by Ivan Turner
“Did she write that report or the brat?” Hardy commented when the play ended. The brat was Tedesco and Beckett declined comment. With his index finger, he touched the icon for Bonamo’s report and began that playback.
Bonamo’s report did not conflict with Tedesco’s report on any points. There was, however, one curiosity. Whereas Tedesco reported hearing gunshots, Bonamo was very specific about the shots they heard. He first reported hearing Cummings fire his weapon. That, in and of itself, couldn’t be possible because Rodrigo had reported that Cummings had been killed by a laser beam and only she had fired. And, speaking of the laser beams, Bonamo reported hearing them as well. He thought there had been three, but he wasn’t entirely sure. They were a whining buzz in his ears. Sergeant Rodrigo’s shots had come last, three volleys of rifle fire. He was so specific and the tone of his voice in the recording was so confident that Beckett had no choice but to give it merit. Hardy caught it as well, but said nothing.
“Let’s start with Tedesco,” Beckett suggested.
But Tedesco was no help. She stuck to her report, almost word for word, and was very careful not to get under the captain’s skin. Though she certainly understood that a beam weapon of some kind had killed Cummings, she didn’t hear it when it was fired. The only shots she heard were from ballistic weapons, presumably Rodrigo’s weapon. To the captain and the crew chief, that meant that there could have been shots before the laser fire and after. They could have been Rodrigo’s shots or Cummings’ shots.
“Bonamo’s the key,” Beckett said. “How can he be so sure Cummings fired first?”
“I say we leave him for last. Let’s get Rodrigo in here and see if we can’t get her to slip up.”
Beckett did not like the idea of trying to trick Rodrigo. They had been friends and colleagues for too long. He trusted her like he trusted no one else. If she was lying, there was a good reason for it, probably one with which he would agree. In fact, he was sure that if there was something to hide, she wouldn’t be hiding it from him.
He shook his head. “Bonamo. I want the facts first.”
Kenneth Bonamo arrived in the conference room looking very nervous. His father had been a service man and the best advice he had ever given his son was that if he wanted to get promoted, he should stay the hell out of the way. Of course, Ken Bonamo, Sr. had never made it past sergeant in a forty three year career.
Captain Beckett was there in his usual seat by the front door. There was a recorder on the table at his left. Chief Hardy was also there, his sour expression unchanged. Bonamo couldn’t remember exchanging even two words with the crew chief in his six months on Valor. No one liked him. Everyone was afraid of him. It was as if he could see right through you with those angry little eyes of his. When he had first come on board, Bonamo had seen him in the oddest places at the oddest times. After a month of service, he had gotten an uncharacteristic leave due to the ship’s assignment schedule. He had gone to a restaurant with his mother and there was the crew chief, at a table all by himself, his eyes unashamedly on the two of them.
“Try to relax, Mr. Bonamo. It’s a standard review of your report.”
“Yes, sir.” Bonamo swallowed hard, feeling sand in his throat. As far as he knew, there was no such thing as a standard review of a report. Reports were recorded and filed. Interviews were conducted only when reports were deemed suspect. “Sir?”
Beckett looked up from the computer screen. Hardy remained motionless.
“Can I have some water, sir?”
Beckett looked up. “What?”
“I’m sorry, sir.” His voice cracked. “I’m a little dry.”
Beckett looked around the room. There wasn’t any drinking water to be had. Taps were frequent on board ship. There was even a tap in the Control Room for officers that had to work overtime. But here, there was nothing.
“Can it wait? This won’t take long.”
“Oh.” Bonamo shifted in his seat. “Well I have some with me, if that’s what you mean, sir.” He pulled out a tiny metal flask.
Hardy leaned forward. “Are you sure that’s just water, boy?”
Almost reluctantly, Bonamo took notice of the Crew Chief. “Um, yes, sir, it is. Would you like to…”
“That’s fine, Mr. Bonamo.” Beckett was starting to lose his patience. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you, sir.” Unscrewing the little cap, the young soldier took a long pull, replaced the cap, and put the flask back into his pocket. “Do you need me to recite the report, sir?”
Beckett shook his head. “I just want to clear up some inconsistencies.”
“Inconsistencies, sir?”
Beckett ignored the question. “Between the times when you split up and when you reunited with Sergeant Rodrigo, did you have the sergeant and Mr. Cummings in sight at any time?”
Bonamo looked confused by the question. He hadn’t reported anything of the sort. “No, sir.”
Then how the hell do you know Cummings fired first? Beckett wanted to scream. “You reported that the first shots came from Mr. Cummings.”
“Oh. Yes, sir.”
“You also reported that you heard the laser discharge.”
“That’s correct, sir. Three shots, I think.”
“And then you say Sergeant Rodrigo fired.”
“Three volleys, sir. I’m sure of that.”
Hardy was getting impatient. “Bonamo, how do you know it was Cummings who fired?”
If Beckett was perturbed by the interruption, he gave no sign.
For a moment, Bonamo was confused by the question. Then it dawned on him, exactly what they were asking. “Sir, it was Cummings’ weapon that I heard. Even if I weren’t a weapons expert, I would be able to identify the difference between a hand gun and a rifle.”
