by MK Clark
They were out of time. Blazer and Screech were almost to the Pilgrim. They had to get inside. Their fighters would not be able to weather what was coming.
Titus let out a growl of frustration and tore off the headset. “Where are our fighters? Get them in the hatch!” He glanced at Don and shook his head. Don started to protest, but Titus cut him off. “That is enough, O’Hara.”
“At least get the other fighters in their ships!”
“I tried,” Titus snapped. “There’s nothing more I can do. There’s nothing more you can do.”
“But,sir―”
Titus turned and snarled at Emory, “Get him out of here.”
Strong hands twisted Don’s arm behind him and forced him toward the door. Don craned his head to see the hologram. the Space Forces were on top of their targets. Seconds ticked by. Then the pain registered. It pierced him, ripping his side open from his groin to his shoulder.
Don’s knees buckled. “Stop,” he choked. His words were barely a whisper. “Stop.”
“For Christ’s sake, Emory, don’t kill him!”
Don’s arm dropped, and he hit the floor.
Emory helped him back up. “Let’s go, O’Hara,” he ordered, and Don stumbled forward. The door shut behind them as the shockwave hit.
Chapter 25
June 22, 627 T.A.
What followed the Zarwean detonation was a strange sort of order in the midst of a world of chaos. Mostly, Don heard about it secondhand, having surrendered himself to painless unconsciousness. To say that the Pilgrim, being the furthest from the blast, had weathered it the best would have hardly begun to describe the destruction. She was the only ship to survive, and that, just barely.
The crippled cruiser limped into port at the nearest outpost. Commercial ships were commandeered and loaded with the most critically wounded. Their new destination would be the Conestoga, the closest space station able to adequately manage the number of patients in need of treatment. Don and the rest of the Pilgrim’s crew lingered in the livable portions of her decks. No one was quite certain what would happen next, but it wasn’t long before Don’s answer came.
Titus laid a letter beside Don on the bed. “Your medical leave and a promotion to specialist.”
Don’s eyes questioned, but Titus avoided them. Hesitantly, he picked up the paper. He had expected medical leave but not a promotion. Call it paranoia, but it made him wary. Don scanned the letter quickly and frowned, re-reading it.
“This is a transfer,” he said when he looked up.
“That’s right.” Titus nodded, still refusing to meet Don’s gaze. “You’re being transferred to the Agamemnon until a doctor there clears you for action.”
Don’s brain worked furiously. The Agamemnon was the station his father worked on. It was nowhere near their current position. There was no reason for this. No reason he should be transferred to a space station so far away. Not unless his father had demanded it.
“Sir, you know what this is about, don’t you?” he asked accusingly.
Titus sighed. “I would be a fool not to.”
“And you also know how I feel about it?”
“Aye, O’Hara, I do.”
The letter crinkled as Don’s fist closed about it. “Then why did you sign?”
Finally, Titus turned to face him. “Because this was a request I could not refuse.”
“My father?”
“It had his stamp of approval, yes, although I doubt it was written by his hand.”
Don nodded his understanding.
For a moment, he thought he saw a look of pity pass over Titus’ face before it was tucked away. “You’ll be okay, O’Hara, all right? Just remember what I told you, and concentrate on getting better. You’ll be out of there in no time.”
Once again, Don nodded for lack of an answer. “Sir, might I ask a question?”
“Ask away.”
“When I am cleared, will there be a Pilgrim to return to?”
There was a moment of silence between them in which Don could see Titus searching for an answer. When he did speak, it was far from reassuring. “Yours are not the only transfer papers I have received.” Titus stood, giving a sense of finality to the words.
Don took a deep breath as he absorbed the meaning behind what Titus said. Then he straightened as best he could and saluted. “Thank you, sir,” he said, “for everything.”
Titus’ eyes crinkled in acknowledgement; it was the closest to a smile he could muster. Then he turned and left.
A few hours later, Don found himself sitting in the Conestoga’s lobby, duffle bag by his feet. He’d steadfastly refused to keep the wheelchair he’d been transported with. He was contemplating the intelligence of this decision when Lana and Syke showed up.
“You, too?” He asked, noting their bags.
“Looks like,” Syke answered.
Lana shrugged the strap from her shoulder and took a seat beside him. “Different destinations, though. Splitting up almost everyone, from what I hear.”
“Doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “Why bring us all together in the first place, if this is how it was gonna end?”
“Maybe they didn’t know?”
“Bullshit.”
Syke nodded, expounding for him, “That battle had nothing to do with it. It was an anomaly. They’d have found some other excuse. If they didn’t mean to end it like this, they’d have transferred us all to another ship together.”
“You’re saying that this really was just an experiment?”
“You knew it was a possibility, Lana.”
“But―”
“But what?” Don interrupted her. “But we’re too valuable for that sort of thing? But the Council would never stoop so low as to use their soldiers for an experiment?”
“Careful, Don,” Syke reproached him.
Don lowered his voice and continued heatedly. “You fought in that battle. You know what the orders were. Can you honestly tell me you believe it’s just coincidence?”
