Sneak Peek into Crimson Tide: Mind Weapon Evidentiary Hearing

Hi folks! I wanted this week's entry to be a sneak peek into Crimson Tide, although I've also been percolating on a blog post trying to figure out what "cozy Omegaverse" is. I might do both! Stuck at home not feeling great, with a sick kiddo, and I like the idea of having both blog posts about genre/platforms/publishing and sneak peeks in a single week. I might do Teaser Tuesdays and What's Up Wednesdays or something. Let me know what seems like a good spread in the comments, and of course, enjoy this sneak peek!

~*~ “Please state your name for the record.”

The little middle-aged woman in the witness box adjusted, docking her workpad, which the court had allowed her to keep for notes. They must have disconnected its network functionality. She had a professional short sweep of blue-black hair, dark as midnight, with eyes to match, and generous lips glossed with protective balm against the dry air of the courtroom. Like many of her Science Directorate ilk, she wore a pantsuit with fashionable hakama-style pants, all in emerald green.

“My name is Dr. Evangel Tan. I’m founder-director of the Tan-Oneiro Center for Hyperonic Radiation Therapies at Indoc 3, and an expert in the effects of hyperspace energy on the humanoid brain. I also designed the safety guidelines for the hyperonic mind weapon currently installed on the ERS Gondul.”

The judge nearest the witness box, who always looked the youngest to Kana’s eyes, nodded into her notes, then looked at the prosecution table.

“Witness to you, Republic.”

The DA rested her left hand on a deputy’s shoulder, and the lanky younger professional stood with an eager bounce. Kana buried a smile. Great. The puppy.

“Thank you for joining us, Dr. Tan. We know you have an extremely busy schedule.” The ADA spoke a little loudly and eagerly, but Dr. Tan hardly reacted. “Have you examined the Gondul and its directed hyperonic energy weapon recently, to make sure it’s still operating within the same parameters for which you designed its safety guidelines?”

Dr. Tan seemed perfectly ready for his question. “Yes, I inspected the Gondul first hand. I’ve also read the raw scan data and reports delivered by the ERS Gryphon, who fired the weapon near Eris, at a safe distance from Earth. It’s operating within the exact same parameters, and there’s no evidence of tampering or scientific modifications to the system, nor issues from accrued damage.”

The ADA paced, finding his stride with a booming, confident tone. “Can you explain for the court how the weapon works?”

“Yes.” Dr. Tan adjusted herself to face the tribunal and the jury of experts behind them. “At the core of the device is a lattice of hyperonic field generators which resonate with the lowest-energy band of hyperspace. When the lattice is sufficiently powered by the ship’s intermix reactor, it pulls hyperonic radiation into real space from the hyperspace medium. A matrix of copper-lead alloy dampeners shape, direct, and amplify the field, the way a magnifying glass does to sunlight. When directed at a ship operated by a species with bio-neural sapience, this concentrated pulse of hyperonic radiation is capable of causing confusion, panic, fainting spells, hallucinations, and pain, which can cripple an alien vessel.”

The ADA straightened, clasping his hands behind his back and seeming to stretch slightly, revealing a tiny smile. Kana had the feeling that he was enjoying himself, and it annoyed her. Not only was Zak on trial for his life and career here, but so were his crew, and the matters at hand were extremely serious: huge numbers of dead civilians, accusations of genocide made during the Cygnus Accords, a mind weapon with dubious safety dramatically affecting the decision-making power of a capital ship’s crew. This was no smiling matter, not a time for play or theater.

“Can you explain how those dampeners work, Dr. Tan? What are their limitations?”

Dr. Tan’s eyes flashed toward the present members of the Gondul crew—those in the defendant rows and in the audience, with the key witnesses of course stuck in sequestration.

“Molybdochalkos alloy is considered to be among the best materials for dampening and directing hyperonic radiation. The lead remains comparatively inert, and the copper layer provides an amplification effect, but it does have a notable side effect. The copper atoms grow excited and resonate with the hyperonic field, absorbing the radiation and adding particles to the effect as they seek to return to a lower energy state. After the weapon has been switched off, the copper layer remains in this state for up to an hour, and during that time, it continues to exude hyperonic and real-space radiation. In the weapon’s switch-off state, the matrix directs these copper plates away from the vessel to protect the crew while the copper returns to an inert phase. If it’s switched back on during that time, however, the plates may become overexcited and direct overflow at the crew of the Gondul.”

The ADA smiled wider. “And was there evidence that this happened, Doctor?”

