With that, Mason left, leaving Rhodes and Ethan in silence. “Captain,” Ethan acknowledged. Given his bandage-ridden state, it was all he could do.
“I think you owe me a few stories as well, Sergeant,” Rhodes said. His tone was friendly, but tainted with tension. “I don’t think I need to explain to you why you’ve just become the most valuable asset on board this ship.”
Ethan hesitated. “No, sir.”
“I would have debriefed you sooner, but given your… drugged state, I thought it best to give you a few days.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Rhodes paused, then reached a hand out towards Ethan’s left arm. “May I?” he asked.
Ethan obliged, extracting his arm from the blankets and exposing the Naldím device to the captain. Rhodes examined it with professional scrutiny.
“Doctor Turing said it can’t be taken off,” he declared. Ethan felt a jolt in his gut. He looked down at the device. It was not painful or invasive, but the thought of having this permanent reminder of what was the most harrowing experience of his life, made him utterly sick.
“If we weren’t so far from civilization, I’d suggest amputation,” Rhodes continued. “You could still fly with the proper prosthetic. But honestly, I’d rather we didn’t try to get it off.”
Ethan’s gaze jerked up to meet Rhodes’. “Sir?” he asked quietly.
“Like I said, you’re a valuable asset now. Well, more so than before,” he added with a lopsided smile. “You were one of my top pilots. Now, you’re one of my top pilots, and the only one who can fly that Naldím ship you stole.” Rhodes nodded his head in the general direction of the hangar. “Without that device on your wrist, that ship’s useless to us. But put you back in the pilot’s seat – that particular pilot’s seat – and we have a fighting chance.”
Commander Hadings entered the room just as Ethan was about to thank Rhodes for his vote of confidence. Trailing behind the commander was Moira Goodman, and behind her, Corbin Callaghan, the marines’ Lieutenant.
“Commander, Lieutenant Goodman, you know Sergeant Walker. Walker, this is Lieutenant Callaghan,” Rhodes said, quickly working through his introductions. “I thought it best our entire command team is present for debriefing.” Ethan nodded.
“So, Sergeant,” Hadings said, taking a seat next to Rhodes and producing a tablet, “tell us everything.”
Ethan forced his mind back to the day they were hoping to bring down the Naldím mothership. He was allowed to proceed at his own pace, revealing his memories with minimal interruption. He explained his understanding of the Naldím’s motives: their wish for painful death, their hatred for humanity, their mission to exterminate the human infestation. “Their word, not mine,” Ethan added quickly, realizing how much he suddenly sounded like N’muhl’on.
The captain furrowed his brow, concern flashing in his eyes in a way that made Ethan think Rhodes did not trust him, as if he had brought some sympathy for the Naldím’s plight back with him. Rhodes leaned over to Hadings and whispered something. “Psych eval” were the only words Ethan caught.
“Continue, Sergeant,” Rhodes prompted, returning his attention to Ethan. Ethan obliged, continuing on with his narrative to the point of his escape. Moira’s mouth hung agape when he described ripping open his own wound. Even Callaghan looked slightly sick.
Ethan recounted killing his guard, and his inability to snap the Naldím’s neck. He left out his second attempted murder – there was no need for Rhodes to know he could not pull the trigger on Thar’o.
To Ethan’s surprise, every word he spoke seemed to extract a splinter of tension that he didn’t realize was just below the surface. By the end of his story, he felt exhausted, yet relieved. Captain Rhodes was not finished, though.
“This Thar’o character,” he said slowly, “are we going to have a problem with him?”
“No,” Ethan blurted out. It had only just struck him that telling the others anything about Thar’o was probably not the best idea. Any indication that he might have become friends with his captors was grounds for permanent grounding. “He was different,” Ethan explained. “The others hated me. Thar’o just…”
“He was a fluke,” Moira suggested, pulling Ethan out of the hole he had dug for himself.
“What about Nemullan?” Hadings interjected.
“N’muhl’on,” Ethan corrected mildly. “No. He gave me professional courtesy, and that was it until I pissed him off.” He looked toward the captain pleadingly. “I wasn’t friends with any of them. I’m not a traitor!”
