The Firestorm Conspiracy (12 page)

Damn it.

“No,” he whispered.

Command wasn’t part of the deal.

“No.”

Rage coursed through his veins. Rage at Nate, rage at Lt. Santiago, rage at the deaths of the captain and crew, rage at himself, rage at the UESF, rage at the universe.

It wasn’t fair.

The anger hit him like a blast in the chest. He hadn’t been this angry, this helpless, in over twenty years, and he clung to the wall as the memories flooded back.

* * * *

“I’m sorry, John. There was nothing we could do.”

The knuckles on John’s hand made a sickening pop as he slammed his fist into the wall. “No.” He doubled over, clutching his injured hand to his chest. “It’s a mistake, right? You made a mistake. There were over a million people on that colony. The chaos, survivors with no ID, patients with no memories, they might be anywhere.”

“The strike came out of nowhere. None of our intel indicated any avian activity in that sector. The colony was deemed ‘safe.’”

“Safe?” He panted, sweat dripping off his brow. “Safe? We’re fighting a war we can’t win. We’re losing territory and personnel faster than water through a funnel, and you thought the colony was safe?” He paced the narrow confines of the office, gesturing around him with his good hand. “Earth isn’t even safe. Where the hell do you bastards get off calling a defenseless colony on the far reaches of our space safe?”

“We had no warning. One second everything was normal, the next, communications were knocked out. There was nothing we could do.”

“I want to see them.”

“John--”

“Damn it. I need to see them. I need proof.”

“All the remains are being transferred to Earth. I’ll get you the location and ETA for your wife and daughter. My guess is they’ll be routed to one of the Siberian morgues; they’re the only ones with the space to handle the influx.”

John toggled the door mechanism, preparing to exit the fleet captain’s office.

“John,” he said, forcing him to pause, “I can’t release you. I can give two days, maybe three, tops. We’re going to make our stand soon and we need every last body we can muster. We need commanders like you.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

John nodded once and left.

* * * *

John’s heart lurched as the flashback receded. He rubbed the old scars on the knuckles of his hand. It shook as he triggered the door’s mechanism. He took a moment to catch enough breath to speak.

“I think you should go.” He paused. “Now.”

Santiago offered no resistance and no excuses. She silently rose from her seat, set the glass down on the table and walked past him. He dreaded seeing the recrimination in her eyes, but she never even glanced at him.

She drifted away like a ghost in the corridor. He couldn’t even detect the ring of her boots on the deck. She turned the corner, and he let out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. He shut the door. He closed his eyes and counted slowly to one hundred. His thoughts refused to settle; the room offered too little space for pacing. He opened the door again and stepped into the corridor. He needed a walk.

* * * *

Time lost all meaning as he prowled the decks. His loafers made no sound and the absence irritated him. He frowned. Did part of him want the opportunity to throw on a uniform again? The railings on the companion way slid through his fingers as he descended between the decks.

That felt right.

He smiled.

He stopped.

He stood stock-still at the base of the ladder as realization dawned on him.

Like water running off a melting snowpack, his pulse tripped at the thought of living again. He yearned to experience joy and excitement, friendship and camaraderie.

Alone in alcove sixteen-B, the epiphany hit like a sonic weapon: he’d died alongside his family, the only difference being his body continued to function.

Anger trickled into his veins. He’d been stupid to cut himself off from everything he’d ever loved.

The anger fled before the old fear: what if he lost everything again? Wouldn’t it be better to remain isolated--safe--from situations containing emotional risk? Allowing joy into his life also meant making room for despair.

He slunk through the corridors, grateful for the silence underfoot.

He entered his cabin, lowered the lights, stripped off his shoes and sweater and moved toward the bed. He sat heavily and jumped immediately back up. He whipped around and discovered one of the UESF’s latest portable computers lying on top of the covers. He thumbed the blinking light and the screen sprang to life. The hard drive listed a single document. As he opened it, he sank back onto the bed and began to read.

