by Paul Barrett
As the brewing coffee passed the halfway point, Hawk stirred. Quiet time would soon be over. Wolf pulled out the half-full pot and filled Hawk’s cup. He added an unhealthy dose of sugar and cream. After filling his bowl-sized cup, he replaced the pot in the brewer, walked into the wardroom, and put Hawk’s cup within reach.
“Thanks,” Hawk said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
Wolf nodded and sipped at his coffee.
Hawk kicked the blanket off his leg and sat up. He groaned as his patched ribs began the first of their several days of dull aching. “I guess I deserve this,” he said, cracking his stiff back. “That’s the last time I sleep on this chair.” He grabbed the coffee cup and took a sip.
“I’ve heard that before,” Wolf said.
“Yeah, but I was sober last night. Well, mostly sober.”
Wolf grunted. “Why didn’t you sleep in the second guest cabin?”
“Because that would have made sense, and I wouldn’t be able to spend the rest of the day bitching about my sore back. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I smell bacon.”
Wolf returned to the kitchen.
Hawk drank his coffee as he watched Wolf walk away, savoring the warmth and sweetness of the sugar-laced drink. It always amazed him how much more he appreciated the small things after a brush with death. Colors shone brighter, and tastes were more vibrant. The world around him was heightened as if adrenaline pumped through his body for days after the encounter instead of hours.
That’s what kept him in this profession. Not the excitement or the money. It was the afterglow, the feeling of euphoria that he survived another day when others didn’t. He supposed that’s what kept a lot of people doing this work until the day came when they made a wrong move and became one of the others. It would no doubt happen to him one day; that idea hadn’t bothered him for five years.
The smell of eggs mingled with the bacon and Hawk’s stomach growled. He finished his coffee and stood to get some more. Trey walked into the room, still wearing the green shirt and gray shorts he had worn to bed. Tousled hair and bags under his bloodshot eyes gave testament to a restless sleep.
“Rough night?” Hawk asked.
Trey flopped into a chair. “I dreamed about…home.”
That simple statement told Hawk all he needed to know about how bad yesterday’s events had upset the boy. “You okay?”
Trey didn’t say anything for a moment. “I don’t know. I guess…I…there’s just so much I don’t understand.”
“Want to talk about it?”
Trey shook his head. “Not right now.”
Hawk nodded. If Trey needed to work it out on his own, Hawk wouldn’t force him to do otherwise. He suspected the boy would open up to Laura, or maybe Gerard. He walked into the kitchen and poured some more coffee.
“I’ll take a cup,” Laura said, walking into the wardroom.
“Okay.” Hawk poured another cup and left the kitchen. “Jesus, didn’t anybody sleep well last night?” he asked, seeing Laura’s haggard expression.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep well for a year,” Laura answered as she took the coffee from Hawk. “How are your ribs?”
“They hurt like hell. My back’s stiff, too.”
“You fell asleep in that chair again, didn’t you?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry we took your bed.”
“That’s okay. I could have slept in the guest room.” Hoping to lighten Trey’s melancholy, he said, “You better quit sleeping with this woman. Someone might get jealous.”
Trey blushed. “I need some milk.” He jumped up and ran to the kitchen.
“You’re a very wicked person,” Laura told Hawk.
“Any change with Patishi?”
Laura shook her head. “If she doesn’t improve in the next few hours, I’m going to have to feed her intravenously.”
“Thomas?”
“Good. He is one tough man. He’s going to recover. With a proper hospital, he’d be out in a week. I’ll keep him sedated and mending until we can get him to one.”
Ashron bounded into the room. “Good morning, everybody. I trust everyone slept well?” His teeth showed through his wide-mouthed grin. Four wilting stares met him. Still smiling, his eyes roamed from face to face as his tongue darted in and out.
After a moment he said, “Apparently not.” He nodded and changed his grin to a tight snarl. “Get me some coffee, dammit.”
