“If you have to. Put it on my tab.”
“Very well. What’s on your mind?”
Darius sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “What do you know about Lieutenant Brandon Reid?”
“Reid. Reid. Isn’t his court martial scheduled for the twenty-third?”
“Of this month? Wait a minute, isn’t that just after Doctor K’s trial starts?”
“Just a second, please.” Don turned and pulled aside the flap of the green canvas tent. He rooted around inside for a moment and then returned with a small notepad. He flipped through the first few pages, and then read something off of one of them. “Yeah, the twenty-third. Hmm. It seems like that’s a bit close to the other trial.”
“Why the hell would Eriksen schedule the court martial that close to Kimura’s trial?”
“I couldn’t tell you. I didn’t even hear of this first-hand. Fred told me about it when our families got together the other night. The weird thing is that he doesn’t know who will be representing Lieutenant Reid. And when I asked the colonel, he just told me that it was taken care of.”
Taken care of? Darius shook his head. I doubt it, Colonel.
“Do you know where they plan to hold it? Or why I wasn’t interviewed as a witness?”
Don raised his eyebrow. He pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled something on the notepad. “You weren’t interviewed. That’s very interesting.”
“I suppose this means something to you?”
“Yes, Mr. Owens.”
“And just what is that?”
“That Reid is not going to get a fair trial.”
God damn it, Colonel. He’s your own man. What could you possibly gain from doing this?
“That’s a mighty big accusation, Mr. Abernathy. Are you sure?”
He closed the notepad with a very deliberate motion and tossed it aside. “No offense, Mr. Owens, but when you’ve seen as many courtroom antics as I’ve seen, you know a shady deal when you see one. This reeks of it.”
“I see.” Darius offered a handshake which was returned. “Thank you for your time, sir.”
“It’s my pleasure, Darius.”
Darius turned from the meager accommodations that held the Abernathy family. He headed into the depths of the camp, but had no destination in mind. He tried to wrap his mind tried to wrap around the commanding officer’s secrecy.
He doesn’t want a fair trial. But he will still have to punish the lieutenant. Why hide the trial if it’s going to be public in the end? Very public. The punishment for treason is…
Darius stopped in his tracks. He felt his heart sink as his head swiveled to the right, capturing the gray silhouette of Gabriel.
To show that crimes will be punished. Severely. As Darius swallowed, his throat tightened and threatened to constrict the air that his lungs drew in. He took several shallow breaths, and he felt a bit faint. Maybe he values Kimura more than Reid, but one of them has to suffer.
His legs pumped with almost no thought. They carried him closer to the towering walls from which he was forbidden to go inside.
Eriksen doesn’t trust that Kimura will be convicted, so he’ll make sure someone is. Even if his motives were for his family.
He drew nearer to the walls of the ship. Somewhere inside, Darius knew, Eriksen was directing not only the affairs of the colony, but whatever scheme he had concocted. Darius was forbidden from stepping foot on the ship without permission and an escort, and he was not a devious man by nature. The fleeting idea that he could somehow sneak aboard the ship and find out what Colonel Eriksen was planning passed with little more than a shamed shake of his head.
Maybe Mr. Abernathy could challenge Eriksen and force his hand. This, too, felt pointless. No, not with a military court he couldn’t. The colonel would have him booted off the ship in two seconds.
Frustration began to mount within him. Unconsciously, he flexed his fingers. He turned from the ship and walked toward the river, picking his way through the endless sea of green canvas that made up the camp. Darius found the muddy path that ran parallel to the line of utility poles he had helped erect. His boots made a soft squishing noise as the mud flowed from the tread on the soles with each step. The rhythm of his march stirred a fire within him, and before he realized it, he was running along the path.
In only a few minutes, he reached the now bare banks of the river. Stumps marked where once mighty trees stood, felled both for their precious timber as well as to clear space along the bank for the inevitable construction of industrial facilities. He stopped just feet from the edge of the wide, slowly churning river. He reached to the ground at his feet, unearthed a stone just smaller than his fist, and heaved it into the water with a furious scream. It arced high before it breached the surface of the river just over a hundred feet from shore. The plume of water from its impact was short lived, barely longer than the deep thud created by the impact.
Though it did nothing to solve his problems, hurtling the rock did feel good. He repeated the process with another rock of the same size, and then a rock large enough that he had to pitch it with both hands. The latter only went a few feet into the river, but the splash it created chipped away at the stress of the situation.
Darius continued throwing rocks into the river as he rolled over the information in his head time and time again. He then changed to skipping rocks until his arm ached. Still no solution presented itself, so he sat on a stump and looked across the river at the Michael side. As with the Gabriel side, their counterparts on the far bank had also cleared trees for river access, although they had done so farther downstream. He could see little through the wooded area directly across from him, save for the ship itself. Faint echoes of heavy machinery surrounded him, though from where he sat he couldn’t tell which side of the river they came from. Both ships were equipped with exactly the same heavy equipment, and worked from the same operational guidelines.
That’s why I still don’t get why Eriksen had us land on the opposite side of the river. He knew both crews would be performing the exact same tasks. There was no conflict of interest. This was all supposed to be a big collaboration between all three ships.
