Sarah turned her attention back to her controls and tried to busy herself with monitoring the kataspace frequencies and checking on the helm. But, since nothing seemed to be happening, and there was nothing to do, it was only a matter of time before her thoughts drifted back to Shen. As did her eyes.
She stared at the back of his head, watching him work, and she thought of the moment they’d had in his quarters. What she’d said, what he’d said, how she’d opened herself up—for god knows what reason—and he’d rejected her. And how very different it had been from not too long ago when he’d cooked her a homemade meal and the situation had been reversed; back when he’d taken a chance on her and she’d turned him down.
It had been so easy then, she thought. Things had made so much more sense. They’d been clearer. Now… I don’t know why but suddenly everything seems more complicated. And feels so different…
She let out a quiet sigh and shook her head. Silently berating herself for the feelings she felt. Knowing that it was stupid that she had them at all. As the silence droned on—Summers preferred to limit the chatter on the bridge—and everyone managed his or her post, watching, waiting, Sarah found herself increasingly agitated. She hated the silence. She hated the awkwardness. Most of all she hated how she felt so confused and conflicted. She hated that she had feelings.
Why can’t I be more like her? She thought, looking at Summers. Whose hard face and steel eyes seemed unmovable. Despite the commander’s physical beauty, and the fact that every heterosexual man that crossed paths with her seemed caught in her web, Sarah had never considered Summers very womanly. She lacked warmth, she lacked passion, she lacked feeling. Sarah had always thought less of her for that, even pitied her. Now though, now it didn’t seem so bad.
I could be stoic, thought Sarah. Knowing immediately that it wasn’t true.
Oh damn it all, I am who I am. She decided then and there that she needed to break the silence. That she needed to tell Shen exactly what she thought. That she wanted her old friend back. And she wanted the silence and the awkwardness to end. Yes, he might not take it well. And yes, Summers will snap at me for bringing up unprofessional conversation on the bridge. But to hell with it all. I have to say it, I do. She knew that if she didn’t, if she just sat there, allowing this to go on, the awkward silence would drive her completely mental. At least if she opened up, and got her feelings out on the table, she’d get some measure of peace, regardless of how they reacted.
“I—” she started to say, but, before she could continue, her comm panel lit up. A high-priority alert flashed. “Sir,” she said, switching gears immediately. Summers spun her chair to face Sarah, a look of concern showed on her face.
“What is it, Lieutenant?”
“I have a high-priority alert coming in over kataspace,” said Sarah. “It’s a distress call.”
Summers stood up in a snap and walked to the helm. “Do you have any further details, Lieutenant? Such as its source.”
“Yes,” she said. “It’s a generalized distress call, there is no attached message, but the priority is set to maximum. And the message’s code indicates it’s originating from Gamma Persei Three.”
“The Gamma Persei system?” asked Shen, he’d spun his chair to face the helm too. “That’s about nine hours away at deepest jump.”
“And get this,” said Sarah, keeping her attention on Summers, who seemed to be resisting the temptation to hover over Sarah’s shoulder and examine the display screens for herself. “The message was sent exclusively to the Nighthawk.”
“What?” demanded Summers, voicing the surprise they all felt. “How is that possible? They’d have to know the Nighthawk’s transponder code exactly.”
“You’re right,” said Sarah, feeling a rush of excitement. “And whoever it was must have, because they did just that. It’s a critical emergency message, and it’s being trusted only to us.”
“Calvin…” Summers mumbled, barely even a whisper.
“Unlikely,” said Shen, somehow hearing her. “Calvin and his team left Aleator in the direction of the DMZ. Gamma Persei is the other way.”
Summers folded her arms, seeming momentarily unsure what she should do. Sarah decided to help her out. “We need to jump there now. By the time we get there, whoever it is… they could be dead.”
“It could be a trap,” said Summers.
“What?” Sarah looked at her with genuine surprise. Is she paranoid?
“Consider it,” said Summers. “Who knows the Nighthawk’s transponder code?”
“The crew… some people at Intel Wing,” Sarah thought hard.
