by M. G. Herron
The drone peeled off and Osprey laid into her own blasters, cutting through the Kryl’s shields and raking across its underbelly. The shots must have ruptured fuel sacs there, for the alien craft vented a cloud of translucent, viscous liquid that her Sabre cut right through. As the drone fell toward Robichar—hamstrung but not destroyed—Osprey pulled off its trail and went after Nevers.
“Nevers! Hang on!” Casey’s recorded voice cried out. “I'm coming after you.”
Kira reached out and paused the playback by resting her open hand in the hologram.
“Did you see that?” Kira asked.
Osprey’s eyes narrowed. Her face was red again. “See what, sir?”
“How the Kryl drone got behind your pilot.”
“He was out-maneuvered, sir.”
“Yes, but how?”
Kira waved her hand. The hologram footage rewound, the Kryl drone piecing itself back together and Captain Nevers flying backwards, until he was behind the Kryl drone again.
“Watch carefully.”
Again, the footage played forward, the Kryl drone swerving and bobbing. Elya followed, shadowing its movements. And then suddenly the Kryl drone was behind Captain Nevers. Kira paused the footage once more.
“Blink and you’ll miss it.”
“It must have fired up its reverse thrusters and pulled in behind him. A human pilot would suffer from those G-forces but a Kryl drone is unmanned and can take more force than we can.”
“A textbook explanation. But if that were true, why did the Kryl drone fall off the lidar when it performed the maneuver?” With her other hand, Kira brought up the telemetry. These readings were nothing more than miniaturized visual representations of the ships in a particular volume of space. It showed none of the detail of the footage from Captain Osprey’s Sabre—no stars, no sleek xeno curve of the Kryl craft. What it did show, however, was whether a given ship was present in real space or not.
As far as tools go, the lidar readings were essential ones for the Fleet. Kryl ships could drop out of hyperspace at any time, and without continual monitoring using lidar—Light Detection and Ranging, a remote sensing method utilizing pulsed lasers—they might not know when or where enemy forces appeared.
Captain Osprey easily read the volumes, picking out the Kryl drone. When the teardrop ship disappeared and then reappeared a moment later, Osprey’s nostrils widened and she inhaled sharply.
This is what Kira had been looking for. When she entered the room, Captain Osprey had been distracted by the contents of her mind. Now she was riveted upon the lidar scans and the ship’s movements, fully intent and focused.
“Admiral, can you play it back again?” she asked, leaning forward, fists on the table, now intent on the footage. Kira rewound the video from the Sabre and played it forward at half speed. It happened so fast that if you didn’t slow down the playback you might miss it, like Osprey had the first time.
“There.” The captain paused the footage with her own hand this time, cycling back a few frames and then forward, zooming in and then repeating the process.
“It just… appears behind him. I was too far back to see in person, but… how is that possible?”
“I trust what is seen and said in this room will remain between us.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
“The Kryl drone appears to have phased out of real space. Maybe it flickered into hyperspace for half a second to outmaneuver Captain Nevers.”
“No ship can phase in and out of hyperspace like that without tearing itself apart.” Osprey gave a small gasp. “Is that how they suddenly appeared in our flight path earlier, too?”
“I don’t know. Seems likely,” Kira said. “Maybe it’s a new technology the Kryl grew in their radioactive scum ponds. But to be clear, it doesn’t matter how.”
“Sir! Respectfully, I disagree. It matters a whole hell of a lot for my pilots. If—”
Kira’s upheld hand dammed the flow of Osprey’s reactive tongue. Protective, this one. When Kira’s lips tried to curl up into a smile she forced it down. It wouldn’t do any good to have Osprey think she was pleased with her outburst. She had a reputation to uphold, after all.
“It matters that it happened—ours is not to wonder how. I saw a great deal I didn’t understand during the Kryl War.”
“And you never questioned it?”
Kira scoffed. “Please, Captain. Of course I did. What I saw drove people mad—men and women I respected, soldiers I fought beside. But we had to keep moving, keep fighting. Once the Kryl retreated, what I had seen was of no consequence.” Kira added in her thoughts: And who knows which half of what I saw was real and which half was a grief-induced hallucination. A decade later, that harrowing period of her life was nothing but a confused blur.
Captain Osprey’s eyes made their way back to the holoscreen. Kira forced her memories away with a practiced shove. Now was neither the time nor the place to hash it all out again.
“With the Kryl on the move,” Kira said, “this is the evidence we need to convince the Emperor and the Colonization Board that the Kryl threat has truly returned—and that they’re more dangerous than ever.”
“What about Nevers?“ Osprey asked. “If this is so important, don't you want the footage from his Sabre?”
“A Search and Rescue team has been dispatched to find and bring him back.”
“Let me go look for him,” Osprey said leaning forward, eyes intent. “He’s my responsibility. Please.”
“The SAR team has already been dispatched,” she repeated, her voice flat.
Osprey shook her hair out of her eyes. Those jaw muscles bulged again.
“We'll find him, Captain.”
“It's my fault,” she said. “I should have gone after him when I had the chance.”
“You were ordered not to.”
