Declination

by David Derrico

  The L-PAS slowed as it neared the city and Dex trained his weapons on the capitulated enemy soldiers. None seemed willing to reach for their weapons or even try to escape across the barren sands. Dex looked to his display and could see that his squad was advancing steadily toward the city, where they would take the surviving Vr’amil’een soldiers into custody. Sparing a glance skyward, Dex wondered if Anastasia had fared as well in the skies above New Berkeley.

  Dex stifled a sigh. If she hadn’t, it would be he that would soon be surrendering to an approaching Vr’amil’een fleet.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 9

  Zach approached the smooth silver door to the briefing room and waited as the sensors announced his arrival. The doors soon swished open to reveal Captain Griffin seated behind his desk. The older man was silent, his expression unreadable as Zach entered and wordlessly took his seat opposite him.

  “Commander Wallace,” the Captain began, “that was some stunt you pulled out there. You recklessly endangered yourself by getting that near a ship that had gone critical.”

  Zach opened his mouth to reply, but was silenced by a wave of the Captain’s hand.

  “But that’s not why I called you up here. Actually,” he added softly, “I admire your courage, son. And I admire your devotion to your fellow pilots. But I am obligated to inform you that regulations call for more caution in such situations. We don’t want to lose our best pilot.”

  “I had to try, sir.”

  “I know you did, Zach. I would have done the same thing if I were you. Regulations be damned.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The Captain cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Why I did call you up here was to brief you on your next mission.” A short sigh escaped the Captain’s lips. “You know how thin the Confederation has spread itself, and these damned Vr’amil’een are attacking systems all over. To make matters worse, the SPACERs have threatened to use their fleet to enforce secession demands by two neighboring planets. They’re using the destruction of their blockade as political ammunition.” The Captain shook his head. “Apparently the bastards forgot Captain Mason saved their asses up there.”

  “What’s going to happen to her?” Zach asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Griffin replied. “They don’t tell me stuff like that. Word is, she’s going back to Earth for a hearing.”

  “The Ethics Committee?”

  “Yeah, probably. Look, Zach, I know she’s a friend of yours. I wish I knew more, honestly. But right now I need you to go to Denegar.”

  Zach nodded, pushing Anastasia’s plight from his mind. Denegar, a barely habitable moon on the fringes of Confederation space, had just been captured by the Vr’amil’een. As the only known source of Duopasqualonium in the Sector, the Confederation had to retake it at all costs.

  “Sir?” Zach asked. “Just me?”

  “No, son, not just you. Your squad.”

  “They’re not sending the carrier? Don’t they realize—”

  “Of course they do. But you know how volatile Duopasqualonium is. We can’t risk a full-scale invasion.”

  Zach nodded. Duopasqualonium was, in fact, the most unstable and explosive isotope known to man, but that was precisely what made it so valuable—it was the Confederation’s chief source of fuel for military vessels.

  “They’re just sending your squad for air support and a ground unit to infiltrate the moon base,” the Captain continued. “Another friend of yours, I think.”

  “Dex?”

  “Commander Rutcliffe, yes. Although I hear Wright is none too happy with him either about the debacle over New Berkeley. But his unit should be on its way soon. You’re to rendezvous with them there.”

  “But, Captain, surely the Vr’amil’een have had time to reinforce their position by now. My squad and one ground unit? That’s all?”

  “Like I said, our forces are spread pretty thin. And, remember, you’re just supposed to cover the men on the ground. Just distract the lizards long enough for Commander Rutcliffe’s team to slip in.”

  Zach sighed audibly.

  Captain Griffin leaned forward conspiratorially. “I know it sucks, son, but if anyone can do it, it’s you. Just don’t try to be a hero out there. Do your job, cover those men, and then get the hell out.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Good,” the Captain replied, leaning back in his seat again. “Dismissed.”

  Zach stood and saluted, turned smartly on his heels, and left. As the doors closed behind him, he could not help but think that the only person in the Sector he wouldn’t trade places with was Dex.

  . . . . .

  The Cerberus arrived at Earth with little fanfare, descending into Confederation Command’s private hangar bay without incident. Dex looked across the landing platform for some sign of the Inferno, but the impressive vessel was nowhere to be seen. Dex sighed. He did not blame Anastasia for taking her time in returning to Earth.

  Dex disembarked the ship and boarded a waiting transport, which took him to the ConFedCom Headquarters building, a short distance away. He was escorted to the elevator, which deposited him deep within the bowels of the structure.

  When he arrived at the sub-basement’s main briefing room, he was greeted with an assortment of military officers that included Fleet Admiral Joseph Wright and Senior Tactical Admiral Octavius Green. Though Dex had met Green once before, he had never before met the Fleet Admiral face-to-face. He was surprised by how old he looked in person.

  “Sit down, Commander,” offered the Fleet Admiral, his leathered face unreadable. He shuffled a stack of papers on the table, looking up and rubbing his eyes in an expression of profound weariness. “You look to be in good health,” he began. “I understand you have had an exciting few days. I’m glad to see you and your men were uninjured.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dex replied, sitting uncomfortably in the chair before him. “Thank you.”