Rhodes leaned forward in his chair. “We never said you were, but everything you can tell us is valuable. We knew they were zealots, but if you actually managed to get to know them – even be on friendly terms – that means there’s at least some kind of dissonance between them. Maybe that’s something we can exploit.” Rhodes stood, straightening his shirt. The others followed suit. “I’ll never call you a traitor, Sergeant Walker. We’re in a fight for our lives here. There aren’t any traitors on this ship.”
Ethan sat up, wincing slightly. “What about the fuel leak?” It had been in the back of his mind since his capture. Only now that he had time to worry about it was it taking over his conscious.
Rhodes, about to leave, looked back at Ethan. “What fuel leak?”
“On the fighters,” Ethan pressed. “All three payloads out of commission because of identical problems? It sounds like there is a traitor. Sir.”
The captain glanced at Moira and Callaghan, excusing them. He only spoke when the door had shut. “There are no traitors aboard this ship,” he repeated. “The matter’s been resolved.”
“What was it, then?”
Rhodes ignored the lack of proper conduct. “Improper maintenance,” he said, this time more forcefully.
“But-”
“Sergeant, drop it. That’s an order.” Ethan clamped his jaw shut, clenching his teeth. Rhodes could tell he was not satisfied, and humored him. “Rick Scott himself performed the examination. His exact words, I believe, were ‘we ran out of duct tape.’ Now get some rest.” Rhodes swept out of the room, Hadings close behind.
*
“Hell, no, I didn’t say that,” Rick objected loudly. Ethan glanced around to ensure he hadn’t been overheard, but the hangar was empty except for the two of them and Jess, working further down the line of fighters. “I said we were going to need a crap-ton of duct tape to fix it.”
“Fix what?” Ethan asked impatiently.
Rick motioned for him to follow, leading the way into the Sparrowhawks’ parking bay. “It was a pro job,” he said. “Pro like they managed to sever the fuel line and mess with the mixture valve without setting off any alarms. Whoever did it knew a lot about ships.”
“So it was sabotage.”
“Or someone has a really weird way of getting off.” Rick shrugged. “Jess was on duty when you guys launched, but she didn’t see anything, and neither did Val.”
“Val?”
“She was on duty too.”
“Where were you?”
Rick nodded at the elevator. “I was in the hangar. Something went and blew up, so me and a bunch of guys from Jenge headed down there.”
Suddenly Jess appeared at her brother’s side. “You guys talking about the leak? That’s some messed up scutch.”
Ethan rounded on her. “Messed up how?”
“Well, more like weird,” Jess admitted. “Mainly because it had to happen while I was up here. Otherwise the birds would’ve looked like that…” Jess pointed to a Sparrowhawk straddling a growing puddle of oily black liquid, “…before anyone even arrived. And they looked fine.”
“So the saboteur was in here with you?” Ethan asked. “What about Val?”
“Definitely not. I, uh… had eyes on Val the whole time. Besides, she wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“Yeah, but who would?” Rick said. Ethan looked between them, a kernel of an idea growing in his mind. He had a feeling ex
actly what sort of person might have done it.
The captain was a busy man, but Ethan held enough sway to be granted an audience. Rhodes did not look particularly patient when Ethan stepped into the conference room, causing him to wonder if this confrontation was the best idea. Steadying himself on the grounds that he nearly died because of Rhodes’ so-called accident, Ethan stepped into the room.
“Sergeant Walker,” the captain said, not looking up from the documents he was compiling, “Glad to see you’re out and about.”
“Thank you, sir.” Ethan paused, waiting for Rhodes to prompt him. He did not. Ethan took a deep breath and continued. “Sir,” he started slowly, “is there a Wraith on Dawn?”
Rhodes’ hand stopped halfway between the stack of papers and his coffee mug. His eyes ever so slowly met Ethan’s gaze. “A what?”
“Ford – Corporal Shields – he was telling me that a friend in engineering was picking up phase two hyperwaves coming from the ship. After the attack.” Ethan shifted uncomfortably as Rhodes pierced his soul. The damage was done; he had to continue. “He said the only way that could happen while comms are down would be with Wraith technology.”
