As if to rebel against the cantankerous computer, Zach tried to force the thruster handles farther forward, with little success. He was closing on the fleeing vessel, and he had the computer plot his intercept point, which was just before the ship would be far enough from the sun’s gravity field to enter hyperspace.
You’re mine, you bastard. You’re mine.
“Wolfman, this is Raven,” came a voice from the intercom. “What is your status?”
“Intercept in 45 seconds,” Zach replied. “I’ve got him.”
“I’ll be there in 90,” Raven replied.
“He’ll be disabled in 60.”
Zach could see the target now, a small cargo ship that appeared to be heavily modified. It was fleeing from Earth at a respectable speed, and Commander Wallace could see several crude weapons that appeared to be sloppily soldiered to the hull. On the back of the ship was an ominous-looking pod.
As if triggered by Zach noticing it, the pod burst forth and released a salvo of missiles, which left white-hot trails in space as they snaked toward Zach’s approaching fighter. The anti-missile defense system began to fire, shooting flechette pellets into the path of the incoming missiles. There was a series of quick explosions as the pellets detonated three missiles, but a pair of rockets continued through the defensive screen.
Not willing to slow down, the Commander pulled the ship to the left, watching as the missiles tracked toward him. He jinked the fighter quickly to the right, and the missiles overcompensated, shooting behind him as Zach continued the ship in its original direction.
He was almost in range of the cargo ship now, and Zach reluctantly thumbed the comlink. “Unidentified vessel, this is a Confederation fightercraft. Power down or you will be destroyed.”
The ship did not respond. Thank you, Zach thought.
The missile lock light came on and Zach fired a pair of missiles toward the fleeing vessel. The ship began to return fire, scoring a smattering of laser hits across the fighter’s nose, but both missiles found their marks, exploding against the cargo ship’s hull and leaving it spinning and out of control.
“Unidentified vessel, power down and prepare to be boarded,” Zach said over the communications channel. “If you fire, you will be—”
Before Zach could finish, the vessel exploded into a ball of fire and was destroyed.
Zach stared at the explosion, incredibly intense for a ship of such size. But I only hit it with a couple of missiles, he thought. I didn’t even target the power core.
“Wolfpack Commander, this is Flight Command. What in the hell was that?”
The Commander stared through the cockpit plasticite at the now-empty space before him. “I don’t know, sir,” he replied. “I just disabled him—”
“Disabled him, my ass. We wanted him alive, damn it,” the voice responded. “Return to the carrier immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” Zach replied, still staring into space. But I didn’t fire, he thought. I only disabled him. I only disabled him.
Zach slowly turned his fighter to head back to the carrier. The last thing he thought as he turned away was how remarkably little debris remained from the explosion.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 3
The activity on the viewscreen began to thin out as Lieutenant Matthews piloted the Inferno away from the skeletal warship frame, taking one last look as they passed the colossus and proceeded to their jump point, away from the gravity well of the Sol System. Once they had traveled a fair distance from the moon and its associated space traffic, Cody pushed the thruster handle farther forward and the ship surged ahead, pressing Anastasia into the memory-gel backing of her captain’s chair as if with an unseen hand.
“Sorry, Captain,” he said, sounding more enthused than apologetic. “This thing is touchier than a fighter. And we’re only at one-half cruising speed.”
Anastasia had been aboard swift ships before, but it already seemed as if the techs were right—this ship probably was the fastest ship in the Fleet. Quite an accomplishment, considering its size and ability. After all, the ship’s Quantum Refractor—a cloaking device so expensive and experimental that the Apocalypse was still the only other ship on which it was equipped—was, by itself, as massive as some smaller fighters, and for a ship that housed eight crewmembers to be as fast as this was truly remarkable. The advanced turboplasma thrust system seemed—so far—to be all that they had promised.
