Blood Impulse

Part 15.3 - NIGHTTIME

Homebound Sector, Haven System, Battleship Singularity

It seemed for the first time in a week, that nighttime had fallen aboard the Singularity. The crew finally exhausted themselves on the constant repairs and collectively crashed into sleep. It was quiet throughout the ship. A skeleton crew remained awake to maintain the ship's systems. Even the ship herself had fallen silent, only the smallest of metallic creaks were heard.

Hovering outside Ariea's gravity well, the anger that had characterized the ship's return to the Homebound Sector had faded, but it was not easily forgotten. All other ship traffic gave a wide, intentional berth to the dreadnaught, even as she slipped back into apathy.

This usual sulking, shadowy hulk hardly resembled the fearsome harbinger of a few hours before. Only a shared title connected them. The disconnection between the bloody warship and aging battleship was a bewitchment of time itself, but anyone who knew the ship's history would have called that separation a blessing.

While there was honor in the former flagship's history, with heroism splashed across the walls of memory, she was also the mirror image of what humanity had become. At the height of their unity, she had been a beacon of strength, and at their lowest point, she had been the bottom dweller that fueled their suffering. When humanity turned on itself and central worlds had slain their brethren on the Frontier, she had been their weapon of choice.

The scars pockmarking the Singularity's hull were assumed to be from the Hydrian War itself, fifty years before. A few dated back that far, but most of the dreadnaught's injuries had been inflicted upon her by the very species she'd been built to save. No longer was the ship considered a protector, she was considered nothing more than the weapon of demise humanity had built itself.

Many of the Ariean nations blamed the halt in technological advances known as the Dead Years, directly on the former Flagship Singularity. The ship had been powerful, too powerful. Her utter destruction of the Frontier during the Rebellion had stricken humanity and brought them to deeply fear their own technology. Only now were the worlds recovering from that horror, and only now, fifty years later, was mechanical technology leaping back to equal and surpass the Singularity.

The abilities that had made the Singularity once-legendary were finally becoming standard-issue for the rest of the fleet, but that didn't make the dreadnaught any less powerful. Now mostly forgotten, she remained the deadliest ship in human history. She was a tool, and in the right or wrong hands, she was extremely dangerous. These were simple, simple facts, lessons learned from the blood of the Frontier.

And yet, opening her eyes, Anabelle Parker was unaware of any of that. Where am I? She stared up at the metal ceiling above her with bleary eyes as the last of her sedative wore off. Slowly, the memories began to trickle back, like high viscosity liquid dripping through a straw.

The lights had dimmed somewhat, and it was now quiet around her. Nighttime, she thought, sliding out from beneath the covers. The metal floor was cold beneath her feet, but she felt well. Gone was her dizziness, cough and struggle to breathe. She felt stronger now than she had in months.

The needle had been removed from her arm, in its place a small bandage. An oversized t-shirt had been placed on the table. Slipping out of the paper hospital gown, she pulled it on. It was soft and long enough to be a dress on her tiny frame.

An emblem was stamped on the chest of the shirt, flaming red and yellow sun. It was foreign to her, but she remembered her father's old uniform shirts. They had looked similar, but it didn't matter much.