The Firestorm Conspiracy (15 page)

The computer directed her to another target. Her heart pounded in her chest. This was the way the flyers were meant to fight. A predatory grin spread across her face as she spun her ship around for another attack.

“Beta Flight, return to base. Beta Flight, return to base. Target incapacitated. Return to base.”

“Copy that Alpha-One,” she replied. “Echo-One returning to base.”

As soon as the hangar was re-pressurized she leapt from her flyer and ran to meet her fellow pilots. “That was amazing.”

Alpha-One, Lieutenant Smitz, laughed. “Hell yeah. That was everything I ever dreamed a coordinated attack could be. I hope we get scheduled to run the sim again.”

Lt. Yamanicco nodded in agreement as she followed the rest of her flight into the debriefing.

* * * *

Target Incapacitated.

Estimated Losses Seventeen Percent.

“The losses go up when the pilots ignore the auto-target,” Konrad mused.

They’d just finished running Delta Flight through the simulation for the third time. After only twelve sorties, their data remained consistent. Each flight had disabled the attacking vessel, a statistic unheard of with other tactical plans, and their losses fluctuated between eight and thirteen percent. For comparison purposes, they’d instructed the lead pilot of Delta Flight to deliberately ignore his auto-target to gauge the effects.

“The computer adjusted for the pilot’s actions and repositioned the other flyers appropriately,” Thompson said as he looked up from his console. “I didn’t note any obvious gaps in the attack pattern, did you?”

Konrad met the captain’s gaze and replied, “No, sir.”

He scanned his console again, determined to find fault in the old man’s program.

“We need to analyze the data in detail before adding the program to the SOPs though.”

Rebeccah’s communications panel beeped.

“Cmdr. Santiago here.”

“Commander, please report to my office.”

“Aye, sir,” she replied then closed the channel. Catching Targersson’s eye, she shrugged as she crossed behind the command center to reach the door. Targersson grunted and turned his attention back to his console.

She knocked.

“Come.”

“Cmdr. Santiago, reporting as ordered, sir.”

“At ease, Commander.” He smiled at her. “Take a seat.”

She waited as he keyed in several commands on his computer and then brought his gaze back to hers.

“I want to talk to you about your reports,” he said leaning forward, placing his elbows on his desk, and lacing his fingers together.

Dread filled her gut. “My reports, sir?”

He nodded. “You’ve made significant changes in the way you are formatting them now. I wanted to tell you these are the most thorough and precise reports I have ever had the privilege of reading. Not only is the information clear and easily accessible, but your creative use of links to the main database allows me to make informed and efficient decisions.”

Rebeccah glowed. She figured she’d done well with the reports, but his silence over the past two weeks made her doubt the effectiveness of her new system.

“I’ve also heard you’re leaving your shift on time and don’t appear to be spending an inordinate amount of your off-duty hours working on these reports.”

“No, sir,” she replied.

“I just have one question for you,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Sir?”

“Who are you paying to write them?”

Rebeccah went numb. He couldn’t be serious
.

Fighting the urge to flee, she said, “With all due respect, sir, if you don’t think I can do my job, why did you wait so long to say something?”

Thompson’s jaw dropped. “Wait. No, that’s not what I meant.” He seemed flustered. “I didn’t mean… Of course I think you can…” He leaned back in his chair and ran his hands through his hair. “Shit. It was a joke, Commander. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you or imply you were not carrying out your duties in a satisfactory manner.”

Her reaction clearly puzzled him.

“No, sir, I should apologize. I overreacted. I should have known you wouldn’t--”

“No,” he interrupted. “I was out of line. I assumed I understood the level of camaraderie between us, and I apologize.”

“No, sir. You weren’t out of line. I would like to believe we’ve developed a relationship where joking is permissible.” She sighed. “I enjoy working with you.” She gave him a lopsided grin. “A lot more than I thought I would.

“I’m even finding some satisfying elements in being the XO. The position hasn’t turned into the nightmare I imagined it would be. But I’m still doubting myself and my abilities. Every time I think I’ve got one thing mastered, I discover three more things I know nothing about.” She looked away from him. “I don’t know how you do it. You’ve been out of the chair for twenty years, yet you act like you never left. If I didn’t know your history I’d swear you’d been doing this all your life.”