Personnel File

Private and Confidential

91138-0729-05

Santiago, Rebeccah J.

Lieutenant, UESF

Captain Santiago.

Ludicrous.

Captain Santiago.

Preposterous
.

Captain Santiago.

Terrifying.

Rebeccah sat at the captain’s desk with her head propped in her hands, staring blankly at the computer screen. Her eyes had long since ceased to read the text, and her mind wandered a million miles away.

“I’m going to be a ship’s captain one day,” six-year-old Rebeccah said, “just you wait and see.”

“I know you will, sweetheart,” replied Rebeccah’s mother, hugging her close.

“It’ll be the best day of my life.”

“I know, honey.” She paused. “And your father and I will be the proudest people on the planet.”

* * * *

John stood in the doorway to the captain’s office with a mug of coffee in each hand. Lt. Santiago stared at the communications terminal, but her eyes focused beyond the screen. She obviously hadn’t heard him knock or open the door. She blinked a few times, shut her eyes, and inhaled. He took the opportunity and placed one of the mugs on the desk in front of her.

She opened her eyes and gasped when she saw him. She quickly registered both his presence and his physical appearance. He knew he was a wreck, but she looked worse. Not only did she have heavy bags and dark bruises under her eyes, but her shoulders were hunched and the tension visible in her neck made his own ache in sympathy.

“Professor?”

“You look like hell,” he replied with a half smile. Raising his own mug, he said, “I thought you might need one of these right about now.”

She sat back in the chair and cradled the mug against her chest. She winced with the shift in position. “Thanks.” She took a tentative sip. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“No,” he replied.

He hadn’t expected to show up.

He watched her eyes dart toward everything in the office except him. Most of Forbes’ personal effects had been packed up in preparation for returning them to his family, and the room was stark and bare. He shifted his feet, the hours of walking the decks finally catching up with him.

“Mind if I sit?” he asked.

“Please. I’m sorry, I should have offered you a seat earlier.” She looked away again.

He sipped his own mug, rehearsing his words one last time. He set the mug on the desk and took a deep breath. “I didn’t come here just to bring you coffee.”

“No?” She stared at him. Her green eyes--still cloudy with lack of sleep--burned with intelligence. She’d figure him out in a matter of moments. He needed to get on with it.

“No.” He quickly glanced at his hands and then back at her. “I came to make you a proposition.”

He thought he saw a flare of hope surge in her eyes before quickly being suppressed.

“Oh?”

“I’m willing to take over as temporary commanding officer of the
Firestorm
, if the position’s still available.”

Santiago stared blankly at him. He wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

“I’ll do this, but only on one condition. You take over as executive officer.”

The blood drained from her face and her jaw dropped.

Apparently she wasn’t expecting that.

He picked up his mug and took a swig. The ball was in her court now. He sat back and waited to see what she’d do with it.

* * * *

Rebeccah closed her mouth and scrambled to bring her thoughts under control. She stared into Thompson’s eyes, noting the firmness she hadn’t seen before. Relief poured across her shoulders and down her back, releasing the tension. The sensation was so strong, she almost whimpered.

She continued to stare at him. She detected no trace of nervousness or uncertainty. Despite his obvious fatigue, he seemed more relaxed than she’d seen him at any point in the voyage. She nodded.

“Agreed.”

He smiled.

“But on one condition.”

His smile faded, replaced by wary curiosity. “And that would be?”

“My promotion to XO will be temporary too. When we return to Earth, we both get our old lives back.”

He paused then broke out into a huge grin. “Deal.”

She stood and saluted, “Welcome aboard, Captain.”

He stood. “Thank you.” He set his mug down and cupped his hands behind his back. “At ease, Commander.”

She shivered at the new title. Still, “Commander” was better than “Captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I want you to file the necessary reports to make this official. We will hold the change of command ceremony tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred hours. I don’t want to hold the parade any closer to today’s memorial.” He began to pace as he listed the other things he wanted done.