Dr. Tan’s eyes fell on Zak specifically. “Med Techs on the Hydra were prescient enough to take brain scans when they boarded the Gondul on the day of the Crimson Tide event. The Gryphon’s team then performed detailed scans, looking for brain damage and the presence of hyperonic radiation. All of the Gondul’s crew showed evidence of exposure—some more than others. These differences in exposure were directly correlated to their physical positions on the ship and the length of time individuals had spent serving on the Gondul.”

“And did the Gondul command staff know that there was danger involved if they switched on the mind weapon within an hour of its last use?”

Dr. Tan’s gaze lingered on Zak. Then she looked at the ADA. “Undoubtedly they knew the first time they made that mistake, in addition to that safety guideline being included in their training and the ship’s documentation. All the evidence shows me that they did it more than once.”

Kana got the impression that the ADA’s brain worked extremely hard as he paced. “And what evidence would that be?”

Dr. Tan fiddled with a ring on her right hand. The large flat fronting made Kana think it might be a Science Directorate membership ring, its creamy platinum gleaming in the morning sunlight.

“Most members of the crew, especially those who have been deployed to the Gondul for the entirety of the Z Conflict, show advanced signs of prolonged hyperonic radiation exposure and chronic hyperspace sickness. Several of them have damage to their brains that will take months or years to repair with intensive therapy at Indoc, if it can be healed by Republic technology at all.”

Zak let out a hissing, low, angry breath between his teeth, hands clasped in front of his mouth with his elbows on the defense table. The ADA shot him a sharp look.

“Have you examined Lieutenant-Commander Vantage for signs of said damage? What do his records show on this matter?”

Zak’s shoulders rose and stiffened at the mention of his medical records. Even if brain damage might serve to help exonerate him, it could cost him his career in the Star Navy. It could also greatly damage his chances at any future career, especially if he was deemed culpable for using the mind weapon outside its advised safety parameters. Science Directorate were prone to call that self-destructive and purposeful, like the demands of battle gave him the time or the space for such considerations.

Dr. Tan seemed to glance Zak’s way quickly, hands clasped in discomfort, and Kana got the impression that discussing a man’s medical records in open court, especially those of an officer, made her uncomfortable. Bully for that, at least.

“I’ve seen his file, and I helped perform an analysis on the brain scans submitted by the ERSN Medical Corps and the ERS Gryphon’s Medical Examiner. Just making a cursory comparison of his before and after scans and looking at his psych eval, I can tell you there are obvious deficits and structural changes. Like many of the crew, he’s reported bouts of amnesia during the mind weapon’s use during different battles, as well as prolonged hallucinatory states. He continues to struggle with extreme fatigue, even weeks after his last exposure.”

The DA nodded. “Is fatigue a common symptom of prolonged hyperonic radiation exposure?”

Dr. Tan scoffed, maybe despite herself, and closed her eyes for a couple seconds. “I would say it’s one of the hallmark symptoms. It’s a telltale sign of the mind attempting to shut down and heal itself. This is essentially a traumatic brain injury we’re talking about, and it manifests in many of the same ways: confusion, depression, fatigue, headaches, memory issues, visual or auditory artifacts or disruptions, emotional problems, disorders of consciousness. I will remind the court that a member of his crew tried to commit suicide just days ago—”

Zak brought his fist down on the table, making the water jug jump—and half the courtroom.

“Control yourself, Lieutenant-Commander!” the judge chastised, eyes sharp and bright blue.

Zak had already covered half his face with the other hand. It was shaking, and Kana knew then that he either hadn’t meant to be so loud, or hadn’t meant to pound the table at all. Her scholar and gentleman, who’d always practiced masterful command over his native and gentle self, had lost control.

“Sorry—I’m sorry, Your Honors. I didn’t mean to be disruptive.”

Kana reached forward from the front row and caressed his back in wide circles, using the flat of her palm.

The DA fixed Zak with a hard look as well. “Expert witness to the Defense.”

The DM-JAG poured Zak a glass of water, then stood with great energy, docking his workpad and not taking it with him. He had a tendency to memorize his questions and pivot mid-stream when he needed to, tracking myriad stream of information admirably in his head. Allowing the courtroom to reset some, he paced in front of the witness stand while the judge made a short note with her stylus.

“So the Gondul crew shows signs of brain damage from prolonged exposure to this weapon, used, as you say, outside safety parameters. Is it your contention, Dr. Tan, that this weapon can be operated safely? In your expert opinion?”

Dr. Tan frowned a little, cocking her head to the left. “What do you mean? Within the given operational parameters and rules?”

“Yes. Are those rules sufficient to keep the crew safe from the weapon’s effects entirely?”

