“There was something infinitely comforting about having Shawn Kestrel safely behind a desk—and something altogether terrifying. What do you do when the man you love needs to be in two places at once—each for the good of his people—and neither one of them is at your side?”
-Melissa Graves
On the Wings of Angels: Great Fighter Pilots of the Last 200 Years.
Chapter 3
The conversation with Lieutenant Jerry Santorum had gone as well as could be expected, which meant it hadn’t gone well at all. After a brief round of initial questions about Nova’s performance during the battle, Shawn had cautiously agreed to momentarily drop rank, hopeful that putting aside protocol would loosen the lieutenant’s lips about what had really happened out there. As it turned out, both of the men had more than a few heated words to share with one another after Jerry’s explanation of a faulty weapons control computer hadn’t sat well with Shawn.
After the conversation began to drag on, Shawn had made the mistake of dropping statistics about the infallibility of the Maelstroms’ combat record, to which Santorum had repeatedly told the commander things like “you can strap wings to a pig, but it still ain’t a fighter craft” and “it’s only a machine, and about as perfect as a mud pie with chocolate frosting.”
In the end, Shawn had decided that Nova’s flight recorder would tell the tale, and sooner or later he’d get the answers he was looking for. When Nova had asked if Shawn intended to file formal charges of negligence against him, Shawn had sat in silent contemplation for a long while before speaking again. The simple fact was that he wasn’t sure, and would have to wait until all the evidence came in before he would make any formal statement that would forever tarnish the young man’s record. The only thing Shawn could do now was to order Nova to draft up a letter to Lieutenant Gunderson’s parents, informing them about the loss of their beloved son. He explained to Jerry that it was the least he could do, all things considered. The conversation ended at that point, with Jerry leaving the room in a mixture of frustration and misery.
With Nova out of his new office near the flight deck, Shawn looked down through large windows at the bustle of activity in the hangar. Fighter craft were being repositioned, a result of Captain Ramos’s reorganization efforts. A number of Maelstroms were being ferried to several of the large elevators that led to the lower hangar. Some were in need of repairs, while others were likely heading to the paint shop to get their new squadron colors emblazoned across their sleek fuselages. Shawn looked back to his desk and the small stack of paperwork there, no doubt the records of all the pilots and their new assignments. Sighing, he reached out for his chair, but stopped when he heard a knock at the door. Wondering if it was Santorum coming back for another round, he hesitantly asked the stranger to enter.
As the door opened, his heart skipped.
“Busy?” Melissa asked, stepping toward his desk and looking over the small mound of unfiled reports.
“Unfortunately,” Shawn sighed, but then waved his hand at the paperwork and the still-unused computer terminal. “I’m sure it can wait.” She looked lovely, even in her military-issued flight suit. Of course, she’d look good in garbage bag.
“I heard about what happened out there today,” she said as she ran an exploratory finger over his desk top, checking for dust and finding none. “I’m sorry about Walter.”
“Thanks,” he said, moving to stand beside her. “I just wish I knew whether or not …”
“Whether or not what?” Melissa asked after a moment.
Shawn hadn’t mentioned his suspicious about Santorum to anyone, even Melissa. If he was wrong, and he hoped that he was, it wouldn’t have caused anyone else to project unnecessary anger toward the lieutenant. However, with a handful of qualified pilots dead and a squadron full of fighters in disrepair, Shawn could no longer be silent on the matter. The evidence, no matter how flimsy, should at least be brought to the attention of the senior intelligence agent on board. So what if she thought he was crazy. She had the right to know.
“I just wish I knew whether it was intentional or not.”
Melissa looked at him, an eyebrow raised as she let the full meaning of his words sink in. “Jerry?”
Shawn nodded.
“You think … he’s the spy we’ve been chasing for months?”
“It’s getting hard not to think any other way about it.”