“Nonetheless, sir, I’m the flight lead. He got shot down under my watch. I should have caught up to the drone. I should have—”
“Enough,” Kira said. “You can't change what happened. You can only move forward. Besides, I need you here. Not only are you the only other person who witnessed what that Kryl ship did, but with Lieutenant Colonel Walcott gone, and half of your squad injured, the Furies need leadership.”
Osprey huffed a heavy breath through her nose, opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. She wanted to say something, but she obviously didn’t want to speak out of turn. Kira could see how difficult it was for Captain Osprey not to speak her mind. She could relate.
Finally Captain Osprey said, “Permission to speak freely, sir.”
“Of course, Captain. Keep in mind, speaking freely doesn’t mean there are no consequences for the words you choose, so choose wisely.”
Captain Osprey rolled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down on it. She shuffled her feet and, after a moment, threw her shoulders back and came to attention. “Yes, sir. What am I going to do here, sir? Sit on my hands, sir?”
Kira fought down another smirk. This girl had spirit, she’d give her that. “You think Walcott would have just sat on his hands?”
Osprey cast her eyes to the ground. Nothing chastised a soldier like invoking the name of a fallen comrade, especially one so recently departed. They had retrieved Walcott’s frozen body—what was left of it after the explosion, anyway. Kira had ordered the lead medic to prepare his body for the journey home, where he would receive a proper send-off.
Osprey straightened again. Her eyes went up to the ceiling, as if something had just occurred to her. “Speaking of Lieutenant Colonel Walcott, sir… what happened—”
“What happened was a tragedy, and not your fault.”
“No, sir, I know that. Only… what happened makes about as much sense as what you just showed me here.” She gestured at the hologram, which was frozen on Elya’s Sabre, with the Kryl drone blazing behind him. “Less, even. If I’m not allowed to go after Elya, I’d like to look into Petty Officer Mick Perry’s strange behavior in the hangar.”<
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Perhaps some commanders would have ordered Captain Osprey to her berth and told her to stay put and shut up. With most soldiers, that would be a fine option. But Kira could see the type of person Captain Osprey was. If she didn’t have something to occupy her mind and her hands while she was forced to stay put on the Paladin, she would undoubtedly stir up trouble. No. It would be far better to make use of her.
And while what she had seen the Kryl drone do was evolutionary in terms of the Kryl’s currently known and documented abilities, that was not her only concern at the moment. Kira still had a fleet to command, a Mammoth to repair, an evacuation to complete—not to mention the bulk of the incoming Kryl hive to mitigate against. The situation in the hangar was done and over with—untangling what happened was, unfortunately, fairly low on her list of priorities.
What would Fleet brass think of the captain investigating the death of her commanding officer? She couldn’t imagine they would be thrilled. “Technically, we should call for an Imperial Inquisitor so that an objective third party can investigate the situation.”
“Yes, sir, technically. But we’re out on the edge of the galaxy to evacuate this colony, and there’s no way we can get one sent here in a timely manner.”
Her father, the Inquisitor, had taught Captain Osprey well indeed. Besides, Kira had seen the security film of the hangar. What happened was certainly unusual and warranted investigation, if for no other reason than to put her crew’s mind at ease.
“Sir, what if…” Captain Osprey said, her voice pitched low. Kira took a step closer to her to hear the words she practically whispered. “I always thought these were just war stories my dad and his friends told, but… what if it was the space madness?”
Kira spun away and paced the width of the room, her memory casting back over a decade to the last time she’d seen the space madness for herself, during that confused and tragic period of her life. “Those weren’t just war stories.”
It wasn't uncommon for a fleet on a long deployment to have a few crew members go stir crazy. In this case, however, they had only been deployed a few weeks, not years. And she had seen the videos—the mechanic’s cries of Xeno! Xeno! had been rather unsettling. She’d seen the space madness overtake soldiers before, but this was a novel kind of hysteria. It would be good for morale to try to pinpoint a root cause, or at least come up with a logical explanation that proved Petty Officer Perry’s behavior had been an isolated occurrence.
“Very well,” Kira said. “In all likelihood, the arrival of the Kryl caused the young mechanic to panic. I’ve already given orders to remove the gas canisters to a more secure location in order to avoid an accident like this in the future. But to reassure the crew, you have my permission to look into it. Review the security footage from the hangar. Talk to those he worked with and, if you can, find out what caused him to snap like that. I've seen space madness take people before. But rarely does it result in the deaths of three soldiers and a giant gaping hole in my hangar, so your point is well taken. Report directly to me with your findings—no one else.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Osprey’s relief was palpable. She finally spread her feet and stood truly at ease.
The captain was right, this was an unusual request. But few people had seen the mechanic’s behavior up close. Captain Osprey was a good fit for this special assignment. At least the girl had some self-awareness—and, apparently, a chip on her shoulder.
“I’ll make sure you get access to the security system. Remember, not a word of the other thing we discussed here outside of this room. At least not until we have time to make a full report to the Executive Council.”
“Yes, sir. I won't let you down.”
“See that you don’t.”
Ten
When the door to the war room irised closed behind the admiral, Casey blew out her breath and braced her hands on her knees as she fought down the urge to vomit that had been present through most of her meeting with Admiral Miyaru. Thankfully, she’d been left alone in the war room and no other officer would see her lose her composure.
