by Trevor Wyatt
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” I say, remembering my training. Just because you’re not in active military service doesn’t mean you forever lose the rank.
“Oh, my pleasure,” the admiral says. “I read all about your work. I know you’re responsible for bringing an end to the madness that engulfed the universe for five years. I’m also following up on your work to establish a galactic council.”
The man begins to observe me with a different set of eyes.
“I must say I’m impressed,” he says. “Not many are capable of a quarter of the things you’ve achieved. Greatness comes easy for you?
“Yeah, well, greatness is being threatened at the moment, which is why we’re here,” I say.
Admiral Sanchez rolls his eyes.
“Ah…The incident in New Washington,” he says.
He motions for us to sit. He winks at the barman, who brings us each a glass of wine. The admiral motions for the barman to turn down the volume a little so we can have a conversation, then tips him a little overboard.
The admiral doesn’t begin to speak until we’ve downed our glasses of what turns out to be pungent and strong wine. Then he orders for another round.
I throw a side glance at Ashley. Is he trying to get us drunk? She only smiles back at me. Sweetly, I might add.
“The death of Leader Greer will no doubt bring your Accords to an end, if you don’t manage it well,” the admiral says. “A foreign diplomat dying in your supposedly secure facility sends all kinds of bad messages. My sources tell me that the Tyreesian government is already claiming this is as an act of sabotage by would-be galactic tyrants. They’re even going as far as saying that if the human government does not contain this act and fish out those responsible, they are going to find themselves embroiled in another war.”
“What?” I blurt, shocked. “I haven’t received such communique.”
The admiral flashes me a sympathetic look.
“Then you’re in a much deeper mess than you realize,” he replies. “Isn’t it ironic? We’re concerned about pursuing galactic peace—which these negotiations will bring out, yet we’re on the verge of another interstellar war. That you don’t even know about. Because it’s being conducted at the highest fucking levels.”
I exhale loudly, anxiety having free reign over my thoughts.
“Do you know what caused the explosion?” I ask finally.
This is when Admiral Sanchez smiles, with a curious glint in his eyes.
“I know much more than you can ever hope to comprehend,” he says.
I swallow hard. Not knowing how to respond, I remain quiet.
“Would you like to know some of it?” the admiral asks.
Ashley
I watch my husband do his best to play it cool in front of Sanchez. I see amusement dancing in Sanchez's eyes, but he doesn't say anything, which I appreciate. Jeryl has a decent poker face, but right now I don't think either one of us can hide how anxious we are to hear what Sanchez has to say.
Living through the madness of the New Washington protest was hell enough. Watching a diplomatic shuttle explode when so much has already been lost that day only added to the horror and helplessness.
We need to get to the bottom of this mystery to save the galactic council and our own sanity. And quite possibility our marriage.
We've been doing well despite everything, but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a strain. Right now we’re a team, but I know he's burning inside to figure out how to get the negotiations back on track. And I don't blame him. If we don't have the council—we don't have a chance for peace. And without peace, then we don't have a future.
But after what we went through after The Ledge? We may be paying a price that includes our marriage.
I'm just glad Jeryl is taking Sanchez seriously; that they’re both listening. Because right now with all the shit hitting the fan, we need more allies and people we can trust. I know Sanchez is no bullshitter.
"Well, first," begins Sanchez, "I don't believe this was an accident."
"You mean assassination?" asks Jeryl.
Sanchez shakes his head. "No, more like sabotage. This wasn't a surgical strike. This was shock and awe."
"I don't understand," I say looking from Jeryl to Sanchez, "Greer is dead. If someone blew up his ship, then we're looking at murder."
"Well, that's the thing," says Sanchez solemnly, "I have doubts that Greer died in the explosion."
Jeryl looks at me dumbfounded.
I feel my heart start beating fast because suddenly the ramifications of what Sanchez is saying hits home. "This was a ruse," I say. Sanchez nods.
"I think so."
"But wait a minute," says Jeryl, "We all saw the explosion. How can you doubt what happened?"
Sanchez sighs, then rubs his eyes, "Because when I ask what happened—why the shuttle exploded, the only answers I get from anyone official are bullshit."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"Okay, so the official response tells me that the takeoff thrusters malfunctioned and caused a chain reaction that destroyed the shuttle midflight,” Sanchez says.
"But that doesn't make sense," Jeryl and I reply in unison. We've been on enough starships to know the basics of flight procedures.
"Exactly," says Sanchez, who appears happy that we understand, "Even a green pilot knows not to engage those within planetary atmosphere. Not unless you do want things to go boom. So bottom-line: the thrusters could not malfunction because they would not have been online to begin with."
"I know that makes sense," I say, “But we’re dealing with an alien species and therefore alien tech."
"I thought of that too, but here's the thing. The Tryeesian ship has the equivalent of our takeoff thrusters, trust me—I checked, and the laws of physics apply the same to their engines as they do to ours." Sanchez replies.
I chew my lip, nodding in agreement. "But the real doozy is the part that nobody is mentioning," continues Sanchez. I arch a brow at him.