She sighed, then turned to lean against the table as she slid her hip into contact with his. Could Jerry really be the spy? Her gut instinct told her no, but she loved Shawn, and he deserved her professional opinion. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Shawn. Spying … covert operations … whatever you want to call it. If you, an untrained pilot, are able to accurately sniff out that he’s an undercover operative, then he isn’t a very good one, and I’ve certainly lost my touch.”
“Untrained?” Shawn jested, although he understood her meaning.
“I’m just saying that some of the stuff we’ve encountered from whoever has been shadowing us is obviously the result of someone skilled in tactical covert operations. I just … I just don’t think Nova has the knack for it.”
“No one on this ship, save for myself or Trent, knows more about Sylvia’s Delight than Jerry does.”
Surprised at the mention of his lost ship, and having missed him in the last few days of unrelenting flight operations, Melissa found herself curling her arm around Shawn. “What makes you say that?”
“When he and I first met, he mentioned that his dad used to fly Mark-IVs as a free trader. He said he hadn’t been on one in a long time, but I got the impression that he spent enough time on them to get a solid feel for their layout.”
“Circumstantial at best, Commander.”
“I suppose so, but you can’t deny that someone would need to be extremely familiar with the Mark-IV to do what the spy had done,” he said.
“In what way?”
“The first time was when the data recorder we retrieved from the Icarus mysteriously disappeared. Not a trace of evidence was left behind.”
“That doesn’t mean Jerry had anything to do with it.”
“No, but his history with the design makes him a suspect. The same can be said for planting the virus in D’s computer.”
“And the eventual crash,” she said cautiously, hoping the memory wouldn’t turn Shawn’s mood even more sour. “But he’d also have to have some pretty advanced training in computer systems, and there’s nothing in his personnel record to show he’s had such training.”
He pushed aside the question of why she’d bothered to commit Nova’s file to memory. “If he is the person we’ve been looking for, then I’m thinking he may have gotten it along the way … somewhere. Don’t forget, someone broke into my own stateroom on the Rhea—not an easy task aboard a Sector Command warship. And Jerry was the one responsible for getting me my identity card when I first checked on board.”
“You think he made a duplicate?”
Shawn’s head bobbed from side to side slowly. “If he did, he’d have access to quite a few places that he’d normally be denied.”
Melissa looked at him sternly, then broke out in a fit of laughter. When she saw that Shawn wasn’t laughing, she regained some of her lost composure. “You can’t be serious. I mean, the next thing you’ll tell me is that you think Jerry’s responsible for stranding the Rhea near Second Earth.”
“Is it so hard to believe?”
“It’s just … it doesn’t seem likely, that’s all,” she said dismissively.
“Because you’ve been doing this for years?” he asked sternly. “You’re innumerable skills tell you otherwise?”
“Don’t get that way,” she replied kindly, then reached out and placed a hand over his forearm. “I’m just trying to be realistic. This is Jerry we’re talking about. Is he rash and impulsive? Yes, I would say so. But he’s not a saboteur, and certainly not an assassin.”
Shawn sighed deeply, then placed his h
and over hers. “Then you won’t have a problem tailing him for a little while, then.”
Melissa locked eyes with him, then offered a raised eyebrow. “Just so you know, I’m only doing this to prove you wrong. I happen to consider that young man my friend.”
“Oddly enough, so do I. That’s why you’re going to report back everything you see. I need evidence that he’s not the person we’re looking for, and I need it quickly. I’m going to put off filing my official report on what happened out there today, at least until after the recorder data is available, but Ramos will get suspicious if I stall for too long. This report could ground Jerry, maybe permanently, and Ramos is going to want to know all the details before he allows something like that to happen. I’d rather not ruin what’s left of Jerry’s career at the same time.”
She nodded quietly. “How long until the recorder data is ready?”
“I called down to the hangar and put in a slow order on it. I don’t know whether that will accomplish anything, but it was worth a shot. It should give you a day … maybe two.”
“That isn’t very much time.”
Shawn smirked. “I’m sure you’ve done more with less.”
She smiled back, then kissed his cheek. “In my youth, Commander. In my youth.” She stood from the desk and headed for the door.