“Anand Datar does,” said Summers. And in a flash Summers’ worry seemed less like paranoia and more like due caution. “And he’s out there somewhere, on the bridge of the Phoenix, actively trying to find and destroy the Nighthawk. He’s already tried twice. What do you think the odds are that he’ll try a third time?”
Sarah nodded. “That’s true, you could be right,” she admitted. Remembering how she’d used to flirt with Anand for hours on end and how she’d once dreamed of their life together. What a fool I was… what a fool I still am!
“It could be a lure,” Shen admitted. “But if it is, I don’t think it’s a very good one.”
“Explain,” demanded Summers.
“If we approach the system and the Phoenix is there waiting for us, we’ll detect a ship-sized object long before we drop out of alteredspace. We’re a much faster ship so, in that event, we could easily change course and pass the Persei System by, or even turn around, without ever putting the Nighthawk in any real danger. And that’s assuming the Phoenix could even detect us while stealthed—which, frankly, seems extremely unlikely.”
“Other ships have detected us before,” Summers pointed out. Which Sarah had to agree seemed like a fair point.
“Other ships were an alien fleet, whose technology we don’t really have a complete understanding of, and the Desert Eagle, which—you can bet your life-savings—has better scanning equipment than a warship like the Phoenix.”
“If the Phoenix is at Gamma Persei waiting for us, they might not be alone. Perhaps the Desert Eagle is with them, or some Rotham ships. Who knows,” said Summers. “It could be anything.”
“True,” admitted Shen. “But that just makes it all the more likely that we’d see them before we arrived. And, like I said, there are very few ships the Nighthawk can’t outrun.”
Summers seemed to consider his point. Sarah could tell that a part of her was curious about the distress call—and some deeply-engrained, duty-driven portion of her soul seemed borderline compelled to charge to rescue when a distress call was heard nearby regardless of prognosis. But another, more cautious part of her, seemed worried that it was trap. And since she held the lives of the crew in her hands she wanted to weigh all of the risks.
“You seem to think that we should go to Gamma Persei,” said Summers, still looking at Shen.
“It’s your call,” Shen shrugged. “But I don’t think going there poses much of a risk to us. That’s all I’m saying.”
Summers folded her arms thoughtfully and returned to the command position. “And this Gamma Persei system, how far off course is it?” she asked. “Remember, our priority, the mission that matters above all else, is eliminating those isotome weapons. That means, once Zander shows his ugly head, we have to be ready to pounce. We cannot afford to be tied down elsewhere. No matter how serious the emergency.”
“The list of places Zander frequents represent a rather large swathe of space,” said Shen. “We are positioned at almost the exact center. But Gamma Persei is near the center too, as are about a thousand other stars—the vast majority of which are completely uninhabited of course. But seriously, when Zander finally does rear his ugly head, as you say, I see no reason to assume that where we are currently will prove any nearer to him than Gamma Persei will. Sure, there’s a chance. But there’s just as good a chance that Gamma Persei will end up being closer.
So there isn’t much compelling us to stay here in open space.”
Summers seemed to ponder this only briefly before making up her mind. Apparently she hadn’t needed much persuasion.
“Lieutenant Winters,” she said, turning her chair to face the helm. “Set course for Gamma Persei right away. Maximum safe jump.”
“Aye, aye,” said Sarah. She’d already done the pre-jump calculation, thinking it was likely Summers would give the order for them to go. “Mister Iwate,” Summers continued. “Keep a vigilant eye on our scopes. If there is someone at Gamma Persei waiting for us, I want to know long before we drop out of alteredspace.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Winters,” Summers added. She gazed at Sarah with eyes of steel. “Keep your ears open, if there is any mention of Zander, or even the slightest hint of him pops up over kataspace, you are to change course immediately and commence pursuit. You will then notify me as quickly as possible. Is that clear?”
“Crystal, sir.”
“And when Red Shift begins you will instruct your replacement to do the same.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That goes for you too Mister Iwate.”
