Resist the Red Battlenaut

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  "Are you kidding?" The pilot swung his legs off the bed and sat up, grinning. "I'm on a CORE ship with a secret Diamondback task force! Could it get any cooler than this?"

  Scott kept his poker face in place as he tapped the tablet, making a note. Aware of CORE and Diamondbacks. "You're from Tack, aren't you?" He looked up from the tablet. "Goyo, maybe? Or Syssop?" Now that he could hear the pilot's voice without electronic distortion, he recognized his accent.

  "Spoken like a true Tackie," said the pilot. "I know exactly where you're from. Tisserie, near Vast."

  Scott was surprised but tried not to show it. The pilot had done a little too well pinpointing his native region...not that he was about to admit it. "So, what should I call you?"

  "Chrysanthemonium aspergillus," said the pilot. "Either that, or no-name gobbledygook flippersnapper."

  "Cut me some slack," said Scott. "You already know my name. Why not tell me yours, and we'll call it even."

  The pilot lowered his head and gave Scott a sinister, leering look. "Guess."

  Scott sighed. "Come on. At least tell me your first name."

  "Guess." The pilot's voice was a hiss.

  "Forget it," said Scott. "I'll just call you flux-face or something."

  "I'll give you a clue." The pilot leaned forward and slowly raised an index finger to point at Scott. "You already know what it is."

  Scott shook his head. He wasn't going to play games with the pilot. "So why did you ask to see me? What's on your mind?"

  "You, actually." The pilot slid back, drew up one knee, and leaned against the wall. "I can't stop thinking about you."

  Scott winced. "Like you've got a crush on me or something?"

  The pilot tipped his head back and gazed at Scott through narrowed eyes. "It's just interesting how things work out sometimes. Who could have imagined we'd be brought together like this?"

  "Not me." Scott rubbed his chin, wondering how he might get information out of the guy. The pilot was so alert and cagey, he felt like a dead end...but maybe Scott could exploit the weird personal interest he seemed to have. "I guess it was meant to be."

  "Destiny?" The pilot smirked. "I'll buy that."

  "Maybe it happened for a reason," said Scott. "Maybe we're meant to help each other."

  "Hm." The pilot looked up at the ceiling. "Wouldn't that be something?" He didn't sound very sincere. "Helping each other bring peace to the galaxy?" He snickered.

  "I'm just saying." Scott clasped his hands behind his head and tipped his antigrav chair back. "Anything's possible, isn't it?"

  "You're right about that," said the pilot. "You don't know how right you are."

  "So." Scott cleared his throat. "Where do we start?"

  The pilot leaned forward and stared at him, then got to his feet. "That's easy." He crossed the room, approaching Scott.

  Instantly, Scott's heart beat harder. Every muscle in his body tensed, getting ready to spring into action.

  But the pilot stopped short of him by half a meter. "We start with you," he said, his icy gaze locking with Scott's. "We start with you guessing my name."

  Scott unclasped his hands and lowered them from behind his head. "Why bother? Even if I guessed it correctly, you wouldn't tell me."

  "I won't have to tell you," said the pilot. "You'll know." Blue eyes glittering, he leaned toward Scott and lowered his voice. "I told you before, you already know."

  "And I told you, I don't know." Scott's guard was up, his mind racing with hand-to-hand combat scenarios. The pilot didn't stand a chance against him. "So let's talk about something that matters."

  "My name matters." The pilot leaned closer. "Our past matters."

  Scott frowned, taking his closest look yet at the pilot's face--still seeing no trace of familiarity. "We don't have a past. And I don't appreciate you wasting my time like this."

  "We do have a past." The pilot sneered and nodded. "We have met before, and I know you remember."

  "Then you're wrong," said Scott, "because I don't."

  "There's no way you could forget," said the pilot. "No way in hell." He held Scott's gaze another moment, then slowly withdrew and went back to his cot. "Think about it. Search your mind. I guarantee the memories are in there."

  "Right." Scott thought for a moment, hunting for an angle. "So if I remember meeting you, we can talk about the people you're working for?"