He grabbed the proffered cup from Wolf and plopped down into one of the vacant chairs across the room, a stern expression on his face.
“When in Rome, eh, Ashron?” Gerard said from the doorway, having witnessed the entire incident.
Still snarling, Ashron winked.
Trey, a glass of milk in his hand, gave Ashron a puzzled gaze. “How can you joke right now?”
Ashron’s return stare was a saurian mirror of Trey’s. “What’s wrong with right now?”
“People died yesterday. Your friends. A—” his voice cracked, and he paused for a moment. “A kid. Shouldn’t they get more than jokes?”
“They did,” Ashron said, setting his coffee cup down and holding out his scaled hands. He flexed them and his talons extended.
“What happened to your claws?” Trey asked. Three were missing: two from the left hand, one from the right.
“I pulled them out,” Ashron said. “One for each of the Maratais, friends that I failed to protect. I mourned them privately last night and sacrificed part of my body to their memory. The claws will grow back, and the pain will remind me every day of their sacrifice. But I can’t stop joking and laughing and living. To do so would be false to myself and a dishonor to them.” He retrieved his coffee cup and sat back.
“People mourn in different ways,” Laura walked over and sat at the table. “Most of us choose to remember the best of those we’ve lost and carry on.”
“That doesn’t always work,” Hawk muttered.
“Not always, but most of the time,” Laura said. “You grieve for them however you see fit,” she told Trey.
Trey nodded, his face thoughtful as he walked into the kitchen.
Gerard emerged from the kitchen with a cup of coffee. “It may have been a dream, but I seem to recall being awakened in the night and shown a rare body transmitter. Someone care to explain?”
Laura described the results of her autopsies and the discovery of the microchip.
Wolf leaned over the bar that separated wardroom from the kitchen. “What does the chip do?”
Gerard quickly went over the workings of the transmitting device.
“How difficult would it be to install one?” Hawk asked Laura.
It would require at least laparoscopic surgery,” she answered. “Yonath’s appendix was missing, so the chip could have been planted then. But why would anyone bother?”
Gerard spoke up. “How about this? Someone at Unicybertronic found out he was working for the Council. They bugged him so they could monitor the information he was sending to the Council and make sure he hadn’t stumbled on to anything incriminating. They would also have a way to discover Council operations when he went back. If he died, it would be blamed on post-surgery infection, and they would be rid of a spy.”
“That thought crossed my mind last night,” Hawk said. “They were certainly planning for the long run.”
“They didn’t become the largest cybernetics company in the galaxy by being short-sighted.”
“I don’t know about this chip,” Ashron said, “but I do have a few questions. Who set us up? Why do they want us so badly? Why is Moran involved? And when are we going to eat? The smell of bacon is about to drive me crazy.”
Wolf walked back in with a large bowl full of scrambled eggs and a plate of bacon in his hands. Trey followed close behind, carrying dishes and silverware.
“Breakfast,” Wolf announced.
“Well, that answers one question,” Ashron took a plate and fork from Trey. “I don’t think the others are goi
ng to be as easy.”
“Which one would you like answered first?” Gerard asked.
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Then I’ll start with the easiest. Moran’s involvement is simply a matter of personal revenge. He said as much during the confrontation with Hawk. You’re aware his split with the Knights was not exactly amicable.”
“What happened between the Knights and him?” Laura asked. She and Ashron had joined the group shortly after Moran’s departure. Although they knew it was a bitter separation, they were never told the details.
Hawk shook his head. “Not yet. I’m not ready. Someday, maybe.”
Laura nodded. “Do you suppose Moran was behind the whole set-up?”
“Interesting thought,” Gerard answered. “Though I have trouble picturing Moran as a lieutenant in a third-rate terrorist group, I could see him using one as a front.”
“He was behind it,” Hawk said. “He may not have been working alone, but I’d be willing to bet Ashron’s job that he made the major decisions.”