Rhodes leaned back in his chair, looking down his nose at Ethan. “Even if that was meaningful evidence, Sergeant, I don’t see how this is your concern. Wraiths don’t usually concern themselves with… normal matters.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “I think the Wraith, if there’s a Wraith onboard, sabotaged the fighters.”
“I thought I told you-”
“I know you told me to drop it. Sir. But I talked to Rick and Jess, and they’re sure it was sabotage.”
Rhodes stood. “Sergeant Walker, are you calling me a liar?”
Ethan stopped dead, averting his gaze and losing his stance. “No, sir,” he said quietly.
“No, you’re not. Now I want this Wraith crap out of your head,” Rhodes ordered, his voice rising minutely. He stood stock-still for a moment, then straightened his shirt and took his seat again. “You’re excused, Sergeant.”
Ethan needed no telling twice. The door slammed behind him.
The Fighter
“Our scans from their attempted attack have yielded a fascinating result.”
“And?”
“And the Human vessels were sabotaged from within. A Human prevented their assault.”
“Perhaps a mercy, given their chances of success. Nevertheless, I am glad to hear it. This only means that the Grip is working exactly as intended. They will squabble amongst themselves for a time, slowly turning mad in anxious anticipation. Then we will strike.
“I can only imagine how glorious it will be to gaze into their manic eyes as we descend upon them. It is truly a privilege to serve in this Hunt.”
“There’s definitely a Wraith here,” Ethan told Omicron over breakfast the next day. Ford looked unsurprised, while Mason’s and Kyle’s expressions were those of exhaustion. Rebecca looked mildly taken aback; evidently Ford had not revealed what he knew to her.
“Not you too,” Mason groaned at Ethan. “You’re on the Ford train to crazy town.”
“You’ve been on a lot of pain meds,” Kyle observed. Ethan waved him off.
“The evidence is pretty damning,” he said.
“Why? What changed?” Mason asked.
Ethan nudged his head upward toward the bridge. “I went to talk to the captain yesterday after what Rick and Jess told me.”
“Which was?” Mason prompted.
“That the fighters were sabotaged.” Ethan plowed through before Mason could interject. “Given what Ford said, I asked him if a Wraith had anything to do with it.”
“Don’t tell me the cap told you there’s a Wraith,” Mason scoffed.
Ethan paused. “Well, no. But I’ve never seen him get so defensive.”
“So he said there isn’t a Wraith onboard.”
“Yeah.”
“Which somehow means there is.”
“Yeah.” Ethan shrank slightly under Mason and Kyle’s raised eyebrows. “Okay, look,” he argued, “you should have seen him. And how do you explain the hyperwaves?”
“He’s got a point,” Ford chimed in.
“Were they phase two waves?” Rebecca asked, suddenly joining the conversation. Ethan nodded. “Phase twos have a similar signature to gamma radiation through a subspace spectrometer – the only type we have since the Naldím destroyed the relay. And the Naldím guns produce a lot of gamma rays.” Almost an afterthought, she added, “It’s an easy mistake to make.”
“Then why are the waves coming from the ship?” Ford demanded.
“The ship has forty-seven hull breaches. There’s a lot of residual radiation leaking out.”
Ethan took a moment to find a new argument. “What about the captain’s response?” he said again, clutching at straws.
“You read him wrong,” Rebecca said calmly. She stood and excused herself from the table. “Focus on the real threat, Ethan,” she said as she left. “Worry about the Naldím.”
Ethan silently surrendered, but his mind was still going at full speed. Although it was far more subtle, Rebecca had reacted in much the same way as the captain: don’t look into it. The message was far too obvious. Something was seriously wrong aboard Voyager Dawn.
*
Ethan had been excused from duty for the next week so he could recuperate, but he did not take to his bed. With Rhodes and Rebecca explicitly dismissing his suspicion, and Mason simply not buying it, his only allies were Ford, Rick, and Jess. Ford, though he enjoyed his conspiracy theories, turned out not to be terribly enthralled by the arduous task tracking down leads, and was becoming less pleasant company as the persistent night took its toll on his psyche.
