“Almost half of all murders are between lovers or ex-lovers,” Adkins said.
“That’s not helpful, meathead,” Ghost said.
“Hey, I’m just stating a fact. I don’t think their relationship is a mark in their favor.”
“She wouldn’t do it,” Harper insisted. “I know she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t disobey a direct order, or even go behind the major’s back. She’s the most by-the-book specialist I’ve ever known.”
“Either way, we have to get to the bottom of what happened,” Dean said. “Until further notice, she’ll be confined to one of the empty holding cells. Hopefully, we’ll find out she wasn’t in control of her actions.”
“And that the bastards who did control her are dead,” Adkins added.
“That too,” Dean agreed.
Chapter 22
“What the hell happened?” Captain Grant asked Dean as he followed Ghost, Harper, and Adkins onto the Hannibal.
Dean was loath to deal with the cocky captain at that moment. There were so many other things he wanted to do. Captain Vanessa Parker had escorted Sergeant Tallgrass up to a holding cell on the main passageway of the ring portion of the ship. Dean wanted to talk to his rogue Demolitions Sergeant and get to the bottom of the horrible crime she had committed, but he knew the interrogation would have to wait. There had also been no updates on Staff Sergeant Chavez’s condition, and Dean could hardly think straight while worrying about his friend—but he knew there was nothing he could do to help the med techs who were seeing to the wounded specialist. And on his TCU he could see Harper’s MSV that was trailing behind the glowing forms of the two Pergantees. They had the aliens in sight, but Dean didn’t know where they were or where they were going. All he could do about the dangerous aliens was keep tabs on them and hope for an opportunity to drive them out of hiding before they caused his platoon or the mission any more damage.
On top of all that, Dean’s first priority was to ensure that his own mind hadn’t been compromised by the Pergantees. The consensus among scientists back on Earth was that the Pergantees could project mental images as well as access the thoughts of any person within twenty feet. They couldn’t unlock secrets in a person’s mind, but if you thought of something while they were reading you, the Pergantees heard it loud and clear. Mental suggestion is a powerful thing, and more powerful on some people than others. But most scientists believed that a single Pergantee couldn’t take control of a human being by itself. Two were more powerful, and three of the aliens together could do things that were almost supernatural, but only if a person were in range. Still, human scientists had very little information to go on. People claiming to have been abducted by the Grays were ridiculed for decades—until mankind ventured out of the solar system and encountered the Pergantees along with other intelligent, space-faring species. Since that time, the Grays had stayed away from Earth and even the more populated colonies, choosing instead to study mankind—if that was indeed what their devious actions could be called—on worlds where they wouldn’t be noticed by EsDef. The number of authentic encounters with the Pergantees were few and far between, leaving scientists to guess at the actual power of the gray-skinned interlopers.
Dean hoped that the scientists were wrong. He hoped for Tallgrass’s sake that she had been under the influence of the Pergantees when she shot Chavez at point-blank range, but proving that influence would be difficult. Still, if it was possible that the Pergantees had taken control of Tallgrass, then no one on board the ship was safe as long as the aliens were alive, and it was imperative that each member of Dean’s platoon be checked and cleared before they too did the unthinkable.
“We’re going to find that out, Captain. In due time,” Dean replied to Grant.
“Rumor has it that one of your own shot your staff sergeant in cold blood.”
“That’s not exactly accurate,” Dean said as he walked through the concourse of the EsDef escort ship.
“Not exactly accurate? A lot of good that will do your staff sergeant,” Grant said. “It’s such a relief to know how you feel about your subordinates, Major. We’re all just replaceable cogs in the machine of your ego.”
Before Dean could reply, Adkins and Ghost both turned and started for the irate Captain. Dean had to step between them and put his hands on each of his specialists’ chests to stop them.
“Go to the med bay,” he said calmly.
Their faces were hidden by their battle helmets, but he heard both of the men cursing quietly on the platoon channel. Once they were several paces down the concourse, Dean turned to face Grant.
