by G J Ogden
“Who else knows about McQueen?” Sterling asked. He’d already sent a brief encoded report to the Admiral, using the secure communications chip Griffin had given him on F-COP.
“No-one but you, your bridge team and myself,” Griffin replied, for once replying without making a point of chastising Sterling for prying. “The Hammer arrived too late to monitor McQueen’s transmission, and obviously the Javelin and Gladius were lost, thanks to MAUL.” Then Griffin appeared more wistful. “But it’s only a matter of time. If you’re right and McQueen is now acting as some sort of spokesperson for the damned enemy, we can expect her to make her presence known soon enough.”
Sterling rubbed the back of his neck, feeling suddenly weary. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d either slept or ate.
“McQueen is like us,” Sterling eventually replied, watching the engineering crews inside the cavernous hangar deck below scurry around his ship. “She’s devious and knows how to play the system. She’ll use the UG’s desire for peace as a way to coerce the war council into scaling back military operations further.”
“Your analysis is unfortunately accurate, Captain, but it’s actually worse than that,” replied Griffin, looking even more pissed off than when she had arrived. “The knowledge that anyone could potentially be a turned agent for the Sa’Nerra will ripple throughout the Fleet like an earthquake. On one side of the fault line with be those who suspect their fellow crew, and on the other will be those who are under suspicion. The Sa’Nerra won’t need to destroy us. We’ll tear ourselves apart.”
Sterling cursed under his breath. Then he realized that his knuckles had gone white from the pressure of gripping the railings and he had to force himself to relax his hold.
“This is why the Omega Taskforce is needed, now more than ever, Captain,” Griffin continued. She then pushed away from the railings and locked her intense, clever eyes onto Sterling. Instinctively, he straitened to attention, again surprised by the almost supernatural power the Admiral held over him. “However, I’m afraid that for the time being, you’re a taskforce of one. Until the dust has settled, there’s little chance of me getting a replacement for the Imperium out of space dock any time soon.”
Sterling hooked a thumb toward his own ship. “It’s barely even a taskforce of one, Admiral. There’s not much left of the Invictus as it is.”
Griffin glanced over at the Marauder, nestled inside the belly of the Hammer, though she appeared unperturbed by its disheveled state. “That ship has proven itself, Captain, as have your crew,” Griffin said before again locking eyes with Sterling. “As have you, Captain.” This last sentence was said with pride, and despite himself, Sterling felt his chest swell. “We’ll rebuild the Invictus, even stronger than before,” Griffin added, turning back to the hangar bay, like a noble surveying her estate.
“The sooner the better,” replied Sterling, also turning his attention back to his damaged ship. Griffin was right – it had taken a pounding, but it had come through when it mattered the most. “We need to find out more about this Sa’Nerran super ship, and the new neural weapon.”
“Patience, Captain, you’ll be back out there soon enough,” said Griffin, her confidence betraying the fact she was clearly hatching plans in both of these areas. “As for the super-weapon, long range probes have already reported back. It’s gone, though where we don’t yet know. These are questions for another time, however. First, let’s get you back into the fight.”
Admiral Griffin turned to leave and Sterling straightened again as she stepped away. However, the flag officer made it only a few paces before stopping and glancing back at him.
“I already have a replacement chief engineer for you,” Griffin said, seeming to have just remembered this fact. “She's only a senior lieutenant, and to be honest I only just promoted her to that rank,” she added, being uncharacteristically forthcoming. “She comes with some baggage, but she’ll keep you flying and that’s all that matters.”
“What’s her name?” Sterling asked, intrigued by the admiral’s colorful description of his new engineer.
“Lieutenant Razor. Katreena Razor,” Griffin replied. “I’ll have her report to you once we reach F-COP.”
Admiral Griffin again turned away, but Sterling’s curiosity, combined with his precociousness and talent for extracting information from the admiral spurred him on to ask another question.