“Commander,” he said, leaning forward again. “Rebeccah.”

She stifled a gasp; he’d never addressed her by her given name while on duty.

He chuckled once and shook his head. “I’m not the confident leader you believe me to be. To be honest with you, some aspects of this job scare the living daylights out of me.”

“But you don’t--”

“No,” he replied, “I don’t. I can’t. The crew need to see a captain in control. They need someone who remains calm in tense situations, someone they can draw strength from. Someone they trust to give the right orders at crucial moments, and they won’t think that’s me if I go around broadcasting my doubts and insecurities everywhere.”

She nodded.

“You obviously understand that, given your success at hiding your own worries.” He gave her an appraising stare. “You’ve spent too long hiding behind facts and research, avoiding living up to your potential. You’re capable of being an exceptionally fine XO, and one day you’ll make an outstanding captain too.” He paused. “As long as you don’t let your fears control you.”

Rebeccah smiled in return. He understood her insecurity and didn’t think any less of her. Still, the conversation drained her and she wanted to get back to her post on the bridge. “Thank you, sir. If that’s everything…”

“Yes, Commander. Dismissed.” She rose and moved toward the door. “Commander?”

“Yes, sir?”

“This incident made me realize I don’t know you as well as I thought I did. If we’re going to be working together for the next few months, I think I’d like to get to know the real you, not just the personnel report version.” He paused. “I’d like you to join me at my table tonight--without the rest of the senior staff. What do you say?”

Her heart leapt. “Yes, sir, I’d like that.”

Rebeccah slid into her seat in the command center and pulled up another report. Satisfied with the proposed crew rotations on gamma shift, she had forwarded her recommendations to the captain when her communications panel beeped.

“Cmdr. Santiago.”

“Commander,” Lt. Cmdr. Karenshikov paused. “My team and I have completed our investigation.”

“Excellent,” she replied. “Please forward your report to the captain and myself.”

“Commander, I think you and the captain should hear this in person.”

* * * *

“So,” John clarified, “you’re saying you cannot rule out tampering.”

“That is correct, sir.”

“But you can’t prove it either,” added Rebeccah.

“That is also correct, sir.”

John gazed around the office of the chief of the Department of Internal Security. The last thing he needed was terrorists aboard a ship about to enter orbit around an alien planet. He focused on Karenshikov and said, “I want you to send your report, as written, to myself and Cmdr. Santiago. Then I want you to submit an official report declaring the explosion to be an accident.”

Karenshikov’s eyebrows rose. “You want me to falsify my report?”

“I know how my order sounds, but think on this,” he replied. “If the explosion was an accident, the report is completely true. If not, then--”

“Then the saboteurs won’t know we suspect anything,” finished Karenshikov.

He nodded. John was about to elaborate when his portable communications device beeped. “Excuse me,” he said as he activated the unit on his ear. “Thompson here.”

“Sir, you’re needed on the bridge,” said Targersson. “We’ve entered the Cerces system. We should arrive at Cerces III in just under two hours.”

“What’s the problem?” Thompson asked, hiding his irritation.

“Sir, a coded message is being broadcast from the planet on over a dozen frequencies.” There was a pause as Targersson inhaled. “The message is addressed to you.”

Nate walked into his office and checked his mail before removing his coat and sitting down. An intense interest in the events taking place on board the
Firestorm
had sparked the new addition to his morning routine. As he called up the first log, he peeled off his jacket and tossed it across the back of his chair.

He chuckled every time he read the deputy chief engineer’s logs.

Engine Reactor Core

Efficiency: 98.2% (+/-0.5 due to fuel pressure inaccuracies)

Core Temp: 70KeV (0.00001% + norm)

Observations: Core appears stable and is functioning within norms. Fuel pressure pump requires examination to rule out core malfunction. Test ordered. Core temp slightly elevated. Running diagnostic. Will reassess in six hours.

The man wrote his reports as though monitoring patients. When he got back he’d ask John where he found such an entertaining engineer.

