“...could smooth things back on Earth...” The Admiral’s voice cracked in the static of the distress call.
“Tensions are high, more questions than answers...” His words came again.
I saw my human self enter coordinates. He was preparing to take us away from the wreck, he was going to damn them all again.
Shock and deep sadness overwhelmed me as the scene froze. Seven years, and I was back here again? The choice was larger now, the stakes higher, but was I really prepared to do nothing again? Was I truly so hateful and lost that I could be comfortable if good men died for my failure to act?
An image flashed in that moment, of Charlie, bleeding and dying. Blood soaked my forepaws, and in that instant, in the logic of the dream I knew I could have stopped it. The image faded and again I was staring up at myself, my human self, as he spoke.
“You look different, but we are still the same, you and I. You only changed on the outside.” He grinned and his face twisted and distorted hellishly. He began to laugh at me loudly.
“You can't say that! I became better! I did something, I moved on from you!” My paws shook and I stared up at him with rage.
“Did you really? Did you really learn anything? You can run, sure, you're made for that, you can run all the way to Centioc One, but that didn’t make you better. Even on a world all by yourself the only way you could escape your hate was to give up on thinking altogether. You still live with your hate, you still live with your judgment. You still live with me. Prove me wrong, bunny.” He was mocking me, his laughter echoed in my ears.
I looked down, panicked, his words rattling me to my core. Had I really changed? Beyond the fur and paws and all that, was I a better person?
I wasn't. I was worse. I was angry and full of hate, resentful and vindictive. I took a deep breath, and felt a weight begin to lift. I had to let it go...
I had to let it all go, my hate, my anger, my despair. For the first time in my life I looked down deep, then up at my analog.
“I forgive you, and I forgive them. I want to be better. You may have been me, but not anymore. Not from this moment on. I am done with being a coward.”
My double shattered before me, the blood disappeared from my paws and I felt a great relief as the weight lifted from my shoulders. Dammit, I was going to try. I felt myself startle awake, and I realized I was sobbing to myself, curled up in Charlie’s lap. Feeling him so close made me feel safe, and I comforted myself in his scent, cloying cologne and all.
“Easy Snow, easy. It's OK.” His words and tone soothed me. I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what needed to be done.
“I think it’s high time you and I got to work,” I said.
Chapter 16
Charlie had been reassigned to my quarters, and he was already up and around, sipping his coffee and going over papers.
“God Charlie, do you ever sleep?” I asked, stretching out again.
“Not without orders.” He shot me a smile.
“So, what’s the damage? What am I facing today?” The attack had thrown the entire mission into chaos. Slowly we were reconstructing our timetable.
“Well, things are still in a delightful state of chaos. We missed the rendezvous point but have been in contact with the Mendians through official channels. Along with wishes for a speedy recovery from the flu, they sent us a new rendezvous point. We are now jumping at gate Alpha Epsilon.”
“I had no idea flu was caused by riot sticks,” I joked.
“You learn something new every day. Did you know that dealing with High Command causes hemorrhoids?” Charlie shot back.
“What officer doesn't?” I said, holding back a fit of giggles.
“Is there any news yet, any leads on what happened?” I saw his mood visibly change as I asked the question.
His voice was tinged with a hint of anger and frustration. “The Major still has not named any suspects. According to him there is little evidence, no witnesses, nothing. It's very troubling.”
“Why is that Charlie?” I perked up my ears. I was never in security so I knew very little about it.
“Weapons of any kind are not just passed out on the ship.” He withdrew his pistol and set it out on the table. “I had to check that out of the armory; it was cataloged with my GA number; there’s a trail stretching back Earthside to indicate possession of this pistol.”
“Riot sticks aren't tracked that way I guess,” I replied, feeling frustrated.
“That's the thing Snow, they are. You don't want weapons of any kind floating around on a naval ship without knowing who has them.” I swallowed, and an icy realization settled down in my mind. “They had help, someone with fairly high level access.” Just saying it made me shudder.