Hardy knew every crew member’s service record word for word. That was his job. “What makes you a weapons expert, son?”
Bonamo suddenly dressed himself in the expression of the cat who ate the canary. He stammered a moment before the captain snapped.
“Out with it!”
Beckett wasn’t sure what it was that was upsetting him so much. Either it was Bonamo’s roundabout way of answering questions or the fact that Bonamo’s answers were damning to Rodrigo.
The young man drummed his fingers against each other briefly, then whispered his answer. “I took the Sight and Sound exams, sirs.”
“So?”
Lots of young cadets, especially infantry, opted to take the Sight and Sound exams. They were a voluntary exercise, designed to determine whether a soldier could identify weapons in combat. This skill had various uses, including avoidance of friendly fire and threat assessment. The test was comprised of several parts, the main ones being able to identify weapons by views of parts, being able to identify weapons by sound, being able to identify weapons by ammunition. The weapons tested varied from United Earth armaments, past and present, through pirated weapons, New Earth weapons, and even eXchengue weapons. The average score was below thirty percent. Beckett himself had taken the exams and scored just under forty percent. That, however, was a long time ago. And the knowledge base of eXchengue weapons had been much smaller then.
“What was your score?” Hardy asked suddenly.
Bonamo swallowed hard. “I scored ninety six percent, sir.”
Beckett looked at him. “Did you say ninety six percent?”
Bonamo nodded.
That score was not in his service record. Even if Hardy hadn’t known that right off the bat, Beckett would have noticed a score that high. It had to be almost double the highest score on record. And it would have guaranteed Bonamo a place in the infantry, on the front lines of every combat action they could get him into. The only question was how it had been removed.
But that was a matter for another time.
Unless he was lying.
“That’ll be all, Mr. Bonamo.”
Somewhat stunned, the soldier just sat where he was, his fingers lightly tapping agai
nst the table.
Beckett looked at him, his patience draining. “I said that will be all!”
Bonamo jumped in his seat, then stood quickly, muttering a yes, sir and a sorry, sir. Glancing only once at the crew chief, he made a hasty exit.
The two men sat in silence for a while, Beckett stewing over what he’d just heard. His instincts told him to have Bonamo tied up and flayed until he told the truth, but there was something in the back of his mind that warned him of the implications of the young soldier’s report.
“Cummings could not have fired first,” Hardy said finally. “He never missed.”
“I know that.”
“And if Rodrigo fired Cummings’ weapon, then she’s lying about it.”
“I know that, too.”
“So either she’s lying or Bonamo’s lying.”
Beckett finally looked up with just his eyes. “I know that, Hardy.”
The chief nodded. “Well then. What is it that you don’t know, Captain?”
“I don’t know how it all fits together. I don’t know what she’s covering up or why she’s doing it? If this is the same enemy that wiped out Walker…”
“Did you ever think, Captain, that this has nothing to do with Walker?”
Beckett thought about that a moment. “I don’t follow you.”
“What if there is no Walker? What if there was no black box?”
“What the hell does that mean? I’ve been listening to the logs…”
“Logs are easily manufactured.”
“Then what the hell are we doing out here, Hardy?”
The Crew Chief shrugged. “Should I get the sergeant in here?”
With a sigh, Beckett nodded.
Tackling Rodrigo was going to be tough. If Beckett took her on, she’d know that either Tedesco or Bonamo had reported a contradiction. She’d understand the serious nature of the conflict right away and begin concocting an alibi. Either that or she’d accuse him of lying outright or being plain wrong. Without that test score in his record, Bonamo would have no defense against her allegations and his career would be ruined. If he was lying, he deserved it. If he was simply reporting the facts as he knew them, it was Beckett’s job to protect him.
The captain fed the satellite records to the screen near Rodrigo’s seat. She looked at the picture, a shot of the area just before the feed had been lost. She could see hers and Cummings’ blips. Beckett played it forward from his own station. He moved it at half speed. Cummings’ blip moved ever so slightly. Then Rodrigo’s. Then they were gone.
She looked up, a question in her eyes.
Beckett returned her look, then went back to the computer. He backed it up to the spot just before the feed had been lost.
“Can you demonstrate your orientation when this feed went out?”
Her brow crinkled. “I was facing forward, into the trees. Cummings was behind me, moving in the same direction.”
“So you didn’t actually see him get shot?”
She shook her head.
“And the blast came from where?”
“Directly ahead of me.”
“The beam shot past you and hit Cummings?”
“That’s right. He was hit in the chest.”
“And you?”
“I rolled to the side and took a hit in the shoulder.”
Her shirt covered the bandages, but he had seen her when they had gotten back to the Valor. There had been blood on her arm and blood seeping through the field dressing. There was also a bandage on her left hand, wrapped tightly within her clenched fist.
He played the satellite feed again, looked for the point where she dived. If what she said was true then they would have lost her signal before losing the whole feed because her chip was destroyed when she’d gotten hit in the shoulder.
“When was the first shot fired?”
Rodrigo breathed loudly. “The beam that hit Cummings…”
“…was a laser beam. Laser beams don’t interrupt a satellite feed.”
