Blood Impulse

Part 25.1 - INTERNAL TURMOIL

7 hours later, Polaris Sector, Battleship Singularity

They were laid out before her like spinning kaleidoscopes, every shape a thought, every color an emotion, every shift a memory. The thousands nearby formed a prismatic ocean that threatened to drown her in its depths. The strength of the tides was extreme, her telepathy too sensitive to endure the forces.

Keep watch, the ghost had been directed, as if holding vigil over these few thousand minds were that simple. They were strange, unfamiliar. To try to pull a thought from any single one of them would be to dangerously submerge herself in the sea.

Even as she sought merely to map the currents, only the feelings of the masses and not the minds themselves, it was difficult. The task painfully strained her damaged existence, but still, she sought to complete it.

Admiral Gives rarely asked such things of her, so she could, would fulfill this objective, even as it chipped further and further away at her sense of self. However, it made her of some use, and for that she was grateful.

After all, they were only here because she had wanted to rescue these ships, because she had wanted to save these people. But, sparing and protecting these lives hadn't made her feel any better. Maybe it was because she could feel the fear wafting so vividly from every mind in the fleet, or perhaps it was because she knew the danger she herself posed to them, but the ghost could feel no satisfaction in saving these refugees.

But still, she watched over them, every bit of their anxiety twisting and churning around her, the effects tainting her own thoughts. It was a sensation that no one would have understood. There were eight hundred souls aboard this ship, a thousands more out in the fleet, and still, she was alone in that. Others' terror weighed upon her like the gravity of a sun, endlessly pulling and pulling.

She calmed herself by anchoring her presence to one place, one instance: a lingering illusion in a compartment up on the forward bow. Decades ago, it had been a crew lounge, but the size of the crew had shrank over the years, and this compartment had become empty and unused. The crew gathered in other places now, leaving the ghost to look out this compartment's wide windows alone.

Here, she could look out at the path ahead and study the distant stars in peace. The star clusters, mere specks far beyond the thinning edges of this system's drifting ice fields, were familiar. She knew their names, had even visited many of them, though that history always felt so unimportant. Often, it was nothing more than tragedy.

Looking down, the ship's armored bow was partially visible, its recently inflicted wounds obscenely obvious. Lights flickered in some of the gaping holes, torches sparking as crew members worked to repair the outer hull. A few Warhawks had been launched to lend their spotlights and haul new armor plates into place. The damage was all repairable, merely a few new scars and craters to add to the old ship's collection.

Still, it hurt. Damage was a type of pain she knew to expect. Every repair strengthened her, but her shoulders slumped, her machine aching with errors and exhaustion.

"Are you okay?"

It took the usual few hundred processes to realize that question had been addressed to her, so she focused again on the place she'd anchored her presence, expecting to find the Admiral, as he was often the only one that addressed her. But while this face reminded her of him, it had a sprinkling of freckles, and lighter, brown hair. Its owner was also over a foot too short. Harrison.

What was he doing here?

A dull memory answered her, unimportant to her mechanical existence until this very moment. He and Anabelle had been running all over the ship, playing tag, despite the damage. They'd found her, standing like a statue in front of the windows, during their game.