Lana searched Don’s face; he didn’t know for what. Finally, she shook her head. “No, I can’t.”
It wasn’t much later when their transport arrived. Syke scooped up his bag, and Lana reached for his arm. They’d heard about the stunt he’d pulled on the Pilgrim and had decided to take preventative measures. They spent only a few quiet hours on the small ship before being dropped off at a much busier outpost. Here, Don received a furious lecture from Lana for not taking his pain medication when she caught him wincing as they sat to eat.
Appetites satisfied, they made their way back to the gates. It quickly became apparent that they were not the only ones waiting for rides. A group of young pilots caught Don’s attention. Something about them made Don pause. Perhaps it was the carefree way they conversed.
As the three neared, the chatter abated a little, and curious glances were thrown their way. By the time Syke had set down the bags and Don had gingerly lowered himself into a chair, the boys were staring openly.
“Yo,” Don acknowledged them.
Almost immediately, they stood. Their timid glances showed they were trying to decide if they should salute.
Lana waved them down. “You’re embarrassing us. Sit, please.”
They sat obediently.
“I’m Specialist Ki. These are Specialist O’Hara and Specialist Martin.”
Curiosity turned to awe as Lana introduced them, so much so that they seemed to forget to answer.
“And you are?” she prompted them. Don held back a snicker. Syke was trying to ignore them altogether.
“I’m Casey; these here are Seve, Asawo, Derk, and Brommen.”
“Where you all headed?”
“Me an' Derk are headed to the Valient. The others all got orders for the Callipso.”
Syke swore under his breath.
“Just graduate?” Don asked nonchalantly, trying to cover up his comrade's slip. He didn’t have to ask, though. It was painfully obvious they had.
“True, true,” Derk answered readily enough.
“Top of our class,” Seve added defensively. The other two exchanged exasperated looks.
“Top of your class?” Syke asked, leaning forward in his chair. “Think that make you something? Think that gonna save you out there? It don’t mean nothing!” He stood abruptly, cold anger flowing from him in waves. “You think like that, you gonna buy it your first flight out.”
He stalked away, leaving the boys in shock. Lana glanced at Don, who jerked his chin after Syke. Once she’d left, Don focused on the five in front of him. He gave them a comforting smile.
“Don’t mind him,” he told them and then amended his statement. “Well, you three mind him. He’s going to Callipso, too. If he ends up as your flight leader or you his wingman, don’t write him off. He’s a good teacher and a good guy. What I mean is,” he said to all of them, “he’s just missing someone real bad right now. Give him time, and he’ll come around. We were all rookies once, too.”
“You’ve known him long then?”
Don nodded thoughtfully. “Aye, for a bit.”
“You missing someone, too?” Brommen finally asked.
“Aye.”
“An’ the other?”
“We all are,” he answered quietly.
Brommen opened his mouth to speak again, but Derk elbowed him quiet. Moments later, Lana and Syke rejoined them. This effectively ended any more conversation between the two groups. There were a few bits of awkward small talk amongst the boys, but none seemed brave enough to chance more than that.
Not soon enough, Don’s ride arrived. Lana and Syke walked to the gate with him. Syke clasped his hand and then handed Don’s bag off to an attendant. Lana dug into her pocket and pulled out a small package, which she shoved at him.
“Happy Union Day, Nugget,” she said.
He looked from the package to her. “Union Day?”
“Sure, today’s Union Day eve.”
“Oh,” was all he managed.
She laughed quietly. “Promise not to open it till tomorrow?”
Don made a big X across his chest. “Cross my heart.” Satisfied, Lana pulled him into a hug that made him wince. “Ow, ow!”
Horrified, she let him go. “Sorry! I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
She grinned sheepishly at him, then rose on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care,” she whispered and fled. Feeling his face grow hot, Don looked up at Syke, who seemed just as shocked as he. Then Syke let out a bark of laughter, winked, and turned to follow her.
Completely baffled, Don boarded the shuttle that would take him the rest of the way to the Agamemnon. It was a passenger shuttle that had been diverted to collect him. He could see heads craning to get a look at him as he walked to his seat. Thankfully, the seat was close, first-class.
“Honey,” the attendant called to get his attention, “I’m going to have to store your bag up here.” She pointed toward a storage compartment in the front. “My name is Susie. I’ll be your stewardess. Let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, how long is the flight?”
“Oh, I think there’s probably another day and a half to go,” she answered cheerfully. “What is it, honey?”
“I am going to need to get into my things,” he explained reluctantly. “I have medication I need to take.
She nodded sympathetically. “When do you need to take them next?”
“At 2130,” he answered. “They’re in the side pocket.”
She smiled brilliantly at him, “All right, love, I’ve got it.”
He took his seat as she left, buckling himself in. His ribs had continued to throb since his bump with Lana. He brushed the pain into a small corner of his mind, as he had learned to do over the last few days. The ache was nearly always there; it was merely a matter of how clearly he felt it. The same could probably be said for his level of fatigue. It was not long before he slept, but it was a fitful sleep. Nightmares were becoming a common occurrence.