“Yes, sir.”

She realized he knew she’d agree.

“I want you to make my service record, the public portions only, available to every crewmember. People are going to ask questions. Let’s get the obvious, ‘who the hell is this guy?’ over and done with before I take command.”

“Yes, sir.”

She squinted, searching for the man she greeted outside the airlock three weeks ago.

“I also want you to inform the quartermaster that I will be arriving to be fitted with a new uniform.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And one more thing.”

“Sir?”

She stood in awe of his command presence. No wonder he made fleet commander.

“I need an XO functioning at one hundred percent capacity. As soon as you have addressed these details, I am ordering you to get at least six hours sleep.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I expect a full briefing on the ship, her current status, the crew, and any positions we still need to fill at eighteen-hundred hours today. We can discuss your report over dinner in the mess.”

“Yes, sir.”

Where the hell had all his energy come from?

“Oh, and one more thing.” He paused. “I want a full roster, including service records, of the ship’s entire complement sent to my quarters immediately. It’s time I got to know my crew.”

She smiled. “Yes, sir.”

“That should be sufficient for now.”

She sighed in relief.

He turned to leave and was nearly out the door when she called, “Sir?”

Fear of his reaction almost stifled her words, but his open manner gave her the courage to forge ahead.

“Sir, with all due respect, you look like death warmed over. As XO it is my duty to ensure the captain is fit for command.” She adopted the same serious yet concerned tone he’d used earlier. “I am hereby ordering you to get at least six hours sleep prior to our meeting at eighteen-hundred hours.”

He appeared stunned. Then he laughed. “Yes, sir.”

“I’m serious, sir. Don’t make me order the medics to sedate you.” She grinned. “I don’t want to have to explain that to HQ.”

“Indeed.” He left the office smiling.

She shook her head.

Her life just got a whole lot more interesting.

John entered the quartermaster’s office and approached the counter. A young ensign was being served, so he slowed his approach, unsure of where to wait. The lieutenant dealing with the lad barely glanced at him as John took a place at the end of the partition.

“I’m here to get fitted for a uniform.”

“Fill out the form,” the lieutenant replied. He turned back to the ensign. “So tell me again how you came to destroy the uniform the UESF gave you?”

“I was preparing the site for the installation of the new doors. I slipped on some carelessly placed tools and fell against the jagged edge of the door. My top ripped on the metal. I tore up my side pretty bad too,” he said, shifting his back for emphasis.

“Hmm. Pretty careless,” the lieutenant said. “I’m going to recommend the cost of replacement be taken from your salary.”

The ensign’s face fell. “Yes, sir.”

“Take a seat. We’ll call you up when everything’s ready.”

“Yes, sir.”

John moved down the counter to take the ensign’s place in front of the lieutenant. The officer spoke without looking up, “I suppose your clothes were ruined in the clean-up too?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here,” replied John. “I need a uniform.”

The lieutenant squinted at John, puzzled and slightly irritated. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

John sighed. “Please just fit me with a new uniform. I believe you were told to expect me.”

“I haven’t had a chance to check my messages. I’ve been too busy dealing with all the people who wrecked their uniforms cleaning up Gen Four.”

“Speaking of which,” John said, placing his hand over the lieutenant’s computer screen, forcing him to meet his eyes. “I want you to stop billing the crew for the replacement costs. What happened in Gen Four was a terrible tragedy, and no one should be financially penalized for having to clean up a disaster that killed their friends and crewmates.”

“You’re awfully opinionated for someone new to the ship. Why don’t you take that up with the captain?” he replied. “When the captain gives the order, I’ll change. Until then, it’s SOP to bill the crew for careless usage.”

“I think you need to check your messages,” said John.

“I’m busy. Besides, if I do that, you’ll have to wait even longer.”

“I’m willing to wait.”

The lieutenant stared at him, but when John showed no sign of capitulating, he said, “All right. Give me five minutes. You can have a seat while you wait.”