. A Frigate tried to close in and ran into mines. The liner is raising shields."
Excellent; I can't see from the technical corridors of the inner ship with the avatar, and I don't have access to the spy satellite. The siren is wailing, but the ship isn't shuddering. That means we aren't being shelled. Only the AI is broadcasting from the ceiling.
"Attention, crew! The ship is under attack. Technical teams don vacuum suits and proceed with damage control. Orders updated."
I don't need a vacuum suit, but I'm undercover. While the AI is working, I need to portray a human. No shooting is visible or audible yet. According to the maps from the beacon that the stealth frigate dropped here in advance (and Ajax forwarded to me), the enemy is successfully knocking out the escorts. A Frigate was blown up by mines. It survived but is no longer combat-capable.
Of course, the Salarians are taking losses, but they have higher range and rate of fire, and the liner's escorts don't have cruiser armor. An infantry group against a sniper team and without cover. I almost pity them.
I managed to put on a breathing mask and helmet and move toward the damaged compartments when colleagues reported that the enemy had finished off the escorts. Or they retreated. But the liner managed to raise its Liquid Shields during that time. It might not fly away—the engines are also damaged, judging by the orders from the AI—but the liquid barrier is very good against boarding.
"Khaela, maintain balance!" Ajax ordered.
The avatar grabbed a handrail. A few seconds later, the ship began to vibrate slightly, stronger and stronger. Then the vibration decreased but didn't disappear. People running through the corridors with the clatter of working magnets under the wail of the alarm mostly didn't fall.
"What was that?" I asked our AIs.
Ajax is clearly surprised.
"They brought starting engines. They're unloading them onto the shields; those ignite and push the ship down, into the atmosphere. Into the storm. Given that Liquid Shields are dense, it works."
So, they are pushing the ship down to increase the load and break the defense. That... if you add shelling, might work. Plus, the guests will be at risk, which means there simply won't be a pursuit. And the Liquid Shield is dense enough for the engine to hold on without falling through or burning up in plasma. Cleverly thought out. Hm.
"Interesting."
The vibration began to grow. We are descending. The shields are holding; there are likely no new damages.
"And how will they get into the storm themselves? It's dangerous for their ships too."
"We'll find out. Monitor the situation," the Vice Admiral ordered. "Khaela. Reach the engine as soon as possible. You know the task."
Don't give the engine and the technicians to the enemy.
"The enemy has broken through. Prepare for boarding."
And where? I gather information is being sent to security, but we aren't supposed to have it. Except to determine it by reaction.
And then the ship groaned, as if a huge load had crashed onto the metal. And it became heavy; the avatar staggered from a sharp jump in mass. It shouldn't kill, but all structures suddenly became about two to three times heavier.
"Khaela, report!" the Vice Admiral ordered.
I continued moving past people who had fallen to their knees. It's hard for them now.
"Someone sharply increased the ship's mass. It seems the enemy has come up with something."
Ajax immediately spoke up.
"Liquid Shields are failing. The boarders didn't land inside the ship; they are breaking the projectors from the outside. And they'll be able to bypass the protection when the storm and shelling squeeze it. Likely the mass increase will lead to higher load and damage."
Great.
"Khaela, continue the mission. Ajax, can we see the boarders through the spy satellite?"
"No, Vice Admiral. The shields are active, blocking the search."
So, I'm on my own. I wasn't the only one who didn't fall, by the way. Many continue to move; lower mass helps. The AI from the ceiling demands:
"Anti-boarding groups, report to the specified zone and disable the mass-distorting equipment. Protect the crew. Destroy intruders in Block B2. Regroup. Ensure defense in Block B4."
And that's already bad. I'm almost there, but we're talking about the internal zones with a lot of important equipment. They're moving fast. A hack? Or a takeover of manual control so the AI can't interfere?
I finally threw open the doors of the technical block. And immediately the sound of a firefight became audible. It seems I'm in the right place. For now, perform the Vice Admiral's task.
"Khaela, enemy Cruisers have arrived in the system."
Show me? So, two ships, judging by the tags. Not that many. On the other hand, if there were only advance units before, then next we'll get a full-scale boarding.
"Vice Admiral, air support?"
She shook her head.
"No. Mark the equipment, protect it. Everything is going as it should."
We are walking on very thin ice, I would say.
Then Ajax woke up again.
"Three Cruisers have entered the system. Judging by the tags, they are from Earth."
So, we weren't the only ones preparing for this. Let's see what they do.
"Massive missile launch from both sides. Multiple signatures... That's a jammer. The enemy is hiding their location."
While I trudged along the deck, which was warped from a hit by an enemy MAC (in one of the adjacent compartments, it deformed everything nearby), the core could observe the launches. Then the laser point defense on both sides started working, vaporizing Archer Missiles and enemy equivalents.
Decoys clearly separated from the Salarian ships. Instead of two targets on the instruments, there were a couple of dozen, then even more, all moving. Our ships can do that too; both have lasers, and on our side, also Liquid Shields. But we're talking about full launches, hundreds of missiles from both sides. And a significant portion will go into false targets.
Due to the flickering of lasers, decoys, and flashes, it became impossible to make anything out on the instruments. And that's important; the difference is in how much boarding we'll get at the end.
Another ten minutes later, they finally knocked out the jamming system, and it became clearer.
"I can see again," Ajax reported. "So, let's look. Some new kind of ships, it seems. They survived the shelling. The Earth Cruisers did too, but with damage. Decoys, anti-missiles. No MAC detected, but the xenos have an indecent amount of missiles. It seems they made a huge launch platform out of the ship."
"Anti-air modification, like ours?" the Vice Admiral asked.
"Possibly. But even without a MAC, the ship caused substantial damage to our Cruisers. These are definitely not simple missiles, not simple at all if they pierced Titanium-A armor. And they continue launching troop transports. Khaela, get ready to meet the guests."
Need more weapons. And faster.
***
Read the story months before public release — early chapters are on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/Granulan