by John Scalzi
“Yes, sir,” Ensign Grover said, and then was flung backward against the shuttle as a pulse beam hit him, fired from one of the automated carts. As he fell, Dahl caught a glimpse of confusion in his eyes.
And then Dahl was running, with Finn and Kerensky, looking for cover under fire. They found it several meters away, behind storage bins. Several armed cargo carts were now rolling toward them, with the others heading toward where Kerensky and Q’eeng had taken cover.
“Anyone have any ideas?” Abernathy asked.
“Those carts are being controlled from a distance,” Finn said. “If we can get to the quartermaster’s office here in the bay, we can override their signal for the ones in here.”
“Yes,” Abernathy said, and pointed to a far wall. “If this bay is laid out anything like the Intrepid’s, it’s over there.”
“I can do it,” Finn said.
Abernathy held up his hand. “No,” he said. “We’ve already lost one crew member today. I don’t want to risk another.”
As opposed to risking our captain? Dahl thought, but kept silent.
Abernathy raised his pulse gun. “You two cover me as I run for it. I’m going on three.” He started counting. Dahl glanced over to Finn, who shrugged and then readied his pulse gun.
At the three count, Abernathy burst from behind the storage bins like a startled quail and ran in a broken, diving pattern across the bay. The cargo carts abandoned their previous targets and fired at the captain, narrowly missing him each time. Dahl and Finn aimed and knocked out one cart each.
Abernathy made it to the quartermaster’s office, blasting the window and jumping through rather than wasting time opening the door. Several seconds later, the cargo carts noisily deactivated.
“All clear,” Abernathy said, coming into view and hoisting himself over the remains of the window. The members of the Intrepid crew reassembled by the fallen corpse of Grover, whose face still had a look of disbelief on it.
“Finn, it looks like your friend Jer Weston is now a murderer,” Abernathy said, grimly.
“He’s not my friend, sir,” Finn said.
“But you do know him,” Abernathy said. “If you find him, will you be ready to take him down? Alive?”
“Yes, sir,” Finn said.
“Good,” Abernathy said.
“Captain, we need to move,” Q’eeng said. “There may be others of these carts. In fact, I’m willing to bet that Weston is using the carts as his own robot army to keep the crew members bottled up.”
“Yes, precisely,” Abernathy said, and nodded at Q’eeng. “You and I will make our way to the bridge to see if we can find Captain Bullington, and then assist her in taking back the ship. Kerensky, you take Finn and Dahl here and find Weston. Capture him alive.”
“Yes, sir,” Kerensky said.
“Good,” Abernathy said. “Then let’s move.” He and Q’eeng jogged off toward the bay entrance, to wander the crew corridors, where they would no doubt encounter and fight more armed cargo carts.
Finn turned to Kerensky. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked.
“Plan?” Kerensky said, and blinked.
“If there really is a Narrative, it’s not on him right now,” Dahl said, about Kerensky.
“Right,” Finn said, and turned to Dahl. “How about you?”
“You know what I think,” Dahl said, and motioned to the cargo carts.
“You think Jer’s pulling a Jenkins,” Finn said. “Hiding in the walls.”
“Bingo,” Dahl said.
“A what?” Kerensky said. “What are you two talking about?”
Dahl and Finn didn’t answer but instead went about separate tasks—Dahl accessing the ship records while Finn salvaged from the dead cargo carts.
“There,” Finn said, holding out his hand after he was done. “Three cart IDs. We’re going to have to leave our phones behind so we’re not ID’d when we go into the cargo tunnels, and so the armed carts think we’re one of them and don’t try to kill us.”
“Jenkins knew about this trick,” Dahl said.
“Yeah, but I took the IDs from deactivated carts,” Finn said. “These carts are just recently killed. Their IDs are still in the system. I don’t think Jer had time to figure this one out.”
“Figure what out?” Kerensky asked.
“I think you’re right,” Dahl said, and pulled up on his phone a map of the cargo tunnels. “It doesn’t look like he’s had time to make his hidey-hole disappear from the ship records either, since all of the cart distribution nodes are still on the map.”
