by Nick Webb
“Hey Jamie. Looking for someone?” Whitehorse smiled at her, and finally found what she was looking for in the cupboard. She tore open the wrapper and started grazing on the apple strudel kibble meant to be a high-energy snack for pilots in a cockpit.
“Yeah. Qwerty, actually.”
He waved a palm in front of himself. “Well, here I am. What’s the problem?”
“Oh, no problem. I just … well, I was thinking about the ELW radios, and how hard it is to understand each other through all the static. I was thinking, couldn’t we just … tap those things into the regular antenna we use on the normal commline? Basically boost the signal?”
Qwerty looked like he was about to start a patronizing speech about communications transmitters and antennae when Whitehorse interrupted him. “Good idea, Jamie. Unfortunately, it really wouldn’t do anything. The regular comm channels are at such a wildly different frequency that the lengths and geometries of the antennae really aren’t suitable for use in each other’s system.”
Qwerty nodded, only adding awkwardly, “Impedance matching issue.”
Ace looked crestfallen. “Oh. Ok, well, it was just a thought.” She turned back to Qwerty. “Well, goodbye, Billy.” She left in a hurry.
Zivic glanced back at Qwerty. “Billy? I thought it was Billy-Bob?”
Qwerty looked annoyed. “It is. But I keep telling her to call me Qwerty.”
Whitehorse chomped down another handful of kibble, and piled another package of it in front of Zivic. “Wait a minute. You never finished your story on the bridge. About your name. I find it hard to believe that anyone’s name, first or last, is actually Qwerty. Like the keyboard layout.”
“Oh, it’s not. Like I was telling you, I applied to the Academy on a dare. My brother Tom, you see, he was a rascal, and we dared each other to do all kinds of shenanigans. Back in the country on Bolivar, there wasn’t much opportunity for real shenanigans, I mean, no show-stoppers you can pull out there. So he says, I dare you to just show up at the Academy on the first day, and see how long you can go before someone calls you out. And, well, I did.”
“Wait, you just … showed up? No plan? No … nothing?” said Zivic.
“I showed up. Hadn’t … properly thought things through. And when they asked me my name, I got flustered and said Billy-Bob Qwerty. And I thought, man, what a stupid, stupid name. I couldn’t come up with something better than that? And they stared—my Lord, how they stared. Then they couldn’t find the name on the list, so I got sent back home, and was so embarrassed, that that night I hacked into the Academy’s database and inserted myself right there into the class of ’72. Got a thing for languages, you see. And that extends to all patterns. Codes. Programming. Data transfer protocols. You name it, I can crack it.”
Whitehorse was shaking her head in disbelief. “Wait. No, just wait. You’re trying to tell us that you somehow hacked into the computers at the Academy overnight, inserted your name, and then you somehow flew through the four years and never once did someone discover what you’d done and called you out?”
Qwerty shook his head, and helped himself to some of Whitehorse’s kibble. “Oh, I was found out, all right. Nearly a month later. But by then I’d already tested out of all the comms classes, all the programming classes, and most of the first and second year technology classes. Was my roommate that ratted on me. But by that point, I was, to put it mildly, the star of the show, and the commandant swept the whole thing under the rug.” He chewed another handful of strudel. “Of course, as punishment, he made me keep the name.”
Zivic and Whitehorse were both shaking their heads. “I’m … so sorry,” Zivic said.
“What was your last name before … all that?” said Whitehorse.
“Bill Kwerdie.”
Zivic could have sworn Whitehorse’s jaw dropped a full inch. “Say again?” she said.
“Bill Kwerdie. K-W-E-R-D-I-E. Kwerdie.” Zivic thought, for just a moment, that maybe he was playing a joke on them, but his face was so entirely innocent and serious, his usual manner so without guile, that he dismissed the thought. But still….
“Anyway, I suppose I should be off and figure out how to patch through to your fighters before Lieutenant Broadside tracks me down again. Fifth time today.”