Rick and Jess were more helpful, offering access to databases and logs when they could, but the perpetual repairs being administered to Voyager Dawn and its aircraft meant they had little time to actually work the case.
Ethan continued to look through security footage, search engineering logs, and scour the database for any potential suspects, unrelenting in his pursuit of the truth. But it was to no avail. The saboteur had covered his tracks well.
Eight days into his campaign, Ethan was called into the hangar by Rick and Jess. He moved with earnest, hoping that they had uncovered something more that would shed light on the fateful events leading to his capture.
Disappointingly, they had something else in mind. Ethan found them scrounging around the exterior of the hijacked Naldím fighter, which was bathed in a pool of artificial light. With no sunlight streaming through the windows anymore, the rest of the hangar was dark. The hueys, unused since the day the ship was plunged into darkness, sat gathering dust.
“No, no, no,” Rick was saying as Ethan approached, unnoticed. “Don’t pull that off until I’ve got this held down!”
“Chill,” Jess assured him, “I got this.”
“Fine. Don’t come crying to me when it blows your face off.”
“I really won’t.” Jess leaned back, levering a panel off the ship’s ventral side. A bolt of electricity lashed out, striking her ear and singeing her spectacular array of earrings.
“I won’t say it,” Rick said mildly as Jess railed off profanities, “but I told you so.” Rick turned when Ethan made his presence known. “Ah, meester Valker,” he slurred, failing at whatever accent he was attempting – Ethan wasn’t entirely sure. “We’ve bean expecting you.”
“Okay,” Ethan answered slowly.
Rick waited a moment for a better response, then continued. “Anyway,” he said, as if nothing happened, “Captain says to get this thing flight-ready.”
“Which is your job,” Ethan interjected. He felt ashamedly bitter toward the Scotts for calling him down here for what appeared to be a waste of time.
“Yeah, okay, it’s our job to make it fly and all that scutch. It’s your job to make it appropriately badass.”
“What does that entail?”
Rick held up an airbr
ush. “A paintjob, for starters. Maybe skulls or flames or something. And then we need the go-ahead on some tune ups. Extra weapon mount here, fewer alien bits there. Just make it better overall.”
“Well, not better,” Jess chimed in, appearing at her brother’s side. “Thing’s pretty much perfect as is. We’re just making it human-friendly.”
“Right,” Rick affirmed. “That’s top priority. Of course, there’s a catch: we can’t open the damn thing.”
“It worked fine for me,” Ethan said.
“Yeah, we wondered about that,” Jess said, nodding, “so we asked the geeks up in Sops. You know that Frank kid who’s always following you around?”
“Yeah,” Ethan said. He felt a slight pang as he realized he had hardly seen or talked to Frank since the initial attack. The poor kid was probably scared out of his mind. Neither he, nor any of the other interns in his class, had forseen entering a warzone when they signed on with Voyager Dawn. Then again, nobody had, including Ethan.
“Frank guessed that the ship has a biometric key that makes sure it’s not hijacked when its somewhere other than home base. The biometrics would reset whenever it docked with the mothership, so a different pilot could use it next. Or something.”
“So I’m the only one who can get in?” Ethan asked.
Jess shrugged. “Pretty much.” She dabbed a wet rag on her burned ear.
Ethan looked at the craft, feeling a strange sensation of pride. The ship was his, and his alone; he had earned it, and now he got to keep it. Having been told since boot camp that his rank and his name were his only possessions, Ethan took a moment to revel in this information.
“Anyway,” Rick said loudly, cutting through the silence that had suddenly fallen over them, “We’ve already rigged up the airbrush with Imperial Ivory and Voyager Dawn Sapphire.”
“You mean white and blue?” Ethan said with a smirk.
“That sounds so boring,” Rick lamented. “In the meantime, there it is. Have fun. I’ve got to make sure Dumbass McGee here doesn’t kill herself on the way to the med bay.”
“Back at you,” Jess said absently, observing her burned ear in the reflection of her comm. The twins started toward the exit, Rick turning on his heel halfway across the deck to shout back at Ethan.
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