  "If you remember how we met," said the pilot, "the people I work for will be the last thing you'll want to talk about."

  "So let's talk about them now," said Scott.

  The pilot shook his head and lay down on the cot. "I'm done talking for now. I need you to leave, Sol."

  Scott's eyes widened. How did the pilot know his first name? He was sure no one had said it over the comm.

  "Don't you know the meaning of the words 'get out?'" snapped the pilot.

  Scott got up from the chair and started for the door. Was it possible? Had he met the Red pilot somewhere before?

  "And Scott?" said the pilot. "If you're lying about remembering me to protect your reputation, you'll get nothing out of me."

  Scott looked back over his shoulder at him but didn't reply.

  "Believe it." The pilot rolled over to face the wall. "I won't let you screw me again, Scott. Not like before."

  Scott scowled and kept walking. He'd had enough of the pilot's shtick.

  "This time, I'm doing the screwing," said the pilot. "And you're the one paying the price!"

  *****

  Chapter 22

  "Hey! Watch it!" said Trane. "You almost knocked over the hydrochloric acid!"

  "Sorry." Scott snapped his attention back to the chemicals and equipment in the lab around him. He knew he needed to focus one hundred percent on the task at hand, testing pieces of the Red Battlenauts retrieved from the surface of Shard.

  But he also knew it wouldn't be long until his attention wandered again. The fact was, he couldn't stop thinking about the Red pilot.

  Since their meeting in the brig a day ago, Scott had become obsessed. He kept playing back his memories of what the guy had said and how he'd looked, hunting for some clue that would remind him of where and how they'd met before.

  If, indeed, he did have memories of a past meeting, and the pilot wasn't just making it up to get inside his head.

  "You're distracted as hell," said Trane. "Tell me again why you need to be here?"

  "Because I'm the only one who can see all the pieces of the Reds' armor and extract samples," said Scott. "You can't run your tests without me."

  Trane sighed. "I keep hoping the answer will change." He reached for a purple-stained slide and placed it under the lens of the electron microscope. "Since you're here anyway, take a look at this." He stepped aside and gestured for Scott to take over.

  Scott stepped in and looked into the viewer on the device. He saw the same thing he'd seen in every other magnified sample so far: tiny crystalline shapes arranged in a spider-web pattern around a central diamond-like particle.

  "Same result, right?" said Trane.

  "Yes." Scott turned knobs on the microscope, sharpening the focus. "Another viral web in the exact same pattern."

  "Which confirms it." Trane clapped his hands together. "All three Red Battlenauts and the rubble from the building were coated with identical viral particles arranged in identical matrices at the microscopic level."

  Scott looked up from the device. "And that coating might be what's creating the stealth capability?"

  Trane scowled and shook his head. "There's no trace of it in the samples from the prisoner. Unless there's a different process at work when it comes to cloaking a living organism."

  "Hm." Scott rubbed his chin. "And it's definitely not something the Reds picked up on Shard. You said it's not native to the planet."

  "Not a chance," said Trane. "The genetic structure of the virus shares no markers with any known Shard lifeforms. Plus which, none of our armor came back with a trace of the stuff on it. It's not from
around here." Hands on hips, he walked off across the lab, frowning in thought.

  Instantly, Scott's mind returned to the pilot. Maybe he was starting to seem a little familiar after all--or was that just because Scott kept thinking about him?

  The only thing Scott knew they had in common for sure was their homeworld, Tack. That did make it more possible that their lives had intersected. Could they have gone to school together or met at a summer camp? Maybe they'd gone to the same church...or, more likely, crossed paths at boot camp or the Academy. Scott certainly couldn't remember everyone he'd ever met back home or in the military.

  Why, then, did the pilot claim to remember him so well? And not in a good way? Had Scott burned him at some point and moved on, not realizing the guy would come back to bite him in the ass someday? It was possible, wasn't it? Scott thought of himself as a good guy, but he'd never claimed to be perfect.

  So who was that pilot?