Sooner than seemed possible, an alert light popped up on Anastasia’s console, indicating that they had traveled far enough from the system’s center to safely enter hyperspace. A ship that entered or exited hyperspace too near a gravity well—or even passed through one while in hyperspace—was usually destroyed, ripped apart by the gravitational forces. Of course, the experimental hyperspace core aboard the Inferno, hailed as a great breakthrough, theoretically removed at least most of that limitation.
Anastasia, however, did not feel like testing the system just yet.
“We are clear for hyperspace,” Ariyana reported. “Course is plotted and laid in for the Pacifica System.”
“Very good,” said the Captain as she thumbed a switch on her console, activating the intercom and carrying her voice to the engineering section. “Vance,” she began, addressing her Chief Engineer, “how’s the hyperdrive look?”
“We’re green across the board down here, Captain,” he replied, his voice audible over the bridge speakers. “The hyperdrive looks ready.”
“Very well. Engage active restraint system. Prepare for hyperspace on my mark.” Though simply a precaution, Anastasia pressed a button on her armrest and the restraint harness, a snaking mass of elastic fibers, sprang into place, securing her arms, legs, head, and torso to the seat. Though tremendously effective, the restraints were neither uncomfortable nor cumbersome. In fact, they hardly interfered with her movement at all, except, of course, that she could not get up. Or be thrown through the viewscreen.
“Engage hyperdrive, one half speed.”
Anastasia braced herself for the surge that always accompanied ships entering hyperspace, especially since she had no idea how this hyperdrive, experimental and supposedly faster than any before it, would behave. To her surprise, as Cody pushed the hyperdrive handle forward, there was hardly any jolt at all. In fact, she had to check her instruments to be sure that they were in fact moving.
And they were moving, all right. According to the instruments, at one-half speed, Anastasia was traveling as fast as she had ever traveled aboard the Apocalypse, a speedy ship in its own right. By her calculations, it would only take just under four hours to reach the Pacifica system.
Unfortunately, Anastasia was not in any particular hurry to get there.
The Pacifica System, which was founded in the late 27th Century as a colony for pacifists, farmers, and others favoring a more simple, unattached life, had been the first to loudly voice their protest of the Korgian Annihilation, both when it happened in 3006 and when the horrible truth about it was learned ten years ago. Now, fanned by growing conflicts and unrest throughout the United Confederation of Planets, it had ironically become a hotbed for opposition—peaceful and otherwise—to Confederation Command. Dissidents from throughout the Sector had flocked to New Berkeley and were clamoring for reform, disarmament, and even the right to secede. Recently, however, the acts of protest emanating from the Pacifica System had grown severe, punctuated by the terrorist bombing of the Confederation Headquarters Building itself last week. After the attack was traced to New Berkeley, it was also learned that the SPACERs—someone’s idea of a clever acronym for “the Society for Pacifism And Continuing Ethical Reform”—had amassed a small fleet, and planned to blockade the System until their demands to be allowed to secede were met.
All in all, Anastasia thought, it was one of the most delicate, explosive, and difficult diplomatic missions in recent history. And it was hers.
If only the Inferno weren’t so darned fast.
. . . . .
The Captain was not happy.
“What in the hell were you thinking?” he screamed. “Don’t answer that. I know what you were thinking, and that terrorist bastard deserved to die as much as anyone. But I told you not to kill him, didn’t I? Didn’t I?”
“But, sir—”
“Damn it, Zach, have I said you could talk yet?”
“No.”
“Then why are you still talking?”
“Because—”
“Don’t answer that, damn it! You are not to speak for the rest of the day. Is that understood?”
Zach nodded.
“Good. Now, what the hell were you thinking??”
Zach said nothing.
“Answer me, damn it!”
Zach clenched his teeth. “But, sir,” he began softly, “I didn’t destroy him. I just disabled him. After the missile shot, I didn’t fire again.”
“Then who the hell did?” the Captain asked, still incensed but beginning to calm himself a bit. “The records show an energy spike just before the explosion.”
“No one fired, sir. It–it must have been a self-destruct. But I didn’t destroy that ship.”