“Exactly, and what's more disturbing, the Major hasn't found any hints of who it might be yet. That's why I’m here Snow, we don't know who we can trust.” The words hung in the air heavy and looming.
“Somehow, some way, I’m going to get to the bottom of this mess. Don’t you worry. Someone had to leave a trail somewhere,” Charlie said, and his attitude comforted me.
“So what can I do? I'd like to have a paw in catching these bastards.”
“Right now, there is very little you can do; we’re kind of in a waiting game. Best thing is to keep your ears up, your eyes peeled, and hammer away on your protocols. Whoever did this, I don't think they were just after you. This had enough planning; someone doesn't want this mission to succeed.”
“Why? The Mendian Alliance has done a lot for Earth. We have explored out farther than anyone dreamed ten years ago, medical science has improved, things are better.” My tone took on that of an apologist, arguing the merits of societal change.
“For some people, first contact has been a nightmare. Change never comes easy; you should know that, long ears. It scares people. There are plenty of people Earthside who resent the morphic clause in the Treaty of Gates, and even more who don't trust the Mendians. I suppose that on a certain level it’s healthy to be suspicious, I mean you have to keep on your toes, but some people are downright xenophobic. My guess is, whoever planned this attack has their sights set higher. If you were suddenly killed or otherwise out of the game, well, it would really crank up the tensions.”
I shuddered, the idea of a larger conspiracy making me feel suddenly quite alone. I moved closer to Charlie, instinctively looking for strength in greater numbers. “We are just going to have to make sure that we succeed. I’m going to get to work on those protocols.”
I wasn't alone for more than a moment over the next few days, and I buried myself in my work. Mendians had a culture of honor and protocol that made anything on Earth look tame, and I was determined to get it right in spite of the time delay. Charlie had to leave a few times, but the Doctor, or even the Admiral, would show up at my door to “check in on me.”
One night as Charlie was leaving, Bradley showed up for guard duty, armed with a pistol. I was grateful for the company but inwardly prayed to the universe he wouldn't need to shoot anything. He sat down at the chair strategically placed by the door and huffed.
“So Bradley, how have you been doing since the other night? Have you made any decisions about your future?” I asked.
“A little. I think you're right. I need to make a decision. I think I am going to go for it after my tour is up,” he said, and straightened visibly. His new decision was giving him confidence.
“Well remember, don’t rush into it, but I am sure you’ve heard that a hundred times already.”
“Yeah, but I still have three years before my tour is up here, and there's a lot to do in the meantime. Just don't be surprised one day if you see me in grey fur and ears,” he said, smiling. It was almost like he was a different person from a few days ago.
“I'll look forward to it. I’m glad my assault didn’t scare you away.” I smiled and stretched.
“Oh I’ve thought about it, but I just don’t think I can live my life being afraid of trying someth
ing that could really be right for me,” Bradley said.
“Good for you, Bradley. You are stronger than you know,” I said, and then set back to work.
It was late evening, slowly giving way to night, when Charlie arrived in my quarters relieving Bradley of guard duty. This time however, he wasn't in uniform but shorts and a gray UEA T-shirt.
“How go the protocols soldier?” Charlie asked with his normal mirthful tone.
“I think my brain is stuffed full to bursting at this point. If I read one more sentence about proper courtesy and decorum I think I may go insane,” I said, shaking my head trying to settle the facts rattling around in my brain.
“Oh it can't be that bad. What’s the proper protocol for greeting?” he asked, pushing me.
“I am Snow Dawkins, of Mars. Take me to your carrots or face annihilation.” I fell over on the bed, laughing at my own joke.
Charlie stifled a laugh and did his best to sound concerned. “Oh, I do believe we are well and truly doomed.”
He reached out and fuzzed my ears and spoke in a serious tone. “It is the reasoned determination of this Commander that you have been working too damn hard and are about to go cross-eyed.”
“What do you suggest Lieutenant Commander?” I replied with military efficiency.