Darius grimaced as he thought of Raphael’s reactor going critical. Neither ship’s crew had picked up any further broadcast from the doomed sleeper ship or its pods. Other than the radio beacon that Raphael sent before landing to mark the spot where they intended to start the colony, no other pieces of the ship had been detected or recovered.
Over two thousand dead on a ship that never made it to the surface. Two CO’s who can’t see eye to eye. Who can’t put aside their differences for the sake of another four thousand colonists. What the hell has come between these two men that it’s come to this? It’s almost like the loss of the other ship has thrown everything to hell.
Darius rose from the stump and plodded back along the trail toward Gabriel. His thoughts shifted to Raphael. He tried to remember every detail that he could that might matter to Eriksen.
She was the largest ship. She carried full medical facilities so that we wouldn’t have to build a hospital right away. She carried far more cargo than either of the other ships. Maybe there was something in the cargo manifest that he needed?
Darius shook his head at that thought.
No, each ship still carried what it would need to survive and build. Having the manpower and equipment of Raphael would have made things easier, but not really that different. Lieutenant Kimura was on that ship by accident, but I don’t see how that would affect the colonel.
He began to go through the personnel records in his head, as he had seen much of the manifest when Captain Quinn had tried to work out who the assassin on board may have been. The work had ultimately proven futile when the ship was destroyed.
Colonel Fox. Hmm… no, from what I remember, he didn’t care for her much at all. Major Emberley. Don’t know much about him. I guess Eriksen would have met him during the command briefings. Who else was there? Bartrand. Singh.
Ford. Mancini. Maynard. Morado. Cormack. No one else really stands out. What the hell was it? It’s not cargo, and it’s not an officer. It couldn’t be a passenger, that’s just too weird.
His head snapped upward and looked at the gray mass of the ship.
A passenger. When I talked to Drisko over on Michael, he said that one of the passengers was assassinated. God, who was it? Think, Darius!
He began to pace back and forth along the width of the track, trying to recall the name of the murdered passenger from the other ship. In his zeal, he failed to notice his old ops partner, Lieutenant Roger Miller, walking down the track.
“Darius?” he asked, causing Darius to jump back and his heart to race. “What are you doing out here?”
“Damn, Roger, you scared the crap out of me. What are you doing?”
“Inspecting the poles that you and your crew put up. Seriously, man. You look like you’re about to rip your scalp off the way you’re rubbing your head like that. Is something wrong?”
“You have no idea. Can I ask you a random question?”
“Always,” Miller nodded.
“Do you remember the name of that passenger on Michael that was killed by the code bug in the sleeper routine?”
“Of course. It was Doctor Fairweather. How can you forget a thing like that? I mean hell; he, Benedict, and Kimura practically designed the ships themselves.”
Darius pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course,” he echoed sheepishly.
How could I have forgotten? It makes so much more sense now.
“Time for another odd one. Doctor Benedict was supposed to be on Raphael, before he decided to stay behind, right?”
“I think so. Why?”
“Just been trying to figure this whole damn thing out, that’s all.”
“You still on the whole landing on the wrong side of the river thing?” Miller asked. His wording choice gave away to Darius that he was trying to hide his irritation.
“Don’t tell me it doesn’t bug you at all?”
“Of course it does. But what’s done is done. Give it up, man. We’ve got bigger things to worry about now.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I think this is a bigger problem than anyone realizes. I think it has something to do with the whole Project itself.”
Miller rolled his eyes. “Am I going to have to get your tinfoil hat for this one?”
“Can you just promise to hear me out?”
“Fine,” he sighed, and gestured with his hand that Darius was free to continue.
“Doctor Benedict died on Earth dying to protect the secrets of Project Columbus. This is according to Doctor Kimura, and I have no reason to doubt him.”
“Other than the fact that he’s admitted to treason.”
“Good, we’re on the same page. We have an honest traitor. Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt and continue to assume that everything is true, as it has been up until this point.”
“Fine.”
“So all three ships are cruising in deep space, when someone figures out how to use a code exploit between the com and stasis systems to assassinate Doctor Fairweather. This same exploit is used to attempt assassination on both Doctor Kimura and Lieutenant Reid.”
“That’s a bit of a stretch to think someone did that on purpose.”
“No, it’s pretty clear that’s what was intended. I have the proof, too. It’s in the version of the com software. It was rolled back on all ships prior to launch. I just didn’t notice it until we were about to go to sleep for the first time, and didn’t think much of it until I saw the code fragments that my null mailbox captured.”
Miller’s eyes widened and the color drained from his face. “W-what?” he stammered. “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Colonel’s orders. Only he, Quinn, and I knew about it. Doctor Kimura figured it out too, but knew better than to talk about it. There were a few guys on Michael that figured it out after they were hit, but I can only assume they were ordered to stay quiet as well.”
“S-so someone murdered Fairweather?”
“And tried to do the same to other accused conspirators. Someone out there didn’t want these men to live. Maybe they knew something else. Something more dangerous. Then, all of a sudden, Colonel Eriksen orders a new landing site, and goes out of his way to exclude me from Doctor Kimura’s trial. I just can’t figure out why.”
