The Firestorm Conspiracy (29 page)

A slow smile spread across Nate’s face. “You’re right, Bob, I have been feeling a little under the weather lately.”

“Yes, sir. And you look quite ill, sir.” Jenkins added, smiling, “Are you sure you should be at work today, sir?”

“You know,” Nate replied, “I’m not sure I should.” He coughed lightly. “I think it might be best if I take the remainder of the day off in order to rest and recuperate.”

“I agree, sir. We need you functioning at top efficiency, and that cannot happen when you are hovering at death’s door.”

“Let’s not get too melodramatic here, Bob.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m assuming you will log the appropriate paperwork for my absence?” Nate smiled. “I can’t remember the last time I called in sick, I’ve forgotten the proper protocol.”

“Yes, sir. I will ensure the documentation is completed and approved as soon as you’re off home to rest.”

“Thanks, Bob.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

Nate rolled his shoulders as though he’d shrugged off a major burden. Never one to procrastinate, he thought he finally understood the thrill of avoiding a task despite knowing he’d still have to get the job done.

* * * *

What if he refused to submit the report?

Nate poured himself a brandy and collapsed onto the over-stuffed sofa in front of the video screen. Engrossed in his personal dilemma, Nate neither turned on the latest news feeds nor checked his own communications terminal.

What if the warning proved false?

If he made that assumption he would save a peace process over a decade in the making and preserve the lives of over fifteen billion humans.

But what if the avian was correct and he failed to act?

Nate would be condemning millions of innocents to death, and assuring a war he believed Earth could not win.

Once in government and military hands, the report would guarantee the end of friendly relations with the avians, turning humanity’s future toward another conflict where billions would die. Even if Earth could prepare for an attack, the UESF couldn’t guarantee the safety of everyone. Would those forewarned deaths be any less tragic than the unsuspecting ones?

Nate tossed back his brandy and rolled his head to stare at the ceiling. He continued to let his thoughts run around in circles. The failure of John’s mission left him with no choice regarding the warning of an impending avian attack.

He was so close, damn it. Nate grimaced and took another swig of his drink. He’d worked too hard to have everything destroyed by a single transmission.

Nate let his head bounce against the cushion. He wasn’t facing a lesser of two evils decision--both sides were equally dismal. All that was left to do was to decide how and when his fellow humans would die.

* * * *

Nate shambled into his office, oblivious to everything around him. He’d spent most of the previous evening, and several hours early that morning, wrestling with his conscience. He tossed his coat onto his chair, powered up his computer, and sat staring into empty space.

Jenkins bustled into the office and placed a steaming mug of coffee along with several important communiqués on Nate’s desk. Nate accepted the mug out of habit and scanned his latest messages with only half an eye.

A recent packet from the
Firestorm
caught his attention. He thought Jenkins had cancelled his feed. He prepared to delete the logs, unread. Nate’s finger hovered over the delete function, his mind already on the subsequent messages.

A small tingle behind his left ear brought him up short. The same sensation had always told him when he was being watched by an enemy. He’d survived dozens of firefights, relying on the little tickle. Moving with the deliberateness of a fly walking on syrup, Nate shifted his cursor to open the
Firestorm’s
logs.

Choosing the XO’s report, he wasn’t surprised to see she hadn’t taken on the position of acting captain. He scanned her entry, expecting to see a summary of repairs and a description of their patrols along the border. Instead, the report read like a synopsis straight out of an entertainment thriller; complete with the triumphant return of the hero.

“Hot damn!” Nate shouted. He pounded his desk in jubilation. “He’s alive. The son of a bitch is alive.”

Jenkins appeared at the door, concern on his face. “Sir?”

Nate jumped up, clasped his assistant in a vigorous bear hug, slapped him on the back, and said, “John Bloody Thompson’s alive.” He began to pace around the small space, gesturing wildly with his arms as he spoke. “That man has more lives than a cat. What is that, five, no six. Six escapes from avian custody.” He shook his head. “Not only did he escape, but he helped uncover a plot to frame the UESF for the murder of thousands of avian civilians.”

