by Greg Dragon
His fingers found his temples, massaging gently as he read the words over and over. The man on the video is a corporal named Ozie Arl. He is a Marine from the Inginus, the message had read.
“Why would an Inginus Marine be on my ship when his infiltrator is off on duty?” Retzo mused. His mind began to work. If this is Lang’s doing… but he quickly removed it from his mind.
The surveillance showed a passageway where Adan Viles was walking. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until the scene switched to another angle. This time he was at the fore of the ship, walking towards the ladderwell.
After a minute went by, a Marine caught up to him, and then the door to an elevator slid open. The two men got on the elevator and the door closed after them, and then the video blinked off … finished.
What in the worlds was that? Retzo thought. Where is the footage from the officer’s deck? Were the cameras in the elevators offline? What about the footage of him walking to his compartment?
He touched his comms to try and reach the master-at-arms (MA), but there was no answer on the line. Retzo twisted his lips, “What is going on?” he said. When you got a call from the ship’s captain, you drop everything to take it. Either his MA had fallen into trouble, or something was interfering with their communication.
Annoyed, he leaned over and triggered the video again, this time playing the footage back at a quarter of its speed. There were more details that popped out, the man who joined Viles was speaking to him – no, speaking was an understatement, he was obviously upset and shouting.
Without audio or additional footage, it was hard to determine his intent. Still, something didn’t feel right about this exchange. Adan Viles was a commander, and the crew knew to afford him respect no matter how they felt.
If that angry man was one of the Inginus’s Marines, then he was out of line, Retzo thought. But Adan’s face seemed so calm. “Planets,” he exclaimed and stood up suddenly. Had Adan been aware that he was about to be murdered, or coerced into suicide by this piece of schtill?
The admiral’s words echoed in his head. Don’t you know that we are compromised on every level in this Alliance? Retzo reached into his desk and took out a large silver handgun. It was oiled, brilliant in the light, immaculate in its appearance.
He slid the weapon under his coat, checking the mirror to make sure that it was hidden. Then he stepped out into the passageway, feeling a mixture of anger and fear. Several officers walked by, smiling and saluting as they went. They had probably been celebrating the Scythe’s victory over the battleship, ignorant of what was really going on.
Retzo forced a smile when their eyes met, then scanned the passageway on both sides. Misa hadn’t called, and this more than anything was troubling. “You got this,” he whispered, willing strength into his legs.
As he placed one foot in front of the other, he thought of everything that had happened with Viles. The compromised mission that the Nighthawks had been given, and the withholding of information when Cilas had called.
Adan Viles had been a good officer, and a candidate for being his next XO. He had kept the position vacant for way too long, and the Alliance was pressuring him to appoint another officer. Jit Nam had been his first choice, but Viles had been his second. He hadn’t bothered to tell either, waiting for the right time to announce the promotion.
Then all of this happened, with Viles, the most straight-edged of his officers, disappointing him at every turn. It was almost as if he was being made to fail. Retzo stopped and stood staring into the bulkhead. Made to fail. The word brought some clarity to his mind. Made to fail by someone with ambition.
His comms buzzed and he saw Misa Chase’s face. “Where have you been, sergeant? I was about to come down there, ready,” Retzo said.
“My apologies, Captain, I had an emergency but—”
“Very good, Mr. Chase, I watched the surveillance video,” Retzo said. “I am on my way down to see this man you have in custody. What has he told you so far about Viles and his reason for killing him?”
“That’s the thing sir. He hasn’t admitted to it, but we have fingerprints and video that place him inside the commander’s compartment. He claimed that they had a drink together, and were discussing his transfer to our ship,” Misa said.
“Nonsense,” Retzo said. “Adan Viles doesn’t drink, and he knows how I feel about rates in the officer’s quarters. This innuendo in your tone, is it meant to hint at something else? I don’t have much time—as you very well know—and I’d appreciate it if you speak to me straight. Is there any evidence that this was a relationship of some sort? Was Viles the reason that man was on my ship?”