  Scott's thoughts returned to the business at hand as Trane strolled back over, scrubbing his knuckles through his bright white crewcut. "So far, the virus hasn't exhibited any cloaking-related properties. That raises the question of what it can do." He stopped at the microscope and took another look at the slide mounted there. "Or maybe that's not important. Maybe that's beside the point."

  "How so?" said Scott. "Isn't cracking the virus' capabilities our top priority, if it might be connected to the stealth technology?"

  "But our other priority is finding the Reds." Trane looked up from the microscope. "Perhaps we can trace the virus' genetic structure to a biosphere on record."

  Scott nodded. "Good plan."

  "We'll start now." Trane tapped the countertop, summoning holographic controls to float in midair in front of him. "While we keep testing the virus' capabilities and tolerances, of course. Moving forward on parallel tracks is the way to go, don't you agree?"

  "Absolutely." Even as he said it, Scott was drifting off on his own personal parallel track again, ransacking his mind for the umpteenth time for some clue to the pilot's identity. Just like every other time, he was coming up empty.

  "I'm bringing in Abby, Khalil, and Feinberg," said Trane as he manipulated the glowing holo-controls. "With that much brainpower at work, I guarantee we'll solve this mystery."

  Maybe teamwork would be the answer to Scott's mystery, too. Other people were working on it already; maybe one of them would come up with something before it finally drove him crazy.

  All he needed was a hint. Just a nudge, and the tumblers would fall into place, the vault would unlock, and he would remember.

  Maybe then he could get some real answers, the kind that would help the Diamondbacks stop the Reds before it was too late.

  *****

  "As far as we can tell, the man in the brig does not exist." Captain Rexis spread her arms and shook her head. "He's a nobody in every sense of the word."

  A wave of disappointment rolled through Scott. As he stood there stiffly in Rexis' office and took in the verdict, his spirit fell like an anchor tossed overboard from a seagoing vessel, heading straight for the bottom.

  "We've run searches based on what you've told us about him." Rexis swung her arms in and plopped them on the desk in front of her. She looked more angry than disappointed. "And we've come up empty."

  Scott scowled. He hadn't given them much to work with, but he'd hoped something would turn up.

  "Based on your description, we came up with a computer-generated image of the pilot." She picked up an 8" by 10" printed photo from her desk and handed it over to Scott. "We circulated that to all military and law enforcement sources...but no one could I.D. him."

  Scott nodded as he gazed at the image. "This is a good likeness of him. I can't believe it wouldn't generate any leads...especially since we know he's from Tack, a Commonwealth world. There must be some kind of evidence in the Commonwealth records."

  "Not that we can find." Rexis leaned back in her chair. "He's a ghost."

  "Damn." Scott glared at the computer rendering of the prisoner. What was it about that guy? "Is there anywhere else you can look?"

  "Believe me, we've tapped every resource at our disposal." Rexis shook her head. "It's critical that we I.D. this Red. But it's like he never existed. Either that, or..." She turned her head and stared into space, looking deep in thought.

  "Either that or what?"

  Rexis returned her gaze to him. "Either that, or he's being protected."

  Scott frowned and took a seat, dropping onto the antigrav chair floating in front of the desk. "You think so?"

  "Actually, it's the only explanation that makes sense to me." Rexis folded her arms over her chest. "It explains a lot of other things, too."

  She was right. The more Scott thought about it, the more he agreed with her. Protection and guidance from inside the Commonwealth would have greatly enabled the Reds' secrecy, access to information, and freedom of movement through Commonwealth space.

  "You think someone in the Commonwealth is backing the Reds?" said Scott.

  Rexis propped her elbows on the armrests of her chair and steepled her fingers in front of her face. "If they are, they'd have to be in the upper echelons to pull off what they've done. And..." She raised her eyebrows. "...they'd be willing to do anything to protect their secrets."

  Her meaning wasn't lost on Scott. "So we might be up against our own people," he said.