"Either one of you heard of Sherlock Holmes?" Jeryl rolls his eyes and I grin.
"Yes," I say smirking as I recall when I first mentioned Sherlock to Jeryl on The Seeker. He asked me then what ship he captained. I'm amazed I kept a straight face.
Sanchez looks a bit confused with our reactions, but he keeps talking, "Holmes had an idea that when you're trying to solve a mystery and you run out of logical solutions, you need to look at improbable ones because they are often the only possible solution left."
"So what exactly are you saying?" asks Jeryl.
"I'm saying that everyone saw an explosion and assumes Greer is dead. Officials are labeling it as an accident due to a thrust malfunction. Yet, we can't accept that has a rational answer so we need to look at the other evidence to solve this."
"You found some evidence to solve this?" I ask, feeling more confident.
"Well, “says Sanchez as he stipples his fingers in front his face, "It's not the evidence I found that is so remarkable as much as what I did not find."
"I don't understand," I say looking at Jeryl, his face mirrors my same confusion.
"No problem," says Sanchez pulling out his tablet, "I can show you." He taps a code into his tablet then holds it out for us to see, "That's the breakdown of the molecular residue left after the explosion. I'm going to give you a hint: the only thing registering in this area of space are atmospheric molecules and alloys."
Suddenly I get what Sanchez is trying to tell us, "There's no trace of organic matter."
He smiles. "Exactly, even a massive explosion would leave some amount of organic residue."
"And if there was organic debris," said Jeryl swallowing his nausea, "That would be what's left of Greer.” Sanchez' face lights up like a teacher pleased with his students.
"Yes! but according to this report either Greer never exited or..."
"He wasn't on the ship when it exploded," I say.
"That's some trick," says Jeryl, "I personally saw him get
in. How the hell did he pull it off?"
Sanchez considers a moment before saying, "Most of the aliens we have encountered have technology way above what we consider cutting-edge." I see Jeryl thinking, likely replaying how different the Sonali weaponry was when we met them the first time.
"However, the three of us also know how aggressively Terran Union has worked to advance our position, so we are no longer playing catch up." Sanchez continues as Jeryl and I nod. It’s true. Our advances during and after the war meant we no longer had to turn tail and run in an alien skirmish. It no longer felt like we were bringing knives to a gun fight.
"I think the 'trick' was a successful matter transfer."
"But there is no way Terran Armada has that kind of tech, " I say, "Right?"
"They might not have it yet, but that doesn't mean it's not being worked on," says Sanchez.
"I don't understand, " says Jeryl. He's not the only one.
Sanchez looks both of us, "Let's assume that this was a matter transfer. And let's assume that the transfer was done by non-Terran technology." We both nod at him. "Okay, now imagine that Terran Armada is trying to figure out a way to transfer matter, but it wants to keep that little project under wraps."
"Of course," says Jeryl, "Armada Intelligence would want to avoid bringing any attention to tech that might expose what they are working on. It's a smart move."
"So, we're on our own," I say with a grimace.
"Yes," says Sanchez, "We can't expect or even trust any "official" intel— so you're going to have to investigate on your own."
"Any suggestions?" I ask.
"Yes, we know that no organic matter was left. We also can safely assume that it was a matter transfer—"
"And if it was transferring from Greer's ship then it would need to find a place to safety transfer that matter to."
"Which means it would need to be nearby."
"Yes," says Sanchez, "You'll need to look at the records of what ships came in and what ones left New Washington at the time of the explosion."
"My navigations officer can compile that report for us," I say.
"Great, once you have the ship narrowed down you'll need to map its flight path. That should lead you to Greer."
"I don't think he'll be too happy to be found," says Jeryl.
"No, I doubt he will," says Sanchez as he gets up. "Well, Jeryl, Ashley," he shakes our hands, "Time for me to leave. Good luck."
He leaves us together, but alone in our heads. Though when we look at each other I can tell we're thinking the same thing: a fake assassination can mean only one thing.
Sabotage.
Sabotaging something that took three years to get to this point.
I see frustration laced with anger at this betrayal on Jeryl’s face, but underneath I also see his confidence and conviction. His hope.
I lean in to him, touching my forehead to his in silent understanding. He puts his arms around me. "We're going to get through this," I say.
"I know," he says pulling me close. I rest my head on his shoulder. Marriage doesn't grant you telepathy. But time together does make it easier for you to anticipate each other's thoughts and actions. I remember saying that to a friend and Jeryl added, "Yeah, that's a cautionary tale."
Marriages, good ones, are a partnership, two people working together toward similar goals.
Right now we have a shared goal.
Find out what ship fled during the explosion.
Find out where that ship went.
And find out who the hell is trying to destroy the galactic council before it even begins.
Jeryl
"Well, that was enlightening," I say to Ashley taking a seat. We're now back on The Seeker in the captain's quarters.
She smiles at me, "I told you Sanchez would deliver."
"How soon can your navigation pilot get that data to us? I want to figure out what ship we'll need to chase."