“What did she do to merit the status of Omega officer?” Sterling asked. Such information would typically be in the new officer’s file, but he couldn’t guarantee this and didn’t want to lose the opportunity to grill Griffin for answers.
Admiral Griffin’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms, apparently deliberating whether to answer Sterling’s question.
“She sealed eight crew members inside a failing reactor chamber then ejected the core, along with all eight people inside,” Griffin eventually replied. “It saved the ship. That ship then won the battle.”
Sterling frowned. “That’s a hard call, but I’d expect any hard-ass fleet engineer to make that same choice,” he replied, a little disappointed by Griffin’s explanation. “It doesn’t sound like much of an Omega Directive test.”
Griffin smiled, which was an expression that did not suit her war-weary face. “That wasn’t intended to be part of the Omega Directive test, at least not one that I set up,” Griffin replied. “The situation occurred by genuine accident, but the result was probably the toughest test anyone has faced.”
This got Sterling’s attention. He wanted to know what was tougher than his own test, which had forced him to blast the head off his friend and fellow officer on the bridge of the Fleet Dreadnaught Hammer.
“Okay, you’ve piqued my interest,” replied Sterling.
“One of the crew that she was forced to eject into space was her brother,” Griffin said. “He was her twin, and the only family she had left in the universe.”
Griffin then waited and observed Sterling’s suitably stunned face for a moment before again turning to leave. Sterling considered responding, but in truth there was nothing to say. Griffin had answered his question. Besides, if the hardcore fleet admiral trusted Razor, he knew he could too.
“You were right about Shade, by the way,” Sterling called out as the admiral strolled away. Opal Shade remained the only member of Sterling’s crew that he knew barely anything about, since Griffin had remained oddly tight-lipped about her. “We wouldn’t have survived without her.” Sterling noticed that the admiral had stopped, but not turned back to look at him. He hoped that her current chattiness might encourage her to reveal something more about his mysterious weapons officer.
“That’s good to hear, Captain,” Admiral Griffin replied, her eyes still focused ahead. Then without another word, she marched away. However, to Sterling’s perceptive eyes, the admiral appeared to be walking just a little taller than she had been before.
Chapter 33
Time to reflect
Sterling pushed a meatball around his meal tray, rolling it through the marinara sauce one way then another with his fork. Commander Mercedes Banks sat opposite him in the wardroom with an empty tray at her side. She had her elbows on the table and her chin resting on the backs of her hands, which were knitted together to form a cradle.
“If you’re not going to eat that, slide it my way,” Banks said. She had been greedily eyeing Sterling’s meal tray for the last couple of minutes. “Twenty-two is a good one, so it’s best not to let it go to waste.”
Sterling skewered the meatball then held it up as if to taunt her with it. “Don’t be polite, just get yourself another tray,” he said. Then he waved the meatball in a circular motion, looking at the empty tables to their sides. “We’re the only ones in here anyway. Everyone else is on F-COP while they conduct the repairs to the Invictus.”
Bank shrugged then slid off her chair as Sterling shoved the meatball into his mouth. It was already cold and he immediately regretted doing so.
“How
come you didn’t want to eat on F-COP?” Banks said, sliding over the serving counter and sifting through the different meal trays to find one she liked.
“I’m not in the mood for company,” Sterling replied, tossing down his fork and nibbling on the selection of cheese crackers instead.
“If you want to be alone, I can go,” said Banks, though she hadn’t sounded affronted, and it came across as a genuine offer.
“No, I don’t mean you, Mercedes,” Sterling said, realizing his gaff and twisting around in his chair to look at her. “You’re different.”
Banks slid a meal tray into the processor then scowled back at Sterling. “Different, as in I’m not company?” she asked.
“Different, as in you’re not like everyone else,” said Sterling, realizing he was now digging himself further into a hole. “Different in a good way.”
Banks shrugged again, seeming to accept Sterling’s nonsensical response. “I guess we’re all a little bit different on this ship.”