“Look at the records, Commander. There is an energy spike consistent with a type VI plasma burst cannon.”
“But—”
“And the resonance from the debris matches your fighter exactly.”
Zach’s jaw dropped. Plasma burst cannon left unique resonances on whatever they were fired upon. It was possible, if the wreckage of a ship was recovered, to match the resonance with the ship that had fired upon it. But he hadn’t fired his cannon on that ship.
But he had been the only one out there.
“They’re downloading the flight logs now, Zach. If you’re right—and I hope you are—the logs will show that your fighter didn’t fire. But if you’re wrong, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble for this one. And neither I nor your hero status will save you this time.”
Zach turned his head as a short tone rang out and the debriefing room’s holo-vid projector came to life, creating the image of a tech who wore a decidedly sour expression on her face. Before she even spoke, Zach knew what she had found. He didn’t know how it was possible, but he knew that she had found that his fighter’s logs claimed that he had fired on the disabled vessel.
“Captain Griffin, I have analyzed the logs from Commander Wallace’s fighter.” She paused as if what she had to say would go away if she stalled long enough. “They indicate that an energy weapon was fired.”
The Captain closed his eyes hard. “Thank you, Ensign,” he mumbled, hitting a switch and ending the transmission. He buried his head in his hands.
“Sir,” Zach said firmly, standing up and staring at him intently. Zach waited for the Captain to meet his gaze before he continued. “I did not fire that weapon.”
The Captain looked into Zach’s solemn blue eyes for a long time. “I believe you, son,” he said, drained. “I believe you. But I don’t know who else will.”
There was silence for several seconds before the door chime rang. It slid open, and two tall men in MP uniforms waited at the door.
Zach looked back to the Captain, who was powerless to help him against such incontrovertible evidence. Wordlessly, he walked over and allowed himself to be led away by the guards, continuing down the hallway toward the brig.
But I didn’t fire, he thought helplessly. I didn’t fire, but now, I almost wish I did.
. . . . .
Alexis ran into the mess hall, quickly scanning the room with her eyes. Ryan Taylor’s dark, bald head protruded from the crowd at one corner of the large room. Alexis rushed over to him, sitting down and whispering furtively before he could even manage a greeting.
“Did you hear?” she asked. “Did you hear about Zach?”
Ryan swallowed the food he had been chewing since Alexis arrived. “No. What happened?”
“He’s being court-martialed.”
“What in the Seventeen Systems for?” he asked incredulously. Catching himself, he looked around the room and lowered his voice before continuing. “I mean, Zach is a bit of a maverick, but a court-martial?”
“They say he blew up the ship those SPACER terrorists responsible for this morning’s attack were trying to escape in. He was supposed to disable it, but they say he intentionally destroyed it instead.”
“Zach wouldn’t do that,” Ryan affirmed. “I’ve never seen him disobey a direct order.”
“I haven’t been able to get in touch with him,” Alexis continued, “but I know a guy in communications who let me listen in on the radio chatter from the firefight.”
“What happened out there?”
“It’s hard to say,” Alexis sighed, absently taking a bite from a biscuit on Ryan’s plate. “It was Zach who caught him first—”
“Figures.”
“—And asked him to surrender. But, instead, the ship opened fire on him, and Zach fired two missiles, disabling him.”
“And?” Ryan prompted.
“Well, that’s the problem,” Alexis answered. “After that, they say they registered a shot from a plasma burst cannon, but Zach says he didn’t fire it.”
“If he says he didn’t, then he didn’t. What’s the problem?”
“Aside from the fact that he was the only one out there?” Alexis replied. “The problem is that his ship’s log shows that he fired the weapon.”
Ryan didn’t miss a beat. “I could modify one of those things to say that you blew up the Indomitable,” he retorted. “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means enough to get him court-martialed,” she replied. “But the question on my mind isn’t so much how they did it …”
“As why,” Ryan finished for her. “Who would benefit from discrediting Zach?”