“Well, Captain,” he replied, “I think some R and R is in order. Tell me, do you like to run?”
My ears perked up. A chance to stretch my legs and lose myself in some activity was just what the doctor ordered. “Why certainly Commander, what do you suggest?”
“Right this way.” He bowed and held out a hand towards my door.
He led me to a gymnasium area, about the size of a large basketball court. At that time of night, we were the only ones there, but the smell of sweat and effort still tinged the air. I stretched my paws and felt a creeping eagerness to run.
I stretched out my forepaws and sprinted off, and slowly fell into a nice rhythm. The ever-present motion made my muscles ache joyously as the rhythmic pattern of my paws lulled me into a relaxed state of mind. Slowly I felt the stress evaporate as my ears heated. The cool air of the gym moved through my fur leaving me in a state of contended active peace. Time became an afterthought, as my mind drifted, my body moving with almost no need for direction. I just ran, lost in the moment. Over and over again, around and around I went, until exhaustion and muscle failure claimed me and I slowed, then stopped, panting hard, ears erect, dissipating the heat of my recent action.
I felt good. My heart was racing and my body was floating in a peaceful euphoria. I heard Charlie slow to a stop as well and turned and saw him breathing heavy, soaked with sweat, with a look of satisfaction in his eyes.
“Man, I needed that,” he said, wiping his forehead with a towel.
“You needed that?” I said lightly. “ I’ve needed that since I got here! After a run like that I would love a nice hot shower.” I stretched out, bringing welcome relief to tense muscles and cleaned at my muzzle with my forepaws.
“You're not sweating; that's not even fair,” Charlie replied whimsically.
“I don't sweat, not anymore.” I wiggled my ears at him still panting. “I have built in radiators, no lie.”
“And here I thought they were just overgrown satellite dishes.”
“Stuff it Charlie! Never insult a lagomorphs ears, it's a sure path to pain,” I replied giggling, and we made our way back to quarters.
Chapter 17
// RESIDUAL DATA ACQUIRED FROM ALTERNATE DATA
CENTER //
// FLAGGED AS RELEVANT //
// ERROR CHECKSUM 15A8FB42 //
// C.STEVENS //HOUSE: EARTH // ADAPTING //
I stepped out of the hot shower after my run and took a deep breath, enjoying that relaxed euphoria that always accompanied a good work out. I draped the towel over my shoulders and stretched out my arms, feeling my joints pop a bit as the stretch realigned my muscles with my skeleton. I plopped down in my chair, nice and relaxed after my run, and then I wanted to make sure there were no fires to put out before bed.
There was a blinking message on my datapad. As it checked my security code and displayed, I felt myself suddenly tense, all the relaxation of the previous hours gone.
The message simply read: You are go at 0400 hours.
I took a deep breath. Tonight was the night I would access the black box. Tonight I would finally get some answers.
I opened up my closet and took out the fresh maintenance uniform and ran my hand over the slippery plastic, then grabbed it at the seam and ripped it open. It had a sergeants’ rank sewn into the collar and a fake name, J. Daniels, sewn above the zippered chest pockets. With this, I would be one of the faceless, nameless ones, one among a slew of maintenance workers, doing what they could to keep the ship in top shape in the dark of the night.
I slid it on and zipped it up, scratching at a spot near my left shoulder. They always put too much starch in the new uniforms, and this one had been quietly requisitioned days ago. A lot of people wondered how the military was able to pull off black operations, but it really was a case of the right hand not knowing what the left was doing. All thanks to the glory of paperwork.
Mankind, ever pushing forward, ever seeking efficiency, had always tried to slay that elusive beast, but all of our technology, all of our advancements had only seen bureaucracy evolve with it. What was once clumsy and ineffective was now an efficient morass. Guided molasses, smart blowback, and with every 99 stroke 5 form, and its four angry cousins, it just produced more useless data, more lovely snow. I might have hated paperwork, but at the end of the day it was symbiotic. Clerks (we called them snow blowers) in their own anal-retentive way made my job possible.