The change of subject was welcoming. “Wait, did you say fifth?” said Whitehorse, incredulously. “Ace has tracked you down five times today? Just to talk about that radio?”
“Well, twice about the radio, once about what we ate last night—the food stores on this ship leave a little to be desired, if you know what I mean—once to ask me about Bolivar, and another time to tell me that she’d been studying up on German, I think. Apparently her great-great grandpa was German. Asked me about a few words. Conjugations. Frankly, I was trying to figure out inflected Dolmasi noun declensions and she was distracting me, so I think—”
Whitehorse was shaking both hands in the air at him. “Wait, wait, back up, back up. She’s tracked you down five times today to talk about … radios, what you ate last night, where you’re from, and to make small talk about German.” She paused, and a hand came up to her mouth. “Oh my god. She’s into you. Hard.”
“What?” said Qwerty.
“What?” said Zivic.
“Don’t you see?” Whitehorse heaved a sigh, and took a patronizing tone, as if explaining something to a kindergartener. “When a girl likes a boy, she’ll try to talk to him and catch his attention. Sometimes she’ll try to be extra helpful.” She looked from one to the other and switched to her normal voice. “Guys, isn’t this obvious to you both?”
Zivic grumbled. “Well … yeah. I guess.”
Qwerty shrugged. “I had no idea.” He bent down to fiddle with one of his boots. Apparently his shoelace had come loose again. “Ain’t never had a girlfriend, and frankly, ain’t planning on it now, so—”
Zivic pointed down at his boot. “What the hell is that?”
On one of his boots, the top was tied together with a pink piece of string that, upon closer inspection looked like several pieces of pink string. Like a bracelet that had been untied and used as a shoelace.
“Oh. Ace offered this to me when she saw me trying to tie it this morning.”
Zivic glared at it, like it was an affront to his own manliness. “She gave that to you? She wears that on her wrist all the time. I thought….” He struggled for words, not wanting to admit to them that he was holding out hope that she’d be into him and not, in fact, already in a relationship with another woman like Whitehorse had suggested. “I thought … someone gave that to her, is all.”
“Well she gave it to me, and it helped with one boot, but now this other one is acting up, so—” He looked up suddenly. “You really think she … likes me?”
Whitehorse rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love….”
Zivic shook his head. “Qwerty, how is it that you can learn a language in a matter of hours, you can basically decipher any pattern, any code, in a matter of minutes, but you can’t pick up on the basic human signals that a girl drops when she likes you?”
Whitehorse answered for him. “He’s an idiot.”
Qwerty looked genuinely embarrassed as he stood up. “If you good folks’ll excuse me.” He gave a tip of an imaginary hat. “Got some radio work to do….”
He left in a hurry.
Zivic choked down the poor excuse that passed for coffee in the Defiance’s galley and ignored the package of apple strudel kibble that Whitehorse had opened and piled in front of them. Then he started laughing.
“What?” said Whitehorse.
“Qwerty. Oh, and what about the whole she’s got a girlfriend so don’t even think about trying anything on her?”
She shrugged. “Ok. I made it up.”
“You lied to me?”
“Uh huh. And I’d do it again if it meant I could get your head out of the clouds and out of her pants and back down here on this mission.”
“You lied to me.”
&nb
sp; “If you don’t eat, you’ll never have the energy to save the girl, Batsnip.” She popped of few of them in her mouth.
Batsnip?
“You lied to me,” he repeated again.
“Oh stop with the hurt puppy routine. Besides. Qwerty needs a head start. Needs all the help he can get, that one. Now eat.”
“Not hungry.” He took another painful gulp of the black sludge. No sugar anywhere in the galley. The Defiance had not even technically been christened yet, much less been fully stocked. “And stop it with the saving the girl shit, all right?”
Whitehorse shrugged. “Sorry. Just thought you could use a laugh.” She munched on a few of the strudel pieces. “You know, I was thinking the other day about Sara Batak.”
“You never even met her, did you?”