She stopped speaking for two reasons. The first was that he had interrupted her. The second was that she was just now understanding what he was doing. She did not look guilty. She did not look hurt. She looked angry.
“What’s this all about, Ted? Are you questioning my report?”
And just like that, she had put him on the defensive. “There are just a few…”
“Because we’ve been friends too fucking long for you to put me on the witness stand like this.”
But she should never have interrupted him. And she should never have played the friendship card so soon. It made him think that she was attempting to manufacture the guilt he felt. And he did not like being manipulated.
Without taking his eyes off of Rodrigo, he addressed the Crew Chief. “Can you excuse us, Mr. Hardy?”
If Hardy was surprised by the request, he gave no indication of it. Knowing his place, he simply stood and left the room.
Beckett waited precious seconds after the chief was gone before speaking. He knew Rodrigo well, too well. She was almost too close for him to read accurately. But her expression never changed. And she never took her eyes from his. He found it extremely difficult to believe she was guilty of anything. But he also found impossible to give in. A simple investigation had now turned into a war between comrades.
“We have been friends a long time, Anabelle.” There was a knife edge to his voice, something Rodrigo had heard only when his words were directed at someone else. She waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. He just looked at her, waiting.
“So?” she said, finally.
“So tell me which shot took out the satellite feed.”
“The same shot that took out Cummings.”
“Lasers don’t interrupt satellite transmissions. You know that.” Or do you?
This was the second time that he had made that point and it would be the second time that she responded with anger. “How dare you? Did you rake Tedesco and Bonamo over the coals like this or is this treatment reserved for your friends?”
“Stop dodging the question.”
“What question?”
"Who fired the first shot?!"
In her righteous anger, she had almost…almost…put Beckett off of his attack. But he, too, was arrogant and self righteous. Instead of backing down, he employed a tactic which had served him in the past. He took that intimidation that he felt, the awe of being in the presence of someone who was better at what she did than he would ever be at anything, and he turned it into fuel for his own rage.
Now she faced him and knew that he would not give up until he had an answer that satisfied him. She searched for something to say but came up with nothing. No need. Beckett was ready to press his advantage.
"Did Cummings fire his weapon at all?"
"Ted…" she began.
"Did Cummings shoot?"
She dropped her head. "How did you know that?"
So it was true after all. "I checked his gun," Beckett lied. It was best, he thought, to keep Bonamo out of this. In fact, he had never thought to check the weapon and by then it was too late. "Did he shoot first?"
She said nothing, but he felt his anger disappearing. He could see by the look on her face that she was defeated. She would tell him what he wanted to know eventually. He just had to press.
"Anabelle, what are you hiding? Why did he shoot? What did he hit?"
Her eyes clenched tightly and what Beckett saw, he did not like. Rodrigo, for all of her faults and lack of qualifications, was an icon in the Space Force. Before his very eyes, she was transformed into something so much less than the woman he had known.
"He didn't hit anything," she said, muscles taut.
"That's impossible. Cummings never missed. Ever."
"Ted, he wasn't shooting at anything. He just got spooked and fired into the jungle. I think…I think he drew the sniper to us. When I looked at him, I thought he was about to panic. And then he was dead and it all went to hell."
/> It was almost plausible. He knew how Rodrigo had felt about Cummings, despite the constant ribbing. In the wake of his death, she would have wanted to protect his reputation, especially if his final act had been disgraceful. Honor and respect were important things to her. She was a classic warrior.
He was so tempted to take her at her word. It accounted for all of the inconsistencies including her unwillingness to come clean. He could walk away from this with no hard feelings and still have his friend and mentor. And he could justify it, too, if only he believed her.
For a moment, they stared at each other and he felt her absorbing his doubt. She made no further attempt to explain herself. In silence, they did as much damage to each other as they might have done with words. They moved past the years of trust and friendship. They moved past the point of reconciliation. Ultimately, without a word between them, she moved past him and out of the room.
Hardy came in seconds after Rodrigo had departed. It had been just enough time for Beckett to sink into the nearest chair and bury his head in his hands. There were tears on his face and he kept his head down to hide them. He couldn’t believe he had gone so far. It was supposed to have been a lightweight interview just to see what information he could fish out of her. He’d caught a boot and a tin can. And they were smelly and rusty.
“Bad news?” Hardy asked.
“Just get out, Hardy.”
The chief didn’t respond, but when Beckett looked up twenty minutes later, he was alone.
More Medical Advice
Beckett found Dr. Cabrera in the infirmary. She was the very last person he wanted to see right now, but he needed information and he was sure that she had some. Something had been the catalyst for her earlier visit and he need to know what it was now. A man was dead and he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all because of him. This mission, whatever it was, didn’t seem to have anything to do with Nicholas Walker. At least he didn’t think so. He’d listened to Walker’s logs and though they spoke of an advanced race that had mutilated the crew with lasers, that had been two hundred years before. There was no sign of a settlement on the planet and the Einstein’s alleged landing site was clear even of debris. None of it added up. So he was left with Hardy’s assertion that there was no black box.