The stewardess woke him for the last time minutes before they docked at the Agamemnon. He thanked her and made his way to the washroom, splashing water on his face to chase away the remnants of his confused dreams.
He was the only passenger exiting, and as the stewardess escorted him forward, he felt the rest of the passengers’ curious stares on his back.
When they reached the door, the stewardess activated a carrier bot, which then took his duffle from her. He was moving to disembark when her hand shot out to stop him. “I just want to warn you, honey, we got word there’s a bit of a crowd waiting for you out there.”
“A crowd?”
“Reporters and the like.”
Don’s eyes narrowed a bit at this. “Aye, I hear you. Thank you, ma’am.”
She stepped back, giving him room to pass. He tried to smooth his face into something of a mask as he walked the length of the jetway.
Even prepared, his first moments on the Agamemnon were disorienting. It took a few moments before he could discern individual questions from the explosion of noise and even longer for his squinting eyes, nearly blinded from the flashing lights, to pick out where he could set his feet.
“What do you plan to do during your stay here?”
“How long will you be staying aboard the Agamemnon?”
“What do you have to say about General O’Hara’s absence―?”
“What can you tell us about―?”
Don looked at the eager and determined faces around him. Unsurprisingly, his father was nowhere in sight. In fact, there was no one he recognized. Until this moment, he hadn’t comprehended how well the military had guarded him from the mob-like quality of the press in the last two years.
“―extent to which you’ve been injured?”
“How has your experience as a pilot changed you?”
“What has it meant to you to be able to fight―?”
Don raised a hand to shield his eyes. He was at a loss for what to do. He could see no way through the crowd. They were jammed together, hemming him in for an answer. Nor did he know where he should go if he was to make it through.
At last the reporters were quiet. They watched him expectantly. Don glanced at his hand and inwardly swore. Obviously, they thought he had shushed them, intending to speak. Seeing no other immediate option, Don complied with some reluctance.
“Please,” he started, trying to remember the proper tone and words to use. It had been so long. “No more pictures. You flatter me, but I’m afraid I can no longer see.” They chuckled a little at this, but he knew they were waiting hungrily for more. “I cannot tell you how long I shall be here,” he answered one of the few questions he could remember, “as I have not yet been informed. However, I am certain that I shall enjoy each moment spent on this magnificent station.”
He cast his eyes around, fervently searching for some sign as to where he should go. There was nothing. Sighing inwardly, Don wished he could sit to relieve his aching chest. The brace helped somewhat, but it was hardly a long-term solution. There was nothing for it; he would have to wait.
“I shall try to answer your questions to the best of my abilities, if you would repeat them one at a time.”
“What are your thoughts on your father’s absence?”
“I am very certain that he is working hard to ensure our safety and regrets not being able to be here himself.” His answer came out smoothly and with ease. He was a little proud of himself for that.
“How serious are your injuries?”
“Do I look that bad?” he deflected humorously. “I’m not missing a limb I don’t know about, am I?”
Once again, they laughed.
“What can you tell us about your last station?”
“Is it true,” another jumped in, “that the ship was run mostly by Space Jumpers?”
Caught off guard, Don took a moment to formulate an answer. Something about the glint in the reporter’s eye warned h
im to guard his words. As he began to answer, his gaze caught on to a figure moving toward him.
“My last station was one in which I was very content. I had been reunited with some old comrades, and I hope to do the same once I am cleared for action.”
“What was it like for you to lose your friend Specialist Amal? We hear you had been together since Basic.”
“Preacher...” he started hesitantly. The figure was now pushing his way through the crowd. “Specialist Eli Amal was a good pilot and a close friend. He would not have wished for us to remember him in grief.”
“What can you tell us about the disappearances of the Cat’s Eye, Solar Flare and Hadrian?” The question came hurriedly, as if the reporter knew there were only moments left.
Before Don could process how to answer, the figure had stepped in front of him. The man was huge. Don had to crane his neck simply to see his face.
“Not a word,” the man instructed him in a low voice.
Don nodded his understanding, relieved and perplexed all at once.
The man turned to face their audience. “Thank you for coming, but Specialist O’Hara will not be answering any more questions at this time.”
He took Don’s bag from the bot and keyed it to return to its home on the jetway. Without another word, he strode purposely forward. The reporters scattered in front of him. Don followed quickly behind. It took more effort than he had expected.
“I will be your escort,” the man said as they stepped into a personnel lift. “My name is Thornton.”
“Thanks,” Don managed.
“You are not to speak of the Pilgrim or any missions associated with it to anyone. These are all classified.”
Classified. This was the first time the word had ever applied to something he knew. It was strange, almost as if a part of him had been barred off, held captive. Thornton turned a little to look at him over his shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” Don answered quickly. “What should I say if asked?”
“You were on a mission critical to the war effort. Details may not be released, as they are essential to the continued success of the Space Forces.”
“I see.”