“Of course I did.” She scowled. “I had to interview her—make sure she was good enough for my former fiancé.” The scowl gave way to a small smile. “You know I still care about you, right? I mean, not like I want to get drunk and do something I might regret care about you, but we had something really, really good, Ethan. And I don’t want to see you get hurt. So I sat down with her while she was in sickbay and you were … I can’t remember where you were honestly. Anyway, we talked.”
He felt his eyes burn. He wasn’t ready for this. “Look, Jerusha, I don’t want to rehash—”
She continued on, ignoring him. “She was good, Ethan. Really. I could tell. I mean, I know you only knew her for a few weeks, and I give you shit about having the complex of swooping in and saving the girl. But she was some girl. You could have done a lot worse.”
Why was she doing this now? Why was she torturing him? He set his mug down and started to push away from the table. She caught his arm before he could stand up. “Ethan. I know it hurts. She’s gone. She’s dead.” She stared him straight in the eye. “Don’t let it kill you too.”
“Thanks for the concern.” He tried to smile, but failed.
“I’m serious. I’m watching you out there, when I’m at tactical. I see some of the stunts you’re pulling. I mean, I know you’re batshit crazy, but you don’t have to literally be crazy.”
“I’m not. But in case you hadn’t noticed, there’s a war on. Lots of people shooting at me. And when bullets fly, you do what you have to do.”
He was trying to make it sound tough. Like he was a stalwart warrior who set his jaw against the rising tide of war and destruction, and buckled down to save the day. Be the hero. Be better than his dad and his lousy hundred kills during the battle of … whatever battle that was, and … dammit. She was looking right at him. Through him. It’s like she knew he was putting on a show.
“Ethan,” she began. But stopped, and stood up. “You’re already a hero. What more do you have to prove?”
She left. He didn’t even hear the door close behind her.
Because it hadn’t. Someone else was standing over him, and he nearly jumped when they spoke.
“Lieutenant Zivic?” said Ensign Babu.
He was wearing the spare flight suit he’d borrowed earlier.
“What the hell are you doing, Ensign?” Zivic said, eyeing the suit warily. The other man was not fighter pilot.
“We’ve got a mission. Straight from the admiral herself. Top secret.”
“She’s letting you into the cockpit of a fighter?”
Babu waved that aside. “Of course not. But I will be piloting a small missile frigate. Those things basically fly themselves anyway. And you’ll be my escort. You and another pilot you trust. Who is it?”
Zivic was about to protest, but the mention of a secret mission straight from the admiral herself snapped him into the moment, Sara Batak forgotten. “Bucket. He’s an ass, but he’s good.”
Why hadn’t he chosen Ace? Was he trying to protect her? Dammit, Jerusha Whitehorse, get out of my head.
“Ok. Go grab him. Don’t tell a soul where we’re going.”
“Where are we going?”
Babu smiled. “We’re staying right here. Britannia system. Calais. One of its little moons, near the shipyards. We’re going to bring in the cavalry—right up your alley.”
He looked askance at the ensign. “You’re the cavalry?”
“The coffee cavalry, at least,” he replied. A self-deprecating joke. Zivic was starting to really like this guy. Probably meant he was going to die.
Shit, my humor’s gotten a bit dark.
Zivic stood up. “Do I get a chance to shower first?”
Babu actually grabbed him by the elbow, rank protocol right out the window, and led him to the door.
“No. We’re already late.”
Chapter Sixty-Four
Orbit over Britannia
ISS Vanguard
Bridge
“Look, there it is again,” said the tactical officer. He pointed to his monitor, and Admiral Mullins leaned in to peer at the signal on the screen.
“Maybe. Then again, wouldn’t they detect this themselves? Surely if we can, then they can. And if they can’t, then why? And what about the Independence? Wouldn’t they see it?”
The officer shook his head. “No idea, sir. But the only thing that can explain this reading is if there were a very, very minor misalignment of the phase in a ship’s stealth system. But not just that: it has to be somehow coupled into the phase of the ship’s power reactor, such that anyone detecting it will just assume it’s just a noisy echo of the signal from their own reactor, and not think twice about it. That’s probably why the Independence isn’t picking it up.”