“Thanks,” Ashron said dryly.
“So who financed him?” Laura asked. “Their tech wasn’t the best, but it was still a pretty big operation we stepped into.”
“Ship, is the TDF big enough to support an operation of that size?” Hawk asked.
“Yes and no. They have the connections to come up with that kind of capital. After all, they are known galaxy-wide. However, to do so, they would have to convince their backers that the expenditure would be worth the political gain.”
“So what you’re saying is that they wouldn’t back Moran simply for personal reasons, so there’s more to this than meets the eye.”
“I wouldn’t have been so cliché but, basically, yes.”
“So, to sum up,” Hawk said, “Moran is involved in a plot to wipe out The Knights. He’s involved with the TDF deep enough to get them to devote a large number of their resources to a seemingly personal operation. I see three possible reasons. One: there’s something more than personal revenge involved we don’t know about. Two: Moran is actually the leader of the TDF, and they will do what he says, or— Three: Moran paid for the operation and used the TDF as a front.”
“I think we can safely discount the second reason,” Gerard said. “Moran could certainly be in charge of a group like that, but I don’t think it fits his style.”
Hawk nodded. “Even though I mentioned it, I have trouble with number three. Moran was never what you’d call thrifty. I can’t see him having that kind of funding himself.”
“Which would indicate he has someone backing him,” Laura said. “UCT?”
“I have trouble believing that,” Gerard said. “Revenge is not a profitable business.”
“Which means there’s a reason behind it other than personal revenge,” Hawk took a drink from his coffee cup.
Ashron crossed his wide-spaced eyes and turned to Trey, who giggled despite his glum mood.
“I feel like we're running around in circles,” Ashron said. “What do we do next?”
There was a moment of silence and Hawk, sensing something was wrong, lowered his coffee cup and peered over the rim. Ten curious eyes stared at him. “What?”
“You’re the Captain,” Ashron said. He stood up and saluted. “Lead us, O Fearless Wonder.”
“Well,” Hawk set down his cup. “The first thing I want you to do is step into the airlock and open the outer door. The rest of us are going to travel to ZT-3235.”
“What’s that?” Ashron asked.
“It’s a dead planetoid.”
Ashron exhaled from his long snout, letting out a sound between a sigh and a hiss. “I could guess that from its designation. What I meant is: why do we need to go there?”
“It’s the nearest place without jumping into ripspace where I can get a direct transmitter link to Force 13. I need to get a message to them.”
“Why don’t you just relay it?” Trey asked.
“Until we have a better idea what we’re up against, I’d rather do it directly. Force 13’s relays are tight, but even they can be tapped into. If anyone knows how to do it, it’s Moran. Okay, here’s the plan. As soon as we’re in range, I’ll contact the Council and give them a debriefing. In the meantime, we need to determine if UCT is involved and to what extent. They wrote Yonath off pretty quickly, and they’re the prime suspects for planting the bug on him. Laura, I want you to find out what you can about that chip. Who creates them, how you get one, what it would cost. Anything that would help narrow down how it got into Yonath.”
“I’ll check his medical records and find out when he had his appendix removed,” she told him.
“Good. We also need to figure out how much Moran is involved in this. Gera—” he stopped at the frown on Gerard’s pale face. “What’s wrong?”
Gerard removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. “I’m not sure. Something doesn’t fit, but I can’t tell what it is.”
“There are several things that don’t fit.”
“How many days before we’re in range to call Council,” Gerard asked.
“Ship?”
“Three.”
“Thank you.”
“Do you need me for anything right now?” Gerard asked.
“No,” Hawk replied. He learned a long time ago that when Gerard found something perplexing, it was because he had noticed a fact the others had missed, but he would never say anything until he was confident it was worth mentioning.
Nodding, Gerard stood up and walked out of the room.
Standing, Laura said. “I have to go see Patishi and Thomas.”