Dr. Tan’s frown deepened; locking her eyes on the seam between the back wall and the ceiling, she appeared to give the matter great thought.

“The movements of the dampeners during operation are intended for amplification and aiming; there are no safety parameters in place during operation to keep hyperonic radiation directed entirely away from the ship. Star Navy vessels are constructed to block real-space radiation, but as hyperspace travel and the mind weapon’s overload both reveal, adamantine sheeting cannot effectively block hyperonic radiation; that’s why we use warp shields.”

The DM-JAG nodded deeply. “Yes, absolutely. For the laymen in the room, do you mind outlining the problem with the warp shield in this situation?”

Dr. Tan also nodded, pursing her lips tightly. “Well, that’s simple. The mind weapon’s dampeners are located on the hull of the ship, inside the warp shield bubble. That positioning renders the warp shield useless to protect the crew.”

The DM-JAG smiled. “So it’s possible that, during standard use of said mind weapon, hyperonic radiation could be leaking into the ship, regardless of the crew’s adherence to your safety guidelines?”

Dr. Tan’s frown darkened. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my safety guidelines were on trial here. I’d like to remind the DMJ that I did not design the weapon in question, and that I filed an objection with the Weapons Design Division at Star Navy Command before the Gondul’s launch, because there were unknown factors that made designing safety guidelines difficult to impossible. Moreover, I should add that COs in the Star Navy, like the defendant, are known for blowing past safety guidelines on their weapons systems during battle… as every pulse cannon expert in the Republic will tell you.”

The JAG allowed Dr. Tan to rant without interruption, smiling to himself. “Regardless, you designed the safety guidelines and provided your certification. Did you not?”

Dr. Tan tipped her head down, looking at him levelly. “Yes. So long as they were followed.”

This made the JAG grin. “Therefore, it’s your expert contention, in accordance with the safety certification you provided for the ERS Gondul’s special systems, that so long as your safety guidelines were followed, the hyperonic radiation levels from the mind weapon remained at ‘safe levels’?”

Dr. Tan crossed her arms, perhaps conscious now of being on trial. “I don’t remember using those terms. ERSN crews experience hyperonic radiation exposure from a number of sources: machine shop parts, hyperspace travel, science experiments, battle with hyperonic fauna, et cetera. And I do mean ‘et cetera’. This is why Hyperlibriax is standard and plentiful on all vessels.”

Still grinning, the DM-JAG grabbed his workpad as he passed it. “And yet, when asked by the Safety Commission if a prophylactic dose of Hyperlibriax would be advisable before use of the mind weapon, you said that it ‘wasn’t necessary’, and that the practice ‘might prove more dangerous than the mind weapon itself’.”

Dr. Tan exhaled in deep frustration, and Kana almost felt for her, knowing the answer. “Hyperlibriax is never recommended for prophylaxis. Crewmembers can develop resistance or intolerance with overexposure. It’s a former Maxicorp drug, and the ERSN has historically had little control over its safety and manufacture. The nausea it can cause is potentially debilitating. During space combat, when this mind weapon would naturally be in use, we always advise that crewmembers only take Hyperlibriax if the side effects are judged to be preferable to any current case of hyperonic radiation poisoning.”

“Hmm.” The DM-JAG looked something up on his workpad, almost performatively. “You won the Munich Science Center Award for Excellence in Research for a study you published last year, in April of 2155. What was the name of that article, Dr. Tan?”

Dr. Tan propped her head against one hand, looking annoyed and bored. “It’s long. You obviously have it up on your screen; why don’t you tell everybody?”

This made the JAG grin widely, and he bowed to her like an old gallant. “Oh, my. Thank you so much.” He looked at his workpad. “The article is named, ‘Long-term Hyperonic Radiation Exposure and the Human Brain: Why Hyperlibriax and Modern Therapies Aren’t Enough, and Why New Approaches to Therapy Are Required’. Fascinating article. I enjoyed every moment of it, particularly the little bit about the Star Navy’s ‘blasé attitude toward long-term radiation exposure’. And yet you neglected to update your safety guidelines or recommendations in your yearly review of the Gondul’s mind weapon.”

The judge spoke up. “DMJ, is there a question somewhere in your speech, or am I getting hard of hearing?”

The DM-JAG waved a hand. “My apologies. Why, Dr. Tan, did you not update your guidelines and recommendations to the Star Navy when you had the chance?”

Dr. Tan opened her hands helplessly. “I had already registered a similar objection, as I’ve noted, and it went nowhere. We’ve known there were risks to long-term, consistent, high levels of hyperonic radiation for a very long time, since the Daimajin crew underwent the Oneiro Study in the ‘30s. Telling the Star Navy what they already know, over and over, isn’t particularly useful.”