“Thank God for the paper pushers,” I remembered my training officer telling me once. “Without them, the world might see us for what we really are.”
I chuckled at the thought of him, sliding my tools into my pouch and checking my zippers. Then I settled in for a quick nap. I had been ordered to be well rested, and that was one order I was happy to obey. I set my alarm, and reclined in my chair.
The beeping woke me up with a start. It was 0335. I stretched and worked out the kinks in my muscles, stiff after too little sleep and a good run. I checked over my gear, and looked over myself in the mirror. I reminded myself I was a sergeant and laughed at the thought. We had ships that moved near the speed of light and leaped across segments of the galaxy but we still hadn’t fathomed how to work out the Charlie Foxtrot rank structure inherent in the United Earth Forces.
The Roam was mostly deserted at this hour. The night shift was reserved for the unlucky, the essential, and the new. I made my way quickly through the corridor, pulling my hat down low and doing my best to be un-assuming. Nothing to see here, just a lowly engineering tech on his nightly run, I thought to myself, and made it without incident to the elevator.
The lift door opened and I began to make my way to the corridor. Just a few more meters and I would be safely ensconced within the walls of the Roam’s data core, away from prying eyes and ready to do my work. It was finally time to get some answers.
“Excuse me! Yes, excuse me! You, Sergeant, over here,” I heard a voice call out. Damn!
I turned to see a young security officer, ranked Lieutenant, Second Class. Remembering I was now an enlisted man, and not a Commander, I snapped a quick salute. “Yes Sir!” I said, with enthusiasm harkening back to boot.
“I haven’t seen you on shift before. Are you new?” he asked, with just a hint of suspicion.
My blood ran a little cold. If he called in to check my credentials, I was hosed. I had to think fast.
“No Sir. Just a temporary transplant from days. Diagnostics came up with some unusual readings on a power distribution node in this sector,” I explained. “The Chief Engineer wanted me to check it out personally. She’s still a new ship after all, got to work all the bugs out.”
“So you’re an expert in power systems?” he pressed me.<
br />
“Built a career out of it,” I answered with false pride in my voice, thinking back on my first assignment. “Started out on the Mako. Let me tell you, that old rust bucket was coming apart at the seams. Had the old gen-one transformers with the bad voltage regulation. I swear we were always blowing out terminals.” I’d been on the receiving end of one of those terminals, and while I’d been unscathed the experience had been memorable, to say the least.
“Heh, nothing like the Roam, am I right?” He softened, eagerly taking in every last ounce of my bullshit.
“Eh, she has her ways, Lieutenant.” I glanced down the hall, away from my destination. “If you would excuse me, sir, I don’t want someone to catch me jawing and have the Chief Engineer come down on my ass.”
“Oh, absolutely. Carry on Sergeant,” he instructed. I saluted and he left me to my work.
Taking a deep breath, I felt the burden of the mission suddenly lighten, satisfied with my luck. Arriving at the maintenance tunnel I scanned my card and it slid open without a hitch. I was in.
I stood at the juncture and looked at the directional indicators over my head, fat bundles of cord wound together, moving like slithering snakes down long, seemingly unending corridors. Odors of warm electronics and oil permeated the air. This was the real Roam, her arteries, her veins and nerves all making up one cohesive, almost living thing. Patting the tunnel that would lead me to my prize, I smiled and crawled in.
There were no grates here in these new Wanderer class ships. Instead of having the old metal grate floors, they were now a new smooth alloy. On paper they provided better EM shielding, but they also necessitated the retrofitting of every maintenance uniform in the fleet. You no longer needed pads to protect you from the grating; now you needed something that could catch on the new material, to provide you with traction so you could crawl down the corridor. My knees had just enough grip, and as I made my way down, deeper into the bowels of the ship I idly wondered what Minister of Parliament was able to score that sweet deal for his district.
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