“Well then, meeting adjourned,” Hawk said to no one in particular, going back to his half-finished plate of eggs.
14
Trey’s Lesson
Hours later, Trey sat in his room staring at nothing. Depression warred with anger for control of his emotions. His life on Ship had begun to give him a sense that the Universe was a sane place, something he had not felt for a long time.
Yesterday’s events had shattered that illusion.
Last night, dreams of Kel had returned after months of absence. Friends lived again, only to be slaughtered by glass-eyed soldiers. His parents died again, their plasma-inflicted burns torturing them until they begged Trey to end their suffering. In the dream, Trey always refused, telling them to sleep and it would all be over. At his words, his parents would smile, tell him they loved him, and drift into peaceful death.
The dream had always been better than the reality.
Today’s events were little better. He struggled to comprehend the crew’s reactions. They seemed casual. As if yesterday never happened. As if three people they knew hadn’t been savaged almost beyond recognition. Even worse, he struggled to understand his reaction. The years on Kel had numbed him to the idea of death. Some died, some lived, and the fight went on. Even when his parents left there had been no tears, no remorse, only an understanding that some died, some killed, and the fight still went on.
So why did he feel so despondent at the death of three strangers? Why did the crew’s seeming lack of compassion bother him so much?
In an effort to chase the thoughts away, Trey pulled out his reader and began doing the research he had wanted to do ever since he sensed Gerard’s hesitation about ripspace. The intervening days had been full of school lessons, training, and assisting in mission prep. Now was the first chance he had to get his questions answered. Even though his heart wasn’t into doing research, he began hunting down everything he could find.
Four hours later, another emotion joined his mental whirlwind: fear.
Gerard paused outside Trey’s door before knocking. He had been trying to figure out what he would say ever since Trey mentioned his “dreams” of ripspace. Trey deserved the truth, but Gerard wanted to present it in a manner that wouldn’t rattle the boy too much. Yesterday’s traumatic debacle wasn’t going to make his job any easier. Gerard fretted—an unaccustomed feeling—and wondered
if he would be better served letting Laura explain things.
No. That wouldn’t do at all. He was the only one who could do this, and the sooner he did, the less chance the ever curious Trey would discover it on his own. He knocked.
“Come in.”
The door slid open. Gerard stepped into the room. He studied the room as the door closed behind him. Considering it belonged to a twelve-year-old boy, the chamber was exceptionally well kept. Perhaps too well. No scattered toys. No underwear or shirts flung carelessly over chair backs. Everything neatly placed on its shelf or in the closet.
Trey sat on his bed, dressed in a loose-fitting green smock and pants. His reader lay across his lap, and one glance at his blank face and bloodshot eyes told Gerard that Trey had already discovered much on his own. He had learned enough to be frightened, but not enough to comprehend. Gerard suppressed a sigh as he pushed back his ever-present baseball cap. He had said he would deal with the consequences. So he would.
He walked over and knelt beside the bed, putting himself at eye level even though Trey wasn’t looking at him. “You want to talk about it?”
Trey said nothing for a moment. Finally, he asked, “Where do I start?”
“Wherever you want. I’m here for as long as you need and to answer everything I can.”
Still staring at the wall, Trey said, “Why do people have to die?”
Caught by surprise, Gerard paused before answering. “I don’t know. That’s a question that has confounded people far smarter than you or me.”
“Was Yoseph a bad boy?”
“No. He was a typical ten-year-old. A little mischievous, but not bad.”
“Then why did he have to die like that? Why did any of them have to die like that? Why did m—” He stopped. His eyes turned puffy.
Gerard reached toward the boy with his golden arm and then stopped. Trey needed warm human contact right now, not the coldness of machinery. With his flesh hand, Gerard pushed aside Trey’s ever-hanging brown bang. “He didn’t do anything. Chaos is one of the prime foundations of the universe. Good people die young for no reason, while evil people live, become wealthy, and die of old age in their beds. I think you know that already.”