“No, Captain, there was no evidence of that, and the officers on Commander Viles’ deck said they didn’t recognize Ozie Arl,” he said.
Damn you, Adan. Why couldn’t you talk to me? Retzo thought as he got off the comms and picked up the pace to reach the large metal door for the brig. His fingers registered positively when he placed them on its surface, and the door slid open to reveal a cavernous compartment.
Several cells sat against the bulkhead, their transparent walls facing out. In the first two were a pair of crewmen who averted their eyes when they saw him. Their faces were nicked with bumps and bruises, as if they had been in a brawl.
All the other cells were empty except for one, where Ozie Arl watched him like a hawk. Retzo didn’t notice the other MAs, or Misa getting up from his desk. All he saw was the murderer and the way he stared out at him.
“That man isn’t who he says he is,” Retzo said, staring into his eyes. “I can tell a Marine anywhere, and what I see in front of me isn’t it.”
Misa walked up next to the captain and looked at Ozie Arl, who was now on his feet. It was as if he had been waiting to perform, and the curtains had been opened. “Did you tell him my stipulations?” he said to Misa Chase, and the MA looked at Retzo to see what he would say.
“Give me all the details of your involvement with Commander Viles, as well as your accomplices, beneficiaries, and partners. Lie to me and I walk out of here, and you can sit in this cell and rot,” Retzo said. “But if you confess to me now, I will allow you to leave my ship.”
The man—who spoke in a thick Meluvian accent—seemed to consider his words, then walked back to the bed and sat down. “I’ve heard about you, Captain Sho. They say that you’re a man of your word. What happened to the commander was unfortunate, but in my line of work, we have no choice.” He exhaled heavily and ran his hand through his hair, a thick crop of dark green locks with the sides shaved in the military standard.
“I am originally from Meluvia. I am what you call a professional. My organization lends safety to the citizens of a city called Senel. Some people would call us gangsters, but we are much bigger than that. We have land, influence, but we—”
“Speed it up, Mr. Arl, I have a ship awaiting my command,” Retzo said. “Skip to the part where you were paid to kill my man.”
“It wasn’t like that, you see,” Ozie said, gesturing with his hands. “It started when the commander came to the city.”
“Viles went to Meluvia? When?” Retzo said, growing impatient.
“No, the other commander, Tyrell Lang. You see?” Ozie said, and Retzo felt his strength give out at the mention of his commander’s name. “Commander Lang visited our city every year, so we knew who he was. He fell in love with the daughter of San Patren, a local magistrate. Master Patren was a kind man, a very polite man, you see … but he was also a nationalist, and hated Vestalians more than anything.”
Ozie Arl sat forward and placed his elbows on his knees. He stared through the cell wall as if the scene played out there. “You can imagine how he felt when he learned his beloved Liza was with this commander. We saw an opportunity, so we approached Lang, and in exchange for Patren, uh, playing nice,” he said, smiling at the memory. “He promised us credits, and influence in your organization, if—”
“How did this end up costing Viles his lif
e?” Retzo said, already annoyed with the story.
“We got the information for your Viles’ family, and sent him a warning to do what we asked,” he said. “At first he complied with our demands, the details I’m not at the liberty to discuss. But Mr. Viles became defiant overnight, as if something had changed and he no longer feared us. We spoke to Lang about this complication, and he offered up someone else, but we didn’t trust that Viles would keep quiet about our arrangement.”
“When did you bastards murder his wife?” Retzo said, understanding now why Viles had slipped in the execution of his duties.
“Not long before we killed him,” Ozie Arl admitted. “He had confronted Lang and threatened to tell you about our arrangement.”
“I’ve heard enough,” Retzo said. “One more question and I’ll be on my way. Are there any more of you ‘professionals’ on my ship?”
“Only I,” said Ozie Arl, resigned now that he had told.
“Master-at-arms,” Retzo said, and then turned to exit the compartment.