  The Admiral’s tone abruptly changed. “Of course, you had no business getting involved in the skirmish in the first place.”

  Dex ground his teeth together apprehensively. He knew an ambush when he saw one.

  “But why don’t we start at the beginning?” Wright offered, placing his monocle in his eye and looking down to the papers on the table. “It seems that your squad barely averted the attempt on Captain Mason’s life,” he remarked, “but you were not as lucky with the saboteur who found his way on board the Inferno.”

  The Commander opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced.

  “Have I asked you a question yet, Commander Rutcliffe?”

  Dex kept his expression steady. “No, sir.”

  The Admiral pursed his lips, nodded. “What happened as you left the planet?”

  Dex inhaled deeply. “As stated in my report, sir—”

  “I did not ask what you stated in your report,” Wright interrupted. “I asked you what you saw as you left New Berkeley.”

  “As I escorted the Inferno through the blockade,” Dex replied, “I received a transmission from Ana—from Captain Mason informing me that she had lost control of primary systems. Before control was regained, I was ordered by the Captain to leave the area immediately.” Dex paused. “I did so.”

  The Admiral removed his infernal monocle. “So, Commander, what you mean to tell me is that you did not actually see what transpired above New Berkeley, and obviously you never actually saw—nor do you have any direct evidence of—a saboteur. Is that correct?”

  Dex grated his teeth. “What are you implying?” Just a hint of a scowl showed at the corner of the Commander’s mouth. “Sir?”

  “You will answer the question, Commander,” interjected Admiral Green.

  “If you somehow plan to turn Anastasia into the scapegoat in all this,” Dex replied, rising from the table, “you won’t have my help to do it.”

  “Sit down, Commander,” ordered the Fleet Admiral. “Control your outbursts or I will have security escort you out.”


  Dex leaned toward the older man, laying his palms on the table’s lacquered surface. A sly smile played across his lips. His voice was low, almost sepulchral. “They’d never get through the door in time.”

  Wright opened his wrinkled mouth, but no sound emerged. Dex held his gaze for several long heartbeats, then turned and left the room without another word to the assembled officers. Wright did not say anything as he left, and, indeed, it was some time after his departure before any of them spoke again.

  . . . . .

  The three hours Anastasia spent in her quarters as the Inferno sped back to Earth stretched out interminably, each second oozing by with all the urgency of slowly-coalescing dewdrops dripping lethargically from the leaves that spawned them. The room lights were subdued, and the only sound was the intermittent but incessant warbling of the comlink’s emergency channel, a sound that Anastasia actively disregarded, staring instead at the starlines streaming toward the window. Ahead of her, though invisible, was Earth, the planet she had plainly failed and that she felt utterly unable to face.

  Every member of her crew had tried to comfort the Captain, telling her that there was nothing she could have done to prevent what had happened in the skies above New Berkeley. But Anastasia knew differently. Though she had not fired her ship’s terrible weapon, she had failed to prevent it from firing. The distracting attack on her life notwithstanding, the fact remained that she had failed to secure her ship, and her failure had led to the deaths of those one hundred and seventy-five people. As captain, in the end, the blame was hers to shoulder.

  She stared back out the window.

  The starlines abruptly constricted, resolving into a web of familiar light-points that bracketed the Earth in ignorant solemnity. The planet grew ever larger as she gazed out the window and the Inferno made its descent to the surface. Dropping silently through the cloudless sky, the magnificent ship slowed as it approached the dove-gray dome of Confederation Command’s private landing hangar. A pair of perpendicular fissures appeared in the dome as the ship drew near, expanding to reveal a quartet of neatly unfolding panels. The Inferno, resplendent even in the wan predawn light of the rising sun, was quickly swallowed into the hangar to alight on the titanoferrite platform below.

  The transport ride to the Confederation Headquarters building was remarkably short, and Anastasia hardly remembered the trip or the journey down to the Command Sub-Basement. She thought with chagrin that Dex had just taken a similar trip only a few hours before.

  “The panel has been expecting you, Captain,” announced the aide at the door, and Anastasia was ushered in to sit at the foot of a long, faux-wood table already bristling with Confederation officers. She sat wordlessly and waited for the debriefing to begin.

  Fleet Admiral Wright looked at her for several moments before he spoke, his rasping voice grating like sandpaper on Anastasia’s ears. “Why don’t you tell me what happened out there, Captain?” he began.

  “What do you want to know?” she snapped uncharacteristically, surprising herself with the vehemence of her own feelings. More softly, she added, “Where do I begin?”

  “We can talk about the failed negotiations later, I suppose,” he replied. “Start with your departure from the planet.”

  Anastasia sighed audibly, relaying the morning’s events with unnaturally stoic—almost glacial—calm. The Fleet Admiral listened with fingers steepled before narrow, pursed lips, tacitly reproachful though not overtly irate. When Anastasia finished, he simply nodded to no one in particular and dropped his speckled hands to the table.