“Maybe he’s the assassin?”
Darius pursed his lips and thought about it, then shook his head. “I was able to tell from the code fragment that it came from Raphael, so the killer was on that ship. Besides, if he was, he wouldn’t have had Doctor Kimura continue his duties after his confession. He would have had him killed.”
“Unless he wanted to throw suspicion off.”
“Or have the assassination legitimized. Through a court,” Darius added.
“So with an accusation of treason, and treason being punishable by death, Colonel Eriksen can wash his hands if Doctor Kimura is convicted.”
“Exactly. Lieutenant Reid, too.”
“Oh shit,” Miller exclaimed. “That explains why I was ordered to defend Reid.”
“What?” Darius gasped. “You?”
“Exactly what I said. I told him I’m not a lawyer, but he told me that no one on the crew was, and all that mattered is that an officer represented him.”
“That’s complete bullshit. He has civilian attorneys he could choose from that would do a better job. But still, why would he pick you, when we were partners for so long?”
“Ah, that’s where my keen awareness of keeping my ass out of the fire came into play, and then promptly backfired.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Miller replied. “Colonel asked me if I had seen you since we landed, which I told him that I had not, which seemed to please him. So when he asked me if I had any issues keeping you in the dark for a while, I lied and told him no. I figured if it was that big of a deal to him if I chatted with you, he might drum me out just like he did with you.”
Oh, so that’s the story he’s telling? I remember it a little differently.
“And about that, we probably shouldn’t be seen together. He might shit a brick if word got out that I even spoke with you.”
“Can you at least keep me in the loop as to what’s happening?” Darius pled. “I didn’t even know the court was being set up, and even Don said something is wrong with the whole situation.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but we both need to lay low a bit. Something stinks here big time, Darius. I’ll sniff it out for you. If I hear anything, I’ll send word through one of your boys to meet me. That is, if they can be trusted.”
“They can be trusted, Roger. I have no doubt about that.”
“Take care. And for God’s sake, keep your head down for a couple days.”
“I will. Thank you.”
Darius turned from his friend and jogged back toward the ship, mind still racing about what Eriksen’s grand scheme might be.
Calvin McLaughlin
14 April, Year of Landing, 09:01
Michael landing site
Cal’s foot pushed down on the throttle a little harder. The turbocharger began to scream like a boiling tea kettle, and the crawler’s nose lifted toward the sky as it ascended the hill. Cracking and scratching from under his feet told Cal of the presence of a bush he hadn’t seen, now mowed down by the heavy skid plate. The body of the crawler rocked for a second as the offending vegetation disappeared under the left track. Glass rattled in the back seat as sample jars teetered in their precarious perches.
Easy, Cal. Easy. Just get it all there in one piece. That’s all that matters now.
Cal glanced over his right shoulder. Neil was in the rear passenger seat. His glasses were off and his eyes closed. He was not asleep, though, as his hand shot out to steady an awkward load of glass jars nestled between his legs. In front of him sat Traci Joseph
son. Her scratched and bruised face bore a blank expression as she stared at a point somewhere beyond the windshield. There was nothing there; Cal knew she was lost somewhere back in the wilderness.
It was better that way, he thought. When her mind was distant, it couldn’t focus on the physical pain she bore. Her left arm was bandaged and placed in a makeshift sling. He knew that she was bruised on her chest as well. The amount of pain she had been in for the past two days made him suspect that she had at least one broken rib. Neil had almost completely forgone sleep in order to attend to her in case she received a concussion when the beast tossed her like a ragdoll.
Cal turned his attention back to driving. He dared not look behind him at the seat occupied by sample jars and camp supplies. He tried to push from his mind the fact that Elaine Montoya had been replaced by cargo, and her body rested instead in the bed of the crawler. As the machine crested the hill and its hood pointed downward again, Michael came into view, dominating the entire windscreen. Their journey home had been almost without conversation; only the song of the diesel motor kept them with constant company.
Josephson’s right hand stretched out for the radio microphone clipped to the dash. Cal watched her wince as she tried to lift her twisted body to reach it. Cal unclipped the microphone and stretched across the cab to hand it to her.
“Here,” he said.
“Thanks.” Her tone was as dead as her expression. She lifted the mic to her face and clicked the transmitter. “Michael, Echo Foxtrot Four. We’re coming home. Be ready at the rear hatch.”
After a moment of static, a familiar, cheerful voice welcomed them home. “Understood, Echo Foxtrot Four,” Cameron’s voice filled the cab. “We’re looking forward to seeing you. Lieutenant Ceretti will be waiting for you.”
The microphone clattered to the floor as Josephson let it go. She curled her fingers up and put them to her mouth, returning to her world of thought.
She didn’t tell them.
There had been no earlier communication with the ship to warn them that the expedition party was returning to base. There had been nothing to warn them of the fatality that had occurred on the excursion. Sergeant Cameron Drisko had joyfully welcomed them back, without knowing the sorrow that the single crawler’s return would bring.
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 67
