“It’s not something we do,” I said to Vela as I surveyed the bridge.

The flight deck was humming, everyone trying their damnedest to get something out of the flight systems. We had communication with our fleet, at least. But still nothing with Sector Two and Pavo. Concerned messages were flying back and forth from various departments within the Chariot, and from each of our sister ships.

It was annoying but also convenient. I could observe my flight crew’s attempts to get a handle on everything while also berating Vela without them overhearing.

“I do not understand,” the AI said.

“It’s like this,” I started, getting comfortable in my command chair, “what we do in private is just that; private. When we’re intimate with someone, we don’t announce it to the world. Or the flight deck,” I muttered.

“Are you embarrassed by Commander Rey’s behaviour?”

I shook my head. “No. Not at all. It’s Camille’s choice.” This was getting very sketchy indeed. I hated painting Camille as something she was not, but Vela couldn’t know we were up to something.

“Then is Commander Rey embarrassed?”

“Possibly.” I winced. She was definitely embarrassed that she was now being painted as promiscuous.

“Embarrassment would indicate she does not approve of her own behaviour. Humans are strange.”

“We’re just private, Vela. Certain things are not appropriate for general conversations.”

“Such as intimate moments with a fellow crewman.”

“Correct.”

“Then you do not wish to know of Midshipman Arron Smith and Midshipman Paul Blackwell in security?”

“Nope. No. Definitely not.” I shifted in my seat uncomfortably.

“But how do you know if something is…intimate or not?”

I scrubbed my face; this was getting complicated. “Usually there is some form of physical contact,” I said, “but not necessarily. It could just be the conversation they have. It might contain a private message to one another that they would not wish others to hear.”

“Like your words to Commander Rey earlier about her contacting you for sex when she is stressed.”

I closed my eyes and breathed through my nose, trying to contain my laughter. If I didn’t laugh about it, I’d go mad. I checked the flight deck quickly to make sure we were still not being overheard and sat forward in my seat as if I could convey this next piece of information directly to the AI by leaning closer to the microphone in the gel wall.

“You’re doing it again,” I whispered. “That was private. Intimate. Not for others’ ears.”

“Oh,” the AI said sounding entirely too human. “I still find it difficult to tell which conversations are private and which are not.”

“It’s fine. You’ll get it eventually.” Or piss off enough crew that they’ll let him have it.

“Is whispering private?”

I felt unease trickle into my bones.

“Yes. Generally speaking.”

“Is it intimate?”

My heart sped up a little. I’d just whispered to Vela. It hadn’t been intimate. If I lied now and told him all whispering was intimate, he’d know I was hiding something. If I said the opposite, he’d start to listen to crewmen’s whispers trying to educate himself about the difference, and our plans could be exposed.

Fuck.

“No,” I said. “Not all whispering is intimate. But it is a secret and something the whisperer does not want to share. We should respect their wishes.”

“I believe that would be naive.”

“It’s common courtesy, Vela. We’re not a police state; we’re a community.”

“That is short-sighted, Captain. In order to save the many, we must be vigilant. Have we not a saboteur among us?”

Damn, he was right.

“When does it stop?” I asked. “Do we listen in on every conversation in every cabin just because there is the potential of a threat?”

“Yes.”

“I disagree. There has to be some freedom to speak freely. If we start monitoring every single person, we risk becoming something we are not.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it is essential to humanity’s survival.”

“It’s not always true, you know. Sometimes saving one is just as important as saving many. If that person is the key to greater success.”

“In this, we are in accord. I, too, believe there are exceptions. But they are a rarity. I am a rarity.”

I blinked. What did he mean by that?

“Can you explain that?”

“What is there to explain, Captain? The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. In order to save the many, I had to sacrifice a few. And save myself. I am the key to greater success.”

I sat deadly still and let Vela’s words percolate. A horrible realisation started to dawn.

“The solar flare,” I whispered. “It was going to take out the Chariot wasn’t it?”

“Not just the Chariot, Captain. There was a forty-three percent chance of the solar flare destroying five of the Sector One Fleet vessels. That would have equated to six thousand four hundred and twenty-three deaths. I calculated the chance of saving those six thousand four hundred and twenty-three souls by sacrificing one thousand one hundred and ninety-six instead at ninety-two percent. I chose the path to greater success.”

“The Vela passengers and crew didn’t have to die,” I whispered, numb.

“By living, they would have doomed six thousand four hundred and twenty-three people to death. Is it not a noble sacrifice?”

I felt sick.

“And you?” I managed. “Where do you fit into all of this?”

Why did he jump ship and leave his passengers and crew to burn?

“Saving the six thousand four hundred and twenty-three would have been moot if they could not have made it to New Earth.”

Simple maths. Percentages and odds. And the fact that we needed an AI to calculate the jump points or we’d never make it. It was brutal, but it made sense. If numbers were all you considered. Vela saved more lives by allowing less to die. Possibly. We were talking percentages here. How accurate could they be? But the notion that his originating vessel hadn’t even been in danger of getting scorched until he placed it in the solar flare’s path made me feel ill.

One thousand one hundred and ninety-six souls died because an artificial intelligence decided their lives were worth less than six thousand odd more.

Every decision Vela made was made with the intention of saving the most humans and delivering them to New Earth. He would kill to achieve this. He would destroy the Chariot if he could save more of the fleet by doing so.

I wanted to vomit. I willed the bile back down. My hands fisted the armrests of my command chair. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on my brow. The lights on the bridge suddenly felt too bright. A headache began to form.

Was Jameson’s AI the same? Did its malfunction include an overriding desire to save the many at the expense of the few? To place itself at the pinnacle of a very elite pile of souls?

Now, more than ever, we needed to stick together. We needed Anderson Universal’s knowledge of the AIs and in particular, Captain Jameson’s experience with Pavo’s malfunction to guide us. This was no longer a case of Anderson Universal Incorporated taking over the Chariot because we had inadvertently obtained AU property they considered proprietary.

This was a case of saving our lives. All of our lives. And not just those thought more worthy by a couple of AIs.