"I sent him an encrypted message as soon as Sanchez suggested it so I should get a response any minute, but isolating which ship did the transfer is one thing," She looks at me and I see the seriousness in her eyes. "But I'm more than hesitant to go after it while our crew and alien delegates are sharing the same space."
"If we don't follow the ship now we might lose it," I reply.
"We can follow it, but let's drop the delegates off first," She leans toward me emphasizing her words, "We are a flying powder keg right now. The animosity between the 500 humans we have aboard and the delegates could blow up any time. We need to drop them off."
I sit forward, one hand coming under my chin. "I don't know if we can afford the time to stop."
"Jeryl, we need to make time,” she says to me, her face tight. “We need to drop them off at a diplomatic commune or New Washington or someone else they'll be safe before we go hunting."
"But that's just it," I say, "Where are they going to be safe?" My hands gesture with my words on the futility of the situation, "We just watched our peaceful diplomatic compound go to shit before it even started and on top of that a delegate’s ship exploded right in front of us! Where the hell can we take these people that will make them safe?"
"You don't think Armada Security is up to the challenge?" she asks me.
"If we're dealing with sabotage, which with everything Sanchez told us seems to be the case, then I'm not sure who we can trust on the ground. For all we know this was an inside job,” I say. “I mean it's not as though there isn't a great deal of opposition to this treaty."
Ashley rolls her eyes.
"Well, that's an understatement," she says as she sighs. "I agree it's a volatile time and we have no idea who we can trust, but what about the opposition of our own crew? Their anger at having to babysit alien delegates is going to create major animosity between everyone on board. We're going to need to deal with that which is already going to be one huge pain in the ass. Add to that the fact that we're on a ship with finite capacity. My point being there's only so far someone can go to get away from other life forms on this ship. And Jeryl," she looks straight at me, "What happens when the delegates realize we're chasing an alien vessel? You won't be able to keep our flight plan a secret for long. They'll figure out we are chasing one of their own. Then the shit will hit the fan again, but this time we'll be responsible for it."
We both hear a notification chime. It's Ashley tablet. Frankly, I'm grateful for the interruption. Our argument is just going to keep going in circles like a dog chasing its tail. She raises valid points about the tensions between our human crew and the delegate members. The war was not so long ago for anyone on board to have forgotten. Re-branding our alien enemies into friends is going to take time— and time is something we don't have.
I watch Ashley look at her tablet frowning.
"What is it?"
She hands me the tablet, "Notice anything out of the ordinary?" I take a long look at the data. It's the report we've been waiting for from the navigations officer regarding the immediate arrival and departure of ships before and after the explosion.
It's a thorough report and at first glance it's an overwhelming map of dots on a page; each one marked by velocity and distance. I begin to have a suspicion over which ship is the one when Ashley points at the screen.
And then I see it—one ship on a flight path seemed normal, until I realize that with its position, it left minutes after the explosion.
Its initial proximity to the blast seems odd too. The ship appears to be almost sitting, waiting for the explosion, and after the explosion it lingered there for about a minute before speeding away.
"Yes, I do," I reply to Ashley, "For one thing—why would a Tyreesian merchant ship just hover nearby when all of the delegates should’ve been departing?" Ashley nods at my thought.
"Exactly," she agrees.
"And another thing," I continue, "Is that the same ship suddenly takes off a minute after the explosion. A captain would normally react to that kind of circumstance by waiting around to find out
what happened and possibly offer aid.
“And if it was concerned about its safety it would have initiated a defensive shield. None of those options were employed. It just took off like a bat out of hell and it looks like the flight path is heading straight for the Omarian system on the border of Terran and Tyreesian space.”
"Yes," says Ashley fervently, "The flight path of that one ship makes it our primary suspect." She arches her brows at me, "But if we head that way we need to tell the delegates onboard what we're doing. The situation on the ship could get worse if we suddenly go into FTL. I don't think they'll believe we're sightseeing."
"Think we can convince them we've decided to take a second honeymoon?" I can tell that Ashley wants to be angry, but underneath her annoyance I see she's trying to suppress a smile.
"Well, Admiral Montgomery,"she says, no longer able to hide her smile, "As captain of the Seeker don't you think you should have cleared that flight plan with me first?" I stand up, going to her. We kiss and embrace then looked at each other.
"But where's the surprise in that?" I ask jokingly.
"Ahh," she says. Then she gets serious. "If I don't buy that, then I think we'll have a hard time selling that idea to the crew or delegates. Particularly since the Omarian system is not exactly a place one goes for a good time."
"Bull," I say, "We can have a good time anywhere." Ashley sighs.
"Jeryl, what are we going to do?" She rests her head on my shoulder. I hold her tight. It can be a wonderful thing to work with my wife. To have her close and share in my work—for her to really understand what I go through daily.
And then there are moments I wish we weren't so close in rank, so I could shelter her away from this whole mess. I don't tell her this, I know she's too independent to ever want to be hidden away from ugly shit in the galaxy. It's one of the many reasons I love her; she's a strong, intelligent woman. And I know she's got my back, even when she disagrees with me. Like today. But I know how to make this call and I know it's a risky one.