“Well, looks like the rumors about you are true,” he said. “And your platoon is following suit.”
“Captain Grant, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, and to be honest, I don’t care. All that we need is a proper understanding of rank.”
“We’re the same rank,” Grant said. “Your promotion didn’t go through proper channels, and you’ve got the same gold bars on your battle armor as proof. So don’t talk to me like I’m some star-struck lieutenant fresh out of OTA. You and I both know your Planetary Medal of Honor was a publicity stunt. The stories of your battles with the Kroll are probably bullshit, too. The only thing I can see about your service record that rings true is your propensity to disregard orders, SOP, and the chain of command.”
“You done yet?” Dean asked.
“No, not yet. Let’s be clear about one thing. I’m here because Colonel Davis assigned me to this mission. But I’m not putting up with your grandstanding bullshit for one second. You threaten me again, in public or in private, and I don’t give a damn, I’ll put you on your ass.”
“That’s enough, Captain Grant!” Vice Admiral Anders said as he came storming up to the two Recon commanders. “What the hell is the matter with you two? What kind of example are you setting for the rest of us?”
“Captain Grant had some things he needed to get off his chest,” Dean said in an icy tone. “Hopefully, he feels better now and can do his job. If you need to know about my service record with the Kroll, Captain, go talk to Captain Parker and Admiral Masterson. They’ve seen firsthand what we’re up against. Then you come see me, and we’ll make sure you’re fit to continue on this mission.”
“Is that a threat?”
“It’s an order,” Dean said. “You are dismissed, Captain.”
Grant stood staring at Dean, his face hidden by his battle helmet, but the fury radiated from him in waves like heat from a bonfire. For a moment Dean thought the Captain would hit him, but finally Grant just turned and stormed off the Hannibal.
“What is the matter with him?” Anders asked Dean, who didn’t respond right away. Instead, he popped the seals on his TCU and pulled the battle helmet off his head.
“Pride, Vice Admiral. Plain and simple.”
Anders looked back at the airlock, then glanced over at Dean and shook his head. “Better you than me, Captain.”
“Heavy is the head that wears the crown, and all that,” Dean replied.
“You said it, not me,” the vice admiral said with a smile.
Dean made his way to the new medical facility and was pleased to see how much progress had been made in converting the old REC space into a proper med bay. There were rows of exam tables that had been electromagnetically fixed in place. Two med bots—large mechanical robot arms that could perform advanced surgical procedures—had also been moved over and were currently working on someone who was hidden behind a curtain. Dean didn’t have to ask who the patient was; the only person who needed serious medical help was Staff Sergeant Chavez.
Dean had hoped someone could update him on Chavez’s condition, but Corporal Robb Landin, the Wolfpack platoon medic, was busy getting the medical equipment ready to run tests, and the med tech who had helped Dean with his arm was nowhere to be seen. Harper was sitting on a couch that had been moved against the wall. He knew she was still following the Pergantees with her MSV. She would notify him as soon as anything chang
ed.
“I’m ready here,” Landin said. “Who’s first?”
“Me,” Dean said.
“I know you ordered PET scans, but an MRS is actually the better test in this situation. We’ll be able to see if there’s activity in any of the parts of your brain where there shouldn’t be.”
“Thanks, Corporal,” Dean said, genuinely pleased to feel that for the moment he was doing the right thing.
He sat back in a reclining chair while a tan-colored tube was moved down over his head. The machine made a whirring sound as it worked, and Dean closed his eyes, trying to relax. He hadn’t expected the pressure to make decisions to be so intense. He had thought he would have a few weeks to settle into his new role as the stolen Kroll ships traveled to the Urgglatta home world, but right out of the gate he had been harried and harassed with problems. Everyone was looking to him, either hoping he would make the right decision and save them all or hoping that he would fail just so they would feel justified in their personal belief that he was a fraud. To Dean’s surprise, he felt the same pressure no matter what people around him were hoping for. It was like a crushing weight had settled onto his chest. And the need to be right, to make good decisions, and to see the mission through to a successful conclusion made him feel small and weak. There was nothing Dean hated more than feeling weak, but that was exactly how he felt as the machine was lifted from his head and settled back into the rack.