“Probably the same people who would benefit from random terrorist attacks in the first place. The same people who are using the truth about the Korgian Annihilation as an excuse to rape, pillage, and plunder. The same people who hope to weaken the Confederation to the point where systems will be allowed to secede, and the same people who hope to profit from it, or take over those systems.”
Ryan took a last bite of his meal and stood from the table. “I’ve got to get over to the Divine Hammer and get myself involved in the investigation,” he said. “I’ve got to clear his name.”
“You think Captain Woolslair will authorize that?”
“He’ll authorize it,” Ryan said, half joking, “or I’ll set the ship’s computers to play Brechman’s Infinite Symphony—in its entirety—until he relents.”
“My God,” Alexis laughed. “I hope I never get on your bad side.”
Ryan flashed her a friendly wink. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t think you could.”
. . . . .
Dex picked through the rubble, carefully sifting the brittle material in his gloved hands. The wreckage was charred, thoroughly radiation-burned to the point where the plasticite windows had actually flash-boiled, leaving behind nothing but a few drops of murky clear goo. The walls of the building had collapsed inward, undoubtedly as a result of an implosive thermonuclear core. The blast marks near the room’s center showed the location of the core, but the beauty of such a device was that it completely incinerated itself upon detonation. There was no good evidence to trace back to a source.
Surmising the party responsible for the attack, however, was hardly guesswork. After the explosion, which had injured three civilians and a pair of military recruiters, ConFedIntel had tracked a pair of men fleeing the scene and leaving the planet in an illegal, unregistered spacecraft. When fighter pilot Zach Wallace had intercepted that ship, they had fired upon him, and the ship was eventually destroyed under very suspicious circumstances.
Commander Rutcliffe figured that he was lucky in that he had more to work with than most. While the incident involving the destruction of the fleeing vessel was officially under investigation, Dex knew what had happened. Dex had serve
d with Zach on board the Apocalypse for over five years, and in that time he had found reason to call Zach cocky, impetuous, rash—but never dishonest. If Zach said he did not fire on the ship once it was disabled, then he didn’t, and that left only one plausible alternative.
The ship had destroyed itself.
Maybe the terrorist pilots had figured that suicide was better than surrender. But that would hardly explain the energy spike and the tampered logs aboard Zach’s Lone Wolf. No, this had been planned ahead of time, and perhaps even the bombing responsible for the wreckage Dex was studying now was merely the smoke screen designed to deliver this bigger payoff.
After all, what better way to sow discord and weaken one’s enemy than to discredit one of their most well-known heroes? What better place to divert their attention than to an investigation of one of their own?
Dex closed his eyes and dropped the rubble he had been holding, which fell a few centimeters to the ground and shattered silently into a thousand unrecognizable fragments. Dex stood from his kneeling position and looked to the sky above, shielding his eyes against the sun that streamed through the now-vacant area of the roof. So what that I know the truth? he thought. What I need to clear my friend’s name is proof. And I need it soon. Otherwise, the investigation, whatever its final outcome, will have served its purpose.
Dex looked to the sky where the Brigadier would be orbiting. He knew that if there was anyone who could prove that Zach’s flight logs had been forged, anyone who could pick a computer apart, it was Ryan Taylor. Dex instinctively thumbed his nanocomputer’s comlink, somehow knowing that he had better get in touch with Ryan very soon. An eerie feeling had engulfed him, a feeling that this was merely the precursor to something far more vile.
Something that may finally rip the crippled Confederation apart.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 4
Only half an hour remained before their arrival in the Pacifica System, and Captain Mason pored over the technical readout of her ship in her quarters, still in awe at what the Confederation had produced. Though terrorism, pirate activity, and political and civil unrest were reaching epidemic proportions within the Alpha Sector, ConFedCom had still found a way to produce a ship as extraordinary as the Inferno, at a price that—if she knew it—would probably move Anastasia to tears.
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