A head and a half taller than her, lean, mean and muscular, Admiral Miyaru intimidated the hell out of Casey. It had taken all of her energy not to show it during that conversation. With that close-cropped blaze of white hair and a gaze that cut to the soul, the admiral was perhaps the most impressive woman she had ever met, a feeling amplified by the war stories about how she killed a Kryl duralisk with a boot knife—then, not two weeks later, watched a comrade sacrifice his life to take out half a dozen Kryl overminds, injure the Mother Queen, and end the war in a nuclear explosion. There were rumors that Captain Ruidiaz and Admiral Miyaru had been lovers, but Casey hadn’t met anyone who knew for sure. Not even her father had been willing to talk about it.
She was certain of one thing, however: Casey longed for Admiral Miyaru’s respect. While her heartbeat settled back into a normal rhythm, she paced in circles around the war room and reflected on what the admiral had just shown her.
A Kryl drone with the ability to phase through another ship without engaging a hyperdrive? The fact that Admiral Miyaru needed this evidence to prove to the Emperor and the Colonization Board that the Kryl presented a greater threat than humanity currently believed spoke to how far their leaders had drawn the wool down over their own eyes—and over the eyes of the Solaran people. Seven hub systems and no one except border-patrol and a few units on an evacuation mission seemed to be the wiser. Dozens of colonies had been chartered since the end of the Kryl War. How were they to defend them all if this exercise turned out to be the vanguard of a new conflagration?
It slowly dawned on Casey that the admiral had probably recalled her starfighter not merely because she had disobeyed orders to go after Nevers, but also because the admiral needed the footage from her ship. In a way, that was comforting. This wasn’t only about her or Nevers; something bigger was at stake.
Something that looked like the fate of humanity.
Casey heard her father's voice clearly in her mind: “The soldiers of the SDF are the protectors of humanity.” He had explained this to her many times, starting when she was about five years old. So many times that she could recite it in her sleep. “We serve the greater good. We sacrifice, and sometimes give our lives, so that others across the galaxy may live in peace.”
It had been years since she’d heard that speech. She supposed he no longer felt the need to give it once Casey had entered the academy. But never had it seemed as true as it did right now.
Admiral Miyaru was the closest thing to the embodiment of the sacrificial soldier’s spirit that Casey had ever encountered. Unlike her father, whom she had let down many times—when she’d been caught drinking and smoking in secondary school, when her father had walked in on her and her first boyfriend having sex, when Nevers, damn him, had graduated as the top pilot in their class, knocking Casey out of the leading spot—Casey resolved never to let Admiral Miyaru down. She would turn over a new leaf.
“But am I even cut out for this?” she asked aloud.
The empty room didn’t answer. She continued pacing.
What right did Casey have to investigate the explosion in the hangar? That was a job for an Imperial Inquisitor. The Empire’s favored hands traveled throughout occupied space to investigate court-martial claims for validity, interrogate people suspected of crimes, and pass sentences. They were the galaxy’s traveling judges and executioners. Who was she to serve in that capacity?
She must have been momentarily out of her mind. Her father had served as an Inquisitor for several years. After he retired from the military, the Emperor brought him back out of retirement personally for the job. Admiral Eben Osprey had a law degree and had commanded a starship, all the experience necessary to be a good Inquisitor. Casey had no such experience, only the knowledge of the toll it took on her father in the five years he served.
Inquisitors were typically chosen from the ranks of the most experienced men and women. The only k
ind of investigation Casey ever had to perform was trying to figure out how Park managed to sneak alcohol into the rec without her knowing. Or why her bold aleacc strategy had lost her the game.
What did she know about investigating? Now that she’d been given the requested assignment, she couldn’t admit her inexperience to anybody. Worse, Admiral Miyaru had put her in a position where she couldn’t even ask for help except from the admiral herself. Who would she go to if she did? Lieutenant Colonel Walcott had given his life to save her. Yorra had gone with Park to the hospital wing to treat their injuries. And Nevers was stuck on the moon itself… assuming he had survived that landing.
And once she started investigating the explosion, questioning mechanics and talking to the crew who had been at the scene when Mick lost his mind, her colleagues would immediately begin to distrust her. She may not have been an official Inquisitor, but she had been appointed by the admiral. That meant that she had, at least nominally, some of the Inquisitor’s power—to arrest, to interrogate, to imprison… if not to pass judgment.
Good thing this wasn’t that kind of crime. Reflecting on what had happened in the hangar with Mick, she supposed there was really only one guilty party. If Casey was careful and didn’t ruffle any feathers, there would be no reason for any of the crew to get upset with her. The one person who had committed a crime was Mick, and he was dead, having shredded himself to a thousand fleshy pieces when he set the torch to that canister of gas.
Casey Osprey stopped her endless pacing and gazed around the empty war room. There was the Imperial insignia, the tristar logo, emblazoned large against one wall. The octagonal table at which she sat held seven more empty seats. The hologram floating over the table still showed the paused footage from her Sabre, half of the forest moon looming in the background.