“All done, Major,” Landin said. “Your brain looks perfect.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary?” Dean confirmed.
“Absolutely nothing. If the Pergantees did anything to you, there’s no evidence of it now. I’d feel confident in clearing you for duty.”
“Excellent, Corporal. Get everyone in the platoon through the same test. Let me know if you find any discrepancies.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any word on Chavez’s condition?”
“He lost a lot of blood,” Landin said, not meeting Dean’s eye. “His intestines were pretty shredded. But we got him into surgery fast and the med bots were built for this sort of thing. I think he’ll make it.”
“But?” Dean asked, sensing the Demolition Corporal wanted to say more.
“But there’s a good chance he won’t be able to resume his duties.”
“For how long?” Dean asked.
“Forever,” Landin replied. “The med bots can remove the organs he can live without, and hopefully repair the small intestine that was damaged. His abdominal muscles will heal and he can even restrengthen them, but his body won’t be able to endure the rigors of a Recon deployment. There’s been too much trauma, too much strain on his vital organs to put himself through that much pressure again. It could kill him.”
“I see,” Dean said, and a sudden sense of depression dropped on him without warning. “Thank you for being candid with me.”
“Of course, sir. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you better news.”
“Chavez won’t like it, but if he lives, that’s all that matters.”
Dean wasn’t sure if he actually believed what he was saying. He would always be glad that Chavez was alive. And surely if Tallgrass was able to come back to her senses, she would be glad he was alive. But Chavez had confessed to Dean once that fighting was all he knew how to do. Without a place in EsDef Force Recon, Dean wasn’t sure the big staff sergeant would be able to live with himself. The service had options for specialists who had been wounded in the line of duty, but Chavez would not be happy sitting behind a console even if he had the aptitude for it. Of course, all of that hinged on them being welcomed back into EsDef at all. It was very likely that they would all be court-martialed if they made it home alive.
Dean left the med bay and immediately donned his helmet. He kept the vid feed from the MSV that was monitoring the Pergantees up on his view screen. It was a small box in the corner of his line of sight, but he could tell that the tiny drone was still following the aliens, and that fact was a small comfort in the midst of an otherwise horrible day.
He activated the open channel, which would reach the entire crew of all three Kroll ships as well as everyone on the Hannibal. It was time to let the crew know what had happened, even if he would rather deal with the matter within the confines of his platoon.
“Attention all hands, this is Major Dean Blaze with an important update. Almost an hour ago, one of the Pergantee captives escaped our custody and freed two of its kind in similar isolated holding cells. Demolitions Sergeant Eleanor Tallgrass, of my own Wolfpack platoon, who had been interrogating the Pergantee, aided in the escape. Fortunately, Tallgrass has been taken into our custody, and the Pergantees are all accounted for.”
Dean took a deep breath and then continued on. “Our mission has not changed. Admiral Matsumoto will oversee the separation of the Moses and the Dodge City from the Bushido, and we will resume our trek into enemy-held space. We will continue to carry out our duties and prepare for Operation Chameleon, in which we will deal the Kroll a devastating blow that will give mankind a fighting chance in the future. For now, please rest assured that everything that can be done to ensure the success of our mission and the safety of the crew is our utmost priority. Major Blaze out.”
He muted his comlink and sighed deeply. Hopefully his announcement would be enough. He would need to update the senior officers with a more thorough explanation, but first, he would go see Sergeant Tallgrass. He only hoped that she was still the person he knew and trusted. If not, he wasn’t sure what he would do—but one thing was certain: he couldn’t let anything or anyone endanger the mission. If Tallgrass was a danger to what they were trying to accomplish, he would have to deal with her in a decisive manner. He only hoped that if it came down to that, he would be able to live with himself afterward.