Flipping through several other departmental logs, Nate spotted a trend. What started out as skepticism and doubt, “Captain Thompson hasn’t served in almost twenty years, and isn’t up to date on current SOPs,” “War and peace are two different types of command,” “The
Firestorm
boasts plenty of capable officers, why pick him?” became statements of support and confidence, “Crew efficiency is up,” “The ship is ready for anything,” “Captain Thompson knows his stuff.” He paused to read the log of the Beta Flight commander, Lt. Smitz.

The mission debriefs are periods of excited chatter and discussion. The new tactical patterns designed by the captain and chief tactical officer are proving to be not only effective in simulation, but also rewarding for the crew. We began our own discussions on how to tweak several of the plans to better suit the individual skills of the flight’s pilots.

A short paragraph written by the Quartermaster caught his eye.

While very unassuming in person, the captain’s influence can be felt throughout the ship. The XO’s reports are efficient and thorough. I have our supply needs planned out for the next six months based on her reports and projections. The captain ensured no one suffered financial hardship regarding the uniform and equipment damage from the explosion. Those costs didn’t come out of my budget, but out of his discretionary fund.

Apparently John hadn’t lost his touch. Nate was positive getting back into space would do him good. He smiled as he read, pleased with how his plan continued to unfold; all worries about John’s mental health and the risk of saboteurs forgotten.

Kree couldn’t get Grock to leave him alone. The fuzz-head insisted on accompanying him back to his temporary nest. They’d eaten dinner, and now Grock looked like he planned on staying the night.

Under normal circumstances Kree would be happy to spend time with his hatch-mate, but the situation was anything but normal, and Grock’s incessant chirping about humans grated on Kree’s nerves.

“Did you know that humans raise their own young?” Grock asked as Kree slumped in his chair. He quickly added, “Yes, of course you did. You’re the expert agent sent to meet one.” Grock drifted back into the litany he’d used throughout the evening. “I can’t believe you’re going to meet a human.”

“Grock,” Kree tried to explain things again. “Don’t you understand? I don’t want to meet the human. At least not with these others. I’m sure they’re dangerous.”

“But you’re an agent. ‘Dangerous’ is your middle name.”

“I’m a desk agent. I read reports.” Kree sighed. “No one is supposed to know I’m here. That’s what scares me.”

“You mean those guys who are contacting the alien ship aren’t part of your diplomatic unit?” Understanding dawned on Grock. “How’d they find you?”

“I don’t know.” Kree got up and began to pace. “I wish none of this had ever happened. I wish I could go home.”

“I wish I could meet a human.”

Grock’s shell had obviously been dropped one too many times before he hatched.

“I’m thirsty,” said Grock.

“Let me see what’s here,” Kree said. His shoulder still hurt and he desperately longed for his bed.

“No.” Grock jumped up. “I’ll get it. You relax.” Grock moved over to the beverage service and began rummaging. “Hey. You’ve got the ingredients for a Tail Snapper. I haven’t had one of those since we graduated. Want one?”

“I don’t think so,” Kree said, rubbing his shoulder.

“Aw, come on,” Grock wheedled. “Just one? For old times’ sake?”

Kree agreed, hoping his acceptance would get Grock out the door faster. “Just one, and then I need to get some sleep, all right?”

“All right. Just one and then sleep. Got it.”

Kree closed his eyes and waited for Grock to return with their drinks. Grock’s constant chirping was driving him to exhaustion. He opened his eyes to find Grock’s face very close to his own. “Uh, sorry, Grock. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

“That’s okay. Here’s your drink.” Grock sat down with his glass and took a sip. “Mmm, brings back memories, eh, Kree?”

Kree sipped his own drink; it was sweeter than he remembered. “Yes. We had a lot of fun when we were hatchlings.”

Kree yawned.

“Drink up before you fall asleep, fuzz-head.” Grock took a long slug from his own as an example.

Kree couldn’t keep his eyes open as he guzzled the last of his drink. “Grock…” he mumbled. “I don’t…”

The empty glass tumbled out of Kree’s hand and onto the floor. Grock stood over Kree as the blackness claimed him.