“Dinner tonight?” he called after her, admiring not for the first time the way her coveralls fit her curves.
She tossed a hand over her shoulder as she opened the door. “Sorry. I’m busy. Some fool just gave me an assignment, and I’ve learned not to disappoint him. You’ll have to take it up with him.”
%%%
After grabbing a quick bite to eat, Shawn made his way up to the bridge to meet with Captain Ramos. Less than an hour before, the entire fleet had transited the jump gate safely, destroying it afterward as they attempted to cover their tracks. Shawn, like the rest of the crew, had no idea where the gate had deposited them. It was a closely guarded secret—known only to Captain Ramos and the embarked admiralty. Even the other fleet captains had no idea. The coordinates were inputted by the Duchess’s navigation computer using specially encrypted keys, and the rest of the 2nd fleet simply followed blindly in her footsteps.
As the double doors to the bridge parted without a sound, Shawn was greeted by the sight of a red planet dominating the large forward view ports. Upon closer examination, however, it actually appeared more pink, with wisps of white and violet rippling around in the upper atmosphere, and looked for all intents like a large ball of candy against the backdrop of stars.
At the head of the compartment, standing almost nose-to-glass with the view port, was Captain Ramos. His hands were clasped behind his back leisurely as the rest of the bridge crew whispered orders to one another. It was the first time Shawn had visited the bridge under post-battle conditions, and he was surprised at the lack of males present. To be more precise, something in him approved. At every station—save that of the flight control officer’s console—women officers manned the consoles, whispering orders and exchanging readout information into headsets and to one another as the battle carrier neared the known world.
Shawn stepped up beside Ramos, wondering what the captain was gazing so intently at.
“How did the post-combat briefing go?” Ramos asked.
“As well as could be expected.”
“Hmm,” Ramos mused. “That bad?”
“What makes you think it was bad?” Shawn asked in mock defense.
“Captain’s intuition, I suppose.”
Shawn sighed lightly. “Well, let’s just say I don’t think there’ll be a repeat performance any time soon.”
Ramos turned to Shawn, himself now looking across the void at the pink world. “I’m sure, Commander.”
“So, where are we?”
“Ogolo,” Ramos said, but with an air of uncertainty.
Shawn could understand why. Ogolo was one of the many contested systems during the Galactic War—one that had been relinquished to the Kafarans afterward due to its proximity to their territory. “We’re in Kafaran space?”
Ramos nodded once. “And I don’t have to tell you why I’m feeling nervous about that.”
“We’re working together now, Captain,” Shawn said as he lowered his voice. “I don’t see any reason to get worried.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about,” he said, then cocked his head over his shoulder. “It’s some of the crew. You and I, and many others, welcome the alliance with the Kafarans. It’s a way to put the past behind us, and to make sure we have a secure future. Some of the others …” his words trailed off.
“You’re worried something will happen to jeopardize our alliance with the Empire?”
Ramos unclasped his hands, nodded, and then folded his arms across his chest. “And if it does, this is about the worst place it could happen. We’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun here, Shawn, and it’s got me quaking in my proverbial boots.”
Shawn understood the trepidation. “Then why jump here?”
“Simple: Sector Command wants to draw the Meltranians farther away from the Inner Sphere.”
“You mean, if they decide to follow us.”
“Right, which I don’t think they will. If anything, I’d say the Unified Council wants to push the frontlines even closer to the dark space.”
The Darkness, as the Kafarans call it. That black area of space, purported home to the Meltranians, mostly devoid of hospitable planets, located on the far side of Kafaran territory. “To intercept them before they even get beyond Kafaran space?”
“Yep. And it seems the Kafarans are more than happy to have us here.”
Shawn knew where this was going. “Because if we do defeat the Meltranians …”
“The bulk of our forces will be decidedly in Kafaran space.” Ramos then turned to Shawn and a devilish smile crossed his face. “And just ripe for the picking.”