Chapter 23
When Dean reached the holding cell Tallgrass was incarcerated in, he found two Heavy Armor Specialists from Captain Grant’s Raptor platoon standing guard on either side of the opening that had been cut into the curving glass wall.
“What’s this about?” Dean asked them.
“Captain Grant stationed us here, Major,” said one of the huge HA Specialists. “No one is allowed in or out.”
Dean peered into the room and saw Tallgrass slumped in the corner, her face buried in her hands, her long black hair falling like curtains around her face. Closer to the door, Captain Parker was pacing back and forth. She looked angry and tired. There were deep lines on her face that Dean didn’t recall seeing before, and her normally polished look seemed rumpled. He realized that she had just recently been in a gun fight and had every right to look harried, but he got the impression that something else was bothering her.
“Captain Parker, may I have a minute?” Dean said from the doorway.
“I don’t know, Major, those buffoons seem to think I’m a prisoner here,” she snapped, waving at the Heavy Armor Specialists standing guard outside the doorway.
“That’s unnecessary,” Dean said to the two men. “Captain Parker helped me detain Sergeant Tallgrass. She is free to leave the holding cell.”
“Sorry, Major,” one of the HA Specialists said. His name badge read “Winkler, J.” and there were sergeant stripes on his chest. “We have specific orders from Captain Grant. No one is allowed in or out. He said if you had a problem with his orders that you could take it up with him.”
“Is that so?” Dean replied, trying to stay calm.
“Don’t kill the messenger, sir,” said the other HA Specialist. “We’re just trying to follow orders.”
“Don’t worry,” Dean said. “I will gladly take it up with your captain.”
Dean felt like he could punch through a metal wall, but he knew he needed to calm down. Grant was becoming a major problem. His insubordination was almost too much for Dean to handle without losing his cool, which was probably exactly what Grant wanted. If he could show Dean to be unstable, he could make a case that Dean needed to be relieved of command.
He knew he could summon Captain Grant using the command channel of his TCU’s comlink, but instead he sent an order to the arrogant platoon leader that would ping his wrist link. Dean needed a little time to cool down, and he also needed a strategy for dealing with Grant. The last thing any of them needed was an internal power struggle. The entire crew was already tense from the coup on Space Base 13 and their narrow escape from the solar system. Dean didn’t want to replay that scenario on board the Kroll ships.
“Captain Parker, give me a few minutes to resolve an internal matter, then I’ll relieve you here,” Dean said.
Vanessa Parker shot Dean a look that said she wasn’t happy, but she nodded. Not that she had much choice in the matter. She had been relieved of her weapons, and while she was deadly in hand-to-hand combat, Dean didn’t think she could take on two fully armed Heavy Armor Specialists with any hope of winning.
Dean went back to his office, which was farther along the corridor of the ring section of the Kroll ship. Some of the enlisted members of the crew under Dean’s command had been given the task of cleaning the glass walls that lined the ring. When Dean reached the newly established communications center, which was his official HQ, the curving wall of glass was so clean that it was hard to see where the door had been cut into the thick glass. The communications officer was at her station, watching the various readouts on her console.
“Would you mind putting on headphones?” he asked Lieutenant Tate.
“Not at all, Major,” she replied.
Dean didn’t bother to say why he wanted privacy, and he was glad Tate hadn’t asked. He lowered himself slowly into his chair, being careful in his armor not to put too much strain on the furniture. He removed his TCU and sat it on the desk in front of him. Then he drew his sidearm, checked the safety, and set it down as well.
Captain Grant appeared in the main passageway just a moment later, wearing full battle armor and carrying a utility rifle. He stepped into the communications center and swaggered over to Dean’s desk, but didn’t offer a salute or even come to attention. Dean knew the casual posture was a message, but it wasn’t news. Grant had already made his feelings about Dean’s rank very clear.
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