It was all he could do to get out of the vicinity before his emotions got the better of him. He wanted to pull his weapon and shoot the Meluvian, and then send for Lang and shoot him too. But this was an Alliance vessel with Alliance rules, and shooting a prisoner—no matter who it was—would have him in front of the admiral.
There would be a hearing, and the gangster would be charged, even though he’d lied and told him that he would be exonerated. That is if the council didn’t want to hear more. He reasoned that Ozie Arl would be shipped off to stand before them. They weren’t held to the same rules that he was, and would find a way to get the full story out of him.
He had murdered a commander inside of his own cabin, and that would be seen as the worst kind of offense. Lang would get worse, much worse than he could imagine, and he couldn’t wait to be there, to see him come to justice.
Retzo felt numb, and his jaw hurt something terrible, as if he’d punched himself while listening to the treachery. As he walked the length of the Rendron, he could no longer see. His mind was dominated with the tale he had just heard.
Lang had betrayed them all for a Meluvian woman on the surface. It was something he couldn’t understand. The worst part of it all was the guilt he now felt for the way that he’d treated Viles. Yes, he had sent the Nighthawks on a doomed mission to—what? Get abducted by the Geralos? That part he didn’t know, since Ozie Arl had kept it to himself, but he expected to have a long talk with Lieutenant Cilas Mec when he saw him.
He opened the door to the bridge and walked over to Genevieve Aria. Hovering over her as she sat looking concerned, he stared into her large hazel eyes. “Are you still with me, Jenny?” he said, using her nickname. “Look me in my eyes and tell me that you’re still with me and this ship.”
“Always, Skip. I am with you, always,” she whispered. Her eyes spoke truth, so he relaxed and knelt down next to her. He hadn’t felt this angry in what felt like forever, and he needed justice to quench his thirst. The job had taken its toll and he felt older than his years, but the betrayal was beyond unsettling, and he was shaking with rage.
“I need you to get an officer from the Inginus on the line,” he said, speaking quietly so that only she could hear. “It needs to be someone you trust, someone who can keep things quiet. I want Commander Tyrell Lang to be placed in an escape pod and brought to this ship for questioning. Whomever does it, I give permission to use force—that is, if they feel it’s necessary,” he said. “This is a can’t-fail mission, Jenny. Do you understand me?”
“Explicitly, Skip,” she said, nodding. “I will have it done.”
34
It had been well over a year since the last time Cilas Mec heard from Genevieve Aria. It wasn’t due to malice or hurt feelings on their part, but more to do with moving on and respecting each other’s space.
Cilas had a hard time remembering what it was that had pulled them apart. They had grown up together on the Rendron, and had each turned out to become exactly what everyone predicted. He, the superstar cadet, was now an ESO leader, and she, the studious academic, was now an officer on the bridge.
He recalled making fun of her for being a part of the captain’s “fist,” but a joke wouldn’t have done it; it would have been something about their different roles. Maybe he’d run her off when he became a Nighthawk. It sounded like him, brains before heart, but Genevieve wouldn’t have let him go so easily.
Still, when he received her comms, he remembered how much he loved her. The sound of her voice—the pitch high yet breathy—brought him back to long days of hearing her talk about her dreams.
There was something hypnotic about the way she spoke, and he recalled long periods of time sitting with her in his arms. The Rendron had a large window next to the hangar, which served as a backdrop for a small meeting area. No one used it for what it was intended, so they’d sneak out there together to sit and talk.
Genevieve was the dreamer, and he the stoic warrior. They had something together, and as he listened to her talk, he knew that his feelings for her had never truly left. Anything she asked, he would happily do it, even when it involved an action that could get him killed.
When she asked him to take the commander and force him into a pod, he did not think to question her, since it would have come from the captain himself. Plus, he knew the rules. She would never tell him the source of the order, not when their comms could be hacked and intercepted.
“I will do my best,” was his reply, though he struggled against the urge to say more. He wanted to know how she was doing, and if the captain treated her well. Was there someone in her life—someone like him? Someone who would nip her nose just to see that smile?
He didn’t know he still had those feelings for her, not after all this time. It made him feel foolish and ridiculous, since he believed—incorrectly—that she no longer felt love for him.
Their conversation ended abruptly. She closed the comms and left him with dead air. He didn’t take offense. It wasn’t a casual call, and now he had his orders. He focused on Tyrell Lang, and how good it felt to have this mission. He hated the man, hated the fact that he was grounded on a ship commanded by him.
Being on the Inginus while the craziness went on gave him enough time to cement his feelings on Lang. Serving a lunatic like this was his worst nightmare, and he counted his blessings that he had been privileged enough to be stationed on the Rendron.
Retzo Sho knew honor and was a man of the people. Tyrell Lang was sloppy and cared little for their lives. This became evident a few hours back when he ordered an attack instead of repairing the ship. Cilas had wanted off when they came out of FTL, but was ordered to stay on by Lang.
Being the only ESO onboard, Lang wanted him close for protection, just in case they were boarded and needed to fight. It was a selfish command, which had burned Cilas up, but he had no choice but to comply.
Now he was being ordered to get off the ship and to take Commander Lang along with him. What were her words? “If you need force, you’re cleared to use it.” He couldn’t help but feel giddy at the prospect of sticking it to Lang.
After Genevieve hung up, he found his way to the bridge. Since Lang had given him clearance, none of the crewmen stopped him or gave him grief. He surveyed the bridge to see who would pose a problem, and that was when he noticed that the commander was missing.
“Where’s Commander Lang?” he said to Rennie Jos, who was Lang’s yeoman.
“Haven’t seen him in a while, sir,” the bubbly ensign said. “He said something about taking a private call with Captain Sho from the Rendron.”
What a lying sack of schtill, Retzo thought as he thanked the man and walked off the bridge. He had a brief thought that he was about to walk in on Lang, between the legs of an older cadet. It was his modus operandi—though he hoped that he was wrong—he hoped to find the man seated at his desk.
All through the passageway, lights were flashing. The ship was so damaged that noth
ing wanted to work. The atmosphere of the Inginus was absolute chaos as men and women ran about, trying to repair what they could.
He would have to use his head to isolate the old man, unless he wanted a scene when he dragged him off the ship. The other problem he faced was that no escape pod would work, not without permission from the bridge.
He’s the commander, Cilas thought. There has to be an override on those pods.
He didn’t have time to think it through as he found the ladderwell leading up to the officer’s deck. Halfway up and the ship jerked violently, forcing him to use both hands to prevent himself from falling. He wasn’t sure what could have shaken the ship like that, but he really wasn’t interested in finding out.
All he wanted to do was get Lang and then get off this vessel. More crewmen passed him by when he gained the top and looked around for the commander’s cabin. It wasn’t hard to miss; it was as brazen as Lang himself. A set of double doors, in polished black and gold, sat at the end of the wide passageway.
When Cilas found himself alone walking to this door, he was very surprised considering the panic of the ship. The poor crewmen of the Inginus had been given no updates on a rescue. None of them knew whether they should evacuate or if help was on its way.
The Scythe had come in and the Geralos were gone, but they were split in half and immobile. Joy had told him that she would be on her way back now that the battle was over. He wanted to see her more than anything, and Ate he missed more than he’d ever admit.
Cilas got to the door and checked the passageway behind him. He could hear people around the ladderwell but none were on the deck. He pulled out his sidearm and checked its charge to make sure that it was ready. “Commander Lang,” he said. He was met with silence, but he could hear noises coming from inside.
When he reached to pull open the doors, he was surprised to find them unlocked. Well that’s a mistake, he thought as he slid them open. Didn’t think anyone would be bold enough to come inside, huh? What he saw inside was a cabin bigger than any other compartment in the ship, but where it once was stately it now looked like it had been tossed.