***
It was a weird feeling being on an alien ship, made even weirder by the knowledge that he wasn’t just a stranger passing through a strange land, he was the captain. Master of the vessel in all its Rotham glory.
The Wanderer, Calvin called it, since its proper name was something in Rotham that he could neither pronounce nor understand. It was a small alien cargo vessel with corridors that were a bit too narrow and ceilings that were a bit too low. Despite its unusually jagged contours, strange colors, and odd décor, it was his home for the next little while. And, Calvin reflected darkly, it might even be the last ship he ever captained. Since the odds were uncomfortably large that none of them would survive this mission.
After leaving Aleator, he’d taken the captain’s cabin for himself and quartered the others as best he was able. Mostly that meant housing people in the various cargo-holds. Rez’nac had offered to be anywhere, even the engine room if necessary. Calvin was grateful for Rez’nac’s willingness to cooperate and not make a fuss, but worried the Polarian was grappling with serious depression and intense feelings of guilt. Calvin quartered Rez’nac in the primary cargohold and decided to have Alex stay with him. Discreetly he’d told Rez’nac to keep an eye on their Rotham colleague and making them bunkmates would, Calvin believed, would simplify that task.
Rain converted the secondary hold into a makeshift infirmary, and made herself comfortable in there. And as for Rafael and Miles, Calvin put them together in the tertiary hold. It was by far the smallest of the three, but in some ways the most livable because it was completely devoid of cargo.
“Not exactly five-star accommodations,” Miles had remarked. “But I guess it’ll do.”
“It’ll have to,” was Calvin’s reply.
Arranging watches proved somewhat difficult. The Wanderer, small as it was, only required one person to operate it. But the team he’d assembled didn’t offer much by way of capable pilots. After studying the controls, Calvin determined that he could fly the ship. It wasn’t too different from human-designed small transport vessels, other than the fact that every readout was in Rotham. There were optional configurations, one of them supposedly translated the Rotham words and numerals into standard human. He found the quality of the translation to be poor and often confusing but at least he could usually get the gist of what his displays were trying to tell him.
Other than himself, however, there were no other trained pilots. Rafael had proven a capable co-pilot but he’d never flown any kind of ship before, there hadn’t been any need—he was an intelligence analyst. Miles could expertly run weapons systems, of which the Wanderer had exactly none. Rain was a physician, and Rez’nac was a warrior. Luckily, or perhaps unluckily—Calvin wasn’t sure which yet, Alex could pilot the ship. Calvin didn’t trust the Rotham to have unsupervised access to the bridge so he arranged watches so that there were always two people on the bridge at any given time.
Calvin and Alex rotated shifts piloting the vessel. When it was Alex’s turn, Calvin assigned Rafael to act as co-pilot and keep an eye on things. Both because he trusted Rafael and because Rafael was fluent in the Rotham language—which Calvin believed Alex didn’t know. If he tries anything, we’ll be onto him, Calvin thought. Knowing Rafael was most qualified of anyone here to monitor Alex’s activities.
As for Calvin’s shift, when he was piloting the Wanderer, he chose Miles for the role of co-pilot and supporting officer. Mostly because Miles was the only other trained Intel Wing officer on the team, but also because Miles made for entertaining company. And Calvin didn’t require any meaningful assistance flying a ship this simple. Miles, of course, took it as a huge compliment that, out of everybody, Calvin picked him to share shifts with. “That’s because we go way back,” Miles had said. “You and me, everybody else wouldn’t understand, we go way back. We’ve got each other’s backs since… you know, way back.” This resulted in a great deal of gloating from the large man. It made Calvin smile and he never saw the need to tell Miles otherwise.
As for the rest of the team, Rez’nac kept an eye on things throughout the ship, generally making sure Alex wasn’t up to something. And Rain mostly stayed in the infirmary, keeping her own schedule. She made it abundantly clear to Calvin that she was never unavailable to treat injuries or assist in any way she could, regardless of time of day. Calvin knew she’d be a lot more useful once the bullets started flying and the Wanderer got itself into a sticky situation, but for now he was glad Rain didn’t have anything to do.