“So that’s seven nodes,” Finn said. “Which one do you want to try first?”
Dahl pulled up Weston’s information. “His station was here in the bay complex, so I’d say we try the node closest to it,” he said, and then returned to the map and highlighted a node. “Let’s start here.”
“Looks good,” Finn said.
“I order you to tell me what you’re planning,” Kerensky said, plaintively.
“We’re about to help you capture Jer Weston,” Finn said. “That’ll probably get you promoted.”
“Oh,” Kerensky said, and stood up a bit straighter. “We should definitely do that, then.”
“And avenge the death of Grover here,” Dahl added, nodding to Grover’s still surprised body.
“Yes, that too,” Kerensky said, and looked down at the body. “Poor man. This was his last away mission.”
“Well, yes,” Finn said.
“No, I mean that his term of duty was over in just a couple of days,” Kerensky said. “I assigned him to this mission specifically so he could have one more away experience. A last hurrah. He tried to beg off of it, but I insisted.”
“That was deeply malicious of you,” Dahl said.
Kerensky nodded, either not knowing what malicious meant or simply not hearing it, apparently lost in reverie. “A shame, really. He was going to be married, too.”
“Oh, please, stop,” Finn said. “Otherwise I’m going to have to frag you.”
“What?” Kerensky said, looking up at Finn.
“I think he means we should probably get going, sir,” Dahl said, smoothly.
“Right,” Kerensky said. “So, where are we going?”
* * *
“You two wait here,” Kerensky whispered at a bend in the corridor, after which came the distribution node they were sneaking up on. “I’ll surprise him and stun him, and then we’ll contact the captain.”
“We can’t contact him, we left our phones in the shuttle bay,” Finn said.
“And we should probably deactivate all the armed carts first,” Dahl said.
“Yes, yes,” Kerensky said, mildly irritated. “But first, I’ll take him down.”
“A fine plan,” Dahl said.
“We’re right behind you,” Finn said.
Kerensky nodded and readied his weapon, and then leapt out into the corridor, calling Jer Weston’s name. There was an exchange of pulse gun fire, each blast going wide. From the top of the corridor there was a shower of sparks as a pulse gun blast ricocheted through the duct work, which collapsed on Kerensky, pinning him. He groaned and passed out.
“He really is completely useless,” Finn said.
“What do you want to do now?” Dahl asked.
“I have a plan,” Finn said. “Come on.” He stood and walked forward, pulse gun behind his back. Dahl followed.
After a few steps the curve of the corridor revealed a disheveled Jer Weston, standing on the distribution node, pulse gun in hand, clearly considering whether or not to kill Kerensky.
“Hey, Jer,” Finn said, walking up to him. “It’s me, Finn.”
Weston squinted. “Finn? Seriously? Here?” He smiled. “Jesus, man. What are the odds?”
“I know!” Finn said, and then shot Weston with a stun pulse. Weston collapsed.
“That was your plan?” Dahl said a second later. “Hoping he’d pause in recognition before he shot you?”
“In
retrospect, the plan has significant logistical issues,” Finn admitted. “On the other hand, it worked. You can’t argue with success.”
“Sure you can,” Dahl said, “when it’s based on stupidity.”
“Anyway, this makes my point to you,” Finn said. “If I was going to die on this mission, this probably would have been the moment, right? Me squaring off against my former fellow crew member? But I’m alive and he’s stunned and captured. So much for ‘the Narrative’ and dying at dramatically appropriate moments. I hope you take the lesson to heart.”
“Fine,” Dahl said. “Maybe I’ve been weirding myself out. I’m still not following you into battle anymore.”
“That’s probably wise,” Finn said, and then glanced over to the small computer at the distribution node, which Weston was probably using to control the cargo carts. “Why don’t you disable the killer carts and I’ll figure out how we’re going to get Jer out of here.”
“You could use a cart,” Dahl said, going to the computer.
“There’s an idea,” Finn said.
