Parker heaved a heavy sigh and feigned frustration. "I don't have time to deal with a mutiny today. You think they’ll be willing to reschedule?"
"Don't worry, Commander. At least you’re not going to be the one keel hauled."
Parker’s expression was suddenly very serious. "Captain, we don’t have a keel." They broke into a fit of laughter that lasted several minutes.
"I guess I should have Miles build us one. A mutiny just wouldn’t be the same without it," Harper joked. He pressed a button on the desk. "Captain to the bridge."
"Go-ahead," Fischer replied.
"Set a course for New Edinburgh."
"Speed?"
Harper thought for a moment. "A casual cruising speed. Your prerogative."
"Aye, sir."
He pressed the button again to end transmission. Standing from his seat, his stomach growled. "I’m hungry. Are you hungry?"
"I thought you would never ask. I’ve been dying for real food ever since the Lithonia resupplied us," Parker answered.
Harper politely gestured towards the hatch. "Join me in the Captain's mess?"
"I would be delighted," Parker said with a smile as she stood up. They walked towards the hatch, leaving their glasses on the desk, and stepped through it. Harper looked back into the now darkened ready room. He noticed that he finally felt he was worthy of it. The irony was, all this time he had been hoping he would be worthy of Captain McLeod’s shoes. Now, when he finally felt he was, he no longer wanted them.
He sighed and chuckled to himself. Banishing the thought, he turned his mind to more immediate concerns; his first real meal in days. Grabbing the hatch, he swung it shut, and made his way to the elevator.
Epilogue
"This is an absolute disaster," said digitally altered voice. A flashing icon on the upper left division of the screen indicated that the man there, whose face was hidden in shadow, was one who had spoken. The screen was divided into four sections, each containing a well-dressed man with concealed features.
Each of the four men knew who the other three were likely to be, but they would never be able to prove it. That was the purpose of the concealed features and voice filters. Instead of legal names, each screen was labeled with an alias. Death, Famine, War, and Conquest. A morbid joke, as they were all big movers on the private industrial side of the military.
"Our operations are built solely on demands of the U.N.C. military. If it’s dismantled before our inventories are emptied, it could bankrupt us," Conquest continued.
"You’re missing the point," Death chimed in. "The Salaxian war has been very kind to our bank accounts. I think I can speak for all of us when I say, allowing the military to be dismantled, no matter how slowly, is unacceptable."
"What I want to know," Famine shouted. "Is if YOU could have prevented this. You are well-paid to influence the military to spend with our subsidiaries. It’s naturally implied that you would also ensure the military doesn’t make itself obsolete. Were you the one who sent Harper on that mission?"
Though their features were concealed, Famine's outburst had made them all visibly fearful, not of Famine, but of the man he addressed. The man watching the screen, who had the best chance of revealing the identity of the four men.
He leaned forward. Though his face was still concealed, the circle of five silver stars gleamed from his uniform as they came into the light. The man known only as The Admiral, spoke. "As you know, I cannot tell you if he is under my command or not, without revealing my identity. However, I CAN tell you that it was Admiral Cotton who sent him to Salaxian space. Not any of the primary Fleet Admirals.”
"That name is unfamiliar," War replied.
"That is by design," The Admiral explained. She is the head of a covert division of the Navy. She holds the rank of fleet admiral, but has the authority and the connections to override the other fleet admirals, and even high-ranking officers in the other branches."
"Perhaps it is time to enact the final contingency. We all own subsidiaries that could hold the basic necessities of the human race hostage. I say we make our grab for absolute power, now," Famine suggested.
"Then, we would have power with no profit," Death countered. "And, we would meet universal resistance. I for one am not ready to deal with that just yet."
"Regardless, you would likely be found out before you completely took control," The Admiral added. "With the Salaxian threat gone, Admiral Cotton will quickly catch on."
"She needs to be eliminated," Conquest bellowed.
"I am working on infiltrating her division," The Admiral assured them. "In the meantime, gentlemen, you forget it will be some time before any dismantling would take place, and the Salaxian war is not the only thing needed to keep the military active. Humans are easily manipulated into fear. I have plans that can keep the military going, but I will need you to assist with your control over the major news outlets."
* * *
The snow was falling in large globs. Harper stood over the grave of his former Captain, mentor, and friend. In spite of being a largely rural moon, the people of New Edinburgh were more than happy to accommodate the crew on their shore leave.
They were a simple, but not primitive, people, and jovial to a fault. Their upbeat attitude was contagious with the crew, including himself. Even with his recent death, McLeod's family sang praises of his life, rather than mourning his passing. They had been enthralled at Harper’s stories from his time with McLeod, hearing for the first time, first-hand accounts of his heroism.
Harper looked up into the falling down. It was his favorite kind of snow. The kind that fell in large patches, was as light as feathers, and created a calming muting effect. A muting so effective, that he didn’t hear the footsteps in the snow behind him. "Captain," the MP called out.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Sorry, sir. Our presence is requested in the Altair system."
"What happened?"
"Prison barge went off course. It crash-landed on the moon orbiting the prison colony. One survivor, a prisoner, has left the ship.”
“They’ve got pretty nasty wildlife down there.”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. Looks like we’ll have to cut our shore leave short.”
“It is a prisoner, sir. There’s no rush for search and rescue. Order says body recovery is acceptable.”
“Has the death sentence been reinstated?”
“What? No.”
“Then search and rescue it is.”
“Yes, sir.”
Harper walked past him, and stopped when he noticed the MP wasn’t following. “What’s the holdup?”
“Sorry, sir. Just didn’t realize a comet was due in this system.
Harper looked to where the MP was pointing. As the blue sky turned black with the rapid sunset, just to the left of the moon’s parent gas giant was a comet. The path it was taking would likely cause it to be swallowed up by the gas giant’s gravity.
Harper shivered. Not because he was cold, but because he couldn’t shake the old superstition. The warning of impending disaster, foretold by the appearance of a bad star.
About the Author
Born in Elyria, Ohio, Matthew Baldauf began writing in Middle School with a focus on poetry. By the end of High School, he was involved in theatre both as an actor and technician, a playwright, and performing in a local metal band. He now writes science fiction and Fantasy stories, and streams tabletop and video games.
www.boldwolfpublishing.com
Twitter: @MatthewLBaldauf
Facebook: www.facebook.com/MLBaldauf
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Resolution: Bad Star Page 19