Sterling tossed a handful of cheese crackers into his mouth then peered around the compact wardroom in the Invictus. Like much of the rest of the ship, it had not escaped unscathed. Some of the lights were out and sections of wall were twisted, torn open, blackened and scorched from power distribution nodes that had blown during their many battles. However, the food processors still worked, as did the TV screen that hung on the wall opposite Sterling’s table. It was switched on, but muted, and was showing one of the numerous Fleet-run entertainment channels.
“We’re more than a little bit different,” Sterling said, turning back to Banks, who had slid the new meal tray out of the processor. Steam was billowing out from under its cover. “We’re unique. The only Omega Taskforce ship left in the fleet. Maybe the only one there’ll ever be.”
Banks tore the protective film off the meal tray and shoved it into the recycler, then grabbed a clean fork and hopped over the counter again. Sliding the tray onto the table next to Sterling, she drew up a chair and sat beside him, instead of opposite.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Banks said, making a start on the food. Sterling noticed she’d also selected number twenty-two this time. Clearly, him taunting her with a cold meatball had tempted Banks into trying the tray for herself.
“Talk about what?” said Sterling, finishing off the last of the crackers on his tray.
“McQueen,” said Banks, while skewering a couple of meatballs. “I know you two had a thing.”
Sterling slid his chair around so that it was angled slightly toward Banks and regarded her with quizzical eyes. “I thought we already discussed us talking about my personal relationships,” he said, surprised by the brazenness of the question.
“Apologies, Captain,” Banks replied. “I didn’t mean to be impertinent.” She then fixed her gaze ahead and went back to devouring the meal.
Sterling sighed then slumped back into his chair, staring up at the TV screen. It was showing the latest episode of a popular game show, though even with the signal being passed through aperture relays, there was a significant lag compared to those closer to earth. However, he wasn’t paying attention to the show. Banks had read his mood expertly. Lana McQueen had been pre-occupying his thoughts since he’d first seen her on the Sa’Nerran shipyard. However, the reason the turned captain was on his mind wasn’t because they’d ‘had a thing’, as Banks had put it. It was because he couldn’t shake the feeling that something major was about to happen, and that McQueen would be at the heart of it.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Sterling said, glancing back to Banks, who had a fork halfway to her mouth. “I couldn’t give a damn about Lana McQueen,” Sterling continued, tapping his finger on the desk. “The only thing we had is sex.” This statement shocked Banks like a slap to the face, causing her to choke on a meatball. It took several thumps of her chest to dislodge the chunk of processed, lab-grown meat, and several more seconds before she was able to breath properly again. “McQueen is bad news. She knows too much, and she’s too much like us.”
Suddenly, Banks’ eyes narrowed and Sterling saw that she was looking up at the TV screen. He turned his attention to it and realized why. The quiz show had been interrupted by a news broadcast. Front and center on the TV screen was Lana McQueen, dressed in her golden Sa’Nerran armor. A ticker underneath read, “Sa’Nerra Make Contact.”
“Speak of the devil…” said Banks, folding her arms.
“Computer, turn up the volume on the TV,” Sterling said, sitting bolt upright in his chair. The sound of Captain Lana McQueen’s voice then filled the wardroom.
“The United Governments Fleet are the aggressors. The Sa’Nerra want only peace, but your warmongering military masters simply want to conquer us,” said McQueen, in what appeared to be a pre-recorded statement. “As a former Fleet officer, I have joined with the Sa’Nerra to act as emissary,” she continued, offering the viewer a warm smile that made Sterling want to spit blood. “I urge the people of Earth and the United Governments territories to speak to your leaders to seek a peaceful resolution to this bloody conflict.” The camera then pulled in tighter on McQueen’s face. “But be warned. The Sa’Nerran desire for war is not the only lie Fleet has been telling you. Ask them about the Omega Directive. Ask them why Fleet ships are sent to hunt and kill your own people. Once you know the truth, I am confident that you too will join with me in fighting for peace.”