“Excellent news, sir. I’m relieved to hear your friend is alive and safely returned to the
Firestorm
.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Nate waved a hand at Jenkins’ effusive outburst. “It’s great John’s alive, but do you understand what this means?” He grinned at his assistant. “It means I can offer the ancient sea dog and his pet minister an alternative to ending the negotiations. All our hard work has been saved.”

Nate lowered his frame into his chair and called up the report he’d written an eternity ago, when everything seemed to be flowing smoothly; before the explosion on the ship, before John’s disappearance, back when he’d been sure he would save the day by proving the rumors false. He grinned at Jenkins as he submitted his “new” report. “I think I can smell a medal for this one, Bob.”

“Uh, fabulous, sir.” Jenkins shook his head slightly. “If there’s nothing you need…”

“Nope. I am good. I am so good…” Nate leaned back in his chair, glowing like a victor in a death match as Jenkins slipped out of sight.

* * * *

Meredith pulled the covers tighter and reached for Patrick. She opened her eyes when her hands encountered an empty pillow and cold sheets.

Sleep beckoned to her, but she tossed on her robe and went in search of her ex-husband-turned-lover.

She found Patrick standing on the balcony overlooking her billion dollar view of the valley below. He turned to meet her eyes when she moved to lean on the railing beside him, but said nothing.

“Why can’t you let him go?”

Patrick snorted. “Hmm, let’s go through the reasons, shall we? He’s the most decorated fleet commander in the history of the UESF and the media love that he’s back.”

Meredith rolled her eyes. Patrick’s pride bruised too easily.

“And he uncovered my connection in the affair.”

“He didn’t identify you.”

Patrick scowled. “He might figure things out.”

“And what will you do then? Have him killed?” Meredith crossed her arms. “You said yourself the media loves him. You won’t be able to touch him without unleashing a media storm from hell.”

“Not if I convince the fleet that he’s grossly incompetent. Get him drummed out with a dishonorable discharge. No one would believe a washed-up has-been. They’d write his accusations off as resentment.”

“Patrick.”

He flinched but refused to back down. “The choice is him or me, Mere. And I know who I’m rooting for.” He pinned her with his glare. “What about you? Whose side are you on?”

Meredith held his gaze. She shouldn’t even have to think about her answer. The man standing beside her had made her company the most powerful armaments supplier on the globe. Yet, this Captain Thompson--he’d risked his life, escaped certain death, and all for the greater good of the human race. She shook her head. Actions should be weighed against personal loss or gain, not altruism.

“You. I’ll always back you.”

Still, part of her would be disappointed to watch the captain’s ruin.

* * * *

The beeping of his terminal pulled Nate from a fantasy involving an international day of celebration and a new medal in his honor. He dropped his feet to the floor from their perch on his desk and the rest of his body nearly followed when he discovered a coded transmission from John.

He tapped his stubby fingers on the polished surface of his desk while he waited for the algorithm to decode the message. Realizing John would be given some of the credit for preventing an intergalactic war, Nate decided John should receive a medal too, but he’d be damned if he was sharing the parade.

Besides, John would rather hide in his precious campus in the forest than bask in public adulation. Nate grinned.

The grin, and most of the color, drained from his face when he read:

“Threat is real. Not from avians. Watch your back.”

Nate swore under his breath as he stared at the cryptic message. The parade might have to wait.

John stared at the man sitting across the table from him. Rather than meeting Nate in his office, John had insisted they meet at a tiny café in the heart of New York’s shopping district. Leaning back in the wrought-iron chair, letting the warmth of a setting August sun seep into his bones, John watched his former friend for signs of deception.

“I’m telling you, John,” Nate said as he leaned forward, “I had no idea about a government conspiracy.”

“But you’re keeping me in the dark about something.”

“What do you mean?” Nate asked, pulling away.

John sighed. “Nate, I’ve known you for over thirty years. Granted, it’s been a long time since we spent any time together, but we lived in a cabin the size of a postage stamp during our first space tour.” John smiled. “I played poker with you for years. You may be able to fool your constituents and the media, but I can tell when you’re lying.”

