Blood Impulse

Part 40.2 - GUARD DUTY

Cardioid Sector, HR-14 System, Battleship Singularity

Kallahan left with Foster, and the Admiral was more than grateful for it. Kallahan's constant pushing exhausted him more than he already was. He understood Kallahan's perspective. The fact of the matter was the ghost was exceptionally powerful. The fact she had nearly killed him with mere telepathy was not lost on him. Her power made him and the rest of the crew look like less than children, only bacteria riding around in the gut of something far greater than them.

But what had happened to him had been an accident, the ghost more shaken by it than he was. Admiral Gives had long known he would likely die in service to the ghost, whether it was by her capability, or by someone else seeking it. As far as he was concerned, every day he had was borrowed time. Rightfully, he should have died years ago and the only reason he was still alive was because the ghost had kept him that way. Given that, he would not resent her because she'd endangered him. In his mind, that only made them a little more even.

Kallahan recognized the ghost's power. He claimed to know it in ways the Admiral did not, and perhaps he did, but there was no universe in which fear was a kinder response than forgiveness. Fear was the natural reaction when faced with something powerful enough to rewrite one's existence. That was human nature at its finest, but that reaction was cruel to someone who could feel it, who could not ignore it. Surrounding the ghost with those who feared her would only make her more wary of her own existence. It would only injure and destabilize her further, leading to more accidents and more fear. That would be a cruel spiral, one Admiral Gives would take no part of.

Not everyone could restrain their fear in the face of such a powerful entity, but he could. Thus, it became his responsibility to do so and offer forgiveness to the ghost. That had always been his choice, for the ghost had no other home, no other companions. She had known no other life. Too many of her choices had not been her own. She suffered in the care of a species that was, for all intents and purposes, incompatible.

And still, she had looked after them. Looked after him. She had no reason to care, no reason to bother, yet she did. She cared what trouble the crew got into, what struggles his irrelevant self endured. She was happy to be near the crew, even when they barely acknowledged her. To fear someone like that, to abuse someone like that, it was a black stain on humanity, a mark of utter selfishness.

Admiral Gives resented humanity for that. They were no great species, touting high morals and loyalty, regardless of what they claimed. They were bottom-dwellers who thrived off each other's suffering. One failed colony meant more space and resources for those that neighbored it. One brutal loss meant another's celebrated victory. True kindness, where one expected no reciprocation, was a rarity, a logical flaw. He should know. After all, he was the once-great Steel Prince, the butcher of New Terra and a dozen other worlds. He'd massacred an unknown number of allies and enemies during the Battle of Tantalus. He'd lied under oath to suit his own objectives after the Yokohoma sank, and he was absolutely the man who would throw Kallahan out the nearest airlock if he uttered one more curse against the ghost.

The Admiral supposed that should have brought him shame. To so willingly take another life over a disagreement, over an argument with no right answer, was certainly one of humanity's faults. Despite the threat of the Hydra now so close, the fact they would still fight amongst themselves was a flaw without redemption. But, of course, he was human, and he was not above those flaws, no matter how clearly he saw them.

Settled up against the wall in Kallahan's usual position by the door, Admiral Gives had an easy view of the bridge. The consoles were aligned in neat arcs. On the main floor, there were three rows, one in front of the open space in the bridge's center, and two more behind. A few more workstations lined the edges of the room, used by the yeomen to keep things organized, or connect physical data transfer lines. A final ring of consoles, including the main communications console lined the edge of the room, slightly elevated above the rest. This put comms in line with the center of the room, where the operator could clearly see and hear everything, but could also isolate themselves to study the subtle audio cues of detected transmissions.