“But why would they do that?”
The officer shrugged. “They took some damage at El Amin, probably. Then, after a hack repair job, they might have crossed a few wires.”
Mullins nodded slowly. Behind him, President Quimby barked across the bridge. “Ted. Why aren’t we going yet? I need to get back to Earth.”
He ignored him. Let the old bastard stew for another minute. “Very well. What’s it doing?”
“It’s just orbiting Britannia, near the Independence.”
“And nothing has happened with the Independence in the past hour? That shuttle that left? It never returned?”
“No, sir.”
“What was it’s course?”
“Calais, sir.”
Interesting.
“Ted! I said get me the fuck back to Earth! Oppenheimer isn’t even here like I thought he was, and I’ve got a fucking cabinet meeting in the morning….” Quimby looked at his watch, and tapped it. “Shit. Have I been up all night? What time is it? God, I hate space….”
The tactical officer pointed at the screen again. “Sir! The Independence just t-jumped away!”
“T-jump? Meaning we can’t track it?”
The officer shook his head. “Sorry, sir.”
“Did Volz log in a flight request?”
Another shake of the head. Damn that Volz.
“But, sir, the signal … it stopped. Wait … hold on….” Finally, the officer looked up, smiling. “It q-jumped away.”
Mullins’s face mirrored the tactical officer. “And we can track a q-jump signature.”
The officer nodded. “Earth,” he said quietly.
Quimby was losing his shit. “Ted! I said—”
Mullins spun around. “Mr. President, I’m terribly sorry. Yes, we’re just leaving now. And when we get there, I think I’ve got another surprise for you.”
That seemed to change the president’s mood. “Oh?”
“Yes.” He sat down in the captain’s chair. “Admiral Proctor’s head on a platter, no less.”
Quimby seemed mollified by that. At least, he left to go grab an hour’s worth of sleep. Enough time to arrange the trap. “Lieutenant Johnson, as soon as we get to Earth and verify that Proctor is indeed there, launch another meta-space-shunt-enabled anti-matter missile.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Mullins watched the viewscreen shift to indicate their q-jumps had initiated. “Time to turn all of Ear
th against Proctor, and make an example of those who oppose us. And better yet, it’ll be the Dolmasi doing the hard work for us. And when we come in to clean up?”
Lieutenant Johnson grinned. “We’ll be hailed as heroes?”
Mullins returned the smile. “Exactly.”
Chapter Sixty-Five
High Orbit over Earth
ISS Defiance
Bridge
“Coming up on Earth,” said Liu. “Just one final q-jump.”
Proctor nodded. “Thank you, Ms. Liu.” She tapped the comm button. “Rayna, are we good to go?”
The comm crackled. “As good as ever. That brush with the Dolmasi did us no favors. Just let me know if you’re planning on running into them again.”
“If I could read the future, we’d all be billionaires with our own moons.”
“I don’t wanna moon. I want to tinker with my babies without anyone shooting at me.”
“When this is all over, I’ll make sure you get your pick of any ship in the fleet. Proctor out.” She turned to Whitehorse. “You ready?”
“Yes, ma’am. We should be able to at least partially counter any meta-space pulse. Assuming we detect it in time, of course.”
Good. At least they’d have a fighting chance to get the Dolmasi on their side. Or, if not on their side, then at least convinced that war was not in their best interest. But they could only be reasoned with if they weren’t driven insane by Mullins’s and Oppenheimer’s meta-space shenanigans.
Whitehorse continued: “And just in case, mag-rails are ready. Just give me a target.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that. Qwerty?”
He shrugged. “I think I’m there. I’ve incorporated former President Avery’s information into everything I’ve come up with so far. Won’t know until I actually shoot the shit with them again. I’ll either be telling them we want to sit down and talk, or that we want to hump their camels. Never can tell with a polysynthetic language structured by homophonic lexemes.”