  “And this saboteur,” Wright asked, “he disintegrated himself?”

  “That’s what I said,” she replied.

  “Interesting. And, aside from your own crew, do you have any witnesses? Will Commander Rutcliffe be able to confirm your story?”

  “Of course he will,” Anastasia affirmed, indignant.

  “So his sensor readings will show the extra life form?”

  “Well, the Turian had evidently concealed his life form signature from our sensors, so I don’t think the Cerberus would be able to—”

  “Then presumably, Captain,” Wright interrupted, “the Cerberus’ logs will show the energy spike from the photon destabilizer the intruder used to disintegrate himself?”

  Anastasia was taken aback. “I don’t know, sir. The Cerberus was probably out of range by the time he fired.”

  The Fleet Admiral leaned back, steepled his fingers again. “Interesting.”

  “I fail to see what the hell is so interesting about it,” she snapped.

  “Watch your tone, Captain,” Wright replied, suddenly animated. “May I remind you that you are here on charges of insubordination?”

  “Oh, right,” Anastasia muttered inaudibly.

  “My orders to you were quite clear, were they not, Captain?”

  Anastasia gritted her teeth. “Crystal clear, sir. You asked me to stand by and watch an entire planet be butchered. You asked me to abandon those people.”

  “Those decisions are not yours to make, Captain!” Wright yelled, slamming his fist on the table. “Do you realize that Denegar was captured because of your disregard for authority? Denegar—a planet absolutely vital to the Confederation military effort. Vital to our efforts to repulse the Vr’amil’een. And instead, you chose to risk your ship defending a world that had demanded autonomy from the Confederation, a world that demanded the removal of all military presence from the system, a world that is the center of operations for scores of recent terrorist attacks! These are the people you chose to defend?”

  “But they were being butchered!” Anastasia cried, rising from the table. “How could I simply leave?”

  “Sit down, Captain,” Wright intoned. “I am asking the questions.”

  Anastasia gradually slowed her breathing and retook her seat.

  The Admiral continued. “Due to their secession demands, New Berkeley was not under Confederation protection. You had no duty to them. You should have remained neutral in the conflict.”

  Captain Mason made no effort to hide her distaste. “The hottest circles of hell are reserved for those who, in times of great moral crisis, maintain their neutrality.”

  Wright ignored the quote. “Captain Mason, you have been charged with disobeying a direct order from a superior officer. There will be a full hearing on the matter, commencing immediately. A special session of the Ethics Committee has already been called.”

  Anastasia did not blink.

  “You are lucky, Captain,” Wright continued, “that such charges, brought against high officers, are heard before the Ethics Committee.” He leaned forward again, but did not speak, instead leaving unsaid the implication that Atgard would not rule against his friend.

  “I will let my actions speak for themselves, Admiral,” she replied icily. “And I would do it again.”

  The Fleet Admiral stared hard at Anastasia for several long moments. “You are dismissed, Captain,” he declared.

  Anastasia rose wordlessly and walked from the table. Her receding footfalls echoed long after she had left the room.

  . . . . .

  Alexis awoke gradually, a smile coming to her face as she realized that it was not her alarm that had woken her, which meant that it was her day off. She kept her eyes closed as she rolled back into the pillow, strangely firm.

  Her eyes bolted open as she remembered that, for the first night in as long as she could remember, she had not slept alone.

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Alexis stared into the dark brown of Ryan’s eyes and returned his warm smile. She nestled a bit closer to him and let the warmth of his skin surround her.

  “Good morning,” she replied.

  “Actually,” Ryan corrected her, glancing at his nanocomputer, “it’s technically afternoon.”

  She smiled at him for several long heartbeats, not wanting to spoil the moment with words.

  Sensing that he was now awake, Ryan’s nanocomp
uter let out a plaintive beep. Without removing his other arm from under Alexis’ neck, he silenced the tiny machine, which displayed a stream of data in the air with its embedded holo-vid projector. Ryan turned away from the luminous intrusion, but his neck quickly snapped back and he concentrated on the reports scrolling through the air.

  “What is it?” Alexis asked, sitting up in the bed. “Is something wrong?”

  “I’d say,” he replied, reading the data, a concerned expression furrowing his brow. “The Vr’amil’een have captured Denegar. But even worse—it seems Anastasia has been court-martialed.”

  “Anastasia? What in the Seventeen Systems for?”

  “Failure to heed a direct order … dereliction of negotiating duties … and gross negligence leading to the deaths of 175 people.”

  “My God … Anastasia—are you sure?”

  “Positive,” Ryan replied. “She’s going before the Ethics Committee today.”

  Alexis released a long breath. “Daniel’s on there. He won’t let her be charged.”

  “Not so fast, ‘Lexi. Obviously having Daniel there will help, but if the charges are legitimate, I’m sure he’ll do what he has to do.”

  “You really think he’d rule against Anastasia?”

  “If the evidence is there, I don’t think he’d have any choice. Besides—there are two other Justices on the Committee. He could be overruled.”