The image then pulled back to a wider-angle shot, but this time there was someone else standing beside McQueen. Sterling leaned closer to the screen, his eyes scrunched up, scarcely able to believe what he was seeing.
“Wait, is that Lieutenant Commander Crow?” said Banks, also leaning closer.
Sterling massaged his temples, which were suddenly throbbing with pain.
“Yes, it is…” Sterling said, staring at his former engineer on the screen. A large metal plate covered the left side of his head, from his forehead above his left eye to the base of his skull.
“What the hell have they done to his head?” asked Banks.
“I shot him, instead of allowing him to be captured,” replied Sterling, candidly. “I didn’t want another command-level officer being turned like McQueen.”
To most people, Sterling’s admission would have been shocking, perhaps even disturbing. However, Banks was an Omega officer. She knew that sometimes in war, you had to do terrible things.
“We obviously need better guns,” said Banks, shaking her head at the duo of turned Fleet officers. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”
The faces of McQueen and Crow then faded to black and were replaced with the words, “Best Wishes from Your Sa’Nerran Emissaries for Peace.”
Sterling barked a laugh at the screen as the bulletin then switched back to a reporter, who was beginning an analysis of the breaking news. “Computer, turn that damn thing off,” Sterling barked, hurling his fork at the device. It missed and bounced off the wall just below the screen before clattering onto the metal deck.
“We have to kill her,” said Banks. Sterling noticed that the fork in her right hand had been mangled under the pressure of her grip. Her left hand was clamped around the table. Four finger-shaped indentations were now pressed into the surface. “We have to kill them both.”
“The damage is already done,” sighed Sterling, flopping back into his chair and meeting his first-officer’s eyes. “Fleet will move fast to deny everything, and put a spin on it, but enough people will still believe. Things will be different now, for us most of all.”
Banks pushed her tray into the center of the table and sat back in her chair alongside Sterling. Neither of them spoke; there didn’t seem to be anything more to say. Then the computer chimed an alert – the equivalent of a polite cough in order to get someone’s attention – and Sterling waited for the inevitable summons.
“Captain Sterling, Fleet Admiral Griffin has requested that you, ‘get your ass into her office right now’.” The computer announced, cheerfully.
&nb
sp; “Sounds like Griffin caught the news too,” said Banks.
Sterling pushed out his chair and stood up. Given the emotional and physical ups and downs he’d experienced in the last few days, he was surprised he wasn’t still dizzy from the ride. However, he also knew that the roller coaster they were on had just begun, and was only going to get worse.
“Come on, let’s go and see the Admiral,” said Sterling, holding out a hand to Banks, who was still slumped in her chair like a bored teenager in class.
“You want me to come?” Banks replied, snapping her body upright.
“We’re in this together, whether you like it or not,” said Sterling, still with his hand stretched out. “It’s me and you, Mercedes. Me and you against the whole damned galaxy. If the Fleet wasn’t suspicious of us before, they’re going to hate us now.” Then he frowned and pulled his hand away. “Unless you want out?”
Banks stood up, seeming to rise to a height that was even taller than Sterling, despite the fact she was three inches shorter. “I don’t want out. I want to get further in,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m in this till the end.”
Sterling smiled and went to take Banks hand, but as he reached out, she drew it back. “Unless you’re just going to end up shooting me in the head, like Crow,” Banks added, cocking her head in the direction of the TV screen.
Sterling knew it was meant in jest – a bit of lighthearted fun to break the tension – but all he could see at that moment was the face of Ariel Gunn. It had been Admiral Griffin who had put him in the position of having to shoot his friend – an act that had landed him command of the Invictus. He hadn’t wanted to do it. He didn’t want to be in a position where he might have to do something similar again. Yet he also knew that if the situation arose where killing one of his own officers was necessary in order to save the ship or even win the war then he wouldn’t hesitate. And he needed Banks to know that.