  "It's possible." Rexis unsteepled her fingers and used them to rub her temples. "In which case, we've already tipped them off, and the ice we're on is getting thinner by the minute."

  "Wow." The implications were pretty ugly. They would transform the mission from a risky hunt for a secret force upsetting the balance of power to a paranoid struggle in which no one could truly be trusted.

  "Enough to give you a migraine, isn't it?" Rexis kept rubbing her temples. "Or keep it permanently cranked up to maximum intensity."

  "So what do we do next?" said Scott.

  "Carry on with the mission, I suppose. Remain aware of the possibilities." Rexis shrugged. "I still think you're our best weapon. The personal interest the Red has in you--I think you can use it to our advantage."

  "I'm not so sure," said Scott. "He won't even tell me when and how we supposedly met."

  "Keep trying," said Rexis. "Maybe it'll come to you."

  Scott took another look at the computer rendering of the pilot, fighting for recognition...but he drew another blank. Whatever secrets might be locked away inside his own mind, he couldn't touch them. "Still nothing."

  "Don't give up." Rexis tapped her lower lip with a forefinger as she stared at him. "You know what else you could try? Ask a family member. Someone you can trust without reservation."

  Was she talking about Grandma Bern? "If you mean Commandant Chalice, I'm not sure she'd remember the pilot any better than I do."

  "I'm more interested in her resources than her memory." Rexis raised an eyebrow. "You might be surprised what the Commandant of the Marine Corps can come up with when she puts her mind to it."

  Scott thought about what she was saying. Getting in touch with Grandma Bern was not a simple matter. He'd spent his adult life making it a point not to play that card--but maybe, given the stakes, it was time. Maybe Bern could turn over rocks that no one else could, especially if Rexis was right about a possible conspiracy in the Commonwealth's hierarchy.

  "I'll see what I can do," said Scott. "But I can't promise anything. The Commandant doesn't always take my calls."

  Rexis tapped the obsidian desktop in front of her, summoning a cluster of holo-controls. "I'll schedule radio time for you on the top-security encrypted channel...as much as you need. Twenty hundred hours tonight sound good?"

  "Sure." Scott got up from his chair. "I'll let you know how it goes. Just don't expect any miracles."

  "Don't worry," said Rexis. "We're working all the angles. Sooner or later, something's got to give."

  *****

  "Commandant Chalice is not able to take your ca
ll at this time," said the holographic projection of the pretty redhead in the Marine uniform. "She will contact you at her earliest convenience, Corporal Scott."

  "Thanks." Scott saluted and closed the comm channel. The redhead--Lori, one of Bern's personal assistants--vanished from the chair across the round black table from Scott, which was where her image had been projected.

  With a sigh, Scott got up and left the comm booth. It hadn't surprised him that Bern wasn't available; as Marine Commandant, she was busy beyond belief. But he'd been looking forward to seeing and talking to her. It had been at least eight months since the last time they'd spoken, and he missed her. He'd had the time set aside, approved by Captain Rexis, and now he'd just have to wait until Bern called back.

  Not that he was going to let that time go to waste. He hadn't seen Donna all day, so now was the perfect opportunity.

  When he got to the medicenter, Doctor Beauchamp was away. A male nurse named Golah Tourmal was in charge until she got back.

  Tourmal ran the stats for Scott, which wasn't exactly an uplifting experience. Donna's vital signs had been irregular throughout the day; she was finally stable, but Beauchamp was worried that she might be losing ground.

  "We'll see how she holds up tonight," said Tourmal. "Maybe having you around for a while will give her the boost she needs."

  As Tourmal walked off to do paperwork, Scott pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. Taking Donna's hand, he caressed it, watching the motion of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled medicenter air.

  "Can you hear me, Donna?" he said softly. "I know you've been through a lot, but you need to get better fast. We need your help." He stopped caressing her hand and held it tightly. "I need your help."

  As always, Donna showed no sign that she had heard him. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell as breath passed through her.

  "The Red prisoner claims to know me, but I don't remember him," said Scott. "I feel like everything's riding on this, and I can't figure it out."