John followed Nate’s gaze out over the bustling street. Fifth Avenue had been turned into a heritage boulevard almost eighty years ago. Limited to pedestrian and tour shuttle traffic, a series of fifteen blocks had been protected as a National Heritage Site devoted to preserving the allure of the twentieth century shopping experience.

“John, you have to understand there are some things in my position as Director of Alien Affairs that I--”

“Can’t discuss. I get that,” John replied, dismissing Nate’s excuse. “I’d like to believe you’re not involved, but with everything I’ve been through--”

“You’re looking great, by the way,” Nate interrupted. “The trip back to Earth seems to have agreed with you.”

John glanced away. “I was on reduced duty for much of the voyage.” He didn’t feel the need to tell Nate most of his time had been spent in trauma counseling.

“Still,” John smiled, “I enjoyed being back in the ‘big chair’ again, if only temporarily.”

“You’re sure you’re going back to Vancouver?” Nate asked. “The UESF needs men like you.”

John laughed. “The UESF needs young, active officers, not dinosaurs from a different era.”

“I’m serious, John,” Nate replied. “I’ve heard from reliable sources there’s a command with your name on it if you want one.”

“Really?” John arched an eyebrow in surprise. “I would have thought they’d want to get rid of me seeing as I almost started an intergalactic war.”

“Wrong,” Nate said, pointing a finger at John’s chest. “You averted one. You’re a Goddamn hero--again.”

“A hero in whose eyes?” asked John, trying to hide his bitterness. “Somebody’s got to be pretty mad at me for spoiling things.”

Nate’s face clouded over. “Yeah, well, at least we know about the conspiracy now. Even if we can’t prove anything, at least we can keep watch.”

“What do you mean, ‘We’?” John asked. “I’m done, remember?”

“Of course you are,” Nate replied as he fiddled with his coffee cup. “You’re a changed man, John. You’re more alive now than you were when I walked into your office all those months ago. Hell,” Nate paused, smiling, “you’re more alive now than you were twenty years ago. I can’t believe you’re going to lock yourself up in an ivory tower for the rest of your life and expect to be happy.

“In fact,” Nate continued, “I’m willing to wager you’ll be desperate to escape the university within six months of returning. You aren’t who you think you are anymore, John.”

John refused to meet Nate’s gaze and stared out over the crowd of tourists rushing from one “authentic” boutique to another.

Nate shrugged and gestured to their server for the bill. Swiping his card, he stood and held his hand out to John. “Well, good seeing you again, John. I’m glad you made it back to us.”

John stood and shook Nate’s hand. “Yes, I’m glad to be back. Take care, Nate.”

Nate moved out into the flow of pedestrian traffic and turned. “John?” he called.

John was in the process of sitting again and froze. “Yes?”

“If you change your mind, remember I could use a set of trustworthy eyes and ears in the UESF. Relations with the avians are a long way from friendly and secure.” Nate smiled broadly. “If you ever decide to show off your new medal by putting on a uniform again, you give me a call, all right?”

John smiled, waved Nate’s words away, and sat. He leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs at the ankle, closed his eyes, and let the warm rays wash over him.

* * * *

Rebeccah’s boots were too tight, her collar itched, and her pants were riding up. Even her skin felt wrong. Sitting at the desk in her temporary quarters on Earth, waiting to be summoned to yet another hearing, she wanted more than anything to strip away who she was and start again somewhere else. The letter didn’t help.

In light of your exemplary service to Earth and the UESF in the course of carrying out your duties as the acting executive officer of the
Firestorm
, you are hereby awarded the Distinguished Service Medal, Second Class.

Your competence in a leadership position has been noted on your record. Should you wish to pursue advancement within the Command structure of the UESF, your application will be favorably received.

Unless you indicate otherwise, you are hereby returned to your previous rank and position on the
Firestorm
. You are expected to report for duty at the end of your current two-week leave, granted 14 August 2185 CE.

Your service to your planet is to be commended,

Fleet Captain Banks, DSM, CD, SMA, VaD