Dark Space (5 page)

   “I guess I have little
choice in the matter.”

   “You’ll be moving out of
your current cabin to an area closer to the admiral.”

   “Flag berthing, sir?” Shawn
asked in surprise.

   Ramos nodded. “The only
available command stateroom is there. I’ll have a yeoman bring your things up.”

   Shawn returned the nod.
“I’ve still got to debrief my squadron.”

   Ramos looked at him dubiously.
“You don’t think Brunel can handle it?”

   “There’s someone in
particular I need to speak to, and with all due respect, I’m not sure Raven is
qualified for that specific conversation. Besides, I’ll still need to get out
of my flight gear and into a shower,” he added, motioning to his well-worn
jumpsuit and harness.

   The captain narrowed his
eyes momentarily, then nodded. “I’ll see you on the bridge shortly afterward,
then.”

   Shawn put on the best
military face he could, although everything in him wanted to collapse to the
deck with exhaustion. “I’ll be there, sir.”

   Ramos turned to walk down
the corridor, but after a few steps looked back over his shoulder. “And stop
with all the ‘sir’ crap, Kestrel. We’re on equal footing now, remember? I’ve
got a first name. Learn it. We’re going to be having a lot of conversations.”

“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.

   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 hand 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 2
^nd
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.