A day and half passed without incident. The ship was slow, much slower than Calvin would have liked—the Wanderer’s alteredspace drive couldn’t achieve the jump depth a state-of-the art military starship like the Nighthawk could—but even so, Calvin had the constant, unnerving suspicion in the back of his mind that they should have seen something by now. Either a ship on their scopes, or some chatter over the kataspace frequencies, something. They were fairly deep inside the DMZ now and yet all remained quiet. And black as night.
“Twenty-two-hundred hours,” said a voice from behind with an almost ominous hiss. “It is now my watch, human commander.”
Calvin spun the pilot’s chair and stood up. Looking at Alex as the Rotham stalked closer, ready to take his seat. Because it was the only proper station on the ship, the pilot’s chair also doubled as the command position. And whenever Calvin gave up the chair to Alex, he always felt some lingering hesitation. As much as Calvin hated being trapped on the bridge for hours at a time, whenever he had to hand the controls over to the Rotham ex-Advent operative, he always felt disconcertingly like he was handing the alien a loaded pistol.
“Best of luck,” said Calvin with a nod. “Make sure you keep her in one piece.”
Alex looked insulted as he took his seat, though it was hard to tell for sure on his alien face. “Don’t worry, I will,” he said, turning to examine the controls. He switched the language configuration back to Rotham.
Calvin patted the console twice, feeling irrationally protective of the controls. And then turned to leave, glancing quickly at Miles who was sitting on the floor looking bored out of his mind. “Time to go.”
“Thank freaking god,” said Miles, springing to his feet.
“Don’t worry, Calvin,” said Rafael reassuringly, he’d followed Alex to the bridge. “The ship’s in good hands.” The light danced off his eye and he nodded toward the exit and Calvin knew what he meant. That Rez’nac was listening not too far away and, should Rafael cry out, the muscular Polarian would charge to the bridge and subdue Alex.
“Thanks,” said Calvin. He left the bridge, Miles in tow.
“So now that that crap’s over,” said Miles. Making sure to keep up. “I was thinking we should do something. Y’know? Maybe a game of cards. I haven’t kicked anyone’s ass in poker in a while so I kin
da figured…”
Calvin turned and gave Miles a polite smile. “Sorry buddy, I’m not feeling it tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Oh yeah, ‘course,” said Miles, his face flushed red as a beet. “I’m not feeling it tonight either. Yeah, a card game tonight would be stupid.”
Calvin tried not to chuckle. Miles, Miles, Miles, he thought. Thinking of all the crazy things they’d been through and somehow survived. I hope you never change.
“I’ll just… be in my quarters then,” send Miles. “In the cargo bay. You know. Whatever. No big deal.”
Calvin clapped him on the shoulder and the two parted ways. At first Calvin went to his cabin, the only proper quarters on the ship—which were Rotham-sized and therefore too small. He couldn’t even fit comfortably on the bed so he’d thrown the linens on the floor and just slept there. But this time, as he lay there, he found he couldn’t sleep.
They were going into Alliance space—where the Strigoi lived—and that made him think of Christine. And how the savage creatures had taken her away from him forever with their vile poison. He tried to blink away the horrific memory and sleep. But when he closed his eyes all he could see was Christine’s gaunt, tormented face. He remembered the agony in her blood-shot eyes as she’d begged for the pain to end. For the doctors who’d awoken her to let her die.
She never deserved any of that. It was mere chance that the creature attacked her instead of me. She should have lived. Someone else should have suffered. Anyone else. Not her!
He felt his insides writhe, tortured by the memory. The terror. The uncertainty. Having to see her deteriorate, hooked up to so many machines and not one of them could save her. He saw the hospital room with frightening clarity. The images, the scents, the sound of the machines beeping and churning… it was like having a dull razor plunged directly into his heart. The worst he’d felt in a long time. His instinct was to reach with shaky hands for the orange equarius bottle. But it wasn’t there. There was no equarius. He had to face his demons alone.
The Phoenix War Page 31