“So, if we’re here, then who’s going to take care of the Meltranians already near our space?”
“Admiral Hansen said it’ll be 1st Fleet’s responsibility. I’ve been reassured that it’s being handled, and that it’s no longer our concern. In any case, we’re here now, and we need to start making the best of things.”
As the Duchess neared the planet, Shawn caught the glimmer of sunlight reflecting off a point hanging just above the northern pole. Even at this distance he knew it to be a ship—and quite a large one. “We expecting any guests?” he asked with a nod toward Ogolo.
“The Rhea,” Ramos replied. “Her Marines are down on the surface right now.”
“Then she’s been repaired?” Shawn asked. The explosion several months ago that had wiped out most of her engineering team was thought by many to have been fatal.
“With capital ships in short supply, the admiralty put extra effort into making sure she was rushed into the yards. I have to tell you, I’m glad she’s back in the fight. We could use the help.”
Shawn looked out to the small speck that was the supercarrier Rhea. Was he going to get transferred back? What about Raven and the rest of the squadron? Was Krif still on board?
“In case you’re wondering, you’re staying on board the Duchess.”
Shawn’s eyes shifted to the captain. Was it possible the man was a telepath? Nonetheless, Shawn was pleased at the disclosure. “Good,” he said with an approving nod.
“The Rhea’s been outfitted with new equipment and personnel. I’ve been told that some of it is classified.”
“New weapons?”
Ramos shrugged his wide shoulders. “Anything about it would be speculation at this point. Admirals Hansen and Graves are about as giddy as schoolgirls over it, though.”
“How so?”
“Oh, that’s all they’ve been talking about for two days. Nearly every conversation has to do with the Rhea and the new equipment she’s carrying. I’m sure it has something to do with the Marines stationed planetside, but again … it’s all—”
“Exactly. And I hate not knowing. Makes me even more nervous.”
“Understood,” Shawn agreed heartily. “What’s the story with the Marines?”
“The 92nd Expeditionary Unit’s been down there for a few weeks setting up fortified positions around the populace centers.”
Shawn recalled all too well the effects of the Meltranians’ isotonic cannons, and their frightful efficiency at destroying planetside installations. “I’m not convinced the Meltranians are interested in ground warfare. They could be sitting ducks down there.”
Ramos nodded with a grunt. “I voiced that very same concern to Admiral Hansen. Both he and Graves seem … unconcerned. I think it has to do with the special equipment aboard the Rhea. Our orders are to make sure that both the carrier and the Marines below are well shielded from orbital attack … assuming the Meltranians come at all.”
Shawn nodded as his eyes moved from the carrier to the planet below. Was it possible that the Unified scientists had indeed perfected the Project Windstorm torpedo? While such a weapon could turn the tide of the war in their favor, Shawn almost shuddered at the idea of deploying it. The awesome, destructive power could be orders of magnitude higher than anything the Meltranians had in their arsenal, and would almost certainly prolong the conflict.
Ramos looked around the sill of the large window, glanced back toward the crew hard at work at their stations, then back to Shawn. “I bet all this makes you wish you were back on Minos.”
“You can say that again,” Shawn said quickly, then amended his statement. “But, just like Ogolo and every other planet in Beta sector, Minos is just another target to the invaders. Sooner or later they’d have come knocking on our door, and I’d be even more powerless to stop them than I am now.” He thought back to the planet Persephone and his friend, Toyotomi Katashi. Having received his shipment of weapons from Shawn several months ago, Toyo was more than equipped to take care of himself—for a short time, anyway. But Toyo had assumed it would be the Kafarans, not a new threat, that would attack his world. Was Toyo up for a sustained guerrilla war against the Meltranians if it came down to it? From what Shawn had seen of the invaders’ power and ruthlessness, he knew the answer was a resounding “no.” “I’m here because this is where I need to be, Darian,” Shawn said, referring to the captain by his first name. “The people of Beta sector, including the ones I care about, are counting on us to do the best we can.”
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