Dahl disabled the carts across the ship and then heard a groan from Kerensky’s direction. “Sounds like someone is up,” he said to Finn.
“I’m busy trussing Jer like a turkey,” Finn said. “Handle it, if you would.”
Dahl walked over to Kerensky, who was still pinned under duct work. “Morning, sir,” he said, to Kerensky.
“Did I get him?” Kerensky asked.
“Congratulations, sir,” Dahl said. “Your plan worked perfectly.”
“Excellent,” Kerensky said, and wheezed a bit as the debris on top of him compressed his lungs.
“Would you like some help with your duct work, sir?” Dahl asked.
“Please,” Kerensky said.
* * *
“There’s nothing in Crewman Weston’s file that indicates any sympathy for the Calendrian rebel cause,” said Sandra Bullington, captain of the Nantes. “I requested a hyperwaved report from the Dub U Investigative Service. Weston isn’t religious or political. He doesn’t even vote.”
Bullington, Abernathy, Q’eeng, Finn and Dahl stood in front of a windowed room in the brig, in which Jer Weston sat. He was confined to a stasis chair, which was itself the only piece of furniture in the room. He looked groggy but was smiling. Kerensky was in sick bay with bruised ribs.
“What about family and friends?” Q’eeng asked.
“Nothing there, either,” Bullington said. “He comes from a long line of Methodists from on the other side of the Dub U. None of his known associates have any link to Calendria or its religious or political struggles.”
Abernathy looked through the glass at Weston. “Has he explained himself at all?” he asked.
“No,” Bullington said. “That son of a bitch killed eighteen crew members and he won’t say why. So far he’s invoked his right to non-incrimination. But he says he’s willing to confess everything under one condition.”
“What’s that?” Abernathy said.
“That you’re the one he gets to confess to,” Bullington said.
“Why me?” Abernathy asked.
Bullington shrugged. “He wouldn’t say,” she said. “If I had to guess, I would say it’s because you’re the captain of the flagship of the fleet and your exploits are known through the Union. Maybe he just wants to be brought in by a celebrity.”
“Sir, I recommend against it,” Q’eeng said.
“We’ve had him physically searched,” Bullington said. “There’s nothing in his cavities, and even if there were, he’s in a stasis chair. He can’t move anything below his neck at the moment. If you stay out of biting range, you’ll be fine.”
“I still recommend against it,” Q’eeng said.
“It’s worth the risk to get to the bottom of this,” Abernathy said, and then looked over to Dahl and Finn. “I’ll have these two come in with me, armed. If something happens, I trust one of them will take him down.”
Q’eeng looked unhappy but didn’t say anything more.
Two minutes later Abernathy, Dahl and Finn came through the door. Weston smiled and addressed Finn.
“Finn, you shot me,” he said.
“Sorry,” Finn said.
“It’s all right,” Weston said. “I figured I would get shot. I just didn’t know it would be you who did it.”
“Captain Bullington said you were ready to confess, but that you wanted to confess to me,” Abernathy said. “I’m here.”
“Yes you are,” Weston said.
“Tell us what your relationship is with the Calendrian rebels,” Abernathy said.
“The who what now?” Weston said.
“The Calendrian rebels,” Abernathy repeated.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Weston said.
“You fired on the pontifex’s ship after the Intrepid was disabled by the rebels,” Abernathy said. “You can’t honestly expect us to believe that the two were unrelated.”
“They are related,” Weston said. “Just not that way.”
“You’re wasting my time,” Abernathy said, and turned to go.
“Don’t you want to know what the connection is?” Weston asked.
“We know what the connection is,” Abernathy said. “It’s the Calendrian rebels.”
“No,” Weston said. “The connection is you.”
“What?” Abernathy said, squinting.
Weston turned to Finn. “Sorry you had to be here,” he said, and then started blinking one eye at a time, first two left, then three right, then one left, then three right.
“Bomb!” Finn yelled, and Dahl flung himself at the captain as Weston’s head exploded. Dahl felt the uniform and skin on his back fry in the heat as the blast wave pushed him into Abernathy, crushing the two of them against the wall.
Some indeterminate time later Dahl heard someone shout his name, looked up and saw Abernathy grabbing and shaking him. Abernathy had burns on his hands and arms but appeared largely fine. Dahl had shielded him from the worst of the blast. Upon realizing that, the whole of Dahl’s back seared into painful life.
Dahl pushed Abernathy away from him and crawled over to Finn, on the floor, his face and front burned. He had been closest to the blast. As Dahl made it to his friend, he saw that the one eye Finn had remaining had looked over to him. Finn’s hand twitched and Dahl grabbed it, causing Finn to spasm in pain. Dahl tried to break contact but Finn grabbed on. His lips moved.
Dahl moved to his friend’s face to hear what he had to say.
“This is just ridiculous,” is what Finn whispered.
“I’m sorry,” Dahl said.
“Not your fault,” Finn eventually said.
“I’m still sorry,” Dahl said.
Finn gripped Dahl’s hand tighter. “Find a way to stop this,” he said.
“I will,” Dahl said.
“Okay,” Finn breathed, and died.
Abernathy came over to pull Dahl away from Finn. Despite the pain, Dahl took a swing at Abernathy. He missed and lost consciousness before his fist had swung all the way around.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Tell me how to stop this,” Dahl said to Jenkins.
Jenkins, who of course knew Dahl was coming to his secret lair, looked him over. “You look healed,” he said. “Good. Sorry about your friend Finn.”
“Did you know what was going to happen to him?” Dahl asked.
“No,” Jenkins said. “It not like whoever is writing this crap sends me the scripts in advance. And this one was particularly badly written. Jer Weston walking around for years with a biological bomb in his head, waiting for an encounter with Captain Abernathy, who he blamed for the death of his own father on an away team twenty years ago, and taking advantage of an unrelated diplomatic incident to do so? That’s just hackwork.”
“So tell me how to stop it,” Dahl said.
“You can’t stop it,” Jenkins said. “There’s no stopping it. There’s only hiding from it.”
&nb
sp; “Hiding isn’t an option,” Dahl said.
“Sure it is,” Jenkins said, and opened his arms as if to say, See?
“This is not an option for anyone else but you,” Dahl said. “We can’t all sneak around in the bowels of a spaceship.”
“There are other ways to hide,” Jenkins said. “Ask your former boss Collins.”
“She’s only safe as long as you’re around,” Dahl said. “And not using the toilet.”
“Find a way off this ship, then,” Jenkins said. “You and your friends.”
“That won’t help either,” Dahl said. “Jer Weston killed eighteen members of the Nantes crew with his armed cargo carts. They weren’t safe against what happens here on the Intrepid, were they? An entire planet suffered a plague so that we could create a last-minute vaccine for Kerensky. They weren’t safe, either. Even you’re not safe, Jenkins.”
“I’m pretty safe,” Jenkins said.
“You’re pretty safe because your wife was the one who died, and all you were was part of her backstory,” Dahl said. “But what happens to you when one of the writers on whatever television show this is thinks about you?”
“They’re not going to,” Jenkins said.
“Are you sure?” Dahl said. “On the Nantes, Jer Weston was using your trick of hiding in the cargo tunnels. That’s where we found him. That’s where we caught him. Whatever hack thought up that last episode now has it in his brain that the cargo tunnels can be used as hiding spaces. How long until he starts thinking about you?”
Jenkins didn’t say anything to this, although Dahl couldn’t tell if it was because he was considering the idea of being in a writer’s crosshairs or because he mentioned Jenkins’ wife.
“None of us are safe from this thing,” Dahl said. “You lost your wife to it. I just lost a friend. You say I and all my friends are going to end up dying for dramatic purposes. I say whatever happens to us is going to happen to you, too. All your hiding doesn’t change that, Jenkins. It’s just delaying it. And meanwhile, you live your life like a rat in the walls.”
Jenkins looked around. “I wouldn’t say a rat,” he said.