“But you had a new paper at hand to show them, didn’t you? You’d studied a raft of engineers who worked near hyperonic inductors for years in the course of that study. You were working on new therapies, using that group of subjects.” The JAG looked at his workpad again. “Maybe your neglect has something to do with the new study proposal you had made to the Star Navy in March of last year? You were asking for access to the Gondul crew for a more extensive long-term hyperonic radiation exposure study, to begin in Fall of 2156—so later this year, if it got approved. That would be something, wouldn’t it? Arguably, no crew in history has experienced so much hyperonic radiation exposure. Maybe you thought updating those safety guidelines might jeopardize your study?”

Dr. Tan’s arms tightened over her chest, and her face had frozen in a cold, deadly glare. “Just what are you accusing me of?”

“Per your own request, you noted that the minimum threshold for ‘long-term’ exposure is three years. Given that the Gondul’s first permanent, non-cycling crews deployed 2153, you would need it to be flying for a minimum of three years, with the same dangerous hyperonic radiation exposures and the same crew, until at least mid-2156, in order to conduct your study. If there were new guidelines in place midway through, that would affect your research parameters and muddy your data. Isn’t that right?”

Dr. Tan simply blinked twice, saying nothing. The DA spoke up. “Objection. Asked and answered.”

“Overruled,” the judge said, eyes flashing. “I didn’t hear an answer at all.”

The DA didn’t let up. “Alright. DMJ is being belligerent.”

The judge smiled primly, amusing herself. “That’s his job. Proceed, DMJ.”

“Thank you, your honor,” the JAG said graciously, with something of a grandiose flourish. Kana could see why he’d been assigned to this job. “Dr. Tan, a deeper question, if you’ll indulge me. In your original objection to the mind weapon, you wrote that, ‘Munich Science Center, Science Directorate, civilian government regulatory bodies, and the Indoc Centers work in partnership with the Star Navy to assure the safety of its soldiers and civilians. It is incumbent on the Star Navy, therefore, to listen to the concerns of these bodies and respond accordingly’. And yet, when you had a chance to follow up your concern by informing the Star Navy of your concrete studies, therapies, and giving them new guidelines, you declined, in favor of maintaining your access to long-term subjects of hyperonic radiation.”

Dr. Tan objected. “That’s not what I did, and that’s not how that happened. I—”

The DM-JAG interrupted in a honeyed voice. “Let me finish my question. So, which do you think it really is, Dr. Tan? Are the Science Directorate and Star Navy really partners here? Or is the Star Navy simply a source of guinea pigs and test subjects for Terran scientists like yourself to study? Did you want to protect Lieutenant-Commander Vantage and his crew, or were you hoping to use them to gain access to highly sought-after evidence for a study that could rival that performed by Dr. Oneiro two decades ago? Perhaps to earn more resources for the Tan-Oneiro wing at Indoc 3? Maybe more prestigious awards with Munich Science Center? Which is it?”

“Objection.” This was the DA, in a loud, painfully self-possessed voice, pronouncing each syllable with great intent.

The head judge, in the midst of writing an extensive note, spoke to Dr. Tan. “I’d appreciate it if you took a stab at answering the question, even though I agree that it’s argumentative.”

Dr. Tan bobbed her head from side to side equivocally. “I believe what I wrote in my objection. When I registered my desire for a new study and requested access, I did it because, given what I was seeing in my last study and given we were in preprint, I thought I could help the crew of the Gondul. I also had every reason to believe that the Star Navy would ignore any update I attempted to make to my safety guidelines. I had initially believed the Gondul would go out of service after we ceased fighting the Praezorians; when it continued to fly and received a permanent crew, I knew the navy had decided it was worthwhile to sacrifice crewmembers and officers to the weapon’s effects. So I pivoted to developing therapies, instead of endlessly protesting to make the weapon ‘safe’.”

The DM-JAG stopped, hands clasped behind his back, standing in officer resting position with his legs splayed slightly and his knees unlocked. Ready for ship turbulence.

“So you admit the weapon was not safe. Despite the fact that you certified the weapon could be used within acceptable parameters of hyperonic radiation exposure if never used more than once an hour.”

The DA stood abruptly, making her chair legs rumble loudly over the floor slightly. “Your Honors, I request a recess.”

The head judge put her stylus down and grabbed her gavel. “An excellent idea. I’d like to speak with counsel in my chambers. We